Good Omens

know what this is? It’s a hand. Four fingers. One thumb. It’s already exorcised one of yer number this morning. Now get ye out of this gud wimmin’s head, or I’ll blast ye to kingdom come.”
    â€œThat’s the problem, Mr. Shadwell,” said Madame Tracy in her own voice. “Kingdom come. It’s going to. That’s the problem. Mr. Aziraphale has been telling me all about it. Now stop being an old silly, Mr. Shadwell, sit down, and have some tea, and he’ll explain it to you as well.”
    â€œI’ll ne’r listen tae his hellish blandishments, woman,” said Shadwell.
    Madame Tracy smiled at him. “You old silly,” she said.
    He could have handled anything else.
    He sat down.
    But he didn’t lower his hand.
    THE SWINGING OVERHEAD SIGNS proclaimed that the southbound carriageway was closed, and a small forest of orange cones had sprung up, redirecting motorists onto a co-opted lane of the northbound carriageway. Other signs directed motorists to slow down to thirty miles per hour. Police cars herded the drivers around like red-striped sheepdogs.
    The four bikers ignored all the signs, and cones, and police cars, and continued down the empty southbound carriageway of the M6. The other four bikers, just behind them, slowed a little.
    â€œShouldn’t we, uh, stop or something?” asked Really Cool People.
    â€œYeah. Could be a pileup,” said Treading in Dogshit (formerly All Foreigners Especially The French, formerly Things Not Working Properly Even When You’ve Given Them a Good Thumping, never actually No Alcohol Lager, briefly Embarrassing Personal Problems, formerly known as Skuzz).
    â€œWe’re the other Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” said G.B.H. “We do what they do. We follow them.”
    They rode south.
    â€œIT’LL BE A WORLD JUST FOR US,” said Adam. “Everything’s always been messed up by other people but we can get rid of it all an’ start again. Won’t that be great ?”
    â€œYOU ARE, I TRUST, familiar with the Book of Revelation?” said Madame Tracy with Aziraphale’s voice.
    â€œAye,” said Shadwell, who wasn’t. His biblical expertise began and ended with Exodus, chapter twenty-two, verse eighteen, which concerned Witches, the suffering to live of, and why you shouldn’t. He had once glanced at verse nineteen, which was about putting to death people who lay down with beasts, but he had felt that this was rather outside his jurisdiction.
    â€œThen you have heard of the Antichrist?”
    â€œAye,” said Shadwell, who had seen a film once which explained it all. Something about sheets of glass falling off lorries and slicing people’s heads off, as he recalled. No proper witches to speak of. He’d gone to sleep halfway through.
    â€œThe Antichrist is alive on earth at this moment, Sergeant. He is bringing about Armageddon, the Day of Judgment, even if he himself does not know it. Heaven and Hell are both preparing for war, and it’s all going to be very messy.”
    Shadwell merely grunted.
    â€œI am not actually permitted to act directly in this matter, Sergeant. But I am sure that you can see that the imminent destruction of the world is not something any reasonable man would permit. Am I correct?”
    â€œAye. S’pose,” said Shadwell, sipping condensed milk from a rusting can Madame Tracy had discovered under the sink.
    â€œThen there is only one thing to be done. And you are the only man I can rely on. The Antichrist must be killed, Sergeant Shadwell. And you must do it.”
    Shadwell frowned. “I wouldna know about that,” he said. “The witchfinder army only kills witches. ’Tis one of the rules. And demons and imps, o’ course.”
    â€œBut, but the Antichrist is more than just a witch. He—he’s THE witch. He’s just about as witchy as you can get.”
    â€œWud he be harder to get rid of than, say, a demon?” asked Shadwell, who had begun to brighten.
    â€œNot much more,” said Aziraphale, who had never done other to get rid of demons than to hint to them very strongly that he, Aziraphale, had some work to be getting on with, and wasn’t it getting late? And Crowley had always got the hint.
    Shadwell looked down at his right hand, and smiled. Then he hesitated.
    â€œThis Antichrist—how many nipples has he?”
    The end justifies the means,