Samuel watched with amusement as Lucas stumbled on the loose pebbles of the shallow creek bed, his younger brother’s arms flailing as if he were dancing. The water sparkled in the late summer sun, casting a warm glow on their faces. Lucas, a small nine-year-old boy at the time, was only ten months younger than Samuel.

People called them Irish twins, and even though neither of the boys knew what that meant, they loved it. They would often get into arguments using a bastardized version of an Irish accent.

They spent the afternoon at a hidden swimming hole they’d found, the kind of place that felt like a secret oasis tucked away from the rest of the world. They took turns jumping into the creek, laughing and shivering in the not-quite-warm-enough later summer sun of upstate New York, their hair wet and matted against their foreheads. The sound of their splashing filled the air, intermingling with the gentle hum of insects and the distant rustle of wind passing through leaves.

They swapped stories and dreamed of the evening to come, eagerly planning how to convince their over-worked mother to take them to the movies. Samuel felt a sense of peace settle over him, as if time had stood still and there were no worries in the world.

The idyllic summer memory was Samuel's favorite, and one that often found its way into his dreams. Sometimes, his subconscious mind turned it sour, lacing it with the pain of regrets and past traumas. But sometimes again, it remained that blissful afternoon, the kind of memory that sustains a person through their darkest moments.

Lucas laughed again, his eyes twinkling with some mischievous thought. Samuel smiled back, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin and the gentle breeze ruffling his hair. The water flowed softly around their ankles, and the distant hum of cicadas creating a peaceful background noise, only annoying if you stopped to pay attention to it. It was a moment frozen in time, a perfect snapshot of childhood innocence and brotherly love.

Samuel felt a surge of gratitude, for this perfect summer day, and for the brother who shared it with him. It was a memory he would cherish forever, a treasure to be savored in the quiet moments of his dreams.

“Wake up, you bloody idiot,” Lucas said.

“What?” Samuel asked, confused at the sudden turn.

“I said wake up,” a women’s voice said from nowhere and everywhere.

Samuel croaked out a weak "Lucas?" and blearily attempted to rouse himself from his slumber.

It felt like he had been in a month-long coma as he came to, his body sluggish and unresponsive.

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear the crust that had sealed them shut. His ears were clogged with wax, his nose was congested, and his mouth was so dry that his tongue felt like it had been replaced with sandpaper. He struggled through the mental fog, forcing his eyes open and breaking apart the crust with his fingers. The sharp crystals scratched at his skin, adding to the discomfort.

His arms ached, his hands hurt, and he shivered against the early-morning cold. He swallowed several times, trying to rehydrate his parched mouth.

An older woman was squatting in front of him, frowning.

Blythe.

Her name was Blythe. The memories of the last day came crashing back into Samuel's mind. The violence, the trauma, the fact that he had killed multiple people—it all felt distant and surreal, like it had happened to someone else. He couldn't connect with the reality of it all.

Behind Blythe three horses stood with saddles and bags tied to their back. They nickered softly, Mouse going so far as nudging Blythe’s shoulder. She stood and gave him a scratch. Samuel wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, to forget about everything that had happened and return to that idyllic dream. He longed to swim in the late afternoon sun with his brother once more, to escape the pain and the memories that haunted him.

"Take a drink," Blythe commanded, tossing a leather bag onto Samuel’s lap.

The bag was made of stitched-together leather and held a small amount of liquid. Samuel marveled at it as he felt the sloshing contents inside. He pulled out the cork stopper and brought the skin to his mouth, letting the lukewarm liquid rehydrate his dry mouth. The sensation stung at the dry cracks along his tongue.

Samuel gagged, almost choking on the foul liquid. It was the sourest beer he had ever tasted. But soon the first swallow ignited his thirst, and he gulped it down eagerly, letting the beer warm his insides and work to open his sinuses.

Blythe yanked the waterskin away from Samuel's mouth, causing a few droplets to splash over his chin.

"Don't drink it all, you idiot," she scolded, taking a swig herself before tucking it away into her backpack.

“Stop calling me that,” Samuel said, attempting to stand. His entire body was wracked with the stabbing pains brought on by lactic acid, small crystals of pain embedded inside his muscles. He grit his teeth against it and forced his way up onto wobbly feet.

“I’ll stop calling you that when you stop being that,” Blythe said.

They glared at each other.

“Why didn’t you leave me?” Samuel asked.

“I’m your debtor, remember?” Blythe asked with a grim smile. “Pick a horse.”

Samuel stared dumbly at the two horses standing next to Mouse.

Blythe gestured towards two horses standing nearby, their eyes gazing lazily in their direction.

"Take your pick," she said, a hint of impatience in her voice.

Samuel stared at the horses, unsure of what characteristics to look at to inform his decision. They looked almost identical to him, with their brown coats and long manes. He took a step closer and examined the first one, noticing its big, gentle eyes and the way its ears perked up at his approach. He reached a hesitant hand out to stroke its nose, feeling the soft whiskers under his fingers as the horse pressed into his palm.

The second horse stamped its hooves nervously and tossed its head, its mane shaking like a wild halo. Samuel stepped back, startled by the sudden movement and careful not to upset the second horse further. He looked back at the first horse, drawn to its calm demeanor. He felt it was the right choice for someone with no experience. Something as skittish as the second horse seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.

"I'll take this one," Samuel said, pointing to the calmer mount. Blythe nodded and helped him get on top of the horse, giving him a quick tutorial on how to steer and control it. Samuel felt like he was drinking from a firehose, trying to commit all of Blythe’s rapid-fire tips and tricks on horse-riding to memory.

“Where are we going?” Samuel asked.

“Moldren,” Blythe answered.

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She climbed up into Mouse’s saddle with surprising ease, considering one of her arms still sat in a sling. She tied the lead of the riderless third horse to her saddle and gently nudged Mouse’s ribs. Mouse trotted forward and out of the barn, the other horse falling in tow.

“Let’s leave this Mother-forsaken place!” She called after Samuel.

Samuel tried to urge his horse forward, but it resisted his commands. The animal stubbornly refused to move, tossing its head and snorting. Samuel kicked at its sides, trying to get it to follow Blythe's horse, but it remained motionless, seemingly content to just stand there.

“What the heck?” Samuel asked the horse. “Let’s go! Heeyah!”

Samuel slapped the reins onto the horse’s neck and it took a begrudging stepped forward. Then another. The horse's movements were jerky and uneven, at least from Samuel’s perspective, and he struggled to maintain his balance. The animal seemed to have a mind of its own as it clopped out of the barn, swerving off the path and stopping suddenly to bend down and munch some grasses.

Blythe laughed.

"A horse needs a firm and steady hand," she said, slowing Mouse down to stop in the middle of the clearing between the barn and the smoldering ruin of the tavern. "Don’t let it stop and eat when it wants. You have to show it who's in charge."

Samuel nodded, his grip on the reins tightening. He pulled on them, trying to pull the horse’s head away from its snack.

Blythe continued, "Don't yank the reins too hard, that'll just agitate the horse. Be gentle and firm. It takes time for a horse to learn to trust you."

Samuel took a deep breath and tried to follow Blythe's advice. He pulled up on the reins, whispering soft words to the horse to encourage it to lift away from the grass. At first, it whinnied and kept eating, but Samuel kept a steady pull on the reins. Gradually, the horse responded to Samuel's commands. It stepped up alongside Blythe and Mouse and then kept going past her, toward the tavern’s charred wood. Samuel locked his eyes with Blythe’s and craned his neck around as he passed her.

“How do I make it stop?” he asked.

Blythe buried her forehead in her good hand.

“Pull on the reins, you idiot.”

Samuel started to panic, feeling the distance between himself and Blythe growing. The horse couldn’t have been going faster than a slow walk but made Samuel feel panicked and embarrassed. He pulled on the reins and the horse stopped some ten feet from the ashen remains of the tavern.

"See, not so hard, is it?" Blythe said, flashing him a patronizing smile.

“How far is Moldren?” Samuel asked.

“About a three day’s ride North if we take it slow. I don’t want to—”

A long creaking whine of breaking wood pierced the air, emanating from the ruined tavern and interrupting Blythe. Samuel felt a growing sense of dread as he watched a support beam shift and fall, landing heavily in the ashes with a thud. A cloud of black dust billowed out in a wave, enveloping his horse's hooves, and causing it to balk and jump back. Samuel’s weight tumbled forward into his horse's neck, causing it to spook even more and jerk its head away. Samuel fell to the ground off the front of his horse.

With a terrified whinny, the stubborn and gentle horse bolted into the forest, leaving Samuel alone and sprawled on the ground. Blythe managed to hold onto her horses' reins, keeping them from following the runaway animal, but they were similarly agitated and restless, terrified of something.

Samuel groaned, feeling the pain of his injuries renew.

He brushed off the dirt from his chest and saw small purple tendrils of smoke rising from a pile of charred wood and ash. The pile shifted, bits and pieces shaking and falling to the ground, and an imposing figure emerged to stand from within the ruin.

The figure’s eyes glowed with the same eerie purple light that Jon's had. Samuel's breath caught in his throat as he recognized the man-turned-zombie. Its half-charred skin was covered in dozens of wriggling worms of purple magic smoke, each of them about six inches long, stretching and tasting the air like a reptile's tongue.

“Oscar?” Samuel whispered in horror.

Purple eyes trained on Samuel still sitting on the ground. Even though bits of his face had been burned, Samuel knew it as the face of the man from the subway. The face of the man that had gone through this all with him so far. Unlike the mindless Zombies, Oscar regarded Samuel with intelligence. But unlike Jon, he didn’t seem inclined to chat. He stalked forward towards Samuel at a steady clip. Each worm of magic tugged on the body of their host, stretching out as if trying to grab Samuel.

Samuel scrambled back and grabbed for his pitchfork, realizing with horror that it was tucked into the saddlebags of the horse that had run. It was stupid mistakes like that that would end up getting him killed.

“That’s decay magic!” Blythe shouted. “Don’t let it touch you!”

“Like I was going to let the fucking zombie touch me!” Samuel yelled, scrambling up and running toward Blythe.

Oscar followed him at a steady walk, reminiscent of the stalker of a slasher film. Slow and relentless. A creeping sensation of helplessness filled Samuel’s mind. Oscar was letting him get to the horses. Letting him feel like he had a chance.

Samuel stumbled next to Blythe’s horses, constantly looking over his shoulder at Oscar's advancing figure. The worms of magic wriggled and slithered over the man's body, each as if they had a life of their own. Samuel fumbled for the reins of Blythe's spare horse and slid his foot into one of the stirrups.

"Get on!" Blythe shouted, her own horse dancing anxiously beneath her. She untied the reins of the second horse and tossed it on top of its saddle.

Samuel clambered onto the horse he hadn’t originally chosen, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Go!" Samuel yelled, kicking the horse's flanks.

The horse lurched forward, its hooves kicking up mud as it galloped away from the ruined tavern and the approaching undead. Samuel risked a look over his shoulder. Oscar now followed them in a dead sprint, almost keeping pace with the horses. Samuel turned and clutched at the reins with white knuckles, using all the strength and coordination he could muster to stay in the saddle and not tumble off the back. Blythe rode in front of Samuel, her shoulders rigid but the rest of her body with an easy stance in her saddle.

They rode into the forest, the giant trees and hanging mosses blurring past them in a smear of color. Samuel kept glancing back over his shoulder, catching glimpses of Oscar pursuing them. It felt like a tug of war, the horses gaining ground whenever there was a straight away and Oscar gaining ground whenever they had to turn and weave to get around one of the massive trees. They needed to get onto a road if they were going to gain any ground on the zombie.

Some dozen yards ahead, Mouse vaulted over a massive root system spreading out from a tree above ground. Blythe nimbly stayed in the saddle, seeming as if one with her horse as they completed the jump and kept galloping.

The jump loomed and a terrified Samuel yanked on the reins to try and get his horse to swerve around the roots.

His horse stumbled to a stop and reared up, front hooves pawing at the air. Samuel’s grip on the reins slipped. For a moment, they were both suspended in time, the forest around them dead quiet save for the echoing whinny of the horse. Then the horse came crashing back down to the ground, and Samuel’s teeth jolted with the landing. He regripped the horse’s reins and urged it around the root system. It was slow to respond to his commands, its hooves crunching into the detritus of the forest floor in a trot.

Samuel heard a crashing sound behind them and turned to see Oscar emerging from the trees, his eyes glowing brighter than ever. The worms of magic almost seemed to shiver in excitement as Oscar leapt through the air at Samuel.

With a cry of terror, Samuel slammed his heel into the horse’s side. It reared up on its hind legs again, braying angrily at Samuel and refusing his command. Oscar sailed through open air, exactly where Samuel would have been if the horse had obeyed him. The horse stamped down again, and kicked with its rear legs, torn between trying to buck Samuel and get away from the zombie.

Samuel clung to the saddle with desperation. Oscar swiped at the horse, a purple tendril of magic passing into one of the animal’s strong legs.

The horse screamed.

It was a visceral sound. As if the animal had been put to the slaughter.

The horse ran from Oscar.

And was limping.

And was slowing down.

Samuel leaned over the creature to try and get a look at the leg Oscar’s magic had touched. The limb was blackening before Samuel’s eyes, the fur falling off and the skin beneath growing mottled, like a piece of fruit left out too long. The horse let out a shrill whinny of pain just as Samuel heard the snap of a bone breaking. Samuel threw himself off the horse as the animal collapsed onto its side.

Samuel scrambled away and ran into the forest, heart racing as he looked back at the horse. Its leg was now a twisted mess of bone and flesh, the decay magic spreading through the rest of its body like a virus. The wisps of purple magic, like little worms, spread over the animal like carrion feeders. The horse thrashed on the ground in agony. Samuel wanted to help the animal, to put it out of its misery, but there was nothing he could do. He had to keep moving, keep running, or he would suffer the same fate.

Filled with guilt, Samuel poured his overflowing adrenaline into his run, putting as much distance between himself and the horse as possible. The sound of his horse’s cries followed him for a long while, a haunting reminder of the danger that pursued him.

Oscar was coming.

And Samuel was alone, on foot, and unarmed.