The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,69
his head and thin rubber gloves on each hand. He gave a soft gasp when he spotted Zac. “Oh, hello,” he said. “Who are you, then?”
“Zac Corgan, Pestilence,” growled War. “Pestilence, Zac Corgan.”
“Lovely to meet you,” beamed Pestilence. “And I love the whole black-outfit look. Very mysterious.”
War sighed. “Right, give us the ball back.”
Zac handed it over. “What is this place?” he asked.
“It’s Limbo,” said War.
“Limbo?”
“Which probably means you’ve died, I’m afraid,” added Pestilence. “So please accept our condolences.”
“What’s keeping you?” asked a voice a little way down the dune. A boy just a year or two younger than Zac marched to the top of the hill. He had an oversized plastic baseball bat in one hand. “I need to get back home soon or my mum’s going to...”
The boy’s voice trailed off. “Who’s this?” he asked.
“Drake, this is Zac,” Pestilence said. “Zac, Drake here is our latest Death.”
“Latest?”
War grunted. “Long, boring story.”
“Zac has recently died,” Pestilence continued. “Isn’t that a shame?”
“No, I haven’t.”
Pestilence smiled gently. “Yes, you have,” he said. “I know it’s hard, but the sooner you accept it, the sooner you can move on.”
Zac shook his head. “No, I haven’t. I was sent on a mission to find a stolen book. I was in Hell a minute ago, and now I’m here.”
War and Pestilence exchanged a glance. “The Book of Everything?” Pestilence asked in a hushed voice.
“Book of Everything, Book of Doom – take your pick,” Zac said. “I found it, but they kept my... colleague. It was all a trick to get him down there.”
Pestilence’s mouth tightened. “That’s them all over, that is,” he said. “Always up to something. I’m sure he’ll be OK, though.”
A snort of laughter came from War. “Oh aye, I’m sure he’ll be just dandy. They’re a right fun bunch down there, just ask anyone.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.
“That was sarcasm, by the way,” War pointed out.
“Still, at least you found the book,” said Pestilence. He clapped his hands. “Yay!”
“You brought it back to them yet?” War asked.
“No. I got stranded here. I’ve got no way of contacting them.” He looked at the Horsemen in turn. “Unless you’ve got some way of getting in touch with Heaven?”
“We’ll go one better,” said Drake. “We’ll take you there ourselves.” He looked from Pestilence to War. “Um... we can do that, right?”
Zac stood in the shadow of a small wooden shed and gazed up at its jolly red roof. There was a creak from the door as Drake pushed it open. Zac hung back as War and Pestilence stepped inside.
“A shed?” he asked. “Why are we getting in a shed?”
Drake smiled. “Just trust me.”
“No.”
“Oh,” said Drake, a little deflated. “Right. Well, the shed can travel across dimensions or... or something like that. It can fly you to Heaven.”
“But it’s a shed.”
Drake shrugged. “Yeah, I said that at first too.”
War’s beard appeared round the doorframe, followed by the rest of his face. “You getting in or what?”
Zac looked from the giant to Drake, and then into the dark interior of the shed. He shrugged, sighed, then stepped inside. Drake pulled the door closed and they all squeezed into the narrow space.
“This is cosy, isn’t it,” breathed Pestilence.
Zac was too stunned to reply. He was looking beyond the Horseman at the chair behind him.
Something immensely fat slouched on the seat, wearing nothing but a sleeveless vest and a distressingly tight pair of flannel shorts. Sweat soaked his skin and dripped down on to the wooden floor. His face was red and blotchy and his breathing came in big, heavy gulps. Something brown was smeared across his blubbery lips.
Chocolate, Zac thought. Let it be chocolate.
“That’s Famine,” Drake explained. “He’s, uh, having a rest.”
Zac watched the fat man’s chest wheezing up and down. “The game must’ve taken a lot out of him.”
“What? Oh, no,” Drake said. “That’s just from getting changed. He hadn’t started playing yet.”
“Right,” said War. “We’re here.”
Zac looked up at him. “We’re where?”
The door swung open and Zac found himself gazing out at the vast palace Gabriel had taken him to earlier.
“How... how did you do that?” he asked.
“Techno-magic mumbo jumbo,” War grunted, and then he shoved Zac out of the shed and slammed the door behind him. There was a muttering from inside it, then a whoosh. By the time Zac looked round, the shed was gone.
He waited a moment to see if it came back. When it didn’t, he turned, pulled the straps of the backpack higher on his shoulders and strode