The 13th Horseman

UNTIL VERY RECENTLY, Drake had never seen a real robot before. But it was safe to say that over the past few days, he’d seen more than his share.

But he had a nagging suspicion that the one before him now would be the last one he ever saw.

It rose from the Earth, like a slow-moving rocket with a school balanced on top. Drake didn’t realise what it was at first, not until the arms tore their way free of their concrete surround, and hands the size of Panzer tanks helped lift the rest of the metal body out from within the ground.

With a whinny of panic, War and Pest’s horses bolted. They leaped at the barrier, passing through without any problem, just as the first of the giant robot’s feet smashed down on to the ruined tarmac.

Metal groaned as the robot drew itself up to its full, towering height. The dull aluminium cladding of the extension fell away, revealing a head that was the same chrome colour as the rest of the body.

All four horsemen leaned back to look up at the machine. It stood around eighty metres in height, and fifteen or twenty across the shoulders. Decades of dust and soil crumbled away as it held its train-carriage-sized arms out to its sides and stretched its steel tendons.

“There’s something you don’t see every day,” Famine said. He took half a sandwich from beneath a roll of flab, sniffed it cautiously, then began to chew. “What’s the plan, then? We running away?”

“No,” said Drake firmly. “We’re not running away.”

“Thank God for that, my feet are killing me,” Famine said. He finished his sandwich. “So, what do we do?”

“The horses got out,” Drake said. “Maybe the barrier’s gone?”

He took a step towards it, only for War to pull him back. “Or, it means things on the inside can get out, but not the other way round.” He pointed to a spot just a few centimetres in front of Drake’s face. A faint blue light flickered in the air. “It hasn’t gone anywhere.”

“This is it, then,” Pestilence whispered. “This is how the world ends.”

Famine shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “I’ll be honest, I did not see this one coming.”

“One giant robot doesn’t make an Apocalypse,” War said. “Let’s just see what happens next.”

“No, we have to do something now. Mel’s up there,” Drake said. “We have to...”

His voice fell away. He cocked his head, listening to something he couldn’t be sure he had actually heard.

“What’s the matter?” asked Pest.

“I thought I... There,” Drake said quietly. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” said Famine, chewing thoughtfully. “That buzzing noise?”

“Yeah,” said Drake, and at that, the sky went dark.

None of them saw where the billowing mass of silver bodies came from. It was just seconds between the moment Drake heard them and the moment they blocked out the sun. It took even less time for them to swoop down and begin their attack.

There were thousands of them – tens of thousands – each one just eight or nine centimetres long. They came in on metal wings, with pin-like teeth snapping hungrily at everything in their path.

The horsemen were suddenly lost in a cloud of chittering robo-bugs. War swung with his sword. It sparked as a dozen metal bodies ricocheted like bullets off the blade. Drake saw them crash to the ground.

“Grasshoppers?” he said, shouting to make himself heard above the buzzing of mechanical wings. “A swarm of grasshoppers?”

“They’re not grasshoppers, they’re locusts,” Pest cried, in a voice bordering on hysteria. He ducked, as his leather hat was lost to the throng of bodies. “And it’s not a swarm. It’s a plague. Don’t you see? It’s another sign!”

“Techno-magic mumbo jumbo,” War spat, swinging with his sword again and bringing down a few more bugs. “That’s all. They’re not real signs – he’s doing them himself. He’s trying to—”

A tightly packed section of the swarm, or plague, or whatever it was, hit War’s chestplate with the force of a cannonball. He stumbled back, struggling for balance, before a second attack took him down.

Drake reached out a hand, but the wings and the teeth and the sleek metal bodies were a hurricane around him, preventing him from moving. He snapped the hood of the robe up over his head and kept low, trying to avoid the locusts, but they were suddenly on his back, their weight forcing him to his knees.

He clawed at the locusts in his hair and saw Famine go down beneath an even bigger pile of winged bodies. War was lying on his back on the ground, punching and kicking, but the things were moving too fast, and there were too many of them, and there was nothing, Drake realised, that they could do.

Through the haze of silver he saw Pest open his mouth, but the horseman’s scream was drowned out by the din around them. Pestilence was still on his feet, but only barely. His legs were a heaving mass of silver. His leather jacket was intact, but the clothes beneath it were ragged and torn. He staggered, thrashing around, his eyes wide and panicked and darting from bug to bug to bug as they closed in on him.

“Get off!” Pest’s cry was so shrill Drake heard it even above the angry drone of the insects. “Get off, get off, get off !”

Drake saw Pest’s gloves go up in flames. The smell of burning rubber hit the back of his throat, as green gas sprayed out from Pestilence’s fingertips.

Pest stopped screaming. Even the plague seemed to quieten a fraction, as the green fog began to form shapes in the air. They were hazy and indistinct at first, but then the shapes took form. They became tiny numbers, ones and zeroes in the air, circling round and round just beyond Pestilence’s reach.

A locust whipped through the cloud of digits and instantly began to fall. From his knees, Drake followed the bug’s flight until it clattered on the ground. Another crashed down beside it. Then another, and another.

When Drake looked back up, the air was filled with ones and zeroes. They floated through the swarm, slowly at first, but gaining purpose with each bug they hit.

Another sound replaced the droning of wings. It was the sound of hail on a tin roof, a rattling drumbeat as thousands of metal insects left the sky and arrived, quite abruptly, on the ground.

The weight on Drake’s back fell away. He got to his feet just as War jumped up. The final few locusts clattered to Earth, leaving a great big question hanging in the air.

“What the bloody Hell did you do?” War asked, as he picked robo-bugs from his beard. “I mean, not that I’m complaining.”

Pest stared at his hands. He stared at them as if they were loaded weapons, and he couldn’t quite remember where the safety catch was.

“I have absolutely no idea,” he admitted quietly. “It felt like, like a cold or a flu or something.”

“It was a virus,” Drake said. Realising it even as the words left his lips. “You made a computer virus.”

“A computer virus?” Pest raised his eyebrows. “What’s one of them, then?”

But Drake was already looking up at the giant robot, and at the force field that stood between them and it. “I’ll explain later,” he said. “We have to get in there and stop that thing.”

War sheathed his sword. “Right,” he said. “But we can’t get in.”

“So, what do we do?” mumbled Famine. He held one of the locusts between finger and thumb, and gave it a cautious sniff.

“There’s got to be some way. We have to find a way in. We have to...”

Drake’s voice fell away. He knew, in that moment, what he had to do. “I’m Death,” he said, as if realising it for the first time. “I’m Death.”

“We know,” Pest said. “You’re preaching to the converted there.”

“No, I mean I’m Death.” He looked way up at the school building, shimmering faintly through the force field. “And Death can go anywhere.”

He took five purposeful paces backwards, like a footballer preparing to take a penalty kick. “Death can go anywhere,” he said, more quietly this time, and for his own benefit.

“You sure about this?” War asked him.

A large part of Drake’s brain wasn’t sure about this in the slightest, but a small part of it was more certain than it had ever been in its entire life. If he could keep that small part away from the more sceptical larger part for the next twenty seconds or so, everything would almost certainly be fine.

“I can do this,” he said. He focused his attention on the mystical barrier, and repeated the words over and over like a mantra. “Death can go anywhere. Death can go anywhere. Death can go anywhere.”

He kept chanting as he ran those few paces, picking up speed with every step.

“Death can go anywhere. Death can go anywhere. Death can go anywhere.”

The Robe of Sorrows fluttered as he sped towards the force field, still muttering those four words over and over below his breath, faster and faster, like the clattering of a train on the tracks.

“Death can go anywhere Death can go anywhere Death can go anywhere.”

He did not close his eyes as the glowing blue wall raced up to meet him. He didn’t so much as flinch, even though he very much wanted to. Flinching, he knew, would mean he thought he was about to hit something, and for his idea to work, he had to keep that thought out of his head.

As he approached the barrier, he didn’t even jump. Jumping would imply an obstacle in his path, and there were no obstacles in his path. At least, that’s what he wanted that little part of his brain to continue believing.

But instinct proved too strong to resist, and Drake raised his arms in front of his face just as he was about to smack into the force-field wall.

Or rather, that’s what he thought was about to happen. In reality, he had run straight through it several paces previously, and was now recoiling in terror from a figment of his own imagination.

“You did it,” Pestilence cried. He clapped his gloved hands together, making a muted thuck-thuck-thuck sound. “You got through the barrier.”

“What? Did I?” Drake asked. “I mean, yeah. No problem.”

“Well done!” Famine said. “I think I’ll have a nice bun to celebrate.” He reached under another fat fold and pulled out something that didn’t look very nice. Or, indeed, like a bun.

“Oh, aye, brilliant,” War said. “Now what?”

Drake leaned back and looked up at the school building, teetering eighty metres above him on the colossal robot’s shoulders.

“I need to get up to... Wait,” he said. “What’s it doing?” As he was speaking, one of the chrome giant’s arms had begun to move. It rose straight out in front of it, then stopped at a forty-five degree angle to the body. Fingers the size of telephone boxes unfolded, and the metal palm of the robot’s hand glowed with a swirling white light.

“I don’t like the look of that,” Pestilence fretted. He stood behind War, although even this move didn’t do much to reassure him.

“What is it?” asked Famine.

As if in answer to the question, the slumbering bodies of the children and police around them began to glow a vibrant shade of blue. Drake watched, hypnotised by the electric glow that now surrounded every one of the sleeping people.

“What’s that light?” he asked, getting as close to the barrier as he could without risking stepping back through.

“It’s like a big swirling vortex thingy,” Pest declared, with the air of authority normally reserved for someone who has at least a vague idea of what they’re on about.

“Not that light – that light,” said Drake. He pointed down to the people on the ground, who were now lit up like a particularly blue Christmas tree.

War, Pestilence and Famine regarded the figures at their feet. They leaned in closer for a better look.

“What light?” Pest said eventually.

“You can’t see that?” Drake asked. The lights had become so bright they had merged into one near-blinding glow. “They’re all lit up blue.”

“Souls,” War said gravely. “My guess is you’re seeing their souls. It’s something only Death can do.”

Drake felt sick. “So, that means, what? He’s killing them?”

War’s eyes went from sleeping body to sleeping body, as if trying to picture them as Drake saw them. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He must be. Unless... What else did that robot-teacher fella say to you? What did he tell you about his plans?”

“Nothing,” Drake said. “Just said he was going to get his strength back, and then he was going to do something spectacular.”

The part of War’s face that Drake could see went pale. “Aw, no,” he said. “Aw, no.”

“What is it?” Drake asked. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s only one way he can get his strength back.”

“How?”

Drake instinctively ducked, as one of the blue lights became a sphere the size of a bowling-ball, and rocketed upwards past his head. He turned and followed it with its gaze as it was sucked towards the swirling vortex in the palm of the giant robot’s hand, like fluff towards a vacuum cleaner, or rugby players to an Indian restaurant.

The ball vanished into the twirling white light, just as two others launched up from the ground at Drake’s back.

“Their life force. Their souls,” War said. “He’s going to eat their souls.”

“Ugh, that’s disgusting,” Famine spat. The others turned to look at him. “What?” he said, returning their glares. “Even I have to draw the line somewhere.”

“Get your backside up there,” War said, oblivious to the balls of light streaking past him with increasing regularity. “You have to take him out before he can power himself back up.”

“What’ll happen if he does?”

War clenched his jaw. “Anything he wants. Stop him, or Armageddon’s happening right here, right now, signs or no bloody signs.”

Drake nodded his understanding. “Right,” he said, looking up. “Um... how do I get up there?”

“You managed the walking-through-walls thing, so you can manage the horse,” War told him. “Whistle. Summon it. Call forth the steed of Death.”

He was right, Drake knew. It was now or never. This was his moment.

Curling his index finger and thumb once again, he placed them just inside his mouth, and he blew.

Pffffffffff.

“Bugger all,” War said, with a not-entirely-surprised sigh.

Drake tried again, but War was quick to stop him. “You’re wasting time, and, frankly, you’re embarrassing yourself,” he told him. “Practise later. Now, get your fingers out of your mouth and start climbing.”

“Climbing?” Drake said, but even as he spoke the word, he realised he had no other choice. Mel was up there, in danger. And then there was the whole end-of-the-world thing too. “I’ll try to find a way to shut off the shield. When I do, take the robot down. Stop it hurting anyone, or worse.”

With the flickering glow of stolen souls dancing eerily around him, Drake raced over to the robot’s foot, found a handhold, and slowly, steadily began to climb.





DRAKE FELT LIKE Jack in Jack and the Beanstalk, only he wasn’t climbing the beanstalk, he was climbing the giant himself.

The metal used in the robot’s construction was smooth, but the surface itself wasn’t. It was crisscrossed with cables and pitted with rivets. The hexagonal heads of bolts stuck out regularly along the machine’s entire length. The effect was like a ladder, reaching all the way up from the ground to the head, far, far above.

He reached for the next handhold, a length of steel cable running almost horizontally across the mechanical thigh. His fingertips found it, brushed against the rough surface, then missed completely as the cable began to move.

No, not the cable, Drake realised. The entire leg.

He felt himself sliding, slipping, swinging left as the leg slowly raised to the right. Frantically, he jammed his foot against a protruding rivet and his knuckles turned white as his grip tightened on the bolt he was clinging to.

He craned his neck, and looked down. The other horsemen were retreating, pulling back as the leg Drake was hanging from came stomping down towards them.

“The kids!” Drake shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the creaking of the metal leg. The other schoolchildren and the police were all still flat on the ground. The souls were still streaking from within them before disappearing into the hand just fifteen or twenty metres away from Drake, but the foot was coming down, down, down and there was nothing Drake could do about it.

He closed his eyes and pressed his face in against the metal, unable to watch what was about to happen next. He was supposed to be the personification of death itself, but he could not – would not – watch everyone die.

There was a boom as the foot crunched down on to the ground, and a sudden jolt that almost sent Drake tumbling in the same direction. One of his hands slipped from the bolt and his legs were suddenly kicking against thin air.

Despite all that, he had to look down. He had to know if all those people were dead or—

“Alive,” he said, and the word came out as a breathless laugh. The foot had stepped cleanly over them, crushing the police cars instead. A few more souls were sucked from the sleeping teenagers, and Drake suddenly found himself wondering if he were wrong. If the life force was being torn from within them, then maybe they weren’t still alive after all.

There was another groaning of metal and the other leg began to lift. The robot had started to walk. Drake looked up. The waist was just half a dozen metres away. He had to get past there before the right leg moved again.

Gritting his teeth, Drake reached for the horizontal cable again, wrapped his fingers round it and pulled.

“Mount up,” War commanded, swinging himself into the saddle of the red horse. “Keep close to that big bugger, but don’t get too near the barrier.”

Pestilence climbed up on to his horse’s back and took hold of the reins, ignoring the animal’s stress-induced nosebleed. With a grunt, Famine slid on to the faux leather seat of his scooter and turned the key in the ignition.

“So, what’s the plan?” he called.

The robot’s left leg slammed down, making the ground tremble and quake. Along the street, half a dozen windows exploded. There were sirens and screaming in almost every direction now, as the town woke up to the fact that a massive robot was about to stomp it to bits.

“Minimise civilian casualties,” War barked, sounding more and more like an army commander in the field. “Then, when Drake gets rid of that shield, we take that thing down.”

“How?”

“We’ll improvise,” War said. He flicked his reins and they gave a loud crack. “Horsemen,” he bellowed. “Let’s ride!”

Drake had made it past the waist with seconds to spare. The left leg had now thudded down and the right one was raising. He could see the horsemen below, trying to drive back anyone stupid enough to get too close to the towering machine.

He looked up. In comparison with the rest of its body, the robot’s legs were short and stubby. That meant he hadn’t even reached the halfway point yet.

The next handhold swung out sharply as a circular door was thrown open. Clinging to it with both hands, Drake found himself dangling from the hatch as four metal spheres were launched from within it.

He braced himself, expecting the balls to turn on him, but they rocketed away from the robot instead, swooshing past one another as they raced in the direction of the horsemen.

“Look out!” Drake cried, but the others were too far away to hear him.

Drake was hanging at the full stretch of his arms, his fingers already beginning to shake with the pressure of his weight and the insistent nagging of gravity. He looked across to the circular hole where the spheres had emerged. The hole formed the mouth of a dark tunnel, running deep into the machine’s innards.

He looked up at the fifty or so metres he still had to climb. He looked across at the hole. The decision was easy.

Swinging his legs up, he kicked for the edge of the hole. His heels slammed down into the mouth of the tunnel and he was able to shimmy his legs further into the darkness, as the hatch began to swing closed.

He just managed to whip his fingers away from the edge before the hatch clanged shut, trapping him inside.

“Made it,” he breathed, then he listened to his voice echoing over and over again into the distance. Each time it did, it sounded less and less convinced that he’d made the right decision.

“Here goes,” he whispered, as he crawled along a dark, narrow passageway, searching for a way up into the robot’s head.

“Get back! All of you, get back!” War bellowed. He was zigzagging along the road, waving his sword around, trying to drive away anyone who got too close to the marching robot.

He turned the horse in the direction of a group of onlookers, twenty or thirty metres ahead. They were all pointing at something. Their outstretched fingers started high, then quickly lowered until they were pointing almost directly at War.

The big man turned to see what they were looking at, just as a spinning metal sphere struck him. Thrown backwards, he smacked against the ground, before skidding clumsily across the tarmac.

Growling, War got to his feet, his sword raised. He ran at the sphere, which was hanging in mid-air, not backing away.

WHUMPF!

Another of the spheres slammed into his side, sending him staggering. A cable shot from within the first sphere, a barbed hook at its tip burying itself deep into the back of War’s neck.

An electrical current crackled along the wire and War’s back arched. Static sparks flickered across his beard as he sunk to his knees, his contracting muscles no longer able to keep him standing.

Even over the electrical buzzing in his head, War heard the panicked scream of Pestilence, and the shocked cry of Famine as more of the spheres closed in to attack.





PEST’S HORSE KICKED out with its back legs, slamming its hooves against a sphere. It spun like a snooker ball off a side cushion and clipped another of the balls. One of them was sent spiralling up into the air, while the other clattered against the ground, throwing out a spray of angry sparks.

“Famine, War’s down!” Pest yelped. “Help him!”

“Bit busy,” Famine grunted. He was careening round in circles, his scooter tilting on to two wheels as he tried to outrun another of the robotic orbs.

“Yah!” cried Pest, and his horse raced towards the fallen War. Two of the spheres raced to intercept him, and he dismounted mid-gallop, letting the horse continue on. The spheres didn’t react quickly enough. They continued to chase the horse, leaving Pestilence free to pick up War’s fallen sword.

“Flippin’ Nora, what’s that made of?” he winced, as he tried to raise the weapon off the ground. His knees almost buckled as he lifted it with both arms. “Right,” he said, using all his strength to raise the blade above his head. He took aim at the sphere that had immobilised War. “Have some of this!”

Pest tried to bring the sword swinging down, but he couldn’t summon the energy. His eyes opened wide with surprise as he began to topple backwards, pulled by the weapon’s weight.

The sword clanked against the pavement as Pest landed in a heap on the ground. Frantically, he tried to get to his feet, but the two spheres that had been chasing the horse had now realised their mistake.

Whirling saw-blades emerged from within both balls as they spun towards him, closer and closer, the saws’ teeth chewing hungrily at the air.

Screaming, Pest kicked backwards across the tarmac, his face fixed in a mask of terror. He raised his hands, the shreds of melted rubber still clinging to his fingers.

“Virus thing, virus thing!” he wailed, trying to repeat his earlier trick. But he had no idea how he’d done it then, and no ones or zeroes were flying from his fingertips now.

With a whine of their blades, both spheres picked up speed and lunged at the fallen horseman. A blur of black collided with one of the spheres, sending it bouncing along the road.

“Gotcha!” Famine cried, skidding his scooter round in a one-eighty degree spin. The sphere’s blade retracted, allowing it to roll across the concrete. It hurtled after the scooter, picking up speed with every bouncing roll.

Famine jumped from the moving scooter. Jumping was not something he did often, but, despite the size of him, it was something he did rather well. He sailed through the air, like a wrestler off the top turnbuckle, his arms and legs splayed wide.

His full weight came down on top of the sphere, and kept going until it hit the ground. He lay there, wobbling gently for a few seconds, before he rolled on to his back. A thin oblong sheet of metal remained on the ground where he had landed.

“Get away, get away, get away!”

Famine tried to sit up, but his stomach got in the way. He could only lift his head, could only watch as the spinning blade of the other sphere closed in on Pestilence.

“Pest!” he bellowed. “Look out!”

That, Pest thought, was probably the most pointless thing Famine had ever said, but there was no time to tell him that. There was no time for anything but closing his eyes and holding his hands in front of his face. He hoped he cut open easily. He could imagine nothing worse than the blade having to hack repeatedly at his flesh and sinew as it tried to slice its way through him, but it would be just his bloody luck.

The sphere shattered like a conker as another of the balls smashed down hard against it. Pest looked up to find War standing on trembling legs, sparks dancing along his beard.

The barbed hook was still attached to the back of his neck, but War had managed to grab hold of the wire that tethered him to the sphere. He roared with pain as he swung the ball round in a wide circle above his head, making it whum-whum-whum as it looped round and round.

And then, with a vaguely comical twang, the cable snapped. The sphere arced through the air before bouncing off the barrier surrounding the approaching robot.

“Shield’s still there,” War announced. He tore the hook from his neck and stretched his cramped muscles. Then, smoothing down his beard, he retrieved his sword.

The sounds of screaming were getting more distant as people saw sense and started legging it to safety. That was one problem taken care of. Unfortunately, there were plenty more problems where that came from.

Five more spheres hung in the air around them, spinning silently. Doors slid open on the surfaces of each of the balls, as weapons emerged from within them. A buzz-saw. A gun barrel. Something that looked a lot like an industrial drill.

With one hand, War heaved Famine back up on to his feet. The three of them stood there, back to back as the spheres hovered slowly closer.

“Horsemen,” War said in a voice that boomed like the sounds of battle. “Let’s bust some balls.”

Drake ran up stairs and climbed ladders where he could, scaled the walls where there was no other way up. Finally, another ladder led him to a hatch in the ceiling. The hatch lifted up and over, and daylight flooded in. Clambering through, he emerged on to the robot’s shoulder.

The right arm stretched down below him like a giant slide. He peered past it, down to the distant ground where Horsemen-shaped ants battled tiny silver marbles.

A robotic foot thumped down, sending a shockwave through the entire metal structure. Drake wobbled unsteadily for a moment, then found his footing.

The robot’s head loomed just above him. He could see the mouth shape, formed by the rows of windows. The two other windows, situated a storey or so above the mouth, looked more like eyes than ever.

The side door, through which Drake and the other horsemen had entered earlier, was sealed over once again with a fresh metal skin. That left only one way to get inside the robot’s head.

Drake’s eyes went along the row of windows, stopping at the middle where the glass and a chunk of the wall had been smashed away. It looked, he thought, like a missing tooth. Had he stopped to think about it, he would also have realised that it looked like something else.

It looked like a trap.

But he didn’t stop, and he didn’t think about it. Instead he scrambled up the chrome giant’s neck, took hold of one of the narrow metal window ledges, and pulled himself up.

War’s sword whummed loudly, and a sphere became a number of expensive component parts on the pavement. He spun, following the blade’s momentum, and sliced through a gun barrel that had been pointing at Famine’s back.

“Have it!” War roared, driving a headbutt into the centre of the ball and cracking the metal shell. Famine’s pudgy fingers forced their way in through the gap. His hands pulled in opposite directions, widening the crack just enough for his head to fit through. Opening his mouth wide, Famine lunged and began chomping hungrily on the wires and circuitry within the sphere.

A moment later, he released his grip and the broken ball hit the ground. Famine burped loudly, then licked his lips.

“Tastes like chicken,” he announced, as the three remaining balls circled round for another attack run.

Drake swung in through the broken window, slipped on the floor, and landed flat on his back. Luckily, the room was empty, so no one was around to see his embarrassing entrance.

Or so he thought.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Frosties boy.”

“Enjoy your trip, knob ’ead?”

Drake looked up at three spotty scowls. He sprang to his feet and raised his hands, ready for a fight.

“You don’t want to mess with me,” Drake warned them. He drew himself up to his full height. It wasn’t much, but to the tiny bullies he imagined himself looking like a giant. “I’m Death, you know?”

“Yeah, we know,” Bingo said with a snort.

“Oooh, scary,” laughed Dim.

“Yeah,” added Spud. “Oooh, scary!”

“That was them being, what do you call it? Sarcastic,” Bingo pointed out. “We’re not scared of no Death.” His spotty cheeks rose as his mouth twisted into an impossibly wide grin. “We’s already dead, ain’t we?”

“Yeah, we’re as dead as the emu,” Dim sniggered.

Drake felt a pang of something. Pity, maybe. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“What for?” Bingo snorted. “Our old bodies is dead, but we’ve got new bodies now, thanks to Mr Franks and Dr Black.”

“Yeah, I saw what you can do,” Drake said.

Bingo’s eyes blazed red. “Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!” The three figures took a synchronised step forward. The room was filled with the sounds of machinery moving. Drake could see some kind of transformation starting to take place, but he could see something else too. Something behind the three boys.

Something that looked, just a little, like a cat.

Drake rolled sideways just as Toxie launched himself at the cyber-bullies. Caught in mid-transformation, they were knocked off balance. There was a panicked cry of “My mum’s going to kill me!” and then they were gone, through the hole in the wall, and plunging down towards the ground far below.

Drake heard three brief distant tremors, and he knew the bullies wouldn’t be bothering him again.

Toxie, who was looking more and more like a cat by the minute, turned to Drake, sniffed lazily, and said, “Woof.”

“Good dog,” Drake said. Toxie wagged his tail happily, then sauntered out on to the windowsill and began climbing expertly down the robot’s front.

Drake was halfway to the door when the old TV set that stood on a trolley over by the whiteboard, came on with a click.

“That was a stroke of luck,” Mr Franks said. “I didn’t think they’d stop you, but I thought they’d hold you up longer than that. Still, as you’ll have noticed by now, I’m not there. I’m upstairs on the roof, and I’ve got your girlfriend with me. Look.”

The camera panned round, and Drake saw a shock of red hair. Mel was tied by the wrists and ankles to a pole that was hanging precariously over the edge of the roof. She was facing downwards, her hands behind her, her eyes open wide with terror.

Mr Franks’ face suddenly filled the screen again in extreme close-up. “I’d rather you didn’t come up, but I know you’re going to, so why waste my breath?” He winked brightly. “So, see you soon, I guess. I’ll try not to drop the redhead, but, well, I’m not going to promise anything, so if I were you – which I sort of was, when you think about it – I’d move fast.”

The sound faded.

The screen went blank.

And Drake moved fast.





DRAKE HAD PLANNED to sneak up on to the roof, but Mr Franks was sitting in a deckchair, watching the hatch expectantly. He smiled broadly when Drake’s head popped through it.

“There he is!” Mr Franks beamed. “There’s the man of the hour. Up you come, join the fun.”

He jumped up as Drake stepped out on to the top of the robot’s head. “Take a seat,” Mr Franks said, gesturing at the deckchair the way a gameshow host’s glamorous assistant might gesture at today’s star prize.

“No, thanks,” Drake said.

Mr Franks put his hands on his hips and nodded. “You’re right, you’re right. What was I thinking? Sitting down?”

With a sudden jerk he grabbed the back of the folding chair and hurled it over the edge of the roof. “Boring people sit down, and we’re not boring people, are we, Drake? Huh? Am I right?” He looked Drake up and down. “Nice outfit, by the way. Black suits you.”

“Mel, are you OK?” Drake asked. He didn’t take his eyes off Mr Franks.

“She can’t answer you,” Mr Franks said. He indicated the gag across her mouth. “She can talk, your girlfriend, can’t she? She just would not shut up. It was either gag her, or cut her tongue out.”

“It’s going to be OK. I’m here to rescue you.”

“Aww, you hear that? He’s here to rescue you.” Mr Franks wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. “That – if you don’t mind me saying? – that’s beautiful.” He pointed at Drake and mimed shooting him with his finger. “You’re a real ladykiller.”

The teacher slipped his hands into his pockets and strolled over to a wooden table that had been bolted on to the metal beneath it. An old-fashioned-looking control deck, all knobs and dials and slider switches, hung over the edges of the table on all sides. A spaghetti of wires dangled from the back of the deck, before disappearing into a junction box beneath the table.

A large metal tube, about the circumference of a dinner plate and around half as tall as Mr Franks, rose from the floor beside the desk. A glass dome was mounted on top of the tube, like an upside-down fish bowl. Inside the glass, a living blue light pulsed and heaved.

“Like it?” Mr Franks asked. He pressed a hand against the glass and stroked it gently.

“What are you going to do with them?” Drake asked.

“With what, the souls?” Mr Franks said. He pointed at the glass. “With these souls trapped in here?”

“Yes, what are you going to do with them?”

Mr Franks jumped up and punched the air with his fist. “Then it does work!” he cried. “I couldn’t be sure because, you know, I can’t see souls any more, so I thought, ‘Who can see souls? Who can I get up here to let me know if this baby works?’ and there was only one name I thought of. Can you guess who it was?”

“Me,” said Drake. He felt his heart sink. “What now?”

“Now, I’m going to eat them.” His face split into a wicked grin and madness blazed behind his eyes. “And when I do, I’m going to get all my old strength back, and then... This is the best bit... Then I am going to split this world in two, Drake. I’m going to split it in two!”

“Why?”

“Why? I thought you, of all people, would know why.” He gestured up at the sky. “We’re in the Armageddon business, you and I. The end of the world – it’s our purpose.”

“Everyone will die. Everyone.”

Mr Franks nodded. “That’s the general idea. But listen, it’s nothing personal. I’m just following orders. It’s my job, after all.”

“Was your job,” Drake reminded him.

“Then consider me freelance.” His face darkened. “They told me I could end the world – they created me to end the world – and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. It’s right there, in my contract of employment. ‘Begin the Apocalypse.’ I’m only following orders. I’m just... bringing forward the schedule a little.”

“You’re going to decimate the world because you’re a jobsworth?”

“Not decimate, Drake. Didn’t your last school teach you anything? Decimate means reduce by ten per cent. I’m not going to decimate the world.” He couldn’t fight back a self-satisfied smile. “I’m going to obliterate it!”

Drake took a step forward. Mr Franks’ finger reached for a button on the control desk. “Ah, ah, ah!” he warned. “Look at the pole holding your girlfriend there. Check out the bottom, where it meets the roof.”

A bomb, that’s what Drake saw. He didn’t know how he knew it was a bomb, he just did. It had a certain bomby quality that was unmistakable. “Take another step and she falls,” Mr Franks told him. Drake shuffled back, and the teacher’s finger relaxed on the button.

He looked Drake up and down, as if seeing him for the very first time. “So, you’re the new Death, eh? You’re my replacement? I expected something a little more... impressive.”

“I guess they thought I was impressive enough to follow you,” Drake retorted.

“Ha!” said Mr Franks, without humour. “You think you even come close to matching me? I was Death for a thousand years. I was the longest-serving of all the Deaths.”

“Longest serving so far,” Drake said.

“You don’t still think you’re going to stop me, do you?” Mr Franks laughed. “I’ve been planning this for the last five hundred years, putting every element of it into position for the past six decades. I’ve thought of every last detail. What, you think giant robots build themselves?”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Drake said. “A giant robot? Isn’t that a bit, you know, crap?”

Something that may have been the beginnings of a cringe passed across the teacher’s face. “It was the fifties,” he explained. “Giant robots were all the rage.”

He took a step away from the control deck, thought better of it, then moved back into position beside it. “You know what it’s like, sitting around in that shed for a thousand years? No, of course you don’t, you’ve only been there a few days. Maybe you can imagine it, though. Their voices, everything they say, it just becomes this... noise in your head. Like the quacking of ducks. Quack, quack, quack. Quack, quack, quack.

“And then there’s the sound of Famine chewing, like some bloated, masticating cow, hour after hour, day after day, chomp, chomp, chomp, continually, on and on.”

Mr Franks shook his head, as if trying to drive out the memories. “Pestilence, with his constant whining and complaining and his itching and his flaking and his endless series of spectacular rashes. And War?”

The teacher’s voice had been rising throughout his rant. He stopped and brought it back under control. “God, I hated him most of all, strutting around, acting like he was the Big I Am. I was supposed to be the leader. Me! So why did they always listen to him?”

“Because you’re a friggin’ headcase?” Drake suggested. Fury flashed across Mr Franks’ face. He looked at Mel. His finger went to the switch on the control deck, but a shout from Drake made him hesitate. “Kill her and I’ll kill you!”

The teacher’s finger hovered above the button. “Kill me?” he said. “I don’t think you would.”

“I would,” Drake said. “I will. I’ve... I’ve killed before.”

Mr Franks smiled and shook his head, but his finger withdrew from the button. “No, you see, me, I’m a killer. I’ve killed hundreds of people in the past decade alone. Thousands. And why?”

He opened his mouth to answer his own question, then paused. “I don’t know, really,” he admitted. “Practice, I suppose. I am – was – Death, after all. And also because I was bored, and I couldn’t face one more bloody game of Cluedo.” He pointed at Drake. “You, on the other hand, have killed what? Half a dozen frogs?”

“Nine,” Drake corrected. “I killed nine frogs.”

Mr Franks clapped his hands slowly. “Bravo. Truly you are Death incarnate. But, please, let an old hand show you how it should be done.”

He pushed a slider switch on the control deck and the blue glow inside the dome became agitated. It buzzed and trembled, hurling itself at the glass, but unable to find a way through.

“There’s a whole world out there waiting to be destroyed,” Mr Franks said. “Let’s not keep it waiting any longer.”

He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a large white napkin. He flicked it once to unfold it, then tied it loosely at the back of his neck. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, patting his stomach, “I’ve got a rather pressing lunch appointment.”





DRAKE LOOKED OVER at Mel, hanging above a sheer drop to certain death. He looked at Mr Franks, now adjusting switches and dials on his control deck, making the souls in the bowl quiver and writhe. The teacher hummed quietly below his breath as he worked, a song so ancient no other human alive had heard it.

Slowly, Drake slid one foot a few centimetres across the floor. The thudding of the robot’s footsteps had stopped, which meant that the robot itself had stopped. This was a pity because the sound of the footfalls would have disguised the faint squeak Drake’s own foot made as he inched it across the metal.

“One millimetre closer and your girlfriend drops,” Mr Franks told him. He looked up and fixed Drake with a glare. “You look tense. Relax.”

Drake slunk back a pace.

“You still don’t look relaxed. You look like someone who’s about to attempt a daring, last-minute rescue, and that would be stupid.”

Drake let his shoulders sag and his arms hang limply at his sides. He stuffed his hands into the robe’s deep pockets. “That better?”

“Much,” Mr Franks replied. He turned his attention back to the control deck. Beside him, the glass dome was filled with an angry blue fire. “I’m doing you a favour when you think about it, Drake. I’m giving you the opportunity to fulfil your purpose. An opportunity that was taken from me. You should be thanking me.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

Drake’s fingers brushed against something in his right pocket. He felt for the edges, trying to figure out what it was. Round. Hard. Then his finger pricked against something sharp and he knew at once what to do.

“Those frogs we were talking about,” he said, surprising Mr Franks and getting his attention.

“What about them?”

“You should’ve seen them. All trapped in that tank, stressing out, becoming more and more agitated. I could see they were scared. That’s why I did what I did.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Mr Franks said. “What’s your point?”

“I didn’t kill them on purpose. I let them go,” Drake said, “but they were too frightened. Too panicked. I tipped over the tank and they knocked over a Bunsen burner and do you know what happened next?”

“They all burned alive?”

“Well, yes, but before that,” Drake said. “Do you know what happened right before that?”

Mr Franks shook his head. “Go on.”

“Chaos,” said Drake. He pulled his hand from his pocket and brought it back sharply. “Complete and utter chaos.”

With a cry of triumph, Drake hurled the badge at the glass dome. The world seemed to lurch into slow motion as the words ‘I AM 4’ flipped, end over end over end, on a direct collision course with the glass.

Mr Franks’ reactions were quick, but not quick enough. He made a dive for the badge, but his fingers couldn’t quite find it. It passed by him and struck the soul bowl dead centre.

And then it bounced harmlessly off, and landed on the metal floor with a faint chink.

There was silence for a moment, broken only by a sharp, sudden laugh from Mr Franks. Drake searched his pockets, hoping to find something else to throw, but painfully aware that he wouldn’t.

“Wow!” Mr Franks cried. “What a throw! That was brilliant. Just brilliant! For a horrible moment there I thought it was actually going to work! I thought you were actually going to ruin everything.”

He chuckled and this time the tears he wiped from his eyes were genuine. “But no,” he said. “You blew it. Game over, kid. Nice try.”

Krik.

The smile fell from Mr Franks’ face.

Ka-rick.

Drake watched as a hairline crack spread across the surface of the dome. Inside, the trapped souls were hurling themselves against the glass, pushing up and out in their panic to be free. It was the frogs all over again.

Ka-RACK.

Mr Franks’ eyes went wide as the glass dome shattered. “Oh… crap,” he muttered, and then his world descended into chaos.

Drake could see the souls swooshing and swooping around the teacher, batting and buffeting him this way and that. The teacher, however, couldn’t see a thing. He flailed out wildly at invisible foes, throwing wild punches and wilder kicks that took him further and further away from the control deck.

Ducking a streaking blue orb, Drake crossed to the controls. He looked over them, trying to figure out what all the buttons and dials and switches and faders and knobs actually did. He could feel Mel’s eyes on him, wide open and terrified. He would get her down. In just a few seconds, he would get her down, and she would be safe. But first...

He had to read all the labels three times before his racing brain found the one it was looking for. He flicked a little black switch. There was a sound like a faint sigh, and a sudden wind pushed him back from the control deck.

“The barrier!” Mr Franks wailed. He swatted at where he thought a soul might be and stumbled across to the desk, the wind shoving hard at his back. “What have you done to my barrier?”

Drake ducked against the howling winds and raced to reach the controls before the teacher did. He had to protect the switch, had to prevent Mr Franks from reactivating the force field.

With a cry of triumph, Drake’s hand clamped down over the switch, blocking it from the teacher’s reach. His victory was short-lived, though, when he realised that Mr Franks hadn’t been going for that button.

There was a click.

There was a bang.

There was a scream.

And the metal rod, with Mel attached, detached from the roof and disappeared over the edge.

“No!” Drake bellowed as, without a second thought, he rushed to the edge and hurled himself after her.

The air roared in his ears, louder than anything he’d ever heard in his life. He plummeted head-first, his arms tucked in by his sides, his feet pointed back up towards the roof so as to make his body as streamlined as possible.

Mel had fallen free of the pole she had been tied to. She twisted and spun through the air, flipping and twirling as she plunged towards a very messy death on the hard ground below.

Ever so slowly, the gap between them was closing. Drake felt a surge of hope. I’m going to make it, he thought. I’m going to make it!

“He’s not going to make it,” Pest yelped. “He’s not going to make it!”

He and the other horsemen had seen the flicker as the barrier had fallen, then heard the blast, way up high, as the bomb at the base of Mel’s pole had detonated. They had seen her fall, and had watched as Drake launched himself after her. The gap between the distant falling figures was narrowing. It was definitely narrowing.

But it wasn’t narrowing quickly enough.

Drake plunged. The ground was racing up to meet Mel. She’d never survive the fall. He wasn’t even sure if he would, but at least he had a fighting chance. He had to reach her, had to catch her, but with each metre that passed the chances of him doing that grew smaller and smaller.

He brought his arms out in front of him, hands together above his head, so his body almost formed the shape of a missile. The robe billowed out behind him like the cape of some dark, avenging superhero.

The robe. The robe was slowing him down!

Wriggling furiously, he untangled himself from the heavy cloak. It fluttered upwards as the wind caught it, and Drake felt himself speed up. The whistling air stung his eyes as the gap between him and Mel began to close more rapidly.

His grasping fingers brushed against her clothes. His arms went round her. He pulled her in close, twisted until he was beneath her and then, with a boom, they both hit the ground.