Read Online World Walker 2: The Unmaking Engine by Ian W. Sainsbury - Free Book Online

He didn’t want to think about it.
    At school, his headache came back. Lately, it always seemed to be there, mostly bearable, like a fuzziness at the front of his head. Sometimes, it would flare up for a couple minutes and he would clench his fists, dig his nails into his palms and ride out the pain. He could tell when it was going to happen, so he could find a quiet spot—usually the bathroom, if he could get there in time.
    That morning, there was no way he was going to get to the bathroom. It was lunch break, and Davy Johanssen had decided Boy needed to be taught a lesson. Davy was big for his age and even dumber than his three older brothers, who had left school and were now in prison. The story of how they’d got there had become a local legend. They’d robbed a liquor store downstate, then had called 911 themselves because someone had rear-ended their getaway car in the parking lot. Davy, as yet, had displayed no wish other than to follow the same path as his clueless siblings. At fourteen years old, he was over a year older than anyone else in the class. Physically, he looked like he should be in college, if any college would lower their standards sufficiently to accept him. He was six feet tall and weighed over two hundred pounds. Initially, the school football coach had hoped Davy might be a future star. By the time Davy had put his helmet on the wrong way round for the third time and repeatedly thrown the ball into the bleachers, because, “someone was looking at me funny”, Coach Clement had significantly adjusted his ambitions. Davy ended up as the water boy.
    If Davy had one good quality, it was persistence. On the rare occasions that his brain was troubled by the onset of a question, he would pursue it doggedly until he was satisfied he’d found an answer. Unless someone handed him a burger or sat him down in front of a cartoon. Boy currently didn’t have access to either, and Davy, plus his usual gang of minions, had cornered him in the school yard. A third grader had fallen out of a tree and broken an arm on the far side of the yard, so no teacher was likely to notice the small crowd gathering around Boy. He had seven minutes and twenty seconds until the bell rang. Too long.
    “My old man says your daddy knocked up your momma on purpose,” said Davy, flecks of spittle landing on Boy’s face. “And you know what?”
    Boy didn’t answer, just looked at Davy’s red face. Davy pushed him with the flat of his hand, and he fell, landing on his ass in the dirt.
    “Asked you a question, dickweed.”  
    Boy squinted up at the huge figure. He saw the others standing back a few feet, some of them smirking, a couple of the girls wide-eyed but saying nothing. Everyone knew Davy was going to beat the crap out of him. Well, that was ok. Boy knew how to take a beating.
    “No,” he said quietly, the headache becoming more insistent.  
    “What’d you say?”
    “I said ‘no’,” repeated Boy. “I don’t know ‘what’. I couldn’t possibly know ‘what’. It’s not a proper question. You’re either mistakenly assuming a common frame of reference that might allow me to answer such an elliptical query, or the pea-sized object masquerading as your brain is unable to observe basic grammar rules because all of its energy goes into keeping you upright and preventing drooling.”
    Davy froze for a few seconds, not sure whether he’d just been insulted and, assuming he had, how badly.
    “I’m guessing the latter,” said Boy. He groaned as the headache started to spike again. A few of Davy’s gang started to giggle. None of them understood what Boy had just said, but it was the most any of them had ever heard him say, and the novelty itself made it funny.  
    Hearing his cronies start to laugh was enough to spur Davy into action. No one laughed at Davy Johanssen. This kid had made them laugh. He leaned over and grabbed a fistful of Boy’s shirt, jerking him to his feet. He gave Boy a light slap across