The 13th Horseman - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,63

pulled.

“Mount up,” War commanded, swinging himself into the saddle of the red horse. “Keep close to that big bugger, but don’t get too near the barrier.”

Pestilence climbed up on to his horse’s back and took hold of the reins, ignoring the animal’s stress-induced nosebleed. With a grunt, Famine slid on to the faux leather seat of his scooter and turned the key in the ignition.

“So, what’s the plan?” he called.

The robot’s left leg slammed down, making the ground tremble and quake. Along the street, half a dozen windows exploded. There were sirens and screaming in almost every direction now, as the town woke up to the fact that a massive robot was about to stomp it to bits.

“Minimise civilian casualties,” War barked, sounding more and more like an army commander in the field. “Then, when Drake gets rid of that shield, we take that thing down.”

“How?”

“We’ll improvise,” War said. He flicked his reins and they gave a loud crack. “Horsemen,” he bellowed. “Let’s ride!”

Drake had made it past the waist with seconds to spare. The left leg had now thudded down and the right one was raising. He could see the horsemen below, trying to drive back anyone stupid enough to get too close to the towering machine.

He looked up. In comparison with the rest of its body, the robot’s legs were short and stubby. That meant he hadn’t even reached the halfway point yet.

The next handhold swung out sharply as a circular door was thrown open. Clinging to it with both hands, Drake found himself dangling from the hatch as four metal spheres were launched from within it.

He braced himself, expecting the balls to turn on him, but they rocketed away from the robot instead, swooshing past one another as they raced in the direction of the horsemen.

“Look out!” Drake cried, but the others were too far away to hear him.

Drake was hanging at the full stretch of his arms, his fingers already beginning to shake with the pressure of his weight and the insistent nagging of gravity. He looked across to the circular hole where the spheres had emerged. The hole formed the mouth of a dark tunnel, running deep into the machine’s innards.

He looked up at the fifty or so metres he still had to climb. He looked across at the hole. The decision was easy.

Swinging his legs up, he kicked for the edge of the hole. His heels slammed down into the mouth of the tunnel and he was able to shimmy his legs further into the darkness, as the hatch began to swing closed.

He just managed to whip his fingers away from the edge before the hatch clanged shut, trapping him inside.

“Made it,” he breathed, then he listened to his voice echoing over and over again into the distance. Each time it did, it sounded less and less convinced that he’d made the right decision.

“Here goes,” he whispered, as he crawled along a dark, narrow passageway, searching for a way up into the robot’s head.

“Get back! All of you, get back!” War bellowed. He was zigzagging along the road, waving his sword around, trying to drive away anyone who got too close to the marching robot.

He turned the horse in the direction of a group of onlookers, twenty or thirty metres ahead. They were all pointing at something. Their outstretched fingers started high, then quickly lowered until they were pointing almost directly at War.

The big man turned to see what they were looking at, just as a spinning metal sphere struck him. Thrown backwards, he smacked against the ground, before skidding clumsily across the tarmac.

Growling, War got to his feet, his sword raised. He ran at the sphere, which was hanging in mid-air, not backing away.

WHUMPF!

Another of the spheres slammed into his side, sending him staggering. A cable shot from within the first sphere, a barbed hook at its tip burying itself deep into the back of War’s neck.

An electrical current crackled along the wire and War’s back arched. Static sparks flickered across his beard as he sunk to his knees, his contracting muscles no longer able to keep him standing.

Even over the electrical buzzing in his head, War heard the panicked scream of Pestilence, and the shocked cry of Famine as more of the spheres closed in to attack.

PEST’S HORSE KICKED out with its back legs, slamming its hooves against a sphere. It spun like a snooker ball off a side cushion and clipped another of the balls. One of them was sent spiralling