~ QUILLAN ~
(Continued)

Press snapped back into action. "Grab the journal!" he roared, dashing towards the pile of marble.

Mark and Courtney sprinted after him. Now that the jig was up, all they could do was seize the barkscrolls and return to Earth. But they had mere seconds left…the chopper in the center was taking aim with a rocket launcher.

Press threw out an arm and scooped up the barkscrolls…just as the rocket fired. They were in exactly the wrong place.

But at that moment, Fourteen came from out of nowhere and knocked them flying. The dado barely had time to stagger to his feet and start running himself, as the pile of marble exploded in a fireball. And unfortunately, his luck ran out.

A large chunk of marble was spat out of the explosion and slammed with tremendous force into Fourteen's back. His face was incapable of expressing pain or shock—perhaps he was incapable of even feeling it—but he jerked forward, arms flailing, and lay face down, twitching. Courtney cried out in fear. Fourteen's challenger shirt was ripped, and they could see a huge dent below his right arm where the rubble had hit him.

"Get us out of here!" shouted Mark. "Back to Earth!"

Press grabbed hold of Mark and Courtney…just as Courtney reached out grabbed hold of Fourteen. Press stared at her for a second, then nodded. They all took a deep breath, and stepped out of the ruin of Mr. Pop…into the ruin of the New York City Zoo.

Mark and Courtney had never thought they would be glad to see the place.

"We did it," gasped Mark.

But Courtney didn't answer him. She was kneeling beside Fourteen, who was lying on his back, staring up at her. It was an odd feeling. As a dado, Fourteen did not bear many of the hallmarks of a dying person. His eyes did not appear glazed or unfocused, his breathing was not labored, and his face showed neither pain nor peace. But he was making involuntary twitching movements, and awful grating noises could be heard from inside him as damaged parts jerked uselessly. And without quite understanding how, Mark and Courtney knew that he was beyond repair.

"I do not know where this is," said Fourteen. "Where did we go? Where are the assault helicopters?"

"We're safe," said Courtney, holding back tears. "Thanks to you."

"I did what was necessary," said Fourteen. "Your lives are worth far more than my continued operation. I am proud to have served you, and Pendragon."

And then, Fourteen fell silent and still. He had shut down. No, he had died. He may have been a machine, but he had had a soul. He had cared about the world in a way that no other dado did. Mark and Courtney couldn't begin to guess how it was possible, but there had been a spark of compassion in him.

They spent the next few hours burying him, digging a simple grave in the ruins of an old tiger exhibit.

Once the dado had been dropped in and the grave filled, they stared down at the spot. "We need to mark it," said Courtney.

"But how?" said Press.

Suddenly, Mark jumped to his feet. "I have an idea," he said. "Stay here. I'll be back in a bit."

He tore off down the streets of New York City, heading for a place he knew. After several minutes of running, he found it. The street with the entrance to the underground passage where he had found the first journal. His eyes alighted on the street sign. He grasped the pole, then started tugging and twisting, grunting with exertion, until finally it came free of the dirt it had been standing in.

He arrived back at the zoo, panting. "What's that?" said Courtney in confusion. In answer, Mark held up the street sign for everyone to see.

FOURTEENTH ST.

Then, Mark took the sign, placed it flat on the ground, stepped on the edge with his feet, and wrenched it upwards. Part of it broke off. He held it up again.

FOURTEEN.

Courtney's face split in a wide grin. "You really are something."

Mark winked and said, "Bobby always chose his friends well." The two of them laughed and hugged.

They drove the pole deep into the soil, so that the sign itself was only a foot or so above the ground. They stepped back and admired their handiwork. "Not too fancy…but it'll do," said Mark.

"And with that," said Press, "I think it's time to read the last section of Bobby's adventures on First Edge."