World Walker 1: The World Walker (19 page)

"Come on, then" he said. Jack took it and, with Seb's help, pulled himself to his feet. He stood for a moment taking short breaths and screwing his eyes up with the pain.
 

"Are you ok?" said Seb. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah, I think so," said Jack. He put his right hand at the top of his injured leg and shuffled forward half a step. Then he winced, paused and tried to take a second step. This time, he shouted with pain and looked as if he was about to fall. Seb made a grab for him, avoiding the damaged arm and trying to support him around his waist. As he did so, he felt a sudden searing pain in his stomach. Jack hadn't been supporting his injured leg, he had been going for his pocket. Seb looked down and saw Jack Carnavon's knife. The hilt was in Jack's hand and about an inch of blade was visible. That meant the other two inches of steel were in Seb's stomach. Seb gasped in agony and looked up at Jack, whose eyes were narrowed in fury.

"You dislocated my shoulder, you prick," he said and, using all the strength in his right arm, drew the knife in a half cutting, half sawing motion across Seb's stomach, down toward his hip. The cut was deep, ragged and ugly, and blood was already welling up from the wound, livid and purple, drenching Seb's shirt and soaking Jack's hand. Jack wrenched the knife out, twisting it as he did so. If it had been a serrated hunting knife, that action might have done enough damage to kill Seb. As it was, it opened up the cut and increased the bleeding. Seb staggered backward, fell and sat clumsily, both hands holding his stomach. His fall was one of the contributory factors toward his survival, as Jack missed him with the follow up thrust aimed at his heart.

"Spoke to your little girlfriend, did ya?" said Jack. "I warned her what would happen. Gonna finish with you, then I'm going to pay her a visit. After that, I'll be gone. It's a big world out there, Sebby, you know as well as I do they won't catch me. Christ, it'll be good to be out of this dump, anyway."

Seb didn't answer. The edges of his vision had darkened slightly. He realized he was going into shock and knew that if he let that happen, he was going to die right there in the trunk room. Then this madman would go after Melissa. He couldn't let that happen. He pushed hard on his stomach with both hands as Jack came slowly toward him. This had the effect of slowing the blood loss at the same time as increasing the pain, waking him up and keeping the faintness at bay. The knife had entered his body in his lower intestines, doing little damage initially. As Jack had dragged the blade across, it had cut through skin and muscle, but Seb's intestines had been pushed to one side. The knife had nicked his bowel before Jack had pulled it out, which increased the risk of septic shock as bacteria from Seb's gut leaked into what would normally be a sterile environment. However, that worrying possibility would take days to develop. Seb's more immediate, potentially fatal, problem was the stab wound Jack was getting ready to inflict on his throat.

Jack dropped onto his knees directly in front of Seb. He was done talking. He thrust the knife upwards at Seb's neck. Seb knew he only had one chance. His blood loss was weakening him quickly. He took his hands away from his stomach, moved his head to the right and grabbed Jack's right hand with both of his as the knife passed his left ear. Using all his remaining strength, and harnessing every ounce of adrenaline while thinking of Melissa's possible fate, he twisted Jack's hand and pushed it back toward him. Jack was physically stronger than Seb, but he was pushing upwards with the strength of one arm, while Seb was using both hands, the force of two arms, and the physical weight of his upper body to twist Jack's hand around, then push it down and forwards. Jack knew he had misjudged the situation, too confident, too quick to think Seb was weak and useless. His eyes widened as his own knife, held tight by his own fingers, penetrated the skin under his ribs and buried itself in his gut. Even then, he might have survived if he hadn't immediately pulled the knife out. A spray of blood followed it, his suddenly numb fingers dropped the knife and he fell heavily on one side.

"Call for help!" said Jack. Seb pushed his hands back onto the wound in his stomach, staunching the blood flow as best he could. He watched Carnavon twitch a few feet away. Jack's good right hand was trapped under his body. He had no means of stopping the blood leaving the wound. It wasn't so much leaking as spurting out, staining the old floorboards a rusty dark red. The knife had punctured his liver, which might have proved fatal on its own, but in pulling it out, he'd severed his abdominal aorta. He would die in minutes without treatment.

"Seb," gasped Jack, his voice weaker. He coughed and bloody pink bubbles formed at the corner of his mouth. "I'm serious. I think I'm dying. Get help."

Seb looked into Jack Carnavon's eyes.

"Please, Seb," whispered Jack, "please."

 
Seb wasn't sure what he believed about the soul, but as he watched Jack's eyes, he could see something shrinking, as if the life-force was preparing to depart. He knew that Jack's survival was in his hands. If he didn't call Stevie and get some help within the next thirty seconds, Jack was going to die.

He waited ten minutes. Just to be sure.

Chapter 19

Las Vegas

Present day

Walt's house was set back from the road. After getting out of the car, Seb just stood and looked at it, wondering what was prompting such a strong feeling of deja vu. After a few seconds, it came to him.

"The Taj Mahal?" he said, smiling.
 

Walt walked up to the door of the pink stucco palace and glanced back at Seb before opening the door.

"This neighborhood, you stand out from the crowd if you
don't
stand out from the crowd," he said and walked in.

"No locks?" said Seb.

"No need," said Walt. "Anyone gets closer than 15 feet, they're gonna wish they hadn't."

Steve walked up to Seb's shoulder, carrying their luggage. He nodded at the open door. Seb shrugged and followed Walt inside.

Walt showed Seb to a guest bedroom bigger than any suite in any hotel he had ever seen. The bed might have slept six people comfortably. The ensuite bathroom had a shower stall with nozzles pointing from every direction. There were three sinks in a row. Seb had seen plenty of places with two, but three seemed a little odd.

"It's because of love. And sex," said Walt, gesturing toward the sinks. He was standing in the doorway, smiling. He had two glasses of cognac cradled in one hand and an unlit Cuban cigar in the other.
 

"You smoke?" he said. "It's the good stuff."

Seb shook his head but took the cognac and stuck his nose into the narrow aperture of the balloon-shaped glass. Rich, heady, smooth. Expensive.

"You should consider taking it up," said Walt.

"The consensus is it's bad for you," said Seb.

"Bad for everyone else, maybe. Not us," said Walt. "You said you were shot?"

Seb nodded and shuddered, remembering the sensation of tearing flesh, heat and searing pain.

"That's normally pretty bad health-wise," said Walt. "How are you holding up?"

Seb smiled and took a sip of cognac. Exquisite. He shrugged, trying to appear casual. On one level, he felt far from it. Everything seemed slightly surreal, his life seemingly wrenched out of his control by unseen hands. No one could deal effectively with the curveball that had been thrown his way. And yet here he was, a large glass of $1000 cognac in his hand, standing in a room with a genuine magician who seemed to think Seb was more powerful still - and he hadn't even told him about the alien yet. His breathing was deep, relaxed, his pulse unhurried. He felt a little like a passenger in his own body, as if the shock and panic he should be feeling was being handled by another layer of his brain.
 

"So you won't have any trouble with nicotine, then," said Walt, lighting the huge cigar by sucking on it repeatedly. He had no lighter, but that didn't seem to prevent a flame appearing. Seb thought back to the moment he had half-wrecked the car. It must take a hell of a lot of practise to be able to manipulate carbon dioxide, water vapor, oxygen and nitrogen so precisely you can produce an ignition point tiny enough to light a cigar. Seb suspected Walt was showing off. He also suspected if he tried it himself, he would burn the house to the ground.

"No downside to smoking if your body is unaffected by nicotine," said Walt, letting a cloud of smoke drift between his lips. The smoke took on the proportions of the classic nuclear mushroom cloud before vanishing. "No danger of alcohol poisoning, either. You can get drunk if you like, but getting instantly sober without a hangover is occasionally useful. You ever fancied trying drugs?"

Seb just raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot you were a musician," said Walt. "Well, none of them have a downside for you now." He took another puff on the cigar, clearly enjoying it. Seb knew little about cigars, but imagined this one was probably hand rolled by Cuban virgins.

"Not that there's much point," said Walt. "In taking drugs, I mean. You wanna get high? Just do it. Why hallucinate when you can have the real thing?"

"You still haven't explained the sinks," said Seb.

"Yeah. Well, it's a sex thing," said Walt. "Seems to come with the territory. You use Manna, you generally have a high libido. Well, apart from the religious nut-jobs in the Order. Although they're probably all flicking the bean or spanking the monkey when they think no one is looking. They don't fool me with all their holy saintly shit. You get yourself a high libido, you're gonna need regular sex. And when you can look like anyone in the world, you won't struggle to get some action. When you can pleasure multiple partners without breaking a sweat...well, why wouldn't you? And when the girls turn up and see the size of the beds, the showers built for groups and the amount of sinks? Well, they adjust their expectations accordingly."

Seb said nothing.

"If you're thinking of judging me, consider this," said Walt. I've been sexually active for 83 years. Normally, there's a natural arc in the sex-drive of the human male. We're supposed to experience a decrease in libido from our late twenties throughout the rest of our lives. Not me and you, though. For a long time, mine got stronger year on year. So I found ways of satisfying it. Don't think there's much I haven't tried. Believe me, I know how to enjoy myself. And hey, my tastes are pretty vanilla compared to some. Most of the girls wanna come back for more."
 

He swirled the remains of his cognac around his glass then knocked it back, his enjoyment obvious.

"Some of them are interesting enough for me to let them. Not many, though."

"That explains the sex," said Seb. "But you said 'love' first. Love and sex."

Walt sighed and sat down on the edge of the giant bed. Just for a moment he looked older.

"Yeah, well, nothing in life is perfect," he said. "No one gets a blank check. Love - romantic love - is a human conceit. Animals seem to be able to do without it for the most part. This weird attachment to someone else that can change everything...what good does it do?"

Seb leaned back against the sinks. "Plenty of books, poems and songs tackle that question," he said. "You got the answer?"

Walt laughed briefly. "No, sir, I don't. And that's a pain even Manna can't handle. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, I should comfortably live for another thirty or forty years at least."

Seb wondered what a lifespan like that would feel like. Then he remembered Seb2 saying he
couldn't
die. Couldn't? Ever? Or just by violent means?
 

"But it's not all peachy," said Walt. "Look, I don't know you, you don't know me. For now, let me just say this. I was in love once. It lasted a long time. She got cancer and died. I got to watch."

Seb suddenly thought of Mee. He didn't know if it had ever been love, but the thought of losing her for ever? His imagination skirted around the thought, then scurried away. He turned his attention back to Walt.

"I'm sorry," said Seb.

"Yeah," said Walt. "Me too, son. Me too. It wasn't pretty." He stood up and smiled again. "On the plus side, there's all that amazing sex to help compensate. And love won't seem so important once you get the kind of perspective you're gonna get."

And that's the first out-and-out lie you've told me.
 

"Dinner's at seven," said Walt. "Then we'll go have some fun on the Strip."

The first casino wasn't on the Strip itself, but a block away. No windows or clocks same as the bigger joints. Still full of flashing lights, gawping tourists, and octogenarians feeding quarters into slots with all the enthusiasm of a prison canteen cook serving up portions of mashed potato. It was just that some of the gloss seemed to be missing - the carpets were frayed, the wallpaper faded. The croupiers were slightly older than in the big name casinos. They looked tired and bored.

Walt excused himself and went to the bathroom. Seb watched the human tide drift by, some washing up against a blackjack or roulette table and staying long enough to lose a few bucks before moving on to the next shiny, exciting prospect. Vegas was a 24-hour industry and inside a casino it was always just after midnight: late enough to convince the customers they were real players, early enough they could still hope their luck might change and this could be a night to remember. Of course, 99% woke up with a slight feeling of self-disgust, hit the breakfast buffet at around noon, then headed straight back to the tables where - as luck would have it - it was just after midnight and, hey, this could be
their night.

Seb sipped at a coffee. The roulette wheel was almost directly below the balcony where he was sitting. He watched the faces of those setting their chips on a theoretical long shot.
At some level, they must all know the house has to win so that it can keep paying the rent, the salaries and the cost of the free drinks they keep plying us with, so why are they here?
Gambling had never appealed much to Seb. He could take it or leave it. But he knew folk who'd lost more than money pursuing the turn of a card or the spin of a wheel. Seeing a couple of relationships gone sour and hearing about a bass player he knew losing his house was all the convincing Seb needed to keep clear.