Read Online World Walker 2: The Unmaking Engine by Ian W. Sainsbury - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ian W. Sainsbury
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his face.
“Funny guy, right? Well, let me tell you about your mom and dad.” His face clouded briefly as he struggled to remember what he was going to say. He looked over his shoulder. “Donny?”
A scrawny kid behind him spat on the floor. “Your daddy knocked your momma up before they were married. So you’re a bastard,” he said. Davy nodded. “And he only did it cause her old man owns the logging company. Only way that loser would ever get a job, cause he’s just a drunk, right?” Davy nodded some more. Boy was tuning out, but the headache was making it harder than normal. He could tell them far worse things about Pop, anyhow. Then a rare expression appeared on Davy’s face. He’d had an idea.
“Yeah, and you know what else?” he said. “Your old man is the worst logger in the crew. My uncle Pete told me that. He says the only reason the crew boss keeps him on is cause your momma does him favors, know what I mean?”
Boy peered up, the throb of the headache feeling like someone was pounding on the inside of his skull, wanting to get out.
“My mom?” he said.
“Sure,” said Davy, grinning. “Your daddy’s a loser and your momma’s a whore.” He pulled back his arm, getting ready to unload his trademark roundhouse, which inevitably produced a huge black eye within minutes of landing. But as he got ready to unleash the punch, he felt his left hand erupt in agony.
Boy didn’t pass out this time. The headache seemed to fill his brain, his whole world was pain, but he was still capable of quick, rational thought. As Davy drew his arm back, Boy pushed his head down and fastened his teeth on the back of Davy’s other hand. He bit down with all his strength, then pulled his head backward and up, using his chin as a pivot to tear the skin, veins and muscles away.
Davy screamed, a shrill, high-pitched shriek that made everyone near him back away. It was loud enough that a teacher finally looked across and started walking toward them. One of the kids in the group caught sight of Davy’s bloody hand, his fingers flopping where the tendons had been ripped. He turned away and vomited.
That might have been the end of it, but some deep, reptile part of Davy’s brain knew that he had to prove his dominance, even in the face of this atrocity. He couldn’t let this puny kid win. He threw himself at Boy.
Boy had seen Davy jerk backward and look disbelievingly at his ruined hand. As he spat out bits of the other boy’s flesh, he saw Davy make his decision to attack. Boy knew he had a pencil in his pants pocket. Taking it out, he stepped nimbly to one side as the larger youth came forward. Boy held the pencil, point-forward, in his left fist. Davy was strong, heavy and unbalanced. Boy simply held the pencil in the optimum position, braced against the heel of his right hand. About three inches of the pencil quickly disappeared into Davy’s neck. Boy twisted his hand and pulled forcefully to one side. The pencil snapped, Davy fell to his knees, and there was about 2.5 seconds of stunned silence when the only sound other than Davy’s ragged breathing, was the rhythmic splatter of blood as it pulsed out of his neck and hit the hard dirt.
Boy sat down and rubbed his head. Dimly, he was aware of someone else throwing up, some screams and an adult voice sounding at first angry, then shocked, panicked and fearful. He lay down, feeling the edges of awareness cloud up. He passed out.
***
The drive back from school was made in silence. Mom was pale and her hands shook slightly when she opened the door. They had been in with the principal for forty-three minutes as Boy had waited with the nurse. She was kind to him, but Boy figured she knew what happened, because once she’d given him some Tylenol and a glass of water, she’d left and locked the door behind her. When it opened again, it was Mr. Jeckells standing there with his parents. The principal wouldn’t meet Boy’s eye. Pop just said, “You’re
“Funny guy, right? Well, let me tell you about your mom and dad.” His face clouded briefly as he struggled to remember what he was going to say. He looked over his shoulder. “Donny?”
A scrawny kid behind him spat on the floor. “Your daddy knocked your momma up before they were married. So you’re a bastard,” he said. Davy nodded. “And he only did it cause her old man owns the logging company. Only way that loser would ever get a job, cause he’s just a drunk, right?” Davy nodded some more. Boy was tuning out, but the headache was making it harder than normal. He could tell them far worse things about Pop, anyhow. Then a rare expression appeared on Davy’s face. He’d had an idea.
“Yeah, and you know what else?” he said. “Your old man is the worst logger in the crew. My uncle Pete told me that. He says the only reason the crew boss keeps him on is cause your momma does him favors, know what I mean?”
Boy peered up, the throb of the headache feeling like someone was pounding on the inside of his skull, wanting to get out.
“My mom?” he said.
“Sure,” said Davy, grinning. “Your daddy’s a loser and your momma’s a whore.” He pulled back his arm, getting ready to unload his trademark roundhouse, which inevitably produced a huge black eye within minutes of landing. But as he got ready to unleash the punch, he felt his left hand erupt in agony.
Boy didn’t pass out this time. The headache seemed to fill his brain, his whole world was pain, but he was still capable of quick, rational thought. As Davy drew his arm back, Boy pushed his head down and fastened his teeth on the back of Davy’s other hand. He bit down with all his strength, then pulled his head backward and up, using his chin as a pivot to tear the skin, veins and muscles away.
Davy screamed, a shrill, high-pitched shriek that made everyone near him back away. It was loud enough that a teacher finally looked across and started walking toward them. One of the kids in the group caught sight of Davy’s bloody hand, his fingers flopping where the tendons had been ripped. He turned away and vomited.
That might have been the end of it, but some deep, reptile part of Davy’s brain knew that he had to prove his dominance, even in the face of this atrocity. He couldn’t let this puny kid win. He threw himself at Boy.
Boy had seen Davy jerk backward and look disbelievingly at his ruined hand. As he spat out bits of the other boy’s flesh, he saw Davy make his decision to attack. Boy knew he had a pencil in his pants pocket. Taking it out, he stepped nimbly to one side as the larger youth came forward. Boy held the pencil, point-forward, in his left fist. Davy was strong, heavy and unbalanced. Boy simply held the pencil in the optimum position, braced against the heel of his right hand. About three inches of the pencil quickly disappeared into Davy’s neck. Boy twisted his hand and pulled forcefully to one side. The pencil snapped, Davy fell to his knees, and there was about 2.5 seconds of stunned silence when the only sound other than Davy’s ragged breathing, was the rhythmic splatter of blood as it pulsed out of his neck and hit the hard dirt.
Boy sat down and rubbed his head. Dimly, he was aware of someone else throwing up, some screams and an adult voice sounding at first angry, then shocked, panicked and fearful. He lay down, feeling the edges of awareness cloud up. He passed out.
***
The drive back from school was made in silence. Mom was pale and her hands shook slightly when she opened the door. They had been in with the principal for forty-three minutes as Boy had waited with the nurse. She was kind to him, but Boy figured she knew what happened, because once she’d given him some Tylenol and a glass of water, she’d left and locked the door behind her. When it opened again, it was Mr. Jeckells standing there with his parents. The principal wouldn’t meet Boy’s eye. Pop just said, “You’re
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