War (The Four Horsemen #2) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,39

long time, his face unreadable. Then, very deliberately, he turns from me, back towards the city.

There is my answer. It’s written in every line of his body.

No.

“Stop it,” I say louder. “Please. This isn’t war.”

This is eradication.

The horseman’s voice rumbles. “This is God’s will.”

I’m forced to wait until it’s over. It’s depressingly quick. From the sounds of it, there is no winning against the dead. If your opponent can’t die, then they can’t truly be stopped.

At some point, the screams begin to lessen. It’s no longer a distant chorus of cries but a whisper. And then that, too, is gone.

Shortly after the screams die away, something around me … changes. I can’t say exactly what it is, only that the air seems easier to breathe. Maybe it’s everyone’s collective tension. The crowd seems to be rousing itself now that the entertainment is over.

War lowers his hand and turns his steed away from the city, steering him over to me.

He stops at my side, extending a hand to me. It’s the same hand he used to raise the dead.

“Aššatu,” he says.

Wife.

It’s clear he means to load me back onto his horse and return me to camp.

I step away from his hand, my eyes rising to meet the horseman’s.

“I hate you,” I say softly, my pulse pounding in my veins. “I think I hate you more than I have ever hated anything.”

War’s confident demeanor slips a little at my words. I swear for a moment he looks almost … uncertain.

I back away from him then, and he gets the message loud and clear, withdrawing his hand. He lingers for several seconds longer, and again, I sense his deep doubt. For all he supposedly knows of humans, he doesn’t appear to know how to handle our moods.

Eventually, War gives me a heavy, final glance, then steers his horse towards the front of the crowd. I guess he figured I’d follow him back on foot alongside the rest of the soldiers, who are now trailing after him.

I don’t.

I stay rooted in place, watching them all retreat back the way they came.

I swivel around and face the burning remains of Ashdod. My heart aches at the sight of it. Was this what Jerusalem looked like? If I could stand on the Mount of Olives at this very moment and look out over my hometown, would it appear as silent and still as Ashdod?

I take a few steps towards the city, the thought giving me shivers.

This might be my chance at escape. There are undoubtedly bikes and boats and food and all other sorts of resources left in the city. I could arm and equip myself and I could leave.

Throwing a brief glance over my shoulder, I check to make sure that no soldiers are storming back for me. But none of the men and women so much as throw a glance behind them.

Why isn’t anyone stopping me? The worrying thought flitters through my mind only for a second or two before I face Ashdod again.

I take a few more steps forward. It doesn’t matter, I decide, it’s me who needs to stop lingering if I want to actually do this.

Because War will likely come for me, and I can only imagine his wrath.

With that chilling thought, I begin jogging towards the city.

Chapter 15

Ash swirls along the roads of Ashdod, and the air smells like smoke and charred flesh.

It’s just like the stories said it would be. Bones in the streets, cemeteries tilled like fields. Only now do I fully understand.

I crouch down and pick up a femur, leaving the rest of the skeleton where it lays in the road.

The dead came and razed the last living remnants of the city, and then by the looks of it, they went back to being dead. A chill crawls over me when I see the bodies, some who clearly died today, and others, like the skeleton in front of me, long gone.

Now to find a bike.

I begin to scour the streets for any bicycles left lying about, trying not to be spooked by the unnatural silence.

I’m so lost in my own quest that I nearly miss the soft footfalls at my back.

It’s almost too late by the time I turn around.

An enormous man is only a couple meters from me, and he’s sprinting at full speed, a sword in hand. I have only seconds to unsheathe my own weapon.

He swings his sword overhead, bringing it down upon me, and I grunt as I hastily block his attack, his