Read Online World Walker 1: The World Walker by Ian W. Sainsbury - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ian W. Sainsbury
Tags: Science-Fiction, adventure, Fantasy, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genetic engineering, Superhero, Superheroes, Metaphysical & Visionary, first contact
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activity, lifting into a V heading North-East.
"Shouldn't they be heading south?" thought Seb. His hands were cold. He reached into his coat pockets and pulled out some heavy black gloves. A tube ticket fell to the ground and he picked it up. All Zones. He remembered being here. Turning slowly, he saw a herd of deer grazing obliviously about a hundred yards behind him. Behind them, acres of grass, trees and pathways dominated the foreground. Further on rose the skyscrapers of the city: the Shard, the Gherkin, Canary Wharf. He was in Richmond Park. He was in London.
Eight years ago, Meera had brought him to this very spot after promising "a day in the country". After a short train journey, he had followed her out of a dirty dark station into a busy street and had questioned the sincerity of her promise. Five minutes later, he'd laughed as she led him through the gates of Richmond Park. 2,500 acres nestled alongside the Thames in South London, the Park had seemed magical to him, particularly when the first stag bellowed from the trees, disturbing a bird which - as it flew over him - turned out to be an escaped parrot.
Now, as he turned slowly to take in the remembered winter landscape, he realized what was different this time.
There's no one here.
The fog was patchy, drifting, dreamlike, obscuring his view for a second or so. No one . Like the opening of a post-apocalyptic movie, he shared the park with the birds and animals, but not a single person was in view, and - even taking into consideration the way fog could dampen sound - the only noise was the calls of birds and the creaking of frost-hung branches. He had always been attracted to the scenarios in those movies, something inside him yearning for the silence, the emptiness, the absolute loneliness. But now he had a taste of it, he felt panic rise up suddenly, an animal fear, an immediate craving for human company.
He licked dry lips and shivered. He knew vaguely that he shouldn't be here, he remembered the trip in the car with Westlake, the impromptu body surf across the freeway and the wide eyes of the van driver just before impact. But he couldn't remember an impact and it just didn't seem important. He knew - logically - that he couldn't be in Richmond Park, South London in winter, since he was in Los Angeles in August, but he was equally convinced that he was - somehow - here. He carried on slowly turning, each detail of the landscape before him convincing him this was no dream. Finally he turned back to what he realized now must be Pen Ponds, where Mee had unpacked her idea of a picnic: two packets of salt and vinegar crisps, a slab of fruit cake, a packet of chocolate-covered rich tea biscuits and a bottle of gin. He smiled at the memory then froze as he looked again at the pond. Someone was there.
On the bench, sitting with his back to Seb, a man was throwing bread for the ducks, who were fighting visciously over every piece, despite being perhaps the fattest ducks in Britain. The man was wearing a dark coat, his collar turned up. As if aware of Seb's gaze, he half turned and looked over his shoulder. Seeing Seb, he gestured for him to come closer. He looked familiar. As Seb walked toward him, he turned back to the ducks, throwing the last few pieces of bread into the water. Seb reached the bench and the man patted the seat next to him. Seb sat down and looked at his companion. The face was one he had seen countless times before, but it was so unexpected, and so subtly different that it took a few moments for Seb to register who it was. The eyes - while young - seemed ancient, wise, sad. The features were strong and the way the coat hung hinted at a muscular torso beneath. The man was taller - Seb had to look up slightly. Which was odd, as the face was Seb's own.
"This seemed like the best place to chat," said Seb2.
"So it is a dream," said Seb. "It just seems so real."
"Not exactly a dream," said Seb2, "more a useful construct. Since reality is
"Shouldn't they be heading south?" thought Seb. His hands were cold. He reached into his coat pockets and pulled out some heavy black gloves. A tube ticket fell to the ground and he picked it up. All Zones. He remembered being here. Turning slowly, he saw a herd of deer grazing obliviously about a hundred yards behind him. Behind them, acres of grass, trees and pathways dominated the foreground. Further on rose the skyscrapers of the city: the Shard, the Gherkin, Canary Wharf. He was in Richmond Park. He was in London.
Eight years ago, Meera had brought him to this very spot after promising "a day in the country". After a short train journey, he had followed her out of a dirty dark station into a busy street and had questioned the sincerity of her promise. Five minutes later, he'd laughed as she led him through the gates of Richmond Park. 2,500 acres nestled alongside the Thames in South London, the Park had seemed magical to him, particularly when the first stag bellowed from the trees, disturbing a bird which - as it flew over him - turned out to be an escaped parrot.
Now, as he turned slowly to take in the remembered winter landscape, he realized what was different this time.
There's no one here.
The fog was patchy, drifting, dreamlike, obscuring his view for a second or so. No one . Like the opening of a post-apocalyptic movie, he shared the park with the birds and animals, but not a single person was in view, and - even taking into consideration the way fog could dampen sound - the only noise was the calls of birds and the creaking of frost-hung branches. He had always been attracted to the scenarios in those movies, something inside him yearning for the silence, the emptiness, the absolute loneliness. But now he had a taste of it, he felt panic rise up suddenly, an animal fear, an immediate craving for human company.
He licked dry lips and shivered. He knew vaguely that he shouldn't be here, he remembered the trip in the car with Westlake, the impromptu body surf across the freeway and the wide eyes of the van driver just before impact. But he couldn't remember an impact and it just didn't seem important. He knew - logically - that he couldn't be in Richmond Park, South London in winter, since he was in Los Angeles in August, but he was equally convinced that he was - somehow - here. He carried on slowly turning, each detail of the landscape before him convincing him this was no dream. Finally he turned back to what he realized now must be Pen Ponds, where Mee had unpacked her idea of a picnic: two packets of salt and vinegar crisps, a slab of fruit cake, a packet of chocolate-covered rich tea biscuits and a bottle of gin. He smiled at the memory then froze as he looked again at the pond. Someone was there.
On the bench, sitting with his back to Seb, a man was throwing bread for the ducks, who were fighting visciously over every piece, despite being perhaps the fattest ducks in Britain. The man was wearing a dark coat, his collar turned up. As if aware of Seb's gaze, he half turned and looked over his shoulder. Seeing Seb, he gestured for him to come closer. He looked familiar. As Seb walked toward him, he turned back to the ducks, throwing the last few pieces of bread into the water. Seb reached the bench and the man patted the seat next to him. Seb sat down and looked at his companion. The face was one he had seen countless times before, but it was so unexpected, and so subtly different that it took a few moments for Seb to register who it was. The eyes - while young - seemed ancient, wise, sad. The features were strong and the way the coat hung hinted at a muscular torso beneath. The man was taller - Seb had to look up slightly. Which was odd, as the face was Seb's own.
"This seemed like the best place to chat," said Seb2.
"So it is a dream," said Seb. "It just seems so real."
"Not exactly a dream," said Seb2, "more a useful construct. Since reality is
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