If, of course, we’re one of the fortunate three. Outside, beyond one of our decommissioned firetrucks, all our necessary belongings are packed, ready for a quick escape. Luke folds the tip of the burnt match into his palm with the three unburnt ones, then dips his hands beneath the table to mix them up. One person doomed to die, three more to live.Īll so we could kill that ungodly sonuvabitch. This was the painstaking decision we made.
“Loser stays behind to see our plan through.” Luke holds up the matchstick with the blackened tip. He strikes one against our roughhewn table, the flame flaring bright for a second before he blows it out.Īround us, the fire station’s overhead lights hum in that distressing way most electronics do nowadays, like at any moment they might sputter out. I level my hazel eyes on the tiny wooden sticks in Luke’s fist. They came to earth, and they came to end us all. Engines failed and planes fell from the sky.īit by bit, all the world’s great innovations ceased to be, and the globe slid into darkness.Īnd so it was, and so it shall be, for the Age of Man is over, and the Age of the Horseman has begun. The horsemen rode to the four corners of the world, and in their wake machines broke, fuses blew. The sky darkened and the steeds charged, their hooves kicking up dust as they galloped. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, come to claim the earth and lay waste to the mortals that dwelled within it. Pestilence, his crown perched upon his brow.Īnd Death, blighted Death, his dark wings folded at his back, a torch of bilious smoke tight in his grip. The monstrous mounts reared back, pawing the air as their masters stared out at the world with foreign, fearsome eyes.
The world lit up like it was on fire, and there they were-four great beasts of men astride their terrible steeds.
The desert air thickened, feeling damp and smelling unusually ripe. The sky surged, great plumes of clouds tumbling and roiling together.
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