Read Online The Last Hunter - Collected Edition by Jeremy Robinson - Free Book Online
Authors: Jeremy Robinson
Tags: Fantasy
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the man remembers me after all this time. “I’m Dr. Clark.”
But the man pays him no attention. “You going to be here long?”
The question is directed at me. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the tavern, Willy Town or the continent. With a shaky voice, I answer, “We’re staying the night in town and heading out in the morning.” I don’t say where we’re going because I’m not sure.
The man grunts, heads back toward the bar and says over his shoulder, “Welcome home, Ull.”
Everyone at the table is stunned to silence. Then Mom is smiling and laughing. “I had no idea they’d remember you!”
“First and only child born on the continent,” Dad says. “Probably hard to forget.”
All four adults are talking now, but I don’t hear what they’re saying. I’m still rooted to my seat, gripping the edges with my fingers. The rest of the tavern has fallen silent, all eyes on me.
Mira has noticed as well. She surveys the room and turns back to me. She looks nervous. In her fear, I find strength. I meet the eyes of those looking at me and nod my head in acknowledgement. This seems to break the spell and everyone returns to their business—eating, drinking, carousing.
Mira has seen the change in my body language and shoots me a look. I’m not sure where the will to face down a tavern full of the world’s thickest, hairiest men, came from. I can’t stare down a golden retriever. But I did. I give her a smile and she returns it.
I pull out an imaginary notepad and start writing on it with an imaginary pen, “Note to self, girls like it when boys stare down freaky old drunk people.”
Mira laughs out loud. A moment later, I feel her foot touching mine. This would normally cause me to flinch away or excuse myself to the bathroom, but I don’t move it. I allow the connection to be made. It’s subtle and our skin is separated by multiple layers of socks and boots. But we both feel the pressure and for a thirteen year old boy and a twelve year old girl, this is a significant step. I think. I’ve actually never done this before.
I smile back at her. In a matter of minutes I’ve managed to speak to the freakiest man I’ve ever met, stare down a room of drunks who all seem to know who I am and initiate physical contact with a girl that I now suspect will kiss me before I leave this continent. I’m changing , I think. And while I’m not sure where my newfound confidence is coming from, I like it.
8
It’s morning and I’m lying on my back, staring at the bare plywood ceiling five feet above my head. I’m in the top bunk of a fairly uncomfortable double-decker bed. Dr. Clark and my dad slept on cots. My mom and Aimee share a bunk bed across the room. Mira is sleeping below me. I’ve been lying here all night, thinking about the people in the tavern, about the bartender calling me Ull, about what the day will bring. For the second night in a row, I spent the last eight hours with my eyes open. How many hours have I been awake ? I wonder.
“Forty-eight,” I say to myself.
I’ve had trouble sleeping before, but nothing like this. And it’s not even my horrible thoughts that are keeping me awake. I’m simply not tired.
I slide out of my sleeping bag and dangle my feet over the edge. My mom is wrapped up in her sleeping bag, still wearing her parka. Aimee too. Dad is buried beneath his blankets. I have no idea what he’s wearing. Dr. Clark is sound asleep. Looks to be dressed in a thick sweater. I look down at my legs. I’m wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. I shed my outer layers last night. I wasn’t hot, just itchy.
I should get dressed before Mom sees me , I think. She wouldn’t be happy to see me dressed like this. And I don’t want her to know I’m not cold. She’d probably think I had a tumor and catch the next flight home. Since it hasn’t come up, I don’t think Dr. Clark has told my parents yet. He probably knows they’d send me home, too. Besides, if they
But the man pays him no attention. “You going to be here long?”
The question is directed at me. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the tavern, Willy Town or the continent. With a shaky voice, I answer, “We’re staying the night in town and heading out in the morning.” I don’t say where we’re going because I’m not sure.
The man grunts, heads back toward the bar and says over his shoulder, “Welcome home, Ull.”
Everyone at the table is stunned to silence. Then Mom is smiling and laughing. “I had no idea they’d remember you!”
“First and only child born on the continent,” Dad says. “Probably hard to forget.”
All four adults are talking now, but I don’t hear what they’re saying. I’m still rooted to my seat, gripping the edges with my fingers. The rest of the tavern has fallen silent, all eyes on me.
Mira has noticed as well. She surveys the room and turns back to me. She looks nervous. In her fear, I find strength. I meet the eyes of those looking at me and nod my head in acknowledgement. This seems to break the spell and everyone returns to their business—eating, drinking, carousing.
Mira has seen the change in my body language and shoots me a look. I’m not sure where the will to face down a tavern full of the world’s thickest, hairiest men, came from. I can’t stare down a golden retriever. But I did. I give her a smile and she returns it.
I pull out an imaginary notepad and start writing on it with an imaginary pen, “Note to self, girls like it when boys stare down freaky old drunk people.”
Mira laughs out loud. A moment later, I feel her foot touching mine. This would normally cause me to flinch away or excuse myself to the bathroom, but I don’t move it. I allow the connection to be made. It’s subtle and our skin is separated by multiple layers of socks and boots. But we both feel the pressure and for a thirteen year old boy and a twelve year old girl, this is a significant step. I think. I’ve actually never done this before.
I smile back at her. In a matter of minutes I’ve managed to speak to the freakiest man I’ve ever met, stare down a room of drunks who all seem to know who I am and initiate physical contact with a girl that I now suspect will kiss me before I leave this continent. I’m changing , I think. And while I’m not sure where my newfound confidence is coming from, I like it.
8
It’s morning and I’m lying on my back, staring at the bare plywood ceiling five feet above my head. I’m in the top bunk of a fairly uncomfortable double-decker bed. Dr. Clark and my dad slept on cots. My mom and Aimee share a bunk bed across the room. Mira is sleeping below me. I’ve been lying here all night, thinking about the people in the tavern, about the bartender calling me Ull, about what the day will bring. For the second night in a row, I spent the last eight hours with my eyes open. How many hours have I been awake ? I wonder.
“Forty-eight,” I say to myself.
I’ve had trouble sleeping before, but nothing like this. And it’s not even my horrible thoughts that are keeping me awake. I’m simply not tired.
I slide out of my sleeping bag and dangle my feet over the edge. My mom is wrapped up in her sleeping bag, still wearing her parka. Aimee too. Dad is buried beneath his blankets. I have no idea what he’s wearing. Dr. Clark is sound asleep. Looks to be dressed in a thick sweater. I look down at my legs. I’m wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. I shed my outer layers last night. I wasn’t hot, just itchy.
I should get dressed before Mom sees me , I think. She wouldn’t be happy to see me dressed like this. And I don’t want her to know I’m not cold. She’d probably think I had a tumor and catch the next flight home. Since it hasn’t come up, I don’t think Dr. Clark has told my parents yet. He probably knows they’d send me home, too. Besides, if they
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