Hospitals are always the first places to go. That’s the one thing all those movies got right. As soon as people began to get sick, they swarmed the medical facilities, thinking that surely modern medicine could cure this. Surely we were better off than the poor sods who caught Black Death. All those centuries we spent studying illnesses and conquering them—surely we were equipped by now to stop an epidemic.

We were wrong.

Pestilence hops off his horse, bow and quiver at his back, eyeing the building. This close to it, I can see a couple spooked faces staring out. One of them is a woman holding her rosary, her lips moving in prayer.

God’s not going to save you, I want to tell her. He’s the one who wants you dead.

Swiveling back to me, the horseman reaches for my waist. “Come, Sara, and gaze upon the faces of the soon-to-be departed.”

“I hate you,” I say as he lifts me off his steed.

“Ah, hate. Another distinctly human emotion.” He sets me down.

I don’t think it’s a distinctly human emotion—the horseman seems to have plenty of it himself.

He strides ahead of me to the double doors, looking like a gallant knight in his armor. For once in his retched life, he tries to open the doors the proper way. They don’t budge.

That’s not surprising; hospitals have lockdown procedures for this sort of thing.

The horseman rotates, his eyes meeting mine briefly, and they spark with defiance. In one rapid motion, he swivels back around. His fist shoots out, slamming into the door like a jackhammer.

With a groan, the double doors buckle inward, but, shockingly, they still hold fast. My heart pounds as I watch the horseman. This is a horror movie, one where the bad guy is getting inside the house to kill off all the kids. Only this is real life, movies are dead, and the horseman is a flesh and blood fiend.

His fist pounds into the door a second time with preternatural force, and with a metallic screech, the doors collapse inward.

Pestilence steps aside as hospital alarms begin to go off, his frightening gaze meeting mine. “After you.”

In some ways, the visit is not as bad as I feared it would be. In other ways, it’s worse. It’s too early for people to succumb to the Fever, so the few people inside were just your average bunch of hospital patients and staff. But all those terrified expressions … My stomach churns at the memory of them, as we head away from the hospital, the horseman’s precious fucking gauze loaded into the packs that hang on either side of Trixie’s saddle.

Pestilence made me look at each one of them. All those people slated for certain death. It would be a lie to say he enjoyed making me look—he was just as grim as I was—but does that really matter in the end? He still made me stare down those few people stuck inside, just because he knew it would hurt me.

“I hope you’re satisfied,” I say once the hospital is far behind us.

His hold on me tightens. “Human, don’t you know? I am never satisfied, and so onward I ride.”

I don’t say anything to that. Sadness has a way of getting into your bones and settling in for the long haul. And in the end, that’s what I feel. Not anger at Pestilence—though I do harbor more than a little resentment—but sadness at those few faces that will simply cease to be in a few days. The sorrow swallows me up.

I’m quiet for so long that it becomes noticeable.

“I don’t mean for this experience to be pleasant, human. If it were pleasant, you’d be dead.”

One would almost think the horseman was trying to rationalize his actions. But that would mean he feels remorseful about what he did, and I know that’s not the case.

I stare straight ahead, my gaze falling on a rusted washing machine sitting on the side of the road.

“No cutting remarks for me?” Pestilence asks several minutes later, when I still haven’t responded. “I have to say, I’m almost disappointed.”

What does he want from me? Isn’t it enough that every one of these stops kills a little something inside of me?

I don’t speak even once Pestilence approaches a house, this one nestled amongst dozens of others. No one’s inside, but even then, I’m still in too dour a mood to really care.

He dismounts, the movement looking agitated as hell. Obediently, I follow, not waiting for him to help me down. He prowls past the front porch, his armor gleaming in the watery light.

Pestilence brings up a booted foot and kicks down the door in a single smooth stroke. He doesn’t wait for me before heading inside, though I know if I tried to run, he’d be on me in an instant. He probably wants that.

Once I follow him inside the empty home, he rounds on me. “Why won’t you speak to me?”

Not so long ago he wanted nothing more than for me to be silent. But that was when the horseman didn’t know there were better things than riding in solitude.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” I say.

Taking a few quick strides, he closes the distance between us and grabs my jaw. “Last time I checked,” he says, tapping my cheek with his finger, “I wasn’t keeping you prisoner because you wanted it.”

A bitter smile twists my face, but I still can’t find it in me to fight with him.

He releases my jaw in a huff. “Fine. Pout, human. It will do you no good. They’re still going to die.”

Why does he have to keep bringing that up?

I rub my temples. “You wanted me to suffer, and I’ve been suffering. So take your victory and leave me be,” I finally say.

Pestilence’s eyes harden. “This isn’t even the beginning of suffering, human. I could make this worse. So much worse.”

I’m sure he could, but right now I don’t really give a fuck.

I begin to walk away from him. All I want is to find an empty room away from the horseman where I can curl up and pretend I’m not seeing those faces every time I close my eyes.

I’m just about out of the room when I pause. “For all your righteousness,” I say over my shoulder, “you really are a heartless bastard.”