World Walker 1: The World Walker (8 page)

"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 only what we decide it is after we apply various filters, it's a simple task to make the brain accept something as real."

"You know what?" said Seb. "I love asking philosophical questions as much as anyone, but there's a time and place. Dream or not, who are you and what the hell is going on? Are you me?"

"Yes," said Seb2. "Well, part of your consciousness. You're another part. I'm deeper, you operate closer to the surface but we're both me. Or you."

Seb stared at Seb2. Abruptly, both men burst into laughter. They stopped just as quickly, but still perfectly in sync, which led to another outbreak, both men laughing until they were gasping and wiping tears from their eyes. As they began to calm down again, Seb2 put his hand gently on Seb's shoulder.

"I know it's ridiculous," he said, "but that's how it is. Now, I brought you because I need you to know a bit more about what's going on."

"Just a bit more?" said Seb. "Tell me everything."

"I can't," said Seb2. "Different parts of our self do different jobs. Your job - first point of contact with reality - would be compromised if you tried to take in all the information I've been given. Most of which I can't begin to understand. You have to trust me on this. Mostly because I'm you."

"Doesn't stop you being a pain in the ass," said Seb.

"That's a given," said Seb2.
 

"Ok, stop for a second," said Seb. "What happened in the mountains? Was that an alien? Where's the brain tumor? And while we're on the subject of miraculous recoveries, what about the bullet holes? Oh, and wasn't I just hit by a van?"

"Slow down," said Seb2. "Ok, lots of questions, but I only have ideas about the answers."

"Well, you're a big help then. Start with the van."

"I can half-answer that one. It didn't hit me. Er, you."

"Oh, come on, there's no way it could have avoided me. It was about six feet away."

"Yeah, but you moved."

"No, I didn't," said Seb. I closed my eyes just before the fender hit my skull at 50 miles per hour."

"Yeah, you did," said Seb2. "You, I, we 'moved'. We left the freeway. In a few minutes, you're going to open your eyes in the bathroom of an Amtrak train just pulling out of Union Station. Well, it'll be minutes for you, but a whole day will have passed out there."

"Out there?" said Seb. "Just back up a little. Where exactly am I now?"

"We're...between places. In the cracks. Buying some time."

"Buying time by keeping me here - in the cracks? Can you try using words and ideas that I might actually understand?"

"I'd love to, but I don't understand them myself."

"Oh, give me strength," said Seb, rubbing his forehead.

"Ok, this much I know," said Seb2. "Yes, that was an alien. It came to me - you - us - specifically. When it took your hands, it transferred something to you. Something that merged with you, body and mind. You're not just you any more. You're something new..."

"Me - specifically?" said Seb. "Why?"

"Now that I can't answer," said Seb2. "Because we weren't ready. Your suicide attempt forced its hand. If you'd been ready, you'd know how to use this - gift, you'd know what to do. But Billy Joe had to act because you would have died if he hadn't?"

"Billy Joe?" said Seb.

"The alien," said Seb2. "It was a nickname. He found it funny."

"Billy Joe," said Seb. "Of course. Back up - you talked to him? When did that happen?"

"No, I didn't talk to him. When Billy Joe transferred the power, a message came with it. Not in words as such, but some of it was loud and clear. Other parts - well, it's like trying to watch TV with the sound down and not being able to lip-read. I get bits of it - not enough. He's been waiting a long time. He tried to find you - or someone like you - before. He's...ancient...and he's an outsider. There are so few like him. And I'm - we're - one of them."

Seb stood and walked to the water's edge. The ducks had long since lost interest and drifted away toward the middle of the pond. The pale reflection of the winter sun rippled on the surface.

"Anything useful in this message? Like how to avoid people trying to kill me or experiment on me? And how about what I'm supposed to do with this power? And what if I don't want it?"

"Don't try to kid me," said Seb2. "I am you, after all."

"What do you mean?" said Seb.

"You want it all right," said Seb2, leaving the bench and joining Seb by the water. "All those comic-books, all that science fiction and fantasy - you've always wanted this. What about the vampire phase - you were half-convinced they were real and used to hang around graveyards hoping to be bitten."

"Oh, please," said Seb. "I grew up."

"Yeah, yeah," said Seb2, "but you always had a bit of a 'chosen one' complex, even after you 'grew up.'"

"Doesn't everyone?" said Seb.

"How would I know?" said Seb2. "Anyway, you lucked out. You've been chosen. Now we have to decide what to do about it. As for people trying to kill you, you can relax. Can't be done."

Seb took a deep breath, his head aching.
 

"I can't die?" he said.

"So far as I can see, no, you can't," said Seb2. "But, like I said, I'm operating with limited information here. Your body can repair any damage, that much I'm sure of. So the brain tumor, the damage done by the bullets, we hardly broke a sweat. Problem is, you have no real control at the moment."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Billy Joe would have come to you much, much later if it hadn't been for the tumor and suicide attempt. I think you would have been an old man when he came to you. I think he saw something in you that hadn't yet developed, a seed only he could detect. He hopes you will grow into this power."

"He hopes?"

"My impression is you're needed in some way, he took a huge risk passing this to you now, but his hand was forced in some way. And the risk was made worse because he can't help you, he had to leave and he won't be back any time soon."

"So what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"I think you can find him...when you're ready....but everything is partial, foggy. There's so much of his message I can't understand. It was meant for me - you - when we were ready."

Seb2 stretched a hand out toward the water. Close to the edge, it began to bubble, then suddenly grow calm. Seb2 took a step forwards and stood on the surface of the pond. He smiled.

"Always wanted to be able to do this," he said. He took a few more steps, then turned to face Seb.

"You're not helping the messiah complex any," said Seb. He looked on as Seb2 stood on a column of water, rising to a height of about 12 feet.

"You need to learn to do some of this stuff," called Seb2.
 

"Great," said Seb. "I'll get right on it. Just as soon as I've mastered flying and shooting lasers out of my fingertips." Seb2 dropped gracefully to the surface of the pond and stepped back onto dry land.

"No need for sarcasm," he said. "Ok, I can't hold this any longer. You have a train to catch. Listen for a minute. That Westlake character wasn't playing games. He'll have the airports, bus stations and train stations watched. You can't rent a car without a credit card and I'm guessing he'll get a heads-up if you use it. Stay away from ATMs. Oh, and don't bother trying to use your phone."

"Why not?" said Seb.

"They might be able to track us using it,"said Seb2. "Maybe that's how they found the apartment so fast. It travelled with us, but when you wake up, I'll dump it. They'll probably find it, but we'll be on our way by then. "
 

"Wait a second," said Seb, "if you can beam me up to Union Station, why not make it somewhere further away, somewhere they won't find me."

"Would if I could," said Seb2. "Problem is, I can only reach out a few miles in any direction. I don't make the rules. I don't even know the rules. I'll get back in touch once I can figure out a way to do it without you getting run over. Get off the train at Albuquerque."

"Where am I going?" said Seb.

"Where do you think?" said Seb2. "Alien central. Roswell, New Mexico."

Chapter 9

Los Angeles

"His cell's still off. And when I say 'off', I mean completely off the grid. I should be able to find it with this app, but it's not finding anything." Meera put the phone down and searched her bag for rolling papers and hash. Bob moved around Seb's apartment, lifting the lids of cardboard boxes. He picked a book out of one - Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance.

"Tried three times to read this after a buddy said it was amazing," he said. "Never got past page thirty." He looked over at Mee. "You do too much of that stuff."

Mee lit up and inhaled, blowing a sweet cloud through her nostrils.

"So they tell me," she said. She peered at Bob. "If you want to make yourself useful, the coffee's in the tin on your right and the grinder's under the sink.
 

"Yes, Ma'am," said Bob and started rummaging around the worktops for cups.

"If you really want to know," said Mee, "Reality is sometimes just a bit too real to deal with." She inhaled again. "This helps."

"Yeah, well I prefer to face reality with all my faculties functioning perfectly," said Bob, emptying the beans into the grinder.

"OK," said Mee, "and how's that working out for you? Happy?" Bob thought for a second before answering. He poured water into the coffee maker and turned it on.

"Yeah," he said. Mee said nothing for a long time and when he finally turned, she was looking directly at him, the challenge clear in her dark eyes.

"Well, mostly. Mostly happy." She still didn't speak.

"No," he said. "Not happy at all." He poured two cups and brought them to the table.

"I never expected to be happy," he said. "I just wanted to know that things worked the way they should. Good guys win, bad guys get punished and kids grow up feeling safe."

"That why you joined the army?" said Mee.

"The marines," said Bob. "Yep. Pretty much."

Mee sipped her coffee and sighed appreciatively. She tried Seb's cell phone again - not available.

"I still say we should call the cops," said Bob.

"No way," said Mee. " First, you were the one who said those military guys could be working for anyone. How do we know they weren't cops?"