Dicing with Death (2 page)

He strained his ears but heard nothing but silence.

Reaching the bank Max scrambled up it and squeezed through the fence. He quickly scanned the street.

Nothing.

It took Max three attempts to fit the key into his front door. Finally it turned and he stepped into
the hall. Picking up the phone, he punched in his mother's mobile number.

‘Hello?' She sounded annoyed already.

‘Mum…'

‘Max. I hope you've got a good reason for ringing. I'm in the middle of a meeting.'

‘Amy's missing,' Max choked.

‘What do you mean? What's wrong?'

‘Mum… I've lost her.' His throat tightened and his voice went wobbly.

‘Where?' his mother snapped.

Quickly Max told her what had happened.

‘Right, phone the police and tell them what's happened. I'm on my way home. Call 999, now!' his mother rapped, machine-gun-style, and then hung up.

* * *

His mother and David arrived at exactly the same moment, bursting through the front door together.

Max had never seen his mother look so chalk-coloured. As for David… he actually looked worried. Not once in the last six years had Max seen David's face a degree over
concerned
. Broken
windows, flaming rows, detentions, irate teachers and broken curfews had all been tackled by Mr Calm and Capable himself. Looking at this new anxious stepfather, Max suddenly wanted the old one back.

‘I'm so sorry, Mum. I didn't mean to lose her, honest.'

His mother stared at him with cold blue eyes.

‘It's all right, we know you didn't.' David filled the awkward silence.

Max's mother rounded on David. ‘Anything could have happened to Amy! She could be lying dead at the bottom of the lake, or have been abducted… and what are we doing? Sitting on our backsides doing nothing, that's what!'

She slammed into the living room.

‘She doesn't blame you,' David said gently.

‘What do you know?' Max shouted. ‘Everything was fine until you came along. None of this would be happening if Mum hadn't met you, because there wouldn't
be
an Amy. It would just be the two of us, like before. I hate you! I wish you'd disappear too!' His voice trailed off as two police officers walked in through the open front door.

David's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish before he hustled the police into the living room and firmly closed the door.

Minutes ticked by until Max couldn't bear the suspense of waiting any more. He pressed his ear against the door and listened to his mother speaking.

‘I just don't understand why you're so interested in Max. He's a good boy. He wouldn't do anything to hurt Amy.'

‘In all likelihood your daughter has just wandered off and is lost, but given the circumstances, we have to establish whether there are any problems concerning family relationships. It may surprise you to know that in situations such as these it's often a close family member who is involved,' came the reply.

Max felt sick. They were more or less accusing him of having done something to Amy!

Without waiting to hear more, Max tore out of the house and raced into the rapidly gathering dark, only to stumble over the uneven paving slabs. Lying face down he lashed out with his fists in frustration, grazing all of his knuckles in the process. It didn't make him feel any better, but he did it again anyway.

I shouldn't have run
, said a voice in his head.
All I've done is made myself look one hundred per cent guilty
.

The police had probably already passed his details on to the rest of the force branding him as a wanted criminal: highly dangerous, approach with caution. Well, he wouldn't go home until he had searched the whole of the forest and found Amy. His den – that was the first place he should look.

Max hurried along the frozen track, running as fast as he dared in the dark. Every snapping twig sounded like a pistol crack. He swerved off the track at roughly the point where he guessed his den was and held out his hands to feel his way. Pictures from horror movies forced their way into his mind, until he became convinced that behind every tree lurked hideous monsters.

He crashed into a small bush and furiously fought off the freezing, finger-like branches before rolling away. He didn't bother getting back up but stayed on his hands and knees, crawling in what he hoped was the right direction. Finally his hands felt mud instead of prickly pine needles.

He was on the path that led to his den.

Max scrambled down the twisting track that led into the tar black glade. ‘Amy!' His voice rang out. ‘It's Max. I've come to get you. Amy, where are you?'

He was greeted with silence. Disappointment rushed over him.
She's not here
. He sank onto the mossy ground and shivered with cold.

Once again he began to sense he wasn't alone. He gazed into the thick blackness. ‘Who's there?'

A glowing silver arc appeared in the distance. Max screwed up his eyes and realised it was bobbing towards him through the air.

The object came to a halt just in front of him. Max's breathing came fast and hard. It was the blade of a scythe. He scrambled up, wanting to run, but his feet were like two blocks of concrete.

With a faint swish, a dark hood fell back to reveal the side profile of a face. No, not a face…

Max staggered back a few steps as a skull of gleaming ivory swung around towards him.

There was a seven-foot skeleton staring down at him.

It was the Grim Reaper.

Max stared into Death's eyes – well, his eye sockets – until the distance between Max and the Grim Reaper appeared to lengthen. The skeleton's ivory features blurred as he floated away. This was the time to make a run for it.

Then Max saw what Death was moving towards.

The Grim Reaper raised his scythe, and from it spilled an eerie blue light that trickled down onto a small, crumpled pink bundle.

‘Oh, no,' Max whispered.

His sister was curled up in a tangle of undergrowth.

Max desperately wanted to race over to Amy but running towards her also meant running towards Death.

The Grim Reaper looked across at him and appeared to grin. With two bony hands he brought down the long-handled scythe.

Max bolted forward as the blade sliced down like a guillotine. Launching himself off the ground, he threw himself across Amy's lifeless body. ‘No!' he screamed. ‘You can't have her!'

Max waited for the slice of cold steel against his neck. Amy lay unmoving in his arms. Time ticked by, and still his head was safely attached to his body. Daringly, he squinted upwards. The Grim Reaper had vanished.

Max turned his attention to Amy. ‘Please don't let her be dead,' he whispered, stripping off his coat and tucking it around her. Amy's face was as white as one of her china dolls and her lips were purplish blue – the same colour she had been just minutes after she was born. David had called him into the hospital room where his mum was lying with Amy in her arms. ‘Say hello to your new baby sister,' she'd smiled, dropping a kiss onto Amy's head. Max had felt a sharp jab of jealousy. ‘Half-sister,' he had pointed out.

For the first time in five years, Max felt uncomfortable with the way he'd acted that day.

‘Amy,' he urged. ‘Come on, open your eyes.'

Gradually it dawned on him that not only could he see Amy, but that she was lying in a pool of light. Glancing up he saw the source of the light was the scythe. Death hadn't gone at all, he had simply moved further away.

The Grim Reaper regarded him, skull tilted to one side. ‘Enough!' His voice reverberated like a
tomb slamming closed. ‘It is time. Your sister must leave this world.'

Something deep and angry inside Max began to boil. He leapt to his feet. ‘You can't take her,' he screamed with clenched fists. ‘I won't let you.'

With only a skull for a face, Death wasn't naturally good at expressions, but despite this Max got the impression the Grim Reaper didn't like being defied by a mortal. ‘Don't be foolish,' he boomed. ‘Move out of the way.'

‘I don't think so,' Max croaked.

Death tipped his head back, almost as if he were laughing, and appeared to take a huge breath. Then he dropped his head again, opened his jaw and released a howling blast of freezing air.

The force of the surge knocked Max off his feet and propelled him half way across the glade. He slammed against a tree trunk, the sudden pain in his back fighting for supremacy with the agony in his ears as roaring wind tore through the forest.

A giant hourglass appeared in the air above Amy. Death appeared to be waiting for the last of the sand to run from the top bulb to the bottom. A gold thread shimmered between the hourglass and Amy's heart. Max gulped. It was Amy's lifeline.

Once again, Death raised his scythe into the air.

It was at this precise moment that inspiration hit Max like an icy wave.

‘Stop! Stop! I'll play you!' he shouted.

For a long moment, nothing moved. Death remained with his arms raised, about to sever Amy's lifeline; Max lay against the tree where he'd landed, hardly daring to breathe.

Slowly, Death lowered his scythe.

‘What?' His deep voice boomed around the glade.

‘That's the rule, right? I can challenge you to a game. Everybody knows that,' Max gabbled. ‘I'm allowed to play a game with you, and if I win you can't take Amy.'

Death floated slowly across the forest floor towards Max. The way he moved had the uncanny effect of making the forest seem as if it were rushing into the distance, while Death himself stayed perfectly still. Max screwed up his eyes as the world shifted and bent out of focus.

‘Actually,' said Death, leaning over him, ‘it's the best of three.'

‘If you choose to join the queue of candidates, you will have a very long wait,' grinned Death.

‘W-w-what?' stuttered Max, before his brain clicked into gear. He could put up with a day or two's wait. This was for Amy's life, he'd queue for weeks if need be. ‘What will happen to Amy while I'm waiting?' he panted. ‘She'll be alright, won't she?'

‘What she will be,' boomed Death ‘is old. The queue is thirty years long, give or take a month or two.'

Max's eyes widened. ‘Thirty years!'

Death swung his scythe so that its sharp blade pointed forward like the beak of a bird of prey. Realising what was about to happen, Max rolled sideways as the huge blade fell, missing him by millimetres and slicing into the stony ground. A crack appeared which rapidly grew deeper and
wider. Stones rattled down into the depths of what had suddenly become a chasm, before two podgy grey hands appeared on either side of the crack. These were followed by a face more wrinkled than a British bulldog with hairy warts sprouting on the folds of grey skin. The creature had long pointed ears, a beaky, sharp nose and slanting, luminous eyes. Accompanying his struggle through the gap was a sound like a balloon being deflated. This was immediately followed by the smell of rotten eggs.

‘Whoops,' the creature smirked. ‘Pardon me.'

‘Mopsus,' Death sighed.

The creature called Mopsus was only about three feet tall, but he was able to reach eye level with Death thanks to the madly flapping feathered wings attached to his ankles.

‘Master Reaper.' His voice grated like two stones being ground together.

Death dipped his head slightly. ‘This…
boy
has challenged me to a game.'

Mopsus scratched his head. ‘Another one? I don't know where you expect me to put him. They're queueing back as far as the boiler room. Tempers are getting pretty hot down there.' He coughed, splattering Max with stinking phlegm. ‘Ahem, no pun intended.'

Death leaned a little closer to Mopsus. ‘Perhaps you might suggest an alternative,' he intoned. ‘The boy should be given the chance to save his sister, no matter how slight. I believe we have an
understanding
?' He emphasised the last word so that it echoed around the glade.