The 13th Horseman Part 3

Eventually, though, the giant gave a single nod of his head. "Whatever you say," he said. "Pest."

Pestilence reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a perfectly ordinary television remote control. He jabbed a few b.u.t.tons, then slipped the device back in his pocket.

"You're free to go," said War.

Drake eyed the men closely as he backed towards the high gra.s.s. When he felt the foliage brushing against him, he turned and plunged off through the weeds. The others watched as the trodden undergrowth sprang back into place in his wake.

"Well," breathed Pestilence, "all in all I'd say that went really rather well!"

"SETTLE DOWN GUYS, settle down."

It was first period. Science. The teacher, Mr Franks, swaggered into the cla.s.sroom, one hand shoved casually in his trouser pocket. In the other hand he carried a sheet of paper that he studied as he crossed to his desk. He half sat, half leaned on the table, facing the a.s.sembled cla.s.s, still reading the note.

"Stop mucking about with that gas tap, Kara," he muttered, without looking up. "They're not for playing with."

Near the back of the cla.s.s, Drake gazed absent-mindedly out of the window. The events at the shed yesterday evening were replaying over and over in his mind. He should have told his mum about the men again. She could have called the police and had all three of them arrested.

Then again, if she hadn't believed him, he'd be back at the child psychologist, and she'd be worried sick. Besides, she seemed so tired when she'd finally arrived home. He'd slipped off to bed without saying anything soon after that. And, he only now realised, he never did get that pizza.

He'd just have to stay out of the garden for a while, that was all. For ever, if possible. Life was complicated enough without a freak show trying to recruit him as their ringmaster.

Getting lost in the gra.s.s so many times had been weird, though. He was still convinced there was a perfectly rational explanation for it all. He just couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was. Still, it was bound to come to him eventually.

"Right, listen up, everyone," said Mr Franks. The low murmur of the cla.s.s died down, as all eyes turned to the teacher.

"Billy Sharp, Michael Ash and James Bing didn't return home from school yesterday. The police are searching for them, but as of this morning I'm sorry to say they still haven't been found."

A low wave of chatter swelled across the room, sweeping from pupil to pupil as they turned to each other and began to guess what could have happened to their missing schoolmates.

"Can anyone remember seeing any of them after lunchtime yesterday?" Mr Franks continued. "If so, it's very important you let me know now." His gaze washed over the cla.s.s. "Anyone?"

Drake watched the other pupils with interest. He had no idea who the three missing kids were, so he couldn't be of any help, but he hoped someone would know something. Their parents had to be worried sick.

"OK, then," said Mr Franks. "If any of you do remember anything, then let me or one of the other teachers know. Right away. I can't stress that enough."

He sat the paper down on his desk, then stood up straight. His eyes locked on to Drake and his mouth curved into a friendly smile.

"You must be Drake," he said.

"Um... yeah," Drake confirmed.

"Good to meet you. I'm Mr Franks, but everyone here knows my first name. Doesn't bother me. It's Darren, OK? Write that down if you want, so you remember. D-A-double-R-E-N. I'm not into that whole teacher-pupil thing. I like to think that we're all friends here, just sharing knowledge. That's all. We've all got knowledge and we're just sharing it around. Sound good?"

Drake nodded. "Um... OK."

"I thought it might," said the teacher, smiling broadly. "I'm quite new here too, so I know it can be a bit daunting." He looked around at the cla.s.s. "But we're a pretty good bunch, I think. We won't see you stuck. If you need anything, just give me a shout."

"Thanks," Drake said.

"No bother," Mr Franks replied. He had just started to say "Right, let's crack on," when a knock at the door interrupted him.

"Come in."

The door opened slowly and a younger girl scurried a few paces into the cla.s.s, then stopped, like a rabbit caught in headlights. Without a word, she thrust a note in Mr Franks's direction.

"Thank you," he said, taking it from her and reading it over. "You can go back to cla.s.s," he told her, and she retreated gratefully into the corridor.

"Looks like you're already in demand, Drake," he said.

Drake blinked. "Um... what?"

"Dr Black wants to see you," the teacher said.

"He does? Why?"

"Doesn't say," Mr Franks replied. He looked down at the note again, in case he'd missed something. "Just says he wants to see you in his cla.s.sroom as soon as possible."

Drake realised every eye in the room was trained on him. A summoning to Dr Black's cla.s.sroom, he guessed, was not something that happened every day. A few rows away, he saw Mel looking back at him. She smiled encouragingly. For some reason, this made him even more nervous.

The legs of his chair sc.r.a.ped noisily in the sudden silence as he stood up.

"You'd better hurry," Mr Franks said, as Drake made for the door. "It's not a good idea to keep him waiting."

Drake's footfalls echoed eerily along the empty corridor. He turned over and over in his hands the photocopied map of the school that Mr Franks had given him, trying to figure out where in the twisting black and white labyrinth he was supposed to be. But he was coming to the conclusion that the map was a complete waste of time. He folded it neatly in half, stuck it in his back pocket, and went off in search of anything that might look familiar.

Why did the history teacher want to see him? That was the thought that occupied him as he wandered through the bewildering maze of corridors and pa.s.sageways. Was he in trouble? He hadn't done anything, so he didn't think so.

Unless those three bullies had said something about him peeing on them, of course.

He walked on, up a flight of stairs that he vaguely remembered from yesterday. He felt himself becoming more anxious with every step. It had to be about the incident in the toilets. Why else would Dr Black call for him.

Self-defence, that would be his argument. It was a desperate, last-ditch attempt at avoiding a beating, and he wouldn't, of course, even contemplate urinating on anyone again.

He stopped outside a gloss-painted door and read the little bra.s.s disc screwed into the wood. D9. This was the place.

Self-defence, he reminded himself, as he knocked once, then reached for the door handle. Dr Black would understand. He was probably a reasonable enough man, deep down.

Drake drew in a breath, a.s.sured himself there was nothing to worry about, then pushed open the door.

He paused with the door half open and stared in wonder. A sphere, about the size of a large beach ball, lay on the floor. Its surface shone like polished chrome. Drake saw a distorted reflection of himself as he leaned in closer to get a better look.

SNIKT!.

Two blades extended suddenly from hidden compartments within the ball. Drake leaped back, as the sphere rose into the air, and the blades began to spin.

Drake's blood pitter-pattered on the scuffed vinyl floor in perfect time with his frantic footsteps. He sprinted along a corridor, trying desperately to escape the ball and its blades as they sliced through the air somewhere behind him.

He wiped his sleeve across a deep, b.l.o.o.d.y scratch on his cheek as he skidded round a corner and two-at-a-timed down a flight of stairs. The ball could easily outpace him on the straights, but it had to slow down for the bends, he'd quickly discovered. If he could find enough corners he could put some real distance between him and it.

"Help!" he tried for the fourth or fifth time. "Someone help me, please!" Once again, no one answered his plea. It was almost as if the school had been emptied of everything but the armoured sphere and himself.

Drake stumbled to a stop outside a cla.s.sroom. Twisting the dull metal handle he shoved against the door with his shoulder, throwing it wide open. Staggering inside, he slammed the door shut again behind him, then turned to find something to block it with.

A strangled yelp of shock escaped his lips. Instead of a cla.s.sroom, he found himself in a corridor. Not just any corridor, either. His trail of blood spots led directly up to the door he had just closed. Somehow he'd ended up back in the same corridor he'd just tried to escape from. How was that possible?

His mind raced back to the garden yesterday afternoon. A reality loop, they'd called it. And now it was happening again. They were trying to kill him. Those nutjobs were trying to kill him!

The next corridor swung into view as he flung himself round another corner. Drake felt his heart crash down to his toes. Ahead of him, the walls stretched out into infinity. He could hear the ball of death whizzing closer and closer, its spinning blades already stained with his blood. Pointlessly he powered forward, painfully aware that there was no way he could outrun the thing on a straight like this.

Within seconds the blades were biting at his back, their sharp teeth chewing up the fabric of his uniform.

He cried out in shock as the first blade sc.r.a.ped against his exposed skin. Instinctively, he threw himself to the ground. Death, he knew, would be on him soon.

A shadow fell over him. He heard the soft creak of leather and the gruff growl of a Scottish accent. "Stay down."

A sword flashed in a wide, horizontal arc across the corridor. With a screech of tearing metal, the blade pa.s.sed through the ball, mid-flight. War crouched down, shielding Drake from the brief, blinding explosion. Shards of metal rained down around them, peppering the floor and walls.

When the debris had stopped falling, War stood up, his sword still held at the ready. The floating ball was no longer floating. Nor was it a ball. A tangled mound of wreckage lay on the floor, smouldering gently. War gave it a cautious poke with the tip of his sword.

"What... what was that thing?" Drake asked, using the wall to pull himself to his feet.

War's eyes narrowed. "Techno-magic mumbo jumbo," he muttered.

"What, likea"?"

"Exactly like that," War nodded. He looked along the corridor in both directions. "And exactly like them."

Drake made a noise that was embarra.s.singly like a whimper. Two more floating b.a.l.l.s blocked each end of the corridor. Their blades spun to a high-pitched hum as they began to hover closer.

"Hold on," War commanded, scooping Drake up and depositing him on his back. Drake caught hold of the giant's armoured shoulders and clung on for dear life. "We're leaving."

"How?" Drake asked, his gaze flitting between the two spinning spheres. "There's no way out."

War's muscles tensed. He sprang towards the corridor wall, raising a leg. Plaster and brick exploded outwards as he kicked. "Aye, there is," he replied. The whine from the floating b.a.l.l.s increased in pitch as they raced towards the hole in the wall. "Right then, sunshine," War warned, "whatever you do, don't let go."

DRAKE DUCKED, KEEPING his head behind War's as they crashed through the hole in the wall and out into the car park. War took two big paces, then jumped, clearing a waist-high wall with ease. The ground quaked when he touched down on the other side, and Drake had to kick frantically until he found a foothold on the giant's back.

War scanned the car park, his eyes flitting from vehicle to vehicle. Behind them, the floating spheres came in single file through the gap. Drake craned his neck to see them. They were back to moving slowly, creeping cautiously across the tarmac, weaving between the parked cars. Their blades spun, but they were hanging back, as if aware of the danger War posed.

"They're getting closer," Drake warned. "Shouldn't we be running? What are you doing?"

"Trying to remember where I parked," War muttered. His gaze swept across the rows of vehicles.

"What? You mean... you've got a car?"

War shrugged. The sharp movement almost made Drake lose his grip. "Not exactly," he said. He ran up the bonnet of the closest car and thudded on to the roof. The metal dented where his feet slammed down, and an alarm began to wail in complaint.

The school minibus was parked right next to the car. War raised his arms and placed his palms flat against the minibus roof. With a grunt of effort, he pulled them both up on to it.

"Aha!" he said, looking down. "There you are."

Drake heaved himself high enough to look over War's shoulder. A horse stood on the other side of the minibus. But a horse like none Drake had ever seen.

It was bigger than a normal horse, but that was only to be expected. War, after all, was bigger than a normal man. Much, much bigger.

The horse's skin was a bright, brilliant red, that shone like a ruby in the mid-morning sun. Its mane and tail were shades of orange and yellow. They danced like fire when the horse turned towards the minibus roof.

A worn leather saddle was slung across the horse's wide expanse of back. War leaped from the roof and landed expertly astride the saddle. The horse gave a loud snort, but otherwise didn't react to the sudden weight on its back. The spheres did react, though. They swooshed forward, suddenly appearing at either end of the minibus, their blades spinning into overdrive.

"Yah!" War roared, giving the horse's reins a flick. It sprang into action, clearing the next parked car from a standing start. The car behind it wasn't so lucky. Its roof caved in, shattering the windows and spraying gla.s.s in all directions.

The impact was too much for Drake. His grip slipped, and he found himself sliding down War's back. War shifted his weight forward, making room for Drake to land on the saddle.

"I told you not to let go," War said.

"Well... sorry."

"Don't do it again."

War's shoulder armour was held on by two thick leather straps. Drake caught hold of them just as the horse bounded forward again. It cleared the whole row of cars this time, landing on the road. The road surface cracked beneath its hooves, but there was no stopping it now. With another leap it cleared the low wall that surrounded the car park, and they were out on the open road, leaving the school behind.

Another alarm squealed. Drake looked back to see the spheres slicing through the air after them, their blades tearing through everything in their path. Four cars, five, fell apart like broken toys. The wall became bricks, the bricks became dust, and the b.a.l.l.s of death were after them once again.

The horse galloped along the road, Drake's teeth rattling in his head with each thunderous footstep. The ground whizzed by, a speeding blur of grey. Up ahead, a car's rear lights flashed red as its brakes began to squeal. Drake caught a glimpse of the driver's wide eyes in the rear-view mirror, before the horse was leaping again, soaring over the car then resuming its run on the other side.

"That... that was incredible," Drake said.

"That? That was nothing," War told him. His beard was being blown backwards over his shoulder. Drake had to lean to the left to avoid swallowing the thing. As he shifted in the saddle, he saw the traffic lights looming ahead. They were on red. A steady stream of traffic flowed across the street just beyond them. War flicked the reins. "Watch this!"

Drake could see the faces of every pa.s.senger on the bus. They wore matching expressions of amazement as they watched the horse hurl itself into the sky. Its hooves skitted across the flat metal roof, showering the street with sparks. And then it was plunging back towards the ground, and Drake could feel his stomach being tossed up somewhere around his ears. The landing bounced him out of the saddle. He opened his mouth to scream, before War's hand wrapped round his ankle and pulled him back down.

"Thanks," he croaked.

"No bother."

The spheres sliced through the moving traffic, their blades puncturing the tyres and chewing the metal of every vehicle they pa.s.sed. Horns blared, people screamed, more alarms joined in the chorus, but it was all just background noise to the clattering of the horse's hooves.

Drake turned in the saddle. "They're still coming!" he cried, though his voice was almost lost to the wind.

War nodded. "Aye."

"What do we do?"

A hesitation. "Can you ride?"

"What... you mean ride a horse?"

"Naw, a bike," War spat. "Aye, a horse."