The Four Horsemen 2 - War (3 page)

He jerked and lifted his gaze from where it’d landed on the soldier’s wound. Bright hazel eyes met his and he swallowed.
“I’m no one special,” he muttered.
The solider blinked in confusion and coughed. “You’re not American. Are you Afghani? I’m already dying, so I’m not sure why you’re here. I’m Russell.”
“I’m no one important on either side,” War repeated, crouching next to Russell, unconcerned at how close to the edge he was.
“Somehow I doubt that. What’s up with your eyes and hair? You look Afghani, but I’ve never seen one with that colour hair.”
Russell lifted a trembling hand to point at War’s hair. War ran his own hand over the short curls and grimaced. Before his death, he’d had black hair and brown eyes like most people in his tribe. But being a Horseman meant that he rode the Red Horse of War and his hair had changed to match. His eyes were completely black, no whites, irises, or pupils. They were as black as a starless night.
It was such an unusual combination that if he went out in public he wore sunglasses and a hat. Thank God, the only people who saw him were Mongol herdsmen and they didn’t ask questions.
Noise came from above them and War pushed to his feet.
“Don’t leave me,” Russell begged, wrapping his hand around War’s ankle. “I don’t want to die alone. Please.”
War needed to get out of there before anyone else saw him. Death might have sent him to this spot, but the head Horseman hated it when mortals spotted them. As War stared into Russell’s eyes, the man’s fear of dying alone hit home for him. He’d chosen not to call out and maybe save his own life. Yet he acknowledged the worry and, yes, fear that had welled inside him in the minutes before he’d lost consciousness.
With a sigh, he scooped Russell into his arms and whistled. His horse appeared, making the already crowded ledge even more precarious. Somehow, he managed to mount without dropping Russell or knocking all of them off the cliff. Not that the fall would have killed him or the horse, but Russell wouldn’t have survived it.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured into Russell’s ear.
War watched Russell do what he’d ordered before nudging the stallion’s sides. It neighed and leapt into the air. Closing his own eyes, War heard the clap of thunder that accompanied the leap.
The soldiers gathered in the hills around the border ducked as lightning flashed and thunder broke in the blue sky above them. When neither rain nor clouds appeared, they shrugged it off as another drone attack or missile strike.

When War opened his eyes again, they stood in a shaded backyard. It was obviously in a well-developed country since he could see the gleam of streetlights. Glancing around, he frowned because he didn’t recognise the place. He dismounted and his stallion snorted.

“Where have you taken me?” War asked in a low voice. “Are we on the other side of the world? Is that why it’s dark out?”
The horse tossed its head and seemed to point with its nose towards the back of the house. War had never quite figured out just how much the stallion understood. It rarely interacted with him, and War wondered where it went when he didn’t need it. He had figured out it wasn’t a real horse.
Another snort and this time the horse pushed him in the shoulder, shoving him in the direction of the house.
“All right.”
War shifted Russell in his arms, hoping he wasn’t causing more damage by moving the soldier. He kicked the door and waited.
Barking sounded inside the house and War winced. While the dog would probably wake up anyone who might have been living in the house, War didn’t want him bothering the neighbours. At least tall trees guarded the backyard, blocking most of the view.
A few minutes later, a light came on over the door and War blinked in the sudden brightness, but he kept his face visible for whoever was looking at him through the window.
The door swung open and an auburn-haired man stepped out on to the deck. There was something familiar about him.
“War? What are you doing here?”
The slight accent and the fact that the man recognised him helped War remember who he was looking at.
“Pestilence?”
The man nodded his head. “That’s who I used to be, but I’m Aldo Bianchi now. I stopped being a Horseman when I met Bart. Who is this?”
Aldo gestured towards Russell. War glanced down and noticed that Russell had passed out. Whether from pain or exposure, War didn’t know, but he did know the man needed to be checked over.
“You’re a doctor, right?”
“Yes, but it’s been a long time since I’ve actually practised on a live patient except for Bart.” Aldo narrowed his gaze and took in Russell’s pale face. “Bring him in. I’m not sure what I can do to help you, but I’ll try.”
“Thank you.”
War eased inside the house, trying not to trip over the large tan dog standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Romeo, go lie down,” Aldo ordered and the dog left, but not without a warning woof at War.
“Pretty protective of you,” War pointed out as he carried Russell into the kitchen.
Aldo cleared the table and gestured for War to lay the wounded soldier there. War set him down before stepping back and taking off his jacket. He folded it to stick under Russell’s head.
“He is, but more so of Bart.” Aldo tugged on his bottom lip while he studied Russell. “I’m going to need my bag. I’ll go get it while you strip him. Also, put some water on the stove. We’re going to have to wash him before I can tell for sure what’s wrong with him.”
“I can tell you what’s wrong with him. He was shot. Who is this person, Aldo?”
A slender blond stalked into the room, an unhappy expression on his face. War looked at him and War could see how Aldo could have fallen in lust with him. He was rather pretty.
“You must be Bart. I’m War and this is Russell.” War stuck out his hand.
Bart propped his fists on his hips and glared at him. “Why did you bring Russell here? He should be at a military hospital, not passed out on my kitchen table.”
“Bart, be nice. It’s not like War is recruiting me back into the Horsemen.” Aldo squeezed Bart’s shoulder as he walked by. “I’m getting my bag.”
War bit his lip and fought his reluctance to remove Russell’s clothes. It didn’t seem right to do so when Russell wasn’t awake to say yes or no. With a huff, Bart started removing what was left of Russell’s pack. War watched for a moment before Bart sent him a disgruntled glance.
“All right. I’ll do this while you get some water boiling or warming up. Whatever you need to do to get him clean.” War straightened his shoulders and began unbuttoning Russell’s shirt.
“About time,” Bart muttered as he moved to grab some pots out of the cupboard. “Why did you come here?”
War shrugged. “I didn’t come here on my own. I mean, my horse brought me here. I wasn’t sure where I was going when I grabbed Russell off the ledge. All I knew was I had to leave, but I couldn’t let him die alone.”
“Noble of you,” Bart commented.
War bowed his head. “I know what it’s like to die alone. Didn’t seem right to leave him there to do the same.”
“Really? Is that how you became a Horseman?”
They weren’t supposed to talk about how they had become Horsemen, especially to mortals, but War didn’t see why it mattered. Bart knew about them and he hadn’t blabbed to the newspapers yet. All Death would be able to do was yell at him and it wasn’t like the Pale Rider hadn’t done that before.
“Yes. I was murdered in my bed and I didn’t call out for my guards or anything like that. If I had, I might have been saved. It was easier that no one found me until after I died.”
Bart filled one pot with warm water and brought it over to the table. He handed War a cloth before going back to the sink. War quickly stripped the rest of Russell’s clothes off, doing his best to be as gentle as possible. He didn’t want to hurt Russell any further. He didn’t allow his gaze to settle on Russell’s groin. It wasn’t fair to ogle Russell while he was unconscious.
He dunked the cloth into the warm water and wrung it out before swiping it down Russell’s right arm. Taking his time, he washed Russell’s upper body, wincing at all the bruises covering Russell’s chest and back.
“That doesn’t look good. Where did you find him?” Bart approached the other side of the table and worked on Russell’s left side.
“Lying on a ledge in the mountains of Afghanistan.”
The cloth Bart had been using dropped to the floor. War looked up to see Bart staring at him in shock.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Why would I kid about that? Do you know many mortals who dress up like soldiers and run around the streets of whatever city we happen to be in?”
“Cambridge, Massachusetts,” Bart supplied the town.
“Harvard, huh? I always thought Aldo was a smart bastard. The few times we ran into each other, he seemed to have a better grasp on this whole Horseman thing than me.” War wiped down Russell’s chest.
“Yes, he is, and you’re right. I don’t know many guys who dress up like soldiers and run around the streets of Cambridge. You found him in Afghanistan and decided to bring him here.”
“No. I already said, my horse brought us here. I didn’t know where I intended to go when I got on the silly beast. Thing’s scary when it wants to be.” War rinsed his cloth. “I’ve been in that part of the world off and on for the past ten years. I came across Russell when Death sent me back there once again. Like I said, I couldn’t just leave him there to die. I snatched him up and took off. Ended up here. I didn’t know where Aldo had gone after he left the group.”
“You make it sound like a rock band or something,” Aldo joked as he strolled in, holding a canvas bag in his hand.
War winked at his former comrade. “Maybe we should think about doing something like that. Guess we should figure out if any of us can sing first though.”
“You’re an idiot.” Bart cleared off the counter closest to the table for Aldo to set his stuff on.
“So I’ve been told many times. Do you think you can help him, Aldo?” War couldn’t help brushing a lock of Russell’s sweat and grime-covered hair off his forehead. “I’d hate to think I bothered you for no reason.”
Aldo touched War’s hand, and for the first time War noticed that Aldo wasn’t wearing his usual pair of gloves, since as Pestilence, Aldo passed diseases though his touch. Aldo was well and truly free of being a Horseman. He covered Aldo’s hand with his own and smiled at his friend.
“I’m glad you got out, and, even though your boyfriend seems a little grumpy, I’m glad you have him to come home to every night.”
“Hey, I resent that. I wouldn’t be grumpy if you didn’t come here and wake me up in the middle of the night,” Bart protested.
“Will both of you be quiet? I need to check him over.” Aldo snapped on some gloves and went to look at Russell’s leg wound first.
War and Bart took their pots to the sink, dumping out the bloody, dirty water while Aldo poked and prodded Russell. The injured man didn’t wake up, and War didn’t know if his continued unconsciousness was good or not.
“Bart, boil up some of the leaves from the red pouch in my bag, then mash them up with the leaves from the green pouch. I’ll make a poultice for his wound. I don’t have the supplies to sew it up. It’s a clean through-and-through. It looked like there was a lot of blood, but from what I can see the bullet didn’t hit anything vital.” Aldo looked up at War. “You should have taken him to a hospital.”
He nodded. “I know that and I’ll do that when you’re done with him. The horse brought us to your house. Even if I had thought of you, I wouldn’t have brought Russell here. No offence, Aldo, but he needs to see a practising doctor.”
Bart snorted while he worked on making up the poultice. “He does practise medicine, just not the kind that could help you. He’s the leading infectious diseases authority in the world.”
“Good for him.” War refrained from rolling his eyes. “I appreciate everything you’re doing, both of you. Just make sure his injuries aren’t life-threatening, patch him up, and I’ll take him to an hospital. Why hasn’t he regained consciousness?”
“I think the trip you took from the mountains to here probably overwhelmed his already compromised system. His mind couldn’t handle any more, so it sort of checked out.” Aldo shook his head. “I know whenever I rode my horse I never remembered the trip. It’s like we black out ourselves and the horses can take us wherever they want.”
“I’ve been lucky enough that mine usually takes me home,” War joked.
Silence filled the air while Aldo finished taking care of Russell. After the bandaging had been completed and since the internal injuries needed to be seen at a hospital, War swept Russell up in his arms and walked outside.
His stallion stood in the shadows of the trees, staring intently at him as he stalked across the yard. Their eyes met and War didn’t blink.
“This time take me to a field hospital, not a former Horseman. Russell needs actual medical care.”
The horse snorted, but War didn’t know if it was in agreement or if it was just reacting to his tone. Aldo followed him.
“Hand him to me and I’ll hold him while you mount.”
War did it and took Russell back in his arms after he’d settled in the saddle. He stared down at Aldo, the ex-White Horseman.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for us, Aldo. Tell your partner I thank him. I’m happy for you. Enjoy your life. You deserve it.”
Aldo reached up and rested his hand on War’s forearm. “You deserve to be happy, War. Trust me when I say you’ll find it soon.”
War grinned, but there wasn’t any humour in his smile. Of all the Horsemen, he deserved to be happy the least. He’d killed a tribe of people on the strength of the lies of his best friend. No one should have a good life after that.
“Maybe I’ll see you again some time.”
Aldo stepped back and the horse reared before leaping into the sky. Thunder shook the quiet neighbourhood and a flash of lightning bathed the houses in silver beams for an instant.

The sound of shoes squeaking on a floor startled Russell and he shot up in the soft bed. Bed? He glanced wildly around, trying to figure out where he was. Obviously, he wasn’t still on the ledge out in the mountains. There were walls and floors. He lay in a bed with sheets and pillows.

Looking down, he realised he wore boxers, but no shirt. Bruises covered and marred his chest while a pristine bandage was wrapped around his left thigh.
How had he got to the room? The last thing he remembered was looking up into the black eyes of a red-haired man crouched next to him. He remembered pleading with the man not to let him die alone. Maybe the man had brought him here, or maybe he was still dreaming.
Someone entered the room and Russell looked up to find a nurse standing at the foot of his bed. She flipped through his chart before smiling up at him.
“I see you’re finally awake. We were starting to get worried.”
He frowned. “Where am I? How long have I been out? How did I get to wherever I am?”
Laughing, she held up her hand to stop the outpouring of questions. “Whoa. Take it easy, soldier. All answers shall be revealed in time. First I have to ask you. What’s your name? Do you know what year it is?”
“My name is Russell Heinz. I was born in Kansas on August 24th, 1986. It’s 2011 and Obama’s President.”
“Good to know nothing is wrong with your memory. My name’s Mari and I’ll be taking care of you this shift.” She checked his vitals before lifting the sheet to poke at his bandage.
“The only thing I don’t remember is how the hell I got here and you still haven’t told me where here is.”
“You’re in Landstuhl, Germany, and in the hospital here. I’m not sure how you got here, but I’ve been on vacation for a week or so. Since I’ve been back, no one’s told me anything about where the new arrivals came from, though I assume you were wounded somewhere in Afghanistan.”
He nodded, but confusion reigned while she finished updating his charts. Mari smiled at him.
“The doctor will come in and check you out. Then we’ll see about getting you some solid food. It’s been a few days since you’ve eaten, I’m sure.”
Russell’s stomach chose to grumble right then, and they both chuckled. Mari left and Russell leant back, closing his eyes while he tried to figure out how the hell he’d got to Germany from Afghanistan without ever waking up or having any kind of knowledge that he’d been flying.
Where had the red-haired man come from? One minute there hadn’t been anyone around. The next thing he knew, an unusual-looking man had been crouching over him. Black eyes, bright red hair, and a timeless look about him in his leather leggings and tight vest. He wore a dagger strapped to his right thigh. Dark skinned with scars marring his chest and arms. The man had been a warrior, but not one Russell had ever come across before. He definitely didn’t look like the Hillmen the army had fought against during Russell’s latest tour.
After he’d begged not to be left to die on his own, the stranger had whistled and a red horse had appeared on the ledge as well. Russell had thought their combined weight would bring their perch down, but it was as though the man and animal had weighed nothing. The warrior had swept Russell up in his arms and mounted the horse.
‘Close your eyes’ played through Russell’s mind in an accent he didn’t recognise. It was definitely foreign, but not one he’d heard before. Closing his eyes was the last thing he remembered until he’d woken up in the hospital.
“Sergeant Heinz, it’s nice of you to join us.”
He opened his eyes and studied the man strolling briskly into his room.
“You must be the doctor,” Russell commented as the man pulled out his chart and checked it.
“I’m Doctor Simpson. What gave me away?” Simpson’s tired brown eyes sparkled for a moment.
“The white coat. Bags under your eyes, and the way you rushed in here like you’re an hour late for an important meeting.” Russell shrugged when Simpson raised an eyebrow at him. “All the doctors I know act that way.”
“Ah, it’s an occupational hazard I guess.” Simpson tugged the sheet off Russell’s lap and started to peel off the bandage. “Do you know you arrived here at the hospital with a very professional bandage around your thigh?”
“No, I didn’t know that. To be honest, I don’t remember much after getting shot and falling down the side of the mountain.”
Simpson studied the stitches and the area around the wound. “Yeah, we were kind of worried when you didn’t wake up. You’ve been here two days and nothing until just now. Not sure what happened. I couldn’t find any sort of bruise or lump on your head to explain it. Also, there was some strange kind of poultice on your wound, like folk medicine or something. We sent a sample to the lab for them to figure out what was in it, but they couldn’t find anything known.”
Russell bit the inside of his mouth to keep from crying out as Simpson touched his tender flesh. The doctor continued talking, but Russell blocked him out while he tried to keep from being swamped by the pain.
“We’ve been wondering who might have found you. Your unit said you disappeared during a mission for over twenty-four hours. Then your CO walked out of his tent and there you were, lying unconscious, but still alive.” Simpson replaced the gauze and covered Russell back up. “Someone must have found you and known where to take you.”
“I don’t remember anything.”
He wasn’t about to admit seeing the red-haired man. Not if it meant he’d have to spend more time in the hospital. Hell, he’d only been awake for thirty minutes and he wanted to leave already.
“I don’t suppose you would.” Simpson finished his evaluation and scribbled something down on Russell’s chart. “I’ll be back to see you tomorrow morning. Your injuries aren’t lifethreatening any more, but they do need some time to heal. You’ll be back with your unit in a month.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
Russell settled back in his bed and let his exhaustion wash over him. As he slipped off to sleep, he thanked God for not letting him die. It didn’t matter who had saved him or how. All that was important was the fact that he was alive. Tomorrow he’d ask if he could call his parents. It would be good to hear their voices.