I feel a bullet whiz by me. If things keep up like this, I’m going to get hit.

I notice the people lingering in the doorways of buildings, or leaning out the windows of them. Others still are openly running towards us, guns in hand.

Now this, this is a true ambush.

Without warning, Pestilence shoves me off his steed. I’m so surprised I forget to scream as I fall.

I slam hard into the street, my eyesight darkening at the impact. All my old wounds shriek at being so violently jostled.

Ahead of me, more gunshots ring out.

A few people rush around the street, trying to get a good aim on the horseman.

Ahead of me, Pestilence brandishes his bow and arrow. Now that his hands are free, he uses them to shoot arrow after arrow at his attackers. I see one man fall from a window three stories up and another slump forward from where he crouches behind a tree.

As he rides away from me, the horseman takes out his assailants, sometimes turning in his saddle to shoot backwards. I watch him for some time before I remember myself.

You’re a firefighter, Burns. Get up and act like one.

I force myself to stand, favoring one leg over the other. As far as I can tell, nothing’s broken, though I’m going to have one hell of a bruise where I landed on my thigh.

I begin moving, a slow limp that doesn’t get me far fast, but then, I’m not trying to flee. I scan the street, looking for the injured.

I head over to the closest victim, a wiry man whose hair (what little there is left of it) is more white than brown.

“Sir, are you—?” My voice cuts off when I see the raw, bloody flesh at his throat. It’s not even the horseman that got this guy. One of the bullets that missed Pestilence found another victim.

He tries to talk to me, his mouth opening and closing, his eyes wide with shock. All that comes out are a few red bubbles that gather on his neck.

There’s nothing to be done for him.

I take his hand, kicking his gun aside; he has no need for it now.

“You’re alright,” I say soothingly. We both know that’s a lie. “I’m right here with you. I won’t leave you.”

His hand squeezes mine tighter, and his lips keep moving. I lean in to try to hear him better, but all I hear is the wet gurgling that comes from his throat.

I nod anyway, acting as though I’m keenly aware of exactly what he’s saying. His lips slow until he has nothing left to say. He still clutches my hand, but then his eyes move above me, beyond me, and his hand relaxes.

Fuck death. Seriously, fuck this horrible, horrible thing that we all must endure.

I let go of him and stand, my eyes already looking for the next person.

Farther down, a woman is trying to get to her feet, one of the horseman’s golden arrows jutting from her chest. I jog over to her, ignoring the pain in my thigh.

Time blurs as I move from person to person, giving what aid I can, which isn’t much, but it does catch the eye of a paramedic-turned-infantryman. He joins the effort, and that, in turn catches the eye of a doctor.

The longer we linger out in the street, the more people trickle out of whatever buildings they took shelter in to now lend a hand. My throat thickens at the sight.

This is what Pestilence misses in his quest to kill us off. That right alongside the worst of human nature is the best of it.

We all work somberly together. No one outright says it, but I can practically hear the thoughts around me.

Am I infected?

Is it already too late?

How long do I have?

When will I start to feel ill?

A series of screams punctuate the air.

I glance up from the man I’m kneeling next to, the doctor at my side.

Off in the distance, Pestilence gallops back down the street on his white steed, his armor and face blood-smeared.

What has he done?

He holds his bow, an arrow notched, ready to kill anyone who dares to rise against him.

I tense at the sight. I’d almost believed that this was the end of our partnership.

Should’ve known better. Pestilence the Conqueror gets to have his cake and eat it too.

“What in the hell?” the paramedic utters next to me. “He’s back?”

I stand, drawing a few eyes to me.

Pestilence’s jaw is tight, his eyes scanning the street as he charges down the road. When the horseman sees me, his expression doesn’t change, but I swear he relaxes.

Why does he want me so badly?

He surges forward, his steed’s pace quickening as the two head straight for me.

Run, an irrational part of me thinks—like that would do a fat lot of good now that he’s set his sights on me. Instead I move into the middle of the street, away from where the other people are gathered.

“What are you doing?” the doctor calls to me.

I ignore him, my gaze trained on the horseman. Pestilence, for his part, now pays the last of his assailants no heed. Nor does he need to. The gunshots that punctuated the air earlier are now all silent.

The stillness squeezes my gut tight. The horseman effortlessly cut all these people down. How does anyone make a stand against this sort of power? It’s too great, too unstoppable.

As he closes in on me, Pestilence leans deeply to the side of his saddle, not slowing. I don’t realize what he means to do until his arm extends out.

And now, even knowing I’m not going to get away, I bolt. I don’t know what drives me to run. Maybe it’s the punishing pace of Pestilence’s steed, maybe it’s the fierce look in the horseman’s eyes. Or maybe it’s that rider and mount look like they bathed in the blood of their enemies.

Pushing my aching thighs for all they’re worth, I sprint down the street, back towards the highway. Trixie’s hoof beats sound louder and louder as the two close in on me. I pump my arms, forcing my legs to move faster.

I don’t make it very far before I feel Pestilence’s arm wrap around my back. With a jerk that has my nearly healed wounds screaming in protest, he lifts me off the ground, setting me smoothly on the seat in front of him.

“Secure yourself, Sara,” he commands, not slowing.

Going as fast as we are, there’s no way I’m going to be able to adjust myself from sitting sidesaddle, so I wrap my arms around Pestilence’s midsection, holding on tight to him as he directs us towards the water. His arm rests almost possessively around me, further securing me to him.

We speed by the large buildings for a second time, and as we race down the street, I catch sight of a few more fallen shooters laying in pools of their own blood, their bodies shot through with arrows. I stop looking when I see one of the golden arrows protruding from a dead man’s eye. The whole thing is so ghastly and violent and sad.

Pestilence didn’t spare them. Not like he spared me. And he may think that I have the worse fate, but at the end of it all, I feel lucky to be sitting here on the horseman’s steed rather than finding out what lies on the other side of death.

Abruptly, the buildings give way to sand, and I have a clear view of the inlet I’ve kept catching glimpses of. I stare out at the water, and beyond it, Vancouver Island.

Trixie’s strides pound against the sand, his hooves spraying the fine grains against me. It’s been years since I’ve been this close to the sea, but I don’t get the chance to enjoy it. The dry sand gives way to wet, and still the horse doesn’t slow.