The Last Scarecrow

32 | Number Five

With her arms supported by the golems, Five tripped and scuffed her way up the cobbled path to Coldharbour Farm on electric-blue rollerblades. She stopped on the courtyard, the farmhouse to her right, the barn to her left, the towering bonfire and bathtub looming in front.

Erin wondered what Five's addled, turbulent mind was making of this. How long had The Patchwork Woman kept her locked away in the hull of The Black Peril? What effect had that done to the poor scarecrow? Nothing good, Erin knew that much.

She seemed well enough, however. In one piece. No visible signs of damage or distress.

The Patchwork Woman circled Five, nudging her towards the barn.

Erin darted across to intercept them, but Five side-stepped the girl and skated inside.

"What are you doing?" Erin said, trailing The Patchwork Woman.

"Finishing what you couldn't," she answered simply. "Bringing my army to life."

"No," Erin whimpered, trying to get to Five. "Not with her. She's suffered enough."

The Patchwork Woman gave a quick hand gesture and the golems seized Erin again.

"You're quite the pest," she told the girl. "I really ought to squash you like a fly, but I'd hate to see you miss all the excitement."

Erin struggled hopelessly in the golem's tight, clammy hands.

"You've given them a uniform," The Patchwork Woman said, walking up and down the line, inspecting the football jersey on each scarecrow. "How quaint."

"I haven't armed them yet," Erin tried desperately. "I have weapons in mind, but I thought it best if—"

"What you thought is at an end. We have no use for you sticks and kitchen knives here. I have weapons for my warriors. Steel blades collected by Loren and her wickermen. The Mother of Scarecrows' army will be a lethal fighting machine, feared in every corner of The Endless Blue. All will perish or obey!"

The Patchwork Women spun on her grotesque heels to face Number Five. "Kneel," she ordered, rolling her shoulders.

Five sunk to the ground.

"You remember what we discussed," the Patchwork Women hissed. Five nodded slowly. "Then what are you waiting for?" she exploded. "I want scarecrow warriors and I want them now!"

Five began to shake, her hands grasping the edges of her eye sockets.

Erin screamed for her to stop. "Don't, Five. Don't do it!"

The Patchwork Women grabbed Erin, slapping an infected hand across her mouth.

"Begin!" she hissed.

The light inside Five's damaged basketball head started to glow. It expanded quickly, reaching into the corners of the barn, scaring the spiders and bugs into deeper crevices.

Despite the vanishing sun, the barn was brighter than midday in the height of summer.

Five's head had vanished, engulfed in a voluminous, pulsating orb of light. Her arms shook as she reached down to steady herself against the earth, fingers spreading in the hardened straw as he body shook. Stones and pebbles skittered away from her in perfect circles.

Number Five's body arched back as the orb suddenly retracted inside her head.

Silence descended.

Shadows emerged for the briefest of moments.

Then, a brilliant light shot out of Five's eyes hitting the first Redkite scarecrow— Number 18, the Quarterback, pinning his arms and legs against the corrugated shell of the barn. He jigged around manically, as though being strapped to an electric chair.