The 13th Horseman (18 page)

D
RAKE BLINKED BOTH
his eyes. He could do that, at least. That was something.

He was lying on his back. Mel was lying on his front, his arms holding her against him. The robe was on the ground beneath them. He didn’t have the energy to try to figure out how. He looked up and saw three concerned faces looking down at him.

“Oh, thank God,” Pest said, letting out a breath he had been holding on to for a long time. “You’re OK.”

“Welcome back,” War said. “Good catch.”

“Biscuit?” asked Famine, holding out a packet of digestives.

Pestilence and War looked at the fat man in quiet amazement. “Well, there’s a first,” Pest said. He reached for the packet. “I’ll have one, if it’s going.”

“Shove off,” Famine grunted, pulling the packet back. “I wasn’t asking you. I was asking Drake and his lady friend.”

“I’m OK, thanks,” Drake said. He tried a laugh. It didn’t hurt
too
badly. “What about you, Mel?”

Mel did not answer.

“Mel?”

Drake craned his neck so he could look at her. Her eyes were closed. The muscles in her face were slack. “Mel?” Drake said again, and he could hear the desperation in his own voice this time.

“Get her on her back,” Famine said, nudging War. “Check her pulse.”

Drake scrambled to his feet as Mel was lifted off him. He watched, saw nothing else, as War pressed two fingers against Mel’s throat, then gave a single slow shake of his head.

“N-no, but I saved her,” Drake stammered. “I caught her. I saved her.”

Pest took hold of his arm, holding him back. “The fall itself...” he said softly. “Humans, they’re fragile. The fall itself could’ve done it. There’s nothing you could have done. There’s nothing anyone could do.”

Famine licked his rubbery lips, then wiped the saliva away with the back of his arm. “Yes, there is,” he said. “Rules of First Aid. Step one, check for dangers.” All but Drake glanced up at the robot. “We won’t count that one,” Famine decided. “Step two—”

“Just hurry up!” Drake cried.

“All right, all right, keep your hair on,” Famine muttered, as he dropped to his knees. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, warming up, then he tilted back Mel’s head, clamped his lips over hers, and blew.

One breath, that was all it took. She coughed, spluttered, sat up, stared, then slumped back down again, her eyes closing as she fell. War checked again for a pulse. This time, he nodded.

Famine licked a finger, pressed it against the side of his face, and made a hissing sound, like water becoming steam.

“She reacted quickly to that,” War said.

Pest shuddered. “Do you blame the girl?”

Drake was down on his knees. He hugged Famine. Or rather, he hugged a small percentage of Famine. The rest would have to wait.

“Mel,” he said, but the word came out as a sob. He placed a hand on her face. He could feel her moving beneath his touch, as her breath came and went. “You’re going to be OK,” he whispered. He became aware that his cheeks were wet with tears. “You’re going to be OK.”

Her eyelids flickered, then opened. “Hey, Chief,” she croaked. “What... what happened?”

Drake resisted the urge to glance at Famine. “Trust me,” he said. “You don’t want to know.”

She tried to sit up, but pain twisted her face and she lay back down. Her eyes swam for a moment, but she forced them to focus on Drake’s face. “Did you stop him?”

“Not yet.”

“Then what are you waiting for? We had a deal, remember?”

Drake nodded and smiled grimly. “I remember.”

From the noise she made, Drake knew it hurt, but Mel forced her head and shoulders up until she could kiss him on the cheek. “Go get him, Drake,” she said.

“Can we hurry this up, do you think?” War muttered. “I’m three seconds away from puking in my own beard.”

“Oh, stop teasing him,” Pest said, slapping War on the arm. “Can’t you see? The boy’s in love!”

“
What?
” Drake spluttered, his face reddening.

“Listen, if you ever need any advice, Drake, come and see me,” Famine told him, then he winked and tapped his nose. “I know a thing or three.”

“Will everyone
please
shut up?” War growled. “We’ve still got the big metal bugger there to deal with, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Drake joined War in staring up at the mechanoid. “Any ideas? Could you, like, chop its feet off or something?”

“Doubt the sword will get through that,” War said.

“I could eat it,” Famine suggested. “But it might take a while,” he admitted.

“We have to do
something
,” Pest said.

But the robot did something instead. Its foot lifted into the air as it began to stride forward once more. The horsemen watched the foot pass above them, before it slammed down on top of a parked car, sending all four tyres rolling along the road.

The machine paused then, before its arms raised out in front of it, first one, then the other. It twisted at the waist, then its head jerked round until it was facing the wrong way.

With a loud
clank
, the head and the torso snapped back to face the front again, just as the other leg lifted into the air.

“What’s it playing at?” War growled. “It’s going mental.”

“It must be the souls,” Drake said, peering up. He could see blue streaks looping around at the top of the robot’s head. “I set the souls free. They’re running riot up there. They must’ve damaged the controls. We need to bring it down before it trashes the whole town.”

“But how?” Pest asked.

Drake’s mind raced. There was something else about his two visits to Sunday School. Something else that had been covered in the puppet show. A sort of mini-show, before the Jesus and the Leper main event. What was it? What was it?

“Daniel and Goliath!” he cried.

“You mean David and Goliath,” War said.

“Daniel, David, whatever,” Drake said. He looked across to one of the spheres that had fallen during the battle. War followed his gaze. Realisation slowly dawned across his bearded face. “Can you do it?” Drake asked.

With barely a grunt, War picked up the sphere. “With my eyes shut.”

“Fire away,” Drake said. “Aim for the head, like Daniel did.”

“David!”

“Whatever! Just throw it.”

War balanced the ball in one hand, then pressed it against the side of his hairy cheek. Like a shot-putter, he launched the ball skyward. They all watched as it flew up, up, up towards the robot’s head.

“Easy,” War said, flexing his muscles. “It’s home and dry.”

There was a distant
bang
as the ball smashed against the robot’s thick shell.

“Look out!” Drake cried. A rain of metal and wire and dark red liquid fell to Earth around them.

Pest stared at the falling liquid in horror. “Blood,” he whimpered. “A rain of blood. Another sign!”

“It’s not blood,” War said, touching the stuff with his fingers and smelling it. “It’s engine coolant.”

“Coolant?” Drake muttered.

“Must be to stop the spheres overheating,” War said, wiping his gloves on his trousers.

“Looks like blood to me,” fretted Pest.

“It’s
not
blood!” War bellowed. “And it’s
not
the Apocalypse.”

“It might be if we can’t stop that thing,” Drake said. The robot took another thunderous step forward. “Can you try again?”

“The balls aren’t solid enough,” War told him. “It’s no use. We need something heavier.”

“We don’t have anything heavier!”

There was the sound of a throat being cleared. “Me.”

Drake, War and Pestilence turned. Famine stood behind them, looking a little embarrassed. He smiled uncertainly. “Throw me.”

“Don’t be daft,” Pest said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s a long fall from up there,” War said. “There’s no saying you’d survive.”

Famine’s round shoulders shrugged. “There’s no saying I won’t. Besides, Drake did.”

“Aye, but you’ve... got a bit more weight behind you,” War said diplomatically.

Something like a laser blast scorched from the robot’s outstretched hand and a petrol station a hundred metres away became a ball of flame.

“Better hurry,” Famine said.

“There’s got to be another way,” Pest protested. He had found his leather cap again, and was holding it in both hands, nervously fiddling with the peak. “There’s got to be.”

“Well, we could throw you, but the wind’d carry you away,” Famine told him. Then he smiled, warmly and patted his friend on the shoulder as he passed him.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Drake.

“Not really,” Famine admitted. He turned to War. “Let’s get it over with, eh?”

War creaked his neck and stretched his muscles. “Aye,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

He caught Famine by the back of the neck and the waistband of his trousers.

“Brace yourself,” he warned, as he began to spin like a hammer thrower, twirling the fat man out in a wide circle.

“Good luck,” Famine blurted, then he very suddenly felt lighter than he had ever felt before. The ground and the other horsemen fell away. Famine laughed. He was flying, soaring, rising up and up like some beautiful, elegant bird.

WHANG!

Famine’s arms and legs formed a sort of squidgy star-shape as his body struck the head of the robot. He barely had time to utter an “ooyah” before he slid down what passed for the mechanoid’s forehead, then began the long plunge back down to Earth.

He hit the ground like a meteorite, throwing up chunks of rubble and debris in all directions. He was very relieved that it hurt. That meant he wasn’t dead. Not quite, at least.

His head went light. The world turned grey at the edges. The last thing Famine saw before he passed out was an eighty-metre tall robot ever so slowly begin to topple backwards.

D
RAKE HEARD THE
sound of cheering or screaming in the distance, he couldn’t tell which. Then he heard the indescribable sound of a giant robot falling on to a row of houses, and then, for the next few seconds, he heard nothing but the ringing in his own ears.

Drake hadn’t seen him move, but Pest was already scrabbling down the side of the crater caused by Famine’s fall.

“He’s alive!”

Even over the ringing in his ears and the sound of settling debris, Drake heard War sigh with relief.

“He’s alive, but he’s hurt,” Pest cried. “Someone fetch me a Kit-Kat.”

“We did it,” Drake said, looking over at the fallen robot.

War nodded. “Aye. Looks like it,” he said. He nodded towards where Mel was still sitting on the ground. “Go and check on her. I’ll help that pair.”

Drake didn’t hang about. He hurried over to the side of the road and knelt down by Mel. She managed a smile for him, and he gave one right back.

“It’s over,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “We stopped him. It’s over.”

Her smile widened, until it became the crinkle-nosed grin Drake would never, ever tire of seeing. “Good work,” she said. “I knew you could do it.” She thought about this. “Well,
hoped
, at least.”

Down in the crater, Pest was cradling Famine’s head. He didn’t even appear bothered by the strings of drool hanging from the fat man’s open mouth, even when they began dripping on to his leather chaps.

War slid down the last few metres of the hole and nudged Famine with his boot. “Right, wake up,” he said.

“Steady on,” Pestilence complained. “He’s hurt. Don’t be so rough. You can’t just
make
him wake up.”

“Oh, look,” said War loudly. “I’ve found a cake.”

Famine’s eyes opened. “Cake?”

War smirked. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an individually wrapped muffin. Famine took it and ate it, without bothering to unwrap it first.

“Did I do good?” Famine asked, as the other horsemen helped him to his feet.

“You did good,” War said, nodding.

“You were wonderful,” Pest enthused. He and War took an arm each and led Famine up the incline and on to the pock-marked road. They waved over to Drake. Pestilence began to say something.

That was when it hit them.

Drake didn’t see
what
hit the horsemen. The light was so blinding it forced his eyes to close, but even that couldn’t stop it burning into his retinas. He heard Mel hiss with the pain and shock of it.

When the light faded and Drake could open his eyes, War, Famine and Pestilence were face down on the ground, motionless.

Something moved in the pit behind them. Drake watched in horror as a twisted metal monstrosity
clanked
up on to the street.

It had Mr Franks’ face, but the rest of it was machine. Hydraulics hissed as it marched forward a few paces, each thunderous footstep driving a new pothole into the road. “Robotic exo-skeleton,” Mr Franks announced. “Now I
know
you weren’t expecting that.”

An arm rose. The palm of the robotic hand glowed a swirling white. Drake heard Mel gasp, turned and saw a blue light illuminate her from within. She sagged too quickly for him to catch her. She collapsed to the pavement as her soul streaked past Drake and was swallowed by the light.

“No,” Drake cried. “No!”

Mr Franks licked his lips. “Mmm, tasty, tasty!” he cackled. “That one’s going to be a meal all by itself.”

“Give her back,” Drake bellowed. He ran at the teacher. “Let her go!”

Mr Franks reached down and grabbed something from the ground. Something
whummed
towards Drake’s face. Drake twisted, but not fast enough. He felt his cheek split open and his blood fell like rain upon the ground.

“Ooh, that looks nasty,” Mr Franks grinned. He raised War’s sword triumphantly. The point drew a figure of eight in the air just a few centimetres from Drake’s nose.

“Give me back her soul, or I’m going to kill you,” Drake growled.

“See, this is how it should be!” Mr Franks cried. His eyes blazed with excitement. He was loving every minute of this. “Thrills, spills, drama, adventure. That’s what being a horseman should be about, not sitting in a shed for a thousand years playing Snap. I should have ended the world centuries ago.”

“You’re not going to end the world. We stopped you,” Drake reminded him.

“Oh, come on, Drake, you think I didn’t have a back-up plan?” He flexed the hydraulic muscles of the metal suit. “Mystical battle armour,” he crowed. “What do you think? Does everything the big robot did, but in an all-new slimline package. You were right, the giant robot was a little on the old-fashioned side, but this? This is the future.”

“I’ll tear it to pieces, with you inside.”

“Them’s fighting words!” Mr Franks laughed. With one robotic arm he reached round to his back. A long, loosely wrapped bundle of blue polythene landed on the ground at Drake’s feet. “So, let’s do this properly. Let’s settle it. A fight,” he beamed, “to the
Death
.”

Not taking his eyes off the teacher, Drake unfolded the bundle. A long-handled scythe rolled out. Its blade looked brand new, but Drake somehow sensed that the weapon was as old as time itself.

“So, you’re the one who took it.”

“The Deathblade,” Mr Franks announced. “Pick it up. Embrace your destiny. And then, I’m going to kill –” he breathed in deeply through his nose – “
everyone
.”

The wooden handle vibrated gently beneath Drake’s grip as he hoisted the Deathblade up. It stood taller than he did, but it felt almost weightless in his hands.

“Not if I kill you first,” Drake said.

“Man, I love this! It’s so...
exciting
!” Mr Franks cackled. “OK then, Drake, try to kill me. Try to save your girlfriend,” he said. With a click of his heels, two compact jet-engines unfolded from the backs of his metal-clad legs. “Catch me if you can!”

With a
roar
from his rocket-boots, Mr Franks propelled himself vertically upwards towards the clouds far, far overhead.

Drake didn’t stop to think. His hand was moving before his brain had fully realised what was happening. He curled his thumb and index finger. He put them in his mouth, and he whistled. Finally, he whistled, long and shrill and loud.

And he heard, as it were, the noise of thunder.