Behold, a black horse,

And he who sat on it

Had a pair of scales in his hand.

REVELATION 6:5

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Euna Witherell was quite possibly having the worst year of her life.

She stood in the center of a barren field, the crops long dead. The uncomfortable twinge in her stomach drew her attention to the constant state of hunger she existed in. Nothing satiated her, and even Death was not so kind. No matter what she seemed to consume, she was always starving. Always.

She slowly lowered herself onto her knees. She dug her fingers into the infertile soil, which crumbled easily. "Why me?" she whispered, a single tear tracking down her face.

A warm tongue traced her cheek, and she gazed upwards to see a pure black horse standing behind her. It was also painfully thin, like it hadn't eaten in years.

Hello.

Euna jerked backwards. The word seemed to resonate from the animal.

"H-Hello?" she tried, and to her shock, the horse nudged her with his bony head. "What's your name?" She meant it as rhetorical, but she received an actual reply.

I am Cessair, he said. I am your steed, and in your service, my rider.

"I thought I was hallucinating when he came to me," Euna murmured, reaching up and stroking his neck. "We really have to end the world?"

We are cleansing it. Making it better for next time.

"If you say so." Euna slowly got to her feet. "Might as well start looking for the others, then."

Yes. You can ride me.

"Are you strong enough for that?"

Cessair snorted and tossed his head. Of course I am!

"Sorry." It took her a few tries, but Euna managed to climb up on him, and they started East. With the sun overhead and uncertainty in the distance, Euna steeled herself. "Nothing screams optimism like the Apocalypse," she muttered.

True enough.

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Morana Aiyers buried her childhood friend in her backyard. She packed the dirt over her waxen face, tears staining her cheeks and watering the ground with her sorrow.

She packed a meager bag and marched onto the front lawn, where an ashen horse waited for her. Black hair pulled back into intricate braids, a sweater draped over her body, and a hair tie on her wrist, she swung herself over the side of the horse and muttered, "Let's go, Azrael."

And they set off.

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Pink... blue... so many colors... flashing lights, his vision was blurring... slurred notes spilled from his mouth like secrets, echoing from the microphone... people were cheering him on, drunk teens who wouldn't typically want to listen...

A firm hand yanked him off the stage and wheeled him around to look at them. "Damien Kendler! How drunk are you?"

Damien blinked, and when his vision finally came into focus, his face split into a sloppy grin. "Heyyy Mallory. Jussst havin' fun, don't be a party-pooper."

"You're going to end up dead at this rate," Mallory scowled. "I'm finding Deidre. Hopefully she won't be as intoxicated as you, because you were supposed to be our ride home."

Tugging Damien behind her like a disobedient child, Mallory marched into the crowd, her sleek black hair shining in the multicolored lights.

A cheer was suddenly taken up by the crowd: "DENVER UNI! DENVER UNI!"

"D-Denver," Damien mumbled, accidentally bumping someone and knocking their cup over. "Yayy."

"Oi! Kendler!"

"Sorry!"

The smell of alcohol permeated the air, and Damien briefly felt sorry for Caspar, the host and possibly the richest guy at the University. His parents weren't going to be back for another week anyway, so he didn't really care.

As they wove through the multitude of college kids, Damien caught sight of the very person they were looking for, making out with some random dude.

"Hartline!" Damien yelled, and she broke away from the guy to glare at him.

"Leave me alone, Kendler!" Deirdre's maroon lipstick was smeared, but she managed to look intimidating anyway. Her crisp British accent made her sound even more absolute.

But Damien was already pulling Mallory along.

"Let's blow this joint, eh?" Mallory suggested, grinning. "Are you sober?"

"As I'll ever be," Deirdre said, blowing a kiss at the poor boy she was abandoning.

"You're driving," Mallory said, looking pointedly at Damien.

"Why must you get so drunk?" Deirdre complained, picking at a chipped red fingernail.

"Life's morrre fun thaat way," Damien said. The world was spinning around him, and he felt like he might heave, but thankfully his friends were there to hold him upright.

They bid Caspar goodbye and tumbled into the cold night air. In the distance, white-capped mountains shone in the moonlight. They wove around messily parked cars until they found Deirdre's hand-me-down, a 1999 grey Trailblazer missing a chunk of bumper. Inside, the smell of cigarette smoke burned Damien's nose, not from Deirdre, but her dad, who owned the car before her. Deirdre fumbled with the keys for a few moments until she managed to start the car.

The streets were nearly deserted, seeing as it was two in the morning, and some street lights dimmed and even flickered momentarily. They were drawing closer to Damien's house when Mallory let out a startled shriek and Deirdre stomped on the brakes.

Damien choked and bent over the plastic bag in his lap that Deirdre gave him as a precaution, saying, "If you puke in my car, Kendler, I swear you're dead!"

"What are horses doing in Denver?"

Sure enough, two large stallions were grazing in someone's yard. The grass was wilted and yellow. One horse was midnight black, nearly blending into the shadows around it, while the other was so pale it was almost blue. As if knowing they were the topic of conversation, the stallions looked up in unison, their eyes glinting eerily in the light.

"C'mon!" Mallory said, hopping out of the car, Deirdre not far behind.

"Guys," Damien tried to complain, but he didn't want to sit alone in the car, so he leaped out, swayed on his feet for a few moments, and tottered after them.

"They don't look like they're owned by anyone," Mallory murmured, slowly reaching out to the black one. He let her touch him, and she began stroking his neck. "They don't have saddles."

"Why are they just standing here?" Deirdre asked, approaching the pale horse. "Maybe they escaped."

"D'you think they belong to these people?" Mallory suggested, pointing at the house behind them.

Deirdre gazed up at the odd little signs decorating the house, like 'America the Beautiful' and 'Bless this Home'. "No. The people who live here are probably old people, and old people in Denver don't typically own horses."

"They might be wild," Damien put in, leaning on the pale horse, who didn't seem to mind the contact.

"This one's starving," Mallory muttered, running her hands over his side. "Feel the bones?"

While Deirdre petted the black horse with concern, Damien began to drift back to the car with a yawn. He was exhausted, and frankly, his bed sounded nicer than a pair of mystery horses in some wacko's front lawn. He wished they would leave so he could go home and sleep off the alcohol-induced haze.

He was so lost in his thoughts, he almost missed the face pressed into the window.

Damien let out a yelp of surprise at the emaciated girl. Her face was gaunt, her cheeks hollow, like she hadn't eaten in months. A shadow flitted behind her, and he thought he might die of fright.

Crystal blue eyes locked onto him.

The next morning, the headlines read:

THREE COLLEGE STUDENTS FOUND DEAD IN HOMETOWN WITH TWO SENIOR CITIZENS - LINKED TO TERRORIST ATTACKS IN NEW YORK, PIERRE, AND SACRAMENTO?

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Hi guys. I'd just like to thank you for reading and hope you're enjoying the book. Drop a vote or a comment if you are, and remember I appreciate you all so much! ~kc