The 13th Horseman

by Barry Hutchison

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.

  DRAKE 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 pre
ssed 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.”