She has to no more than utter the request for Pestilence to do her bidding. The two of us watch him leave, and it’s only after he closes the door behind him that Ruth calls out to me.
“Come closer, Sara.”
I almost don’t. Now that it’s my turn to sit on the bed and hear Ruth’s final words I find I really don’t want to. A childish part of me believes that if I avoid doing so, she might live longer, like this ailment is a spell that can be broken.
Reluctantly, I sit down on the mattress and take her hand in mine.
She peers at me closely. “My, are you young.”
Now that we’re alone, she seems fainter, weaker. No matter how many deaths I sit through, I always forget how alarmingly fast the end comes to the plague’s victims.
“Only on the outside,” I say. It feels as though I’ve lived a hundred different lives, each one of them violent and bloody. I guess that’s what sorrow does to you—it fast tracks your soul.
Ruth gives a sad chuckle. “If that isn’t the truth …” Her eyes wander off before returning to me. She squeezes my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “What you’re doing … ” she begins.
Immediately, my pulse begins to hammer away. I have a horrible feeling I know where she’s going with this.
“It’s … good,” she finishes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Just like Pestilence, I’m hiding from the truth in Ruth’s words. And just like Pestilence, I’m shaken by how perceptive she is.
Ruth gives me a sly look. “But I think you do.”
I squirm under her gaze.
“I’ve been around long enough to see the signs,” she continues.
The signs of what?
“It’s alright to care about him—even to love him,” Ruth says.
“I don’t love him,” I say too fervently. My words ring false even to my own ears, and I don’t know why. I am not in love with him.
She pats my hand. “Well, in the case that you eventually do, you should know it’s not wrong, and it’s definitely not something to feel guilty about.”
But isn’t it? To love the thing that’s destroying your world? That seems tasteless at best, unforgiveable at worst.
“Love is the greatest gift we can give or receive,” Ruth continues, unaware of my turbulent thoughts, “and I have a feeling,” she says quietly, “love is the only thing that can get us out of this mess.” Her eyes squint. “Do you understand me?”
Of course I understand her. It’s the slogan every religious busybody has been bleating from the top of their lungs since the Arrival. Except when Ruth says it, a woman who doesn’t just utter the sentiment but has lived it, I finally take the words somewhat seriously.
She nods to the door. “That boy out there”—only Ruth would have the wherewithal to call ageless Pestilence a boy—“has seen a lot of human nature, the bulk of it ugly. He’s only now seeing the beauty of it, and largely through you.”
She gives my hand another squeeze. “Show him what we shine with. Show him humanity is worthy of redemption.”
Chapter 35
Ruth expires less than two hours after our talk. She gives into death almost eagerly, like an old friend reunited at last.
As soon as she’s gone, the house feels cold and lonely, as though its soul slipped away with that of its owners.
Unlike the other families we’ve stayed with, Pestilence won’t allow Rob and Ruth’s bodies to molder in their own homes. Instead I see him out in their backyard, a shovel in his hand, as he digs one large grave.
I walk out there and help him move their bodies into the ground. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge, touching them. The dead feel perverse. Now that whatever animated Ruth and Rob are gone, I find what’s left of them nearly unbearable to touch.
“It’s alright, Sara,” Pestilence says, seeing my unease. “Go inside. I will finish tending to them.”
My gaze travels to the bodies, their forms entwined. I should be thinking of how appropriate it is that they’re buried in each other’s arms, but to me the sight has me swallowing back bile.
Pestilence’s hand clasps my shoulder. “Go inside,” he repeats, gentler than before.
Now I’m the weak one, the one who can’t stomach the sight, and Pestilence is the strong, steady one.
I do as he says and go inside, and I end up making a bath for myself in Rob and Ruth’s master bathroom. The process taking a ridiculously long time since I have to boil water to heat the tub. On the flipside, the lack of electricity gives me an excuse to gather all the candles and lamps I can find and scatter them around the bathroom.
I sigh when I finally slip into the tub, the water just on this side of scalding. I filled the already large basin excessively full because today I’m fucking treating myself.
Right in the middle of my bath, Pestilence comes back inside. He must be looking for me because he eventually makes his way to the master bathroom.
My first thought when I see him is that it’s just not fair to be that good-looking. Even covered with streaks of mud, he’s the most handsome thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.
His gaze softens when he sees me. “Are you feeling better?”
I shrug, and the action draws his eyes down. The first time he saw me naked, there was a clinical sort of detachment in his gaze.
Definitely not the case now. The longer he stares, the more wistful his express becomes.
Fuck it.
“Do you want to join me?” I ask because—treating myself.
Rather than responding, he begins to unfasten his armor.
Taking that as a yes.
This has got to be either my best—or my worst—idea yet.
Pestilence’s eyes are on me when he takes off the last of his clothing. He’s perfect, his body flowing from one sculpted contour to the next. And now I’m sure I’m the one wearing the wistful expression.
Pestilence steps into the tub, the water darkening with the mud that rolls off him.
I thought there was plenty of room for the two of us, but as soon as the horseman sits down, I realize just how large he is, even folded up.
My foot is brushing against his hip, and his legs have me pinned in place. All sorts of skin is touching and it is majorly distracting. Idly, he runs his hand up and down my leg, slowly setting me on fire. My foot jerks the moment his knuckles graze the arch of it.
“What are you thinking of, dear Sara?” he finally says.
That I am one bad decision away from jumping your bones.
“Why did you bury them?” I ask instead.
Pestilence picks up my leg, studying it as he places it in his lap. “Let’s not talk about sad things right now.” He deliberately runs a thumb over the arch of my foot, grinning a little when my leg jerks again in response. “Do most humans take baths together?” he asks.
Just the stupid ones.
“No.”
He squeezes my foot. “Then why did you invite me in?”
“Because I like being close to you,” I say, my voice hushed.
His eyebrows raise at the admission. I think we’re both surprised by my honesty.
“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?”