I level the firearm at him and flip off the safety. “Get out of my way.”

Around me, I hear gasps.

The man lifts his arms, “Now wait just a second there. Let’s not do anything hasty. We’re just trying to help you.”

I must not look nearly as threatening as I feel because several other people begin to creep in.

Better make your stand before this unravels.

Raising the gun to the air, I fire off a shot. The sound, already deafening, is made all the louder by the church’s acoustics.

People scream, several covering their heads. Above me, plaster rains down.

I train the gun once more on the man I stole it from.

“I’m leaving,” I say. “And you can help me by getting out of my fucking way.”

Handlebar Mustache must see that there’s just a little too much crazy in my eyes for his own well-being. He steps aside.

I swing the gun towards the other people who stand between me and the exit. They back up, their arms in the air.

The church is uncomfortably silent, the only sound my muted footfalls on the worn carpet.

I’m nearly to the double doors when Handlebar Mustache calls out to me, “Why have you forsaken your own people for that thing?”

He has the audacity to ask the question while standing in a church.

I turn back to face the man, my gaze sweeping over the rest of the wide-eyed men and women that watch me.

“I haven’t forsaken you,” I say. “God has.”

Chapter 41

Trixie lingers right outside the church. As soon as he sees me, Pestilence’s steed shuffles over, his snout nudging my cheek. I can almost imagine that he’s greeting me fondly.

I brush my hand over his face, frowning at the dark stain down his side.

The horseman’s blood.

I hoist myself into the saddle and stroke the steed’s mane. “Take me to Pestilence.”

We were ambushed just around the corner of the church, so it doesn’t take long to return to the site. Even still, by the time we arrive, Pestilence is already half buried in a shallow grave off to the side of the road.

The people in gas masks stand around the grave, dumping shovelfuls of dirt into it.

The stolen gun is still hot in my hand. By the time the first man lifts his head in my direction, I’m already aiming it at him. He makes a surprised noise, dropping his shovel. The other men glance at him before looking around in confusion. They, too, startle when they see me astride Pestilence’s horse, weapon in hand.

Now that I have their attention—

“You all have five seconds to make yourselves scarce. Then I start shooting.”

No one budges.

“One—”

Now people begin to scramble.

“Two—”

One of the men reaches for his gun.

I fire off a warning shot, the gun kicking back in my hand.

They drop their shovels and abandon the grave. A few of them take off running, but some still loiter, not ready to let a woman scare them off.

“Three—”

The masked men move onto the street, backing away from me, a couple with their hands in the air.

Like that’s going to placate me.

“Four—”

They move back a little faster.

“Five.”

I click my tongue, attempting the sound Pestilence makes. Beneath me, Trixie leaps forward, charging down the street.

Now the last of the masked men sprint for their lives. Nothing like having an undead steed running you down to get you going. I fire another shot, just to give them a good scare.

Halfway down the street, I pull on the reins, letting the men get away from us, watching their forms grow smaller and smaller.

These people knew before they saw me that I was traveling with Pestilence.

A foreboding shiver passes over me.

If that gets back to the media, the world will soon know I’m no longer his captive.

I force back a cry when I stare down at Pestilence’s makeshift grave. He’s nearly unidentifiable, his body awash in blood, dirt, and pulpy, fleshy things.

I don’t want to move him out of fear that I’ll hurt him.

Townspeople will come back. You may only have minutes.

That’s what gets me going.

Setting the gun aside, I crouch next to the grave and hook my arms beneath Pestilence’s armpits.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

And then I begin to pull.

He lets out an agonized cry, the sound garbled by his ruin of a mouth, as I heave him out of his tomb. A silent tear trickles out of the corner of my eye at the noise.

If only my earlier self could see me now. How far I’ve fallen, crying over a thing that can’t die. Over the very thing I was supposed to kill. And look at me now—I’m pointing guns at anyone who tries to take him from me.

Ever so slowly, I tug Pestilence out of the earth. Trixie kneels next to me, the steed anticipating his rider’s needs. I drag the horseman’s body onto the saddle.

Not going to be very comfortable, but it will have to do.

Settling myself behind him, I again click my tongue. Trixie rises to his feet, the two of us balanced on his back, then the steed takes off.

Several shots ring out, and I flatten myself over the horseman as the bullets whiz by me. I glance over my shoulder. The men that I’d so recently driven away now run back into the street from wherever they tucked themselves away, training their guns on us.

Shit.

I jerk on one side of the reins, pulling Trixie’s head to the side, steering us off course. Pestilence’s body slides a little, and it takes most of my strength to keep the horseman on his horse. But at least the bullets meant for me and Trixie miss us.

I yank on the other side of the reins, forcing the horse to change his trajectory again, zig-zagging across the road until the gunshots fall to silence. When I look over my shoulder again, the men in gas masks are out of range.

Safe. We’re safe—for now.

I don’t dare slow the horse until the town is far behind us. Once I do, it’s only so that I can scour our surroundings for a house. Considering my shitty luck today, I’m probably going to choose a home with the meanest asshole living inside it. Without Pestilence to strike the fear of God in him, who knows just how bad the situation might get.

I suck in a deep breath. There’s just no helping the situation.

I end up picking a home that’s directly off the road, hoping whoever lives there is long gone. It takes an agonizingly long time to get inside, but on a positive note, the place has been vacated.

I lead Trixie through the door after me, careful to not jostle Pestilence’s slumped body in the process. It’s only once I’ve moved the steed next to the couch that I drag the horseman off. He slides into my arms, knocking me off balance, and the two of us collapse in a heap on the couch.

Real smooth there, Burns.

I wiggle myself into a comfortable position beneath Pestilence, feeling his blood begin to seep into my clothing from his various wounds.

Now that I’m holding him, I find I can’t let him go. His face is still mangled, and it’s been further obscured by the dirt matted to his skin.

With a shaky hand, I run my knuckles over a section of cheek that’s still intact.

You fool. You’ve gone and fallen for this thing.

He moves in my arms, and I nearly yelp. I’d almost forgotten that he’s still in there. Still aware of what’s going on. I feel bile rise at the thought.