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,