The 13th Horseman - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,65

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