The Four Horsemen 2 - War (4 page)

Night had fallen when Russell opened his eyes next. The room was dark and the hallway dimly lit. The only sounds he could make out were from the machines hooked to his body. He stared up at the shadowy ceiling, working out in his mind again where he was and why. What had woken him up?

The sensation of someone staring at him finally got him to turn his head. A figure stood in the corner of his room. Who would be standing there, watching him like that? He reached out to grab the call button. He hoped it wasn’t anyone dangerous, because he didn’t want to get the nurses hurt.

Russell frowned as the heavily accented command was issued from the dark. His hand hovered over the button, but he didn’t push it. Something familiar about the voice tickled his memory.

“I came to see how you were doing.”
“Come out in the light where I can see you,” he suggested.
The stranger shook his head. “It’s best you don’t see me.”
Putting his hands down, Russell levered himself to a sitting position, but not without

pain. The shadow rushed from the corner to operate the bed, making it come up to support him. Causing himself pain to get the man to move wasn’t the best idea Russell had ever had, but it had worked.

“Shit. You weren’t supposed to remember me,” the man muttered as he slipped back into the darkness.
“Right. I might have been injured and sure I was going to die, but there’s no way I was going to forget you. I’ll admit I thought I’d imagined you, though.”
The man snorted. “I get that reaction a lot from people who actually see me.”
“Actually see you? What are you, like the Angel of Death or something?” Russell shifted in the bed, grimacing as the ache from his wound grew.
“Something like that.” The man eased closer, still sticking to the corner where he couldn’t be seen.
Russell hoped his nurse didn’t stop by on her nightly rounds. For some reason, he didn’t want his visitor to leave him. It didn’t matter that the man was a complete stranger or that they’d never talked except for once before on the mountain.
“The doctor said when I showed up at my base in Afghanistan I had some strange poultice on my wound. They figured it was some kind of folk remedy.”
Bracing a shoulder against the wall, the man folded his arms over his chest and chuckled. “Did they figure out what it was made of?”
“No. It’s a puzzle and I can’t help them because I wasn’t awake for it. What do I call you?”
“Call me whatever you like.”
Russell heard the shrug and the evasion in his voice.
“Okay, so Red, do you know where the plants came from that made up the poultice?” He grinned at the huff of annoyance Red gave at Russell’s nickname for him.
“I can’t say I’m happy with Red,” he admitted.
“Then tell me your name or I’ll just keep calling you that. What did you expect considering the colour of your hair?” Russell picked at the frayed edges of the sheets covering him.
“True.” Red stepped closer to him, bringing the smell of grass and heat with him. “I have a good guess where they came from, but I’m not sure I should tell you. It’ll just confuse the hell out of you and the doctors.”
Tilting his head, Russell tried to catch Red’s gaze, but Red wouldn’t look directly at him. Russell wanted to see if Red’s eyes really were all black without any whites to them. Yet, if they were, what did it mean? Was Red a real person or merely a figment of Russell’s weary brain? Did he have enough imagination to create a person who looked like Red?
“How did you and your horse get down on that ledge with me? Why didn’t the ledge break and why didn’t we fall off it?”
Red snorted. “I knew coming here wasn’t a good idea. Too many questions and I can’t answer any of them.”
“Why’d you come to visit me anyway?” Russell clenched his hands, fighting the urge to touch Red, who by now stood right next to Russell’s bed.
Broad shoulders lifted in a shrug as Red stared down at Russell’s blanket-covered thigh. “Not sure. You’re not the first soldier I’ve rescued. Yet you’re the first one I can’t forget.”
The confession slipped out almost as though something had forced it from Red’s throat. Red’s entire body relaxed and Russell finally caught his gaze.
Deep and dark like a starless Kansas night sky, Red’s eyes held Russell trapped. He sank into them, seeing guilt, fear, loneliness, and a surprising flare of desire swirling in the shadows of Red’s gaze. Weird to think he could see all that in the blackness.
He didn’t understand the fear and the other more serious emotions floating in the sea of Red’s eyes, but he’d been feeling desire for Red since the first moment he’d seen him on the ledge. He thought it had been a little twisted to lust after someone when he’d been dying. Not like he could control himself at that point, though.
A burning in his lungs informed Russell that he’d forgotten to breathe. He gasped and the crisp warm scent of prairie grass filled his nose.
“You smell like Kansas,” he blurted.
Frowning, Red rested his hand on Russell’s forehead. “Are you feeling all right?”
Red touching him was sure to drive his body temperature up and Russell could feel his cheeks heat.
“I’m fine. You smell like the grass plains I used to play in when I lived in Kansas. I’ve never had anyone remind me of home before.”
Red’s touch turned into a caress as he trailed his fingers down Russell’s temple to his jaw. “It might be because I live on the steppes of Mongolia.”
“You’re Mongolian?”
“I might be. You know there are Mongolian troops serving in Afghanistan.”
Russell shook his head. “I didn’t know that, but you don’t look Mongolian. You look more Middle Eastern than anything.”
“Good guess. My tribe was originally from the deserts of Saudi Arabia. Most of us are no longer nomads or Bedouin. They live in houses and go to work in buildings. They’ve lost their connection to the land and to their horses.” Red removed his hand from Russell’s face and took a few steps away.
“Is that why you live in Mongolia? You can still live a nomadic lifestyle and raise horses?”
If the man was in his imagination he should start writing books, because he apparently had quite a vivid one.
“Are you real? I’m not dreaming or anything, am I?”
Red stopped and turned to look at him. “Would you prefer I be real or a dream?”
“Something tells me we probably won’t see each other again, so maybe it would be best if you’re a dream. Then I won’t be disappointed about never being kissed by you.”
Russell stared in shock at Red. Where the hell had that come from? He didn’t blurt out his attraction to other men, especially not in a military hospital where anyone passing by could hear and get him discharged. While Red’s touch told him Red was probably gay, he really shouldn’t have said anything like that without knowing for sure. He wasn’t in any shape to defend himself if Red got mad at him.
Red prowled closer with a grin on his face. “We can’t have you being disappointed. It might impede your healing.”
Russell didn’t know what to do as Red braced his hands on both sides of the bed next to Russell’s head. Licking suddenly dry lips, Russell peered into Red’s dark eyes, trying to discover if Red was messing with him or if Red really did mean to kiss him.
Footsteps coming down the hall caused Red to pull away and seemingly melt into the shadows in the corner. A nurse wandered in, barely covering her yawn as she pulled out his chart. She didn’t even glance in Red’s direction. Did she not see him or wasn’t he there any more?
“Well, Sergeant Heinz, I’m sorry to see you awake, but I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t have to wake you up.” She checked his vitals, made sure his bandage was good, and plumped his pillows before strolling out as quickly as she’d come in.
He waited until he was sure she couldn’t hear him. “Red, are you still here?”
No answer. Russell sighed. Maybe Red had merely been a dream. A very vivid one with smell and touch, which Russell rarely had in his dreams.
“Well, shit,” he muttered. “Figures I’d dream a guy like that.”
A brush of a boot on linoleum brought his attention back to the corner and his pulse raced as Red emerged from the blackness. The man moved with otherworldly grace and stalked Russell. Unfortunately, Russell couldn’t run—not that he was inclined to do so.
He gripped his sheets as Red drew nearer.
“I need to go. I’ll get in trouble for being here this long and letting you see me again,” Red murmured and leaned over Russell, his gaze fastened on Russell’s lips.
“Okay. Thanks for stopping by and checking on me.” Russell licked his lips, hoping and praying that Red kissed him before he left.
Red pressed their lips together, and every thought fled Russell’s brain. All he could think about was how gentle the kiss was, almost like Red didn’t want to push too hard or go too far. Russell reached up with a trembling hand to run his fingers through Red’s curls.
A low moan vibrated between them and Russell didn’t know if it came from him or Red. Russell opened his mouth further and Red’s tongue swept in like a conquering army to tease and tempt Russell down a path he hadn’t been on in a year.
Coughing came from down the hall and Red pulled away. Reluctantly, Russell let his hand drop to the bed, though he wanted to touch his fingers to his lips. Red studied him like he was memorising every inch of Russell’s face.
“Don’t fall down any more mountains, Russell Heinz. I might not be there to save you next time.”
Russell nodded and managed to drag up a smile from somewhere. “I’ll try not to get in the way of any more bullets.”
“Good night, Russell. Try to get some sleep. You’ll be going back to your unit soon.”
Instead of leaving by the door, Red returned to the darkest corner of the room and Russell swore the man dissolved into shadows. Russell rubbed his eyes, but wasn’t too surprised. Every instinct he had told him there was something different about Red, and, Red’s presence screamed that he had knowledge of things Russell could only guess at.
His mind skipped to what Red had said. He would be going back to his unit soon? The doctor had said it would be a month before his leg had healed well enough for him to return to the fighting. He didn’t consider that as ‘soon’. Did Red know something Russell’s doctor didn’t?
The sound of running and a commotion drew his attention to the hallway as nurses and doctors hurried to a room farther down from his. Russell thanked God his injuries weren’t so bad; he wasn’t at risk of losing his life. He was bruised and sore, but he would get better. There were others in the hospital worse off than him.
God, he hated fighting and bloodshed. Why was war the only way humans seemed able to settle their differences? He grunted as he shifted on the suddenly uncomfortable mattress. He lowered the back of the bed and wiggled to get in the perfect position for falling asleep. Exhaustion welled in him. He didn’t have the energy to solve the world’s problems tonight. Maybe when he woke up in the morning he’d be able to figure out how to keep people from killing each other, even though it was something that had been happening for millennia.
Russell let his mind drift back to the kiss Red had given him. Of course, the guys he’d hooked up with before that hadn’t really been into kissing. They’d been into getting off as quickly as possible. Russell had been like them, too, and he hadn’t suddenly changed or anything, but he’d forgotten how arousing and pleasant a kiss could be. He might have to include kissing in his encounters from now on. His eyes drifted shut as he relived the feel of Red’s lips on his.

War didn’t meet his fellow Horseman’s gaze. He stared out over the flat landscape, not seeing any of it. He could still feel Russell’s hand in his hair and Russell’s mouth as he’d kissed him.

Death grabbed his arm and turned to him, so they faced each other. “Look at me, War. Why did you go back to see him? It’s bad enough you rescued him when he should have died, but to go and visit him…? To let him see you and talk to you? What the hell were you thinking?”

He shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. I still can’t.”
“You’ve seen hundreds of thousands of soldiers killed or wounded. Why is he any different from them?”
“I guess because he saw me. I wasn’t standing on a hillside overlooking the battlefield. I was right beside him and smelt his blood. I saw his fear and it touched me.” War paused and narrowed his eyes as he stared at Death. “You sent me there. You told me the exact spot to be. Did you know Russell would be there?”
Death snorted. “How would I know anything about one single soldier? I don’t concern myself with individuals, only large groups of dead people. You can’t go back to see him again. It’s against the rules.”
“I don’t remember reading that particular one in the rule book. I think you make things up to keep us in line.” War whirled away from the Pale Rider. “Even though you’re the
de facto
leader of the Horsemen, I’ve been doing this far longer than you have. I’m getting tired of it and I wish I knew the way out.”
“You do know the way out,” Death reminded him. “You know it works, but you don’t believe you deserve it. War, you carry a great deal of guilt in your soul, so you think being a Horseman is fitting punishment for your imaginary crimes. Until you change your beliefs, you’ll continue on the path you walk now.”
Russell might intrigue him, but, if the mortal discovered what War had done, Russell wouldn’t be interested in him any more. Even though he’d gone to war for what he’d thought were the right reasons, killing his enemies had put a black mark on his soul. He’d never really enjoyed going to battle, though he’d been a warrior all of his life. He would have rather gone hunting for food than people.
“Stop brooding. We need to go. The war isn’t over with yet and there are battles needing to be fought.” Death whistled and his ash-grey stallion trotted over to him.
War’s mount joined them with a neigh. He wished he could refuse and go back to Mongolia to wander with his herd of horses, but it wasn’t possible because Death would drag his ass off to wherever they were going. As the leader of the Horsemen, no one said no to the Pale Rider.
He swung astride and settled into the saddle. Death kicked his horse and they leapt into the sky. Thunder crashed and lightning streaked across the grey sky. War’s stallion tensed, ready for the order to go.
Staring one last time out into the wasteland, War fought the urge to stay where he was. Nothing existed in the land where the Horsemen met. No plant life or animals, yet in a solitary, serene way, it soothed him. Much like the steppes he lived on, though his home was covered in grass. It also reminded him of his ancestral land, though it had been sand and heat, but it had been isolated like this.
“Where is this?” he asked his horse, not expecting any sort of answer.
“It’s the world between the worlds.”
He jumped at the unexpected voice. Glancing around him, he didn’t see anyone. “Who said that?”
“I did.” His horse looked back at him with a suspicious twinkle in his blood-red eyes.
“You can talk? Why didn’t I know that?” He tightened his grip on the reins.
The stallion shook his head. “Yes, I can talk, but only here in this world. You didn’t need to know. I have nothing to contribute to your adventures. I’m merely here to provide transportation.”
War chuckled. “I have so many questions.”
“We don’t have time for the answers. We must go before Death comes back for us. He doesn’t like being ignored or dismissed.”
“Can all of you talk?”
Lifting his head up and down, the stallion neighed. “Yes, but we choose not to, even to our own riders. Now let’s go.”
Without any encouragement from War, the stallion leapt into the air and disappeared. Thunder rolled through the arid land.