Afterworlds: The 13th Horseman. Barry Hutchison

      “Home,” he answered. “I told you, I quit.”

      “Fair enough,” War said. “But you have to work your notice.”

      Drake met the giant’s gaze and held it. “What?” he asked flatly.

      “Three months’ notice,” War said. “Ninety days. It’s in the terms and conditions.”

      “But...” Drake’s mouth flapped open and closed. “You didn’t tell me that!”

      “Didn’t I? Must’ve slipped my mind.”

      Over by the bridge, War’s horse gave a snort. For the first time, Drake noticed a small shed standing just beyond it. It looked remarkably similar to the shed in his garden, but Drake decided he wasn’t going to think about that right now. He had enough on his plate as it was.

      “You don’t want to go breaking the terms and conditions,” War told him. “That’s really not a good idea.”

      “Why?” Drake asked. He’d been running on pure adrenalin since his escapades on the horse, but the effects were wearing off now, and he could feel his whole body trembling. “What happens if I do?”

      War’s face darkened. “You’ll be cast into the fiery pits of Hell for a thousand millennia, forced to endure torture and suffering far beyond anything your tiny little mind could ever bring itself to imagine.”

      “And,” added Pestilence apologetically, “we’d have to take the badge back.”

      War folded his arms across his impossibly broad chest. “So, Drake Finn,” he said, “what’s it to be?”