Read Online World Walker 2: The Unmaking Engine by Ian W. Sainsbury - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ian W. Sainsbury
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coming home now. Got yerself a week’s vacation.”
Mr. Jeckells blinked at that and started to say something.
“Now, sir, what happened today is a serious matter, and your son’s suspension is-”. Then he caught Pop’s eye and shut his mouth in a hurry, backing out of the door.
When they got home, Pop went straight to the kitchen. Boy heard him open the fridge, the chink of bottles loud and clear. Mom turned to Boy, squeezed his hand and whispered, “You weren’t yourself, you were pushed too hard by that bully. I know what his family is like. Everyone knows. But what you did was wrong. Very wrong. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. It’ll be ok.” She looked at Boy, and for the first time in his life, he saw a slight wariness in her eyes. He felt sick.
Pop came through with the kitchen with two opened bottles of beer. He handed one to Boy. “Sit your ass down, boy,” he said. “Have a drink.”
He paced around the kitchen before saying anything else. After a while, he seemed to notice Mom standing there. “No washing that needs doing, woman? Food gonna cook itself tonight?”
Mom went to the kitchen. Pop smirked at Boy. “Drink, I said.” Boy tried a sip of the beer. He pulled a face at the sour taste. Pop laughed. Boy flinched at the sound.
“Well, well,” said Pop. He stopped pacing and pulled up a chair opposite Boy. He looked closely at his son’s face, as if seeing it for the first time. Finally, he spoke. “That Johanssen kid, I know his daddy. I know his brothers. They talk big, always have, they reckon they’re all kinds of mean.” Pop poured a glass of bourbon to chase down the beer. He looked pointedly at the beer bottle in Boy’s hand. Reluctantly, Boy took another swallow, grimacing again.
“Guess you showed ‘em a thing or two today,” he said. “That chicken shit Jeckells said they put three pints of fresh blood in him at the hospital. Said he’s lucky to be alive. If they didn’t all know what that family’s like, if they didn’t all think it was self-defense, you’d be heading off to some crap hole of a juvenile detention center right now.” The bourbon was half-gone already.
“But your teacher spoke up for you. So did that commie librarian. Said you were a good student. That true, Boy? You grown yerself half a brain when I wasn’t looking?”
Boy knew better than to reply. He took another swallow of the rancid liquid to avoid saying anything. Pop just looked steadily across at him.
“Well, they don’t know you like I do,” he said. “You’re not smart. Not book smart, anyhow. That’s good. Don’t want you growing up to be a useless piece of shit like your momma. Maybe there’s hope for you. Maybe the apple didn’t fall so far from the tree after all.”
Boy looked at his father for a long moment. He thought of the books hidden upstairs. He thought of his dreams of escape. Then he remembered the cat dying in his hands. He remembered the feeling of joy that had flashed through him when he’d stabbed the pencil into Davy’s neck. He put the beer bottle down, crossed the room and opened the screen door, heading out into the trees. He was running before he knew it.
Chapter 9
Mexico City
Present Day
Depending on your point of view, Seb Varden’s first blackout after becoming superhuman lasted either nine minutes or twelve days. Later, he discovered it was something to do with relativity, and he’d never really understood that theory. The only clear memory he had from a distant physics class was trying to comb his hair into the style Einstein sported. He loved that mess of hair. Like it was in a state of constant shock at the activity going on in the freakish brain below. Coming round from the blackout, Seb’s own hair was flat and sticky, due to the blood seeping from a gash under his temple.
He pushed his back up against the kitchen counter carefully, sitting up.
“Did that just happen?” said Seb2.
“Honestly?” thought Seb,
Mr. Jeckells blinked at that and started to say something.
“Now, sir, what happened today is a serious matter, and your son’s suspension is-”. Then he caught Pop’s eye and shut his mouth in a hurry, backing out of the door.
When they got home, Pop went straight to the kitchen. Boy heard him open the fridge, the chink of bottles loud and clear. Mom turned to Boy, squeezed his hand and whispered, “You weren’t yourself, you were pushed too hard by that bully. I know what his family is like. Everyone knows. But what you did was wrong. Very wrong. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. It’ll be ok.” She looked at Boy, and for the first time in his life, he saw a slight wariness in her eyes. He felt sick.
Pop came through with the kitchen with two opened bottles of beer. He handed one to Boy. “Sit your ass down, boy,” he said. “Have a drink.”
He paced around the kitchen before saying anything else. After a while, he seemed to notice Mom standing there. “No washing that needs doing, woman? Food gonna cook itself tonight?”
Mom went to the kitchen. Pop smirked at Boy. “Drink, I said.” Boy tried a sip of the beer. He pulled a face at the sour taste. Pop laughed. Boy flinched at the sound.
“Well, well,” said Pop. He stopped pacing and pulled up a chair opposite Boy. He looked closely at his son’s face, as if seeing it for the first time. Finally, he spoke. “That Johanssen kid, I know his daddy. I know his brothers. They talk big, always have, they reckon they’re all kinds of mean.” Pop poured a glass of bourbon to chase down the beer. He looked pointedly at the beer bottle in Boy’s hand. Reluctantly, Boy took another swallow, grimacing again.
“Guess you showed ‘em a thing or two today,” he said. “That chicken shit Jeckells said they put three pints of fresh blood in him at the hospital. Said he’s lucky to be alive. If they didn’t all know what that family’s like, if they didn’t all think it was self-defense, you’d be heading off to some crap hole of a juvenile detention center right now.” The bourbon was half-gone already.
“But your teacher spoke up for you. So did that commie librarian. Said you were a good student. That true, Boy? You grown yerself half a brain when I wasn’t looking?”
Boy knew better than to reply. He took another swallow of the rancid liquid to avoid saying anything. Pop just looked steadily across at him.
“Well, they don’t know you like I do,” he said. “You’re not smart. Not book smart, anyhow. That’s good. Don’t want you growing up to be a useless piece of shit like your momma. Maybe there’s hope for you. Maybe the apple didn’t fall so far from the tree after all.”
Boy looked at his father for a long moment. He thought of the books hidden upstairs. He thought of his dreams of escape. Then he remembered the cat dying in his hands. He remembered the feeling of joy that had flashed through him when he’d stabbed the pencil into Davy’s neck. He put the beer bottle down, crossed the room and opened the screen door, heading out into the trees. He was running before he knew it.
Chapter 9
Mexico City
Present Day
Depending on your point of view, Seb Varden’s first blackout after becoming superhuman lasted either nine minutes or twelve days. Later, he discovered it was something to do with relativity, and he’d never really understood that theory. The only clear memory he had from a distant physics class was trying to comb his hair into the style Einstein sported. He loved that mess of hair. Like it was in a state of constant shock at the activity going on in the freakish brain below. Coming round from the blackout, Seb’s own hair was flat and sticky, due to the blood seeping from a gash under his temple.
He pushed his back up against the kitchen counter carefully, sitting up.
“Did that just happen?” said Seb2.
“Honestly?” thought Seb,
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