“Yes yah. Definitely yah!” Drake cried. “Yah, yah, yah!”
Fire spat from the barrel of the gun. The horse went into freefall and Drake felt the bullets streak by just above him. He looked down to find the ground racing up. He’d barely begun to scream when the horse levelled off, clattering him back down into the saddle.
They were racing just a few metres above an open field now, kilometres outside the town. A road ran alongside them a kilometre or so to the left. Down on the right, a narrow river meandered towards an old stone bridge.
Twisting in the seat, Drake searched the sky. The ball was nowhere to be seen. “Where did it go? Did you see it?” he cried. He hesitated, then added, “Why am I asking a horse? I mean, it’s not like you can understand what I’m saying.” Another pause. “You can’t understand what I’m saying, can you?”
The horse shook its head.
“Good,” said Drake. “That would’ve just been too weir— Look out ! ”
The sphere rose up from behind the bridge, spraying bullets in a wide horizontal arc. The horse neighed loudly, startled by the gunfire. Stumbling, it plunged into the river. The coldness of the water made Drake gasp. It swirled in through his open mouth, filling his throat and his belly. He felt the reins pull away, heard the frantic splashing of the horse. And then he was floating.
And then he was sinking.
And then, he was drowning.
The darkness eased behind Drake’s eyelids, like shadows fleeing the coming of dawn. Something warm and wet pressed against his mouth. And his cheeks. And his forehead. It pulled back as he sat up and spewed dirty river water on to the grass.
“Knew it,” said Famine. His head was directly above Drake’s, his rubbery lips folded into a wide smile. “Kiss of life. Never fails.”
Drake turned his head and spewed again. Not water, this time.
“What... what happened?” he asked, when he had finished retching. “Where’s the ball thing?”
“Over there.” Pestilence’s head appeared from behind Famine’s bulk. He pointed to a scorched patch of ground nearby. “And over there. And there. And there’s a bit down there, by those trees. War headbutted it. It was really quite impressive.”
“You’re lucky we found you when we did.” War was standing a short distance away, running his hand over his horse’s flank. “And you’re lucky Famine’s got his first-aid certificate.”
“Have you been eating Frosties?” Famine asked. His tongue rummaged around inside his mouth. “You have, haven’t you? That’s definitely Frosties. And milk. Semi-skimmed.”
Drake’s hand went to his own mouth. “I think I’m going to puke again.”
War clapped his horse on the back and turned to Drake. His face was beard, scowl and very little else in between.
“I warned you, didn’t I?” he said. “‘For God’s sake,’ I said, ‘don’t pull back on the reins.’”
“No, you didn’t,” Drake snapped. His pulse was racing, adrenalin pumping the blood through his veins. “You said ‘For God’s sake don’t...’ and then you jumped off. How was I to know the horse would start flying?”
“Don’t be so stupid. It didn’t fly,” War said with a grunt. “Horses don’t fly. They gallop.”
“Well, it galloped across the sky!” Drake replied. He pulled himself up to his full, unimpressive height. “Horses don’t do that.”
“Well, that depends on the horse!” War roared, bending until he was almost nose to nose with Drake. “Now, you’re going to come back to the shed, and you’re going to start your training.”
“No, I’m not!”
War’s face went the colour of his beard. He opened his mouth to shout, but Pestilence slipped between them and quickly guided Drake away.
“If I might interrupt,” he said, smiling thinly. “I think what my irate colleague is trying to say is that we’d very much appreciate it if you’d perhaps come back to the shed and listen to what we have to say.” He held up his hands. They were still hidden beneath white rubber gloves. “Just hear us out, that’s all.”
Drake remained silent for a long time. Pestilence watched him, eyebrows waggling encouragingly. “Here,” Drake said at last. “Tell me here.”
Pestilence glanced at the others, as if looking for some cue. None came, so he shrugged, then carried on.
“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse have existed since the dawn of time itself,” he began. “We are servants of the Almighty, created for one purpose and one purpose only.”
“To usher in the end of the world,” blurted Famine.
“Oooh, shut up, you!” Pestilence gasped, his hands going to his hips. “I’m supposed to do that bit! You never let me do that bit!”
“Just get on with it,” said War.
Pestilence shook his head. “That’s my favourite bit,” he muttered. “Anyway. Yes. We were created to usher in the end of the world.” He looked pointedly at Famine before continuing. “It’s a pretty important job, really. I mean, it’s probably – what – sixth most important job in all creation?”
“’Bout sixth,” Famine confirmed. “’Bout sixth, yeah.”
“It’s about the sixth most important job in all creation,” Pestilence said. “And it’s great. I mean, it’s an honour to be picked and everything, it’s just...”
Drake waited for the rest of the sentence. It didn’t seem to be forthcoming. “It’s just what?”
“God, it’s dull,” Pestilence groaned. “I mean, we’ve been kicking about for thousands of years, us three, just hanging around, you know? Waiting on the phone call. Thousands of years and nothing. Not even a false alarm.”
“So? What’s that got to do with me?”
“Death got fed up of waiting,” Famine said. Drake could tell from the fat man’s voice that he was munching on something. He couldn’t bring himself to look and see what it was. “He decided he was going to bring on Armageddon himself and cleared off. Short of it is, we’re down to three. And with him planning on destroying the world, the powers that be decided we needed a replacement, sharpish.”
“You,” said Pestilence. “Me? Why me?”
Pestilence shrugged his slender shoulders. “No idea. We don’t know the why-fors, we just know you’re our fourth horseman.”
“Fifth horseman, surely?” Drake corrected. “The last guy was the fourth.”
Pestilence shot the others a nervous glance. Famine kept his own gaze on the ground. Even War looked slightly uncomfortable, but it was he who eventually broke the silence.
“Actually, he was more like the twelfth.”
“Twelfth?” Drake said. “I don’t understand.”
“We’ve had... a number of Deaths,” War admitted. “Nine, actually. Not counting you.”
“Nine? Why? What happened to them?”
Famine crammed his food into his mouth and began counting on his fingers. “Mad, mad, suicide, mad, quit, mad, goldfish, suicide, mad,” he said.
“Wait,” said Drake, replaying the list in his head. “Goldfish?”
“Admin error,” explained Pestilence, rolling his eyes. “Do not even go there. You should’ve seen him trying to ride the horse.”
“So, counting us three, there have been twelve horsemen before you,” War continued. “Making you the thirteenth.”
“Unlucky for some!” Pestilence trilled. He caught War’s expression. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Not helping.”
“No, I’m not the thirteenth.” Drake shook his head emphatically. “I’m not doing it.”
“But it’s a good job,” said Pest encouragingly. “It’s a great job!”
“A great job? They all killed themselves or went mad!” Drake cried. “That hardly screams ‘job satisfaction’, does it?”
“Well, no,” admitted Pestilence. He held up a little red button with ‘I AM 4’ printed on it in jolly yellow lettering. “But you get a badge, look.”
“Death Five didn’t go mad or kill himself,” Famine reminded him. “He quit.”
“Right, well I’ll do that, then,” Drake said. “I quit. There.”
War’s voice was a low growl. “You can’t quit. You haven’t accepted the job yet.”
“So, if I take the job, I can quit? Simple as that?”
“Aye. Simple as that.”
Drake took a deep breath. “Then I accept. I’ll take the job.”
Pestilence clapped his hands. “Yay!”
“And now I quit.” Drake turned and began to march off, towards where he hoped the town might possibly lie. “Good luck finding a replacement.”
“Where d’you think you’re going?” War demanded. The tone of his voice stopped Drake in his tracks.
“Home,” he answered. “I told you, I quit.”
“Fair enough,” War said. “But you have to work your notice.”
Drake met the giant’s gaze and held it. “What?” he asked flatly.
“Three months’ notice,” War said. “Ninety days. It’s in the terms and conditions.”
“But...” Drake’s mouth flapped open and closed. “You didn’t tell me that!”
“Didn’t I? Must’ve slipped my mind.”
Over by the bridge, War’s horse gave a snort. For the first time, Drake noticed a small shed standing just beyond it. It looked remarkably similar to the shed in his garden, but Drake decided he wasn’t going to think about that right now. He had enough on his plate as it was.
“You don’t want to go breaking the terms and conditions,” War told him. “That’s really not a good idea.”
“Why?” Drake asked. He’d been running on pure adrenalin since his escapades on the horse, but the effects were wearing off now, and he could feel his whole body trembling. “What happens if I do?”
War’s face darkened. “You’ll be cast into the fiery pits of Hell for a thousand millennia, forced to endure torture and suffering far beyond anything your tiny little mind could ever bring itself to imagine.”
“And,” added Pestilence apologetically, “we’d have to take the badge back.”
War folded his arms across his impossibly broad chest. “So, Drake Finn,” he said, “what’s it to be?”
BY THE TIME Drake made it to town, his feet hurt. They were also damp. The rest of him had dried off during the long walk back, and the two hours spent hanging around near the school, waiting for the final bell to ring.
He knew he couldn’t turn up at home before the end of the school day, or his mum would ask questions. Besides, the extra couple of hours had given him time to think, and to poke around the car park where he and War had made their escape.
Getting close proved impossible. Police had cordoned off the area where the wall had been smashed. They were combing over the remains of the minibus and the cars that had been trampled by the horse, or shredded by the spheres.
Drake had stared at the torn metal and the fragments of glass on the ground. Those blades, that could tear cars to ribbons, had been coming for him. He’d thought at first that the horsemen had sent them, but now he knew differently. But someone had been trying to kill him, and if it hadn’t been the horsemen, then who had it been? And why?
These thoughts were still occupying him an hour later, when he stood at the front gates, waiting.
“Hey, Chief. Where you been?”
“Oh, um, hi,” he said, giving Mel a self-conscious wave. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Mel heaved her bag higher on her shoulder. “What, exiting the school gates at bell time?” she asked. “Yeah, what are the chances?”
Drake’s face suddenly felt very hot. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, of course.”
“No one’s ever waited for me before,” she said, matter-of-factly.
For some reason, Drake felt glad about that. “Really?” he asked, doing his best not to grin like an idiot.
“Most people think I’m strange.” She looked at him intently. “Do you think I’m strange?”
“A bit,” Drake admitted.
Mel brightened. “Excellent. I looked for you at break,” she said. She started to walk away from the school and Drake fell into step beside her. “Where were you?”
For a moment, Drake thought about telling her the truth. But he didn’t. The truth was too weird.
“I, uh, left early,” he told her. “Doctor’s appointment.”
“Anything serious? You’re not dying, are you?”
“Nah, just a check-up.”
Mel whistled. “Must’ve been a long check-up. Break until now… that’s, what, five hours?”
“Yeah. He was very... thorough.”
“You missed some excitement,” Mel said.
Drake’s ears pricked up. “Oh?”
“There was a big accident in the car park. They’re saying the school minibus crashed into the wall. Knocked a hole right through it.”
“Who’s saying?”
“You know... they,” Mel explained. “Just they in general.”
“Right,” Drake said. “Wow.”
“It’s by far the coolest thing to ever happen in that school. Which is tragic, really, when you think about it. Balloon ! ”
Mel pointed excitedly up towards the sky. Drake followed her finger and saw a yellow balloon being carried on a breeze above the rooftops. “What’s your stance on loose balloons?” Mel asked him.
Drake frowned. “Loose balloons?”
“As in balloons that have got loose. Like that one. What do you feel about it?”
“Um... not much.”
Mel looked disappointed. “I’m in two minds,” she said. “On the one hand, I think they’re terrible, because it means that someone somewhere has lost their balloon, and that’s got to sting, right?”
She looked at Drake expectantly.
“Right,” he agreed.
“Right. But on the other hand, it’s a balloon, so you’ve got to love it.” She sighed. “I just don’t know what to think.”
Drake nodded. “It’s difficult.”
“That it is,” she agreed. “That it is.”
They watched the balloon until it disappeared into the fluffy white clouds. It looked, to Drake, impossibly high, and he tried not to think about the fact he’d been racing through those very clouds – or ones quite like them, anyway – just a few hours ago.
“So, this accident,” he said, as they continued walking, “what did you say caused it?”
“Well...” began Mel. She took a deep breath, and Drake got the feeling she was about to launch into a detailed account of what had happened. “They don’t know,” she said, proving him completely wrong.
“I thought you said it was the minibus?”
“No, they think the minibus crashed into the wall, but loads of other cars were damaged too, and the minibus couldn’t have caused all of it.”
“Oh, right.”
“They even found horse droppings!” Mel said. “Can you imagine? Horse crap in the school car park? Picture it, Chief, a horse doing a great big poo right there on school grounds! Just picture it.”
“I’d rather not.”
Mel shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“So no one saw anything... strange?”
“What, apart from the horse crap? No, don’t think so.”
So, no one had witnessed Drake’s involvement in the destruction of the car park, or seen the flying spheres. That was a good thing, he decided. Probably.
“Why do you ask?”
“Um, no reason. Those boys turn up?” he asked, changing the subject.
“What? Oh, no, not yet. They will, though.”
“How do you know?”
Mel puffed out her cheeks. “This is them all over. They’ll have run away, but they’ll come back when it starts raining or they run out of food or whatever. Everyone knows it, that’s why no one’s all that bothered about it.” Her brow furrowed. “There was something else I was going to tell you.”
“What?”
She looked up and to the left and right, as if she’d
find the answer written there somewhere. “Nope, can’t remember,” she said at last. She stopped walking. “This is me.”
Drake found himself looking up the long gravel drive of a grand detached house. Two cars stood in the driveway, both as big as his kitchen, both brand new. Drake made a mental note never to let Mel see where he lived.
“Wow, is this your house?” he asked. “Yeah,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’d invite you in, but my parents are Devil Worshippers.”
“Really?”
“Nah. Well, my Dad’s not.”
A statue in the middle of the neatly cropped lawn caught Drake’s eye. It stood twice as tall as him, reared up on its hind legs. “Hey, another horse.”
“Oh, yeah, my whole family’s into horses,” Mel said, following his gaze. “I used to have one.”
“What happened?”
Mel drew a thumb across her throat and made a sound like the snapping of bone.
“Oh, right,” Drake mumbled. “Sorry.”
Mel shrugged. “She was ill. It was her time. Horses die, and them’s the facts.” She looked at the house, then back to Drake. “So,” she began, “see you tomorrow?”
“Assuming no more check-ups.”
She smiled her crinkled-nose smile. “You look pretty fit to me,” she said, then her face fell. “I mean... fit like healthy, not... you know? Though, I mean, not that you’re not...” She pointed with a thumb towards her house and smiled lopsidedly. “I’m just going to go,” she said, turning and crunching her way up the drive.
Drake watched her until she had disappeared inside the house. Then he watched for a few seconds more, in case she came back out again.
When he was sure she wasn’t going to, he turned and looked in both directions along the leafy street. “Right, then,” he muttered, recognising nothing. “How the Hell do I get home?”
Drake lowered himself on to the fourth seat. It had been pulled into place at the rickety table, between Famine and Pestilence, and directly across from War. The three men barely paid him any notice as he sat down. Their attention, instead, was fixed on War’s hand. It crept slowly across the table, a short coil of red rope clutched between his trembling fingers.
The 13th Horseman Page 5
