World Walker 1: The World Walker by Ian W. Sainsbury Read Free Book Online
Authors: Ian W. Sainsbury
together.
"We have to -"
"Seb needs _"
They stopped talking. Bob nodded.
"Whatever just happened, Seb's in trouble. And now he's on the run. We have to find him." He moved into the clearing and started looking at the bushes, peering at bent branches and patches of flattened grass.
"What are you doing?" said Meera.
"I know one or two things about tracking," said Bob. Give me some time and I think we can find him."
"He's in his apartment," came Meera's voice behind him.
"Possibly," said Bob, "but we don't know that for sure. We need to -"
"No," said Meera, "he's in his apartment."
Bob turned and looked at her. She had her phone. She turned the screen to face him and he saw the map with a pulsing green dot.
"I gave Seb my old phone," she said. "He never was much of a geek. Never even changed the password. So I just used 'find my iPhone'. He's in his apartment. Even though that's impossible."
"I'm not much of a one for technology either," said Bob. "You telling me you can find him with that thing?"
"As long as he has his phone with him," said Meera. Bob put down the twig he had been studying.
"You're the boss," he said, then stopped. "What do you mean, it's impossible?"
"Seb's apartment is about three miles away," she said. "What did he do? Fly?"
Chapter 6
Seb stepped into his apartment and leaned heavily against the door. He closed his eyes and slid to the floor. What the hell is going on? A jumble of images raced through his head: the half empty whisky bottle slipping out of blood-drained fingers, the mountain cat eying him hungrily, the tall, graceful alien creature that had somehow saved his life, the look on the soldiers' faces as they emptied their weapons into his body. The soldiers had looked scared.
But they still shot me .
He opened his eyes and walked over to the kitchen. Pouring a large glass of water, he took it through to the open-plan living space and sat on the piano stool, his back to the instrument. He had never gone for more than a day without playing it until his illness had forced him to stop. He drank deeply, tasting the fresh, cold liquid in a vivid way he'd never experienced before. Setting the glass on the floor, he suddenly shocked himself by bursting into laughter. He'd packed most of his belongings into boxes over the last week, so his laughter bounced off bare floors and walls. He laughed and laughed at the sheer joy of being unexpectedly alive. He laughed until his chest ached. He put his hand up to his shirt pocket and felt the bullet holes. His laughter slowly subsiding, he walked over to the mirror. He unbuttoned his shirt, unsure what to expect. Moving closer, Seb ran his fingers over his chest. He remembered the bullets ripping into him from left to right. He remembered the sensation of his heart bursting and all the blood in his body succumbing to gravity, no longer driven by his pulse. He remembered all of this, yet his chest was totally unmarked. Not a single blemish. In fact, his body looked like it did in his early twenties, when he was working out five days a week.
"What the-," Seb took a step backward in shock, his fingers moving to his belly, looking for the scar that had run from his hip to his navel. The scar that Jack Carnavon had given him in New York at the age of 15 at St Benet's Children's Home, pulling a knife from his pocket to settle an argument the only way he knew how. Seb touched that scar dozens of times every day. It reminded him where he came from. But now his skin was unmarked, anonymous, clean. He gasped.
"No," he whispered. He stared at his reflection, numb with shock. His mind started to dart around like a frightened animal, refusing to settle anywhere. His old scar. Jack Carnavon's face. Melissa turning away from him. Meera taking a huge toke from a fat joint. Father O'Hanoran's office. The girl who had unexpectedly kissed him at that club in Manhattan. The Burning Man festival where he'd snorted something that made him talk like
"We have to -"
"Seb needs _"
They stopped talking. Bob nodded.
"Whatever just happened, Seb's in trouble. And now he's on the run. We have to find him." He moved into the clearing and started looking at the bushes, peering at bent branches and patches of flattened grass.
"What are you doing?" said Meera.
"I know one or two things about tracking," said Bob. Give me some time and I think we can find him."
"He's in his apartment," came Meera's voice behind him.
"Possibly," said Bob, "but we don't know that for sure. We need to -"
"No," said Meera, "he's in his apartment."
Bob turned and looked at her. She had her phone. She turned the screen to face him and he saw the map with a pulsing green dot.
"I gave Seb my old phone," she said. "He never was much of a geek. Never even changed the password. So I just used 'find my iPhone'. He's in his apartment. Even though that's impossible."
"I'm not much of a one for technology either," said Bob. "You telling me you can find him with that thing?"
"As long as he has his phone with him," said Meera. Bob put down the twig he had been studying.
"You're the boss," he said, then stopped. "What do you mean, it's impossible?"
"Seb's apartment is about three miles away," she said. "What did he do? Fly?"
Chapter 6
Seb stepped into his apartment and leaned heavily against the door. He closed his eyes and slid to the floor. What the hell is going on? A jumble of images raced through his head: the half empty whisky bottle slipping out of blood-drained fingers, the mountain cat eying him hungrily, the tall, graceful alien creature that had somehow saved his life, the look on the soldiers' faces as they emptied their weapons into his body. The soldiers had looked scared.
But they still shot me .
He opened his eyes and walked over to the kitchen. Pouring a large glass of water, he took it through to the open-plan living space and sat on the piano stool, his back to the instrument. He had never gone for more than a day without playing it until his illness had forced him to stop. He drank deeply, tasting the fresh, cold liquid in a vivid way he'd never experienced before. Setting the glass on the floor, he suddenly shocked himself by bursting into laughter. He'd packed most of his belongings into boxes over the last week, so his laughter bounced off bare floors and walls. He laughed and laughed at the sheer joy of being unexpectedly alive. He laughed until his chest ached. He put his hand up to his shirt pocket and felt the bullet holes. His laughter slowly subsiding, he walked over to the mirror. He unbuttoned his shirt, unsure what to expect. Moving closer, Seb ran his fingers over his chest. He remembered the bullets ripping into him from left to right. He remembered the sensation of his heart bursting and all the blood in his body succumbing to gravity, no longer driven by his pulse. He remembered all of this, yet his chest was totally unmarked. Not a single blemish. In fact, his body looked like it did in his early twenties, when he was working out five days a week.
"What the-," Seb took a step backward in shock, his fingers moving to his belly, looking for the scar that had run from his hip to his navel. The scar that Jack Carnavon had given him in New York at the age of 15 at St Benet's Children's Home, pulling a knife from his pocket to settle an argument the only way he knew how. Seb touched that scar dozens of times every day. It reminded him where he came from. But now his skin was unmarked, anonymous, clean. He gasped.
"No," he whispered. He stared at his reflection, numb with shock. His mind started to dart around like a frightened animal, refusing to settle anywhere. His old scar. Jack Carnavon's face. Melissa turning away from him. Meera taking a huge toke from a fat joint. Father O'Hanoran's office. The girl who had unexpectedly kissed him at that club in Manhattan. The Burning Man festival where he'd snorted something that made him talk like
Similar Books
Getting Married
Theresa Alan
The Complete Zagzagel Diaries
Bryl R. Tyne
Seven-Year Seduction
Heidi Betts
Edge of Passion
Tina Folsom
The Center of Everything
Laura Moriarty
The Tewkesbury Tomb
Kerry Tombs
More Pleasures
MS Parker
The Black Widow
John J. McLaglen
Back to the Drawing Board
L.L. Collins