The thing about my condition, I find, is that having something happen that would kill you in normal circumstances is really, really inconvenient when you are already, actually dead. When I was pushed off the bridge, I don't even remember hitting the water. Instead, I woke up already in Hell, nice and warm and feeling ironically cozy. This time however, I felt it. Every. Last. Little. Bit.

I slammed into the rocky ravine floor so hard I swear the ground cracked open beneath me. My connection to Ghree broke as soon as I hit, and I've no doubt she took off as soon as she knew I was no longer able to chase after her. Thankfully I'm able to manage pain - turning off the worst of the sensations my body was sending my brain - as not only had every bone in my body broken on impact, but a ton of rocks and debris from the ravine sides fell down and buried me deep beneath it. I was encased in the rocks, my arms and legs and chest twisted into strange and unusual positions, and I was able to appreciate all of it, thanks to being dead already.

I quickly began to worry that I would never be able to move, and so stay buried here for hours, days, years - forever maybe - but when my bones begin to heal, straightening and popping back into place a few minutes after the fall, I find the rocks around me move enough to allow my broken body to regain its proper shape. I sound pretty cool about the whole thing, but trust me - inside I am Freaking Out. As soon as my body's done repairing itself, I gingerly try moving my arms and legs, and finding them seemingly okay, I begin to dig myself out.

I while away the time as I inch my way upwards by thinking over the last words I said to Ghree and the effect they had on her. Which, plainly, wasn't much. But despite my failure to convince her of my good intentions, I'm sure that just before I lost my link to her consciousness - just before I hit bottom - I felt something else appear in her mind.

It felt like hope.

Ghree had spent so long harbouring spite and hatred in her heart, it was a wonder that she would find anything in me that could change her outlook on life. Certainly our conversation hadn't revolved around intellectual argument and persuasion. So it must be something else. Something I did, maybe?

Of course - my ability to reach into her! It strikes me that I might be unique in having that ability. If the only other beings that can do that are God and Charles Hathershaw...

My mind freewheels while I turn that thought over a few times. I must be able to use that to my advantage. And if it works for Ghree, then surely it works for all the Horsemen. I want to talk this over with someone, starting with Fluff. And then I realise I haven't even thought to ask him for help in getting out of here. Not only that, but he hasn't tried to contact me either. In a panic, I reach out, searching around for his coal-bright conscience. How could I have forgotten him?

With a flood of relief, I find Fluff a little way above me.

"Hey! Want to help a girl out a little here?" I send to him, feeling a little pissed that he hadn't dug down to find me like some mental St Bernard.

"Yeah.., I don't want to give the game away, if you know what I mean. You got visitors."

"I'm buried under a pile of rock, who the hell is up there waiting for me?"

"Well, the good Doctor Huntley is here. I think he likes you, you know."

"Huntley's here? Why? What's he doing?"

"Right now? He's tickling me behind my ears. It's kinda nice. I feel like I should show him some affection. Think I should lick his face?"

"After where your tongues been? ...Yeah, okay. Do that. Should be interesting. Now dig me out!"

It's not long before I hear rocks being moved and worried voices. It sounds like Huntley brought the whole convoy with him to get me. Which begs the question, how did he get here so fast?

"I fetched him here, along with Ogunwe," said Fluff when I ask him. "You were out of it while your head re-grew. I thought the wing'ed-one may come in handy."

I pause in my digging to let that sink in. My head re-grew? I try not to put two and two together, but still, I feel a little sick. I'll need therapy when this is over, I think to myself.

When eventually enough rock is moved that I can free myself, I stand up in the blessed sunlight and brush the dust off my clothes and shake out my hair. Doctor Huntley stares at me in amazement, beside himself that I can emerge from under so much fallen rock with not even a scratch to show for it. His mouth does that open-and-closed thing that people do when lost for words, and I can see that he's not the only one. The rest of the team from the aid convoy are similarly amazed, and stare at me in wonder. I look around and spy Ogunwe, standing back a little and starting up at the sky beyond the ravine with an amused look on his face.

"What should I tell them?" I ask him, going straight for that light and peaceful place that was the angel's conscience.

Ogunwe's voice chuckles in my head in reply, "I don't know, but whatever you come up with, I'm very much looking forward to hearing it."

"So," I say to Huntley. "Thanks for coming by. Would have been stuck here a while if you hadn't shown up."

Huntley blinks a few times and seems to gather himself together before answering. "Aveline ... What on earth were you doing out here?"

"Erm. Taking my dog for a walk?"

"We're ten miles away from the camp!"

"Oh. It was er, a nice night. For a walk. Must have got distracted."

"The night was full of locusts, Aveline. It was the worst night of my life."

This was going to get us no-where, obviously. I haven't got the time to go round the houses with Huntley. I need to go after Ghree, or try my luck with another Horseman. What I could really do with is some better information on what I should expect to face when I find them, and how to deal with it. I needed to be better prepared. I hate to admit it, as it feels like something my college tutor would say, but I needed to do some research. And then, a great idea pops into my head.

"Doctor Huntley," I say, with what I hoped was my serious voice. "We need to talk."

*

Huntley handled the revelation of my being a dead half-angel, half-demon very well, all things considered. He only ran away once, when Fluff revealed his true nature to him on my bidding. Well, he'd needed some persuading I was telling the truth.

We sit around another camp fire, back on the road out of Malha. After the events of the night before, most of the refugees had scattered, escaping the plague of locusts that had descended on the camp causing panic. They were returning in small groups, and the aid convoy's people were doing their best to help those who were coming back to the wells. On the plus side, the militia that had been present when Fluff and I had charged into the oasis had also scattered, and the evidence was that they might not be returning anytime soon. He hadn't said anything, but I suspected from his certainty they wouldn't be coming back that Ogunwe had paid them a visit some time in the early hours.

Ogunwe is sat on Huntley's left, letting me talk but occasionally shaking his head in disbelief that I should do something as radical as spill the beans on our etherealness. After the fifth time of his asking me not to do this and being soundly ignored, Ogunwe had gone mute. The only other occasion he had spoken up was when I revealed his being an angel. Huntley had turned to Ogunwe for confirmation and received a resigned "Yes".

Huntley had thought about that for a while, then had simply said, "That explains the shirts." After a few seconds of confusion, during which Ogunwe and I threw questioning looks at each other, I decided to ignore this strange and obscure response by Huntley and focus on the matter at hand. After all, I thought Ogunwe's Hawaiian shirts were pretty cool.

"The point is, Doctor, you are a scientist, and scientists are good at research. Plus, it would be doing something for the good of mankind. Think about how good that would look on your resume!"

Huntley didn't reply straight away. He looked confused, tired, worried and, to be honest, pretty damn scared. In the flickering firelight I saw him for who he really was, not the brash, self-assured, ex-highschool quarterback persona that he portrayed, but a frail, mortal human facing the end of the world. I could see the point he made his decision when a resigned, haunted look appeared on his face.

It was only then that I realised just how serious the whole thing was. All this time I had been feeling a little removed from reality, like I was still partly in a dream and what was happening to me was just a thing that was confined only to my head, not the physical world. Now, in this moment, I was suddenly aware of just how precarious life - however you measure it - was.

Mine. Huntley's. The entire human race.

Holy-moley.

*

We're travelling back to Khartoum, where the jet is waiting to take me on to wherever I decide I'm going to next. Huntley is in the back sleeping while Ogunwe drives. The rest of the aid convoy is back at the Mahla oasis, helping all those poor souls who fled the night before, and who began returning at dawn from the desert. Fluff is out there somewhere, making sure we're not going to run into any trouble that might cause us delay.

Not long after we left Mahla, I had made a discovery that pleased me no end. In going through my rucksack I discovered a set of headphones, which in turn led me to look once more at the phone Grant had given me. I had no wish to speak to the demon. To be frank, he'd pissed me off a little over the whole Ghree debacle, being somewhat less than helpful in preparing me for what was to happen. I was sure he was having a good laugh somewhere at my expense, and I was in no mood to hear him gloating over my failure. What I did find however was that the phone had a full 4G signal, despite being in the middle of the Sudan desert. I'm guessing this is not normal, so I suppose there might be more to that bitten apple logo than first appears... But whatever - it does mean I can download my ever evolving eclectic playlist of tunes to while away the time and help drown out Huntley's snores.

I pull the manila files on the horsemen out of the bag and while the Cocteau Twins warble ethereally incomprehensible words about some girl called Ivo, I ponder on which horseman I should go and visit next. Death, Pestilence or War? Hmm, such choices. I put Death's back in the bag. I still have a physical aversion to reading that particular file. So, War, or Pestilence?

Torkin, the Horseman of War, last seen not too far away in either Syria or Iraq, would be the sensible choice. In theory, I could find him and 'ask his help' with minimal delay, but if I'm honest with myself, the thought of taking on a being so very powerful in the fighting line does not appeal. At the very least, I want that sword I so long for in my hand when I face him, and I still have no idea how to get hold of it. I say 'it', because now, when I think about having a sword, I'm sure there is only really one sword I want. I just have no idea where it is or what it looks like - apart from being sharp and pointy, that is.

I have a strong feeling that to take on Torkin, I'm going to need more help than Fluff, Ogunwe or Huntley can give provide. I put Torkin's file away in the bag along with Death's, and open the file on Grimmoire, the Horseman of Pestilence. Last known to be in Lithuania. Face like a pustulent toad. Shouldn't be hard to recognise.

I read on further than where I last got to on the plane out from New York, and find a few surprises about Grimmoire. For a start, Antoine Grimmoire is not the first person to have taken the role of Horseman of Pestilence. The file didn't tell me who was first, but Grimmoire was given the job in 1793, after the last incumbent had 'retired'. Apparently, the offer to Grimmoire of becoming a horseman was made at the time of his death - on the guillotine at the hands of French revolutionaries - after pleading with God to spare his life just as the blade fell. At the instant his head was severed from his body, God had answered with an offer that Grimmoire accepted without condition. The file had quite a bit to say about Antoine Grimmoire, and not a lot of it was good.

A member of the French aristocracy, he had been a staunch supporter of King Louis XVI, and was executed just a few days after the King at the Place de la Révolution in Paris at the height of France's fervent revolutionary passion. There's nothing in the file to say why the previous Horseman of Pestilence decided to retire. How can that even be possible? What I do learn is that Grimmoire was some kind of sociopath, completely out of touch with those around him, shunned by his family and acquaintances, loathed by all who came into contact with him. Only his wealth and aristocratic lineage kept him in wealth and a privileged life before the Revolution caught up with him.

*

Just before dawn Ogunwe stopped the jeep so that Huntley could answer a call of nature. I stepped out to meet up with Fluff and watch the sun rise above the dunes. I stood facing east where a pink and orange glow began to lighten the sky and pressed play on my phones music app. Fluff crept up to me just before the sun crested the horizon, his nose nuzzling my back for a moment before he settled down next to me to watch the sunrise. The first rays of light touching my face were timed to perfection with the track I chose - a super-emotional rush called The Birth and Death of the Day. I shared the experience with Fluff - I figured he'd enjoy it too. A satisfied growl emanated from him and he rested his head on his paws while I patted his head.

When the track finished, I switched off the phone and ran a hand over my face to wipe away my tears.

"Well Fluff, ready for the next challenge?"

"Damn right, sister!"

"Cool. Let's go get Pestilence."

Urgh. Did I really just say that?