There was nothing on earth like flying. Horseman reveled in the bite of the cold air in his lungs—even if it happened to be sulfurous—and loved zipping fast enough to make his eyes water—even if the ash caused a stinging pain. You couldn’t do this in the tunnels, that was for sure.

He wondered what other things had been programmed in the later generations. He had more wing power, sure, better vision. He had been made stronger, bigger, and his tracking skills rivaled those of any bird of prey.

But was his smile his own? Was his joy? Did everyone feel this… utter elation when they were in the air? Did the flock? They did, he was sure.

One more thing he was fairly sure about: He hadn’t been programmed to ask these kinds of questions, which was why he’d do well to keep his mouth shut.

In fact, he’d better study up on what exactly was expected of the first Horseman if he was going to be successful on this mission. The information appeared behind his eyes as if on a screen—images of art and scholarly assessments feeding into his thoughts—and the Horseman couldn’t help grinning as he got to the interpretations.

He thought of the brooding doctor, his creator. Had his master understood the multiple meanings when he’d named A10103 his first Horseman? Did he know that the white horse could stand for both righteousness and evil?

It was going to be fun finding out.

16

YOU’D THINK DISCOVERING there were other people alive out there would leave us hopeful, revitalized, and closer than ever, right? Well, then you wouldn’t be taking into account what happens when a bunch of raging egos try to make decisions. Instead, it led to the worst knock-down, drag-out argument the flock had ever had.

“So, I guess we go to Pennsylvania first,” Iggy said. We were rummaging through the claustrophobic little cabin, taking stock of the supplies. “From what that Tunnelratt kid said, it sounds like there are more survivors there.”

“The survivors aren’t the issue,” Fang said. He was still holding the tablet, trying to get the thing turned back on. “The killers are. Why not try to find these H-men dudes first? Find out if they’re just random bots, or connected to something bigger.” He was all action, which was how I usually operated, too. “I think we should head to the coasts and—”

“We’re going to Russia,” Angel said out of the blue. She pulled her head out of a lower cupboard she had cleared out, and now sat among some rusted, battered pots and pans that wouldn’t even be of use to whack someone with.