Chapter 7
-oOo-

The voice that answered Pestilence was neither that of Death or War, which was who he had been expecting.

"Not too busy to greet your brother, surely? Not after I have taken the time to wheel myself down here to see this lab of yours. You do realise I have never seen inside? And, after all, the sole reason I am here is that I heard you...Pestilence? Are you listening?"

There was the sound of a key being turned in the lock and the door opened just enough for Pest to poke his head outside.

"What do you mean? You heard me?"

Famine looked at his youngest brother seriously, thinking that somehow Pestilence looked worse in himself than usual.

"Might I suggest this is not a conversation to have while I am sitting out here in the hallway? Though if you are happy for us to talk this way, I will oblige of course."

Pest hesitated, then reluctantly opened the door fully.

"Come in."

-o-

Famine gazed around the impressive laboratory, surprised that it wasn't as grubby and untidy as he had expected. His eyes swept over the map of the USA.

"Planning a vacation are you brother? I have to say, you do look...Illerrer?...More ill than is normal for you. Are you alright?"

Pestilence sighed.

"I'm very busy an' it's a while since I ate, that's all. So...You said you heard me?"

Famine could almost see the metaphorical barrier that his brother seemed to be trying to keep him behind and so, wanting his presence to be clearly felt by Pestilence, Famine eased himself out of his wheelchair and stood upright. Although Pestilence was light in build, Famine was more so, however, he stood almost a full head taller than Pestilence. Keeping his serious expression, he looked down into his young brother's eyes, noting how restless they were, avoiding looking directly back at him. The youngster had secrets.

"What is it you crave brother? What do you need to fill the void you hide deep within yourself?...Ahhh! There it is!"

-o-

"Stop that! Keep away from me dammitt! Only thing I crave is to be left alone by the rest of you! Go! Get out of here!"

Famine had never seen the youngest Horseman so panicked, and he stood firm against Pestilence's fear fuelled demands for him to leave. It was too late anyway. He had seen what Pestilence hungered for. Power. He wanted to lead. He wanted to be the Head Horseman, the position so rightly held by Death. Famine spoke softly to his frightened brother.

"What have you done Pest?"

He glanced again at the map, then back to Pestilence.

"What do you plan to do? I am your older brother, and you will answer me child!"

-o-

Pestilence was moving quickly back from Famine, stumbling and swaying as he did so. Refusing to allow him any respite, Famine moved with him.

"Are you aware that Death is ill? That he had taken to his bed? I ask you once more brother, before I suck the truth out of you! What. Have. You. Done?"

At the news of Death being unwell, Pestilence suddenly came to a halt and looked around, desperately needing something to hold onto. Recognising his brother's need, Famine stepped up alongside him and draped one of Pest's arms across his shoulder, using his own body to prop the younger Horseman up on his feet.

"Lean on me my little brother, tell me what is wrong. Let me help, Ibeg you."

-o-

War was in the kitchen preparing a spiced hot drink for Death when, partially by way of supporting himself, Pestilence pushed the wheelchair containing Famine into the room. Famine pointed at the kitchen table.

"Sit yourself down, before you fall. Is there going to be enough of that for our Pestilence here? It seems he too is unwell, and it is likely that you and I will be joining him and Death."

War turned around, frowning.

"What? You're making no sense. I feel fine. Hale and hearty as ever!"

Famine smiled reassuringly at the now nervous Pestilence.

"It would appear that our bright little brother here has made a miscalculation with his new creation, making something of such incredible power, some or all of it's effects are able to infect even us to a degree."

War stared at Pestilence with an odd mixture of pride and displeasure.

"Do you have the cure?"

Again it was Famine who spoke.

"He does not. Not until it is known who or what can be infected and how it effects them can a cure be developed. It is this which has been worrying him."

Opening his mouth to speak, War instead burst into a violent fit of coughing, sending him red in the face and leaving him gasping for air when it settled again. He looked down into the pan of bubbling liquid which smelled primarily of fresh lemons and mint.

"Think I'd better prepare more of this then."

He focused his attention onto the miserable looking Pestilence.

"When can we expect the cure from you?"

When he answered, Pest's voice was considerably more husky than usual, with voice sounds occasionally failing him completely.

"Soon. I ... tests tomorrow on the human world ... hopefully ... cure the day after that."

Filling the gaps in for himself, War nodded.

"Good. And you will be running the test, no matter how ill, won't you."

It was a statement, not an enquiry.

"I swear it."

None of the four Horsemen were prepared to give voice to the implications of the potential impact on human life-forms of an infective substance so powerful, it could cause the Horsemen themselves, including Death, to fall ill.

-o-

There was little sleep to be had that night for either Pestilence or Death. Pestilence spent his night feeling as if he were being torn in three pieces. First there was his worry that his creation had been able to impact on himself and, by then, all three of his brothers. This was counterbalanced by his excitement at the knowing he would soon meet with The Darkness again and that, together, they would bring down destruction on a whole world. However, threading through both his concern and his excitement, there was the guilt. He had lied and kept his liaisons with The Darkness from Famine, he had maintained both the lie and the pretence with War but, much more importantly, he had also done this with Death. Pestilence couldn't stop himself from imagining what might be the consequence should his lies and his relationship with The Darkness come to the attention of his beloved oldest brother, and each possible scenario that he envisaged was worse than the last. It was, then, an emotionally wretched version of Pestilence who silently slipped out of his home to keep his rendezvous with The Darkness.

-o-

Death had never experienced ill health for himself, despite his immense experience of being there at the outcome of serious ill health in others. He understood that what he was experiencing now was at the equivalent level of a human suffering a common place, and none life threatening, short period of illness. He promised himself that he would remember how bad he felt and would make use of the experience in his future dealings with any being who's end was caused by illness. If not for the fact that he was Death, he decided he could seriously be made to believe he was dieing. There wasn't one spot or single position that he was able to feel comfortable in. On top of the physical discomfort and the sheer misery of feeling like himself warmed up, (he had heard the phrase somewhere once, "Felt like death warmed up" and, ever since, it had amused him to use it), there was also the vastly greater problem that was his worry about young Pest. Pest would not thank Death for telling him, but Death always knew when Pest was hiding something or not stating the truth. Today, Pest had been doing both, and as far as Death was concerned, that meant there was something seriously amiss. Having mulled the situation over, Death had eventually come to conclusion that the proper response expected of any concerned parent would be to undertake action to find out what that something was. And so Death was ready and appropriately dressed for staying hidden in the shadows when he sensed Pestilence leaving the house. Death followed soon after, relieved to find his stiff limbs loosening up somewhat once he was moving.

-o-

Battles are not fought on a Monday to Friday, 9 to 5 basis. Wars could break out on any day of the week and at any time. Those who's task it was to fight against those who caused war had to be ready to go into action at a moment's notice. And so it was with War himself when he identified that two individuals had, separately, just exited the house. It came as no surprise, he had been expecting some kind of activity to take place, and had persuaded Famine and his assistants to be prepared. He hurried along the hallway to the two rooms Famine had commandeered, first striding into the room the assistants were sharing. He walked straight over to the twin beds and gave the bottom of both beds a kick.

"C'mon men, look lively there! Time for action. Up an' at 'em! Get to your duties!"

He was a little taken aback when both the assistant's heads lifted and peered up at him, having both emerged from under the same bedclothes in the same bed.

"How come you're...? Oh. Ooh! I see! Well. Pants on and get to your master's room...Now!"

-o-

Marching out again, War gave a brief knock on Famine's door before entering his brother's room and announcing,

"I was right. That sneaky little snot nosed Pestilence has already left...Followed not long after by Death. My guess is Death's decided to follow the runt to see what he's up to. I've woken your assistants to give you a hand. I'll see you downstairs. And just so's you know? Next time you stop over anywhere, your men only need one bed between 'em...I suggest Queen sized."

And with that, War turned and disappeared out of the room again.

-oOo-
Chick xxx