Death in the City (6 page)

“Death, it has been too long,” said Pestilence in a gurgling, biting voice. “Lately I’ve been long gone before you come around. Not like the plague days, eh? We have to bring that back sometime. I’ve never had so much fun—or been so drunk.”

The memory put a smile on Death’s face, but he was too preoccupied with Pestilence having found him in his retirement home for it to last very long. “I suppose you’ve heard of my resignation,” he said warily.

Pestilence also put away his grin. “I did. I have to admit, Death, the higher ups aren’t too happy. There’s been a lot of talk about how much this is going to throw everything off. You know how close the Apocalypse was approaching.”

“I know, I know,” said Death quietly, stroking his chin with his hand and staring out his window, his eyes fixed on a billboard for Shellock Aspirin. “Why don’t you come in? I have some beer for us.”

Death and Pestilence walked into the kitchen and Death cracked open two beers. Pestilence took a sip and cringed. Death let the liquid slide to the back of his throat to avert his taste buds. “Wow, awful,” said Pestilence, holding it up to the light as though inspecting for a forgery. “I love a good drink, but I’ll stick to War’s gin, thank you. Humans don’t know what they’re doing.”

“Seriously,” said Death. They set the bottles on the kitchen table and sat down.

“Alright, Death, I really think we need to talk about this,” said Pestilence, folding his hands together. “This isn’t going to look good if you retire. You have way too much responsibility. I mean, don’t tell him I said this, but we could probably deal with Famine’s resignation. You’re much too essential, though.”

“I just can’t do it anymore,” said Death in a pitiful voice that made Pestilence feel a little awkward. “I’m so bored of it all. Aren’t you?”

“No, not really,” said Pestilence. “I love it, actually. It’s a lot of fun.”

“Well yeah, at least you get to be creative with it,” said Death. “You’re a regular artist with that stuff.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” said Pestilence, resting a hand on Death’s shoulder. The touch was dry, almost course. “Remember the woman who got the two-by-four through the windshield? We’re still talking about that one.”

“That’s not really me, though,” said Death. “All that sort of happens by chance. I just decide what happens afterwards.”

“Hm,” said Pestilence, retracting his hand and folding his fingers together again. “Well, life here can’t be all that much better. Humans are weak, and they have no idea what is going on around them. They’re too caught up in such petty little things.”

“No,” said Death, standing up and wheeling around the table to face the window. “Most humans are super nice, like my friend Tim. And there are cafes with nice waitresses, and men and women go on dates, and you can slice meats as a job and then give your paycheck to someone nice. Being in the city is plenty of fun.”

“More fun than spreading disease everywhere?” asked Pestilence with an eyebrow raised.

“Of course,” exclaimed Death. “Yes, yes, of course! Why don’t I show you how much fun it can be?”

“I don’t know, Death, I really should get back to business.”

“Just for the day, then you can go right back to what you were doing.”

Pestilence considered for a moment, placing his chin down on his fists and peering at a stain on the wooden tabletop. “I guess it couldn’t hurt, for one day.”

“Great,” said Death, a wide smile breaking across his ancient face. “Let’s go fetch War and Famine and I’ll show all of you around the city.” He was so happy that he was nearly dancing across the house as he went to his bedroom to change into his suit. When he was finished, he turned around to see Brian standing in the doorway.

“Oh yo,” he slurred. “I got some friends coming over today. I figured you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all,” said Death. “So do I.” Brian nodded and walked back in his room. Death met Pestilence in the kitchen and they took off.

War was easy to find; he was in Sierra Leone stirring up civil unrest. He, too, had been confused by the significant lack of death in the area as the rebel uprising raged on for weeks. Death and Pestilence recognized him immediately; believe it or not, War is a short, wide little man with a chubby face and tuxedo, complete with top hat. Famine was less easy to find in Uganda, but the other three Horsemen ended up discovering him in a hut by the Nile. He donned his usual burlap sack and appeared thinner and paler than the Horsemen remembered. “You look great,” said War, for he had not seen the rather evasive Horseman in quite some time.

They all returned to 55 Macci Street a little before noon. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse stood in Death’s kitchen, all agreeing to take the day off but disagreeing on what to do with it. Famine was quite adamant about getting ice cream, but Pestilence disagreed, stating his great desire to go to a record store, buy some Blue Oyster Cult albums, and get drunk. War was being generally unpleasant and ornery, but thought that a peaceful day at the beach was in order. Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell silenced them.

Brian bounded out of his room. He stumbled into the couch and limped forward shouting obscenities as he opened the door. Five men stood in the threshold. As Brian turned to show them in, he jumped in fright at the sight of the four entities in front of him. “Oh, yo, Derek,” he said hazily. One of this friends peered around him, crossing his arms and trying to look intimidating. When Pestilence waved, the man took a few steps back. “These are my friends: Dino, Basey, Chando, Faxt, and Ted. Guys, this is Derek, and…”

“Oh, uh, Pestilence, War, and Famine,” said Death, pointing to each respective Horseman as they smiled and waved.

“Huh,” said Brian, swaying on the spot slightly, then turned to his greasy friends. “Come on into my room, guys. I got some great stuff for you.”

Death turned back to face the other Horsemen and said, “Listen, there is plenty to do in the city and we have all day ahead of us. Why don’t we just go out and start shopping? Then we can figure things out from there.” He stood looking at them with hopeful satisfaction, his eyebrows raised and arms outstretched. “What do you say?”

One by one grins broke across their faces and they nodded, and soon Death was leading them out the door, nearly jogging his way outside as they followed. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse stood on the sidewalk, a full day of fun and relaxation ahead of them. Meanwhile, the human beings of the world had a day off from sickness, fighting, hunger, and of course from death itself.

Death led his old friends to the supermarket. He knew he had a paycheck waiting and, to his pleasure, he was able to cash in four hundred and fifty dollars. Pleased with his newfound knowledge of the monetary system, he gave each of them a hundred dollars and tossed the remaining fifty to the man standing outside the door, who laughed and danced at Death’s generosity. As the Horsemen began their day off, soldiers shook hands, the poorest of nations found food in the most obvious of places, and doctors and pharmaceutical companies worried about loss of income.

The four old friends found themselves in front of a large department store by the river and decided to go in. War immediately went to check out the leather bags and Famine was on the trail of some good looking girls while Pestilence and Death stuck together in the shoe department.

“Hm, cowboy boots,” said Pestilence, holding a pair of black boots with engraved silver toes up to the shine of the unnaturally white store lights. “I always did want to get a pair.”

“They’re kind of catching on here, but they’ve always been super popular in the southern and western United States,” said Death, proud of his newfound fashion sense.

“I’m not there often,” said Pestilence quietly, wistfully.

“Hey you two,” called War. He was walking towards them, his gut bulging out as his arms swung by his side. “You need to check out the deal on these bags, it is outrageous.”

“Okay, let’s go,” said Pestilence.

“Where’d Famine go?” asked Death. War proudly showed them a leather briefcase for only $85, which Pestilence ran his finger across admiringly.

“Nice, huh?” said War. “And this one here would match my hat.” He pulled at his top hat as a voice sounded from behind them.

“Hey guys, how’s it going?” It was Famine, walking up to his three friends, looking smug and holding a bag of salt and vinegar chips. “I found one of those vending machines by the bathroom, I can’t get enough of these chips. I had sour cream and onion, cheddar jalapeño, now I’m giving salt and vinegar a shot. So many different flavors. Who knew?”

“Come on, Famine, you must get some nice clothes,” said War, tugging at Famine’s burlap sack. Famine pushed his hand away and took a step towards Pestilence and Death.

“Well, obviously it doesn’t matter, because I just got this great-looking girl’s number.” He held up a small strip of paper that had seven digits scrawled across it. A horse-like smile barely visible under his ginger beard appeared on his face.

“What?” asked Pestilence. “How?”

“Guess she thought I was a looker,” said Famine, licking his index and pinky fingers on his right hand and running them across his eyebrows. “She was great. One of those hippies. Long hair, long orange dress.”

“Always on about the hippie girls,” said War.

“Of course,” said Famine. “They keep me in business. They’re always protesting genetically modified foods, and when it works none of the poor countries get any chow. They don’t realize that if it weren’t for the organic-only diet they’re pushing on the rest of the world, I wouldn’t even exist. They practically do my job for me, so I owe them one with my good looks and charm.” Pestilence chuckled as Death smiled at what a great time they were having.

The Four Horsemen strolled around the city, War holding his new black leather briefcase, under a sun that crossed the sky much too quickly. They found themselves talking almost constantly, not just about work but about trivial matters (Famine’s new girlfriend, War’s new purchase, Pestilence’s weekend in Burma) and laughing frequently. Death was the happiest he had been in a millennia.

“Can we go in there now?” asked Pestilence, pointing to a shoe store. “I really regret not getting those boots. It’s not like I’m spreading much disease in the South lately, especially since I stopped doing the big Yellow Fever scares. Might be my last chance in a while.”

“You three go, I want to check out that bathing suit store I saw,” said Famine.

“Oh, let me go with you, I’d love to try a few on,” said War.

Pestilence emerged from the store with a pair of two-toned black and brown boots, which came to $95. Famine bought three bags of chips, seven candy bars, three turnips, five jars of olives, and a pair of leather pants, which he wore proudly with his burlap sack now in a dumpster somewhere. Death bought a candy bar and a milkshake. He was so happy for his three friends that he did not even think to make his own purchases.

The four moved on, bragging about their purchases. Pestilence said he needed to break the boots in a little more before they would become very comfortable. Famine was excited about his new pants and his half-finished Flake Bar. War commented about how a nice leather bag could last decades, even during wartime. Above all, Death was satisfied to know that work seemed to have fled their minds. And as they all stopped in a park to enjoy the nice weather and greenery, Death looked up to see the golden dome of city hall hovering over the surrounding buildings. He thought that they would need one last bit of convincing to retire to city life.

“I have an idea,” said Death, breaking the others’ concentration on the lovely pond full of ducks in front of them. “My friend told me about this great bakery across the bridge. We all have a little money left; what do you say we get some of their world famous croissants?”

The others agreed, Famine enthusiastically so, and Death led them to the PennPenny Bridge.

On any given day, Death knew the bridge to be swarming with people, but on this particular late Saturday afternoon, the bridge was not even visible through the throng of tourists and busy locals. Death laughed at the sight of Famine’s wide eyes and Pestilence’s hanging jaw (out of which a few dozen moths idly drifted). War fixed his hat to center upon his head and held both of his lapels.

“Wow, man,” said Famine, his eyes following a woman who had to climb up a large hulking man and go over the pack of people in a crowd surf. “This is ridiculous.”

“Isn’t it?” said Death. “Well, the bakery is on the other side there. See the white building just overhead? Famine, you try it first, you’re the skinniest of all of us.” Famine nodded and slowly trudged through the crowd. As he went, he left in his wake people of all colors and creeds falling over, clutching their stomachs and heads. Grown men whimpered and elderly women shook all over. Children clung to their parents’ legs as they struggled for survival, and rapidly everyone began losing weight until they looked positively sickly. As they all laid in agony, some with arms outstretched and some with glazed and sleepy looks in their eyes, Famine called from the other side of the bridge.

“Made it, you guys! Come on over!”

Pestilence crossed next, and the people, if not made miserable enough by the previous crossing, were plenty dejected by the coughing, gagging, convulsing, and delirium caused by this next trek. Some rolled over, writhing in absolute agony. Others coughed until they passed out. Many openly wept. Luckily, Pestilence had an easier time crossing than Famine because the crowd was more or less lying down. But the diseases spread easily and effectively, for, after all these years, Pestilence was still the best at what he did.