Read Online Strike by D J MacHale - Free Book Online Page B

from the other.
    I saw the pipe on the ground and stretched for it.
    The other guy went for it too.
    I got it first. I swept it off the ground and swung it in his direction with everything I had. I caught him square on the side of the head and he dropped instantly. Either I had knocked him out cold, or he didn’t want to fight any more, because he lay there in the sand without moving. I waited a few seconds to make sure he wasn’t pulling another cowardly fake, but he didn’t budge. He was truly done.
    Looking around I saw Kent lying on his back a few feet away. I crawled over to him, but kept hold of the pipe . . . just in case.
    Kent was on his stomach. I grabbed his shoulder, ready to roll him over, but hesitated out of fear for what I might see. Was he dead? How long did it take to crush somebody’s windpipe?
    I steeled myself and pulled him over to see that his eyes were open . . . and searching. He was dazed, but alive.
    “It’s me,” I said. “Fight’s over.”
    It took a few seconds for Kent to focus on me. There was a moment of confusion in his eyes as if he thought he was seeing a ghost. A moment later, he smiled.
    “Rook!” he said with a raspy whisper. “Who won?”
    “I’d call it a draw,” Bova said.
    I spun quickly to see the commander strolling toward us, followed by two of his guards. He was in no hurry. We weren’t going anywhere. He now carried a black baton gun.
    “This didn’t play out anything like I expected,” Bova said, half to us and half to the crowd. “Though I can’t say I’m disappointed. Such drama! An even fight. A bold show of defiance that turned out to be a cowardly betrayal, and of course, a selfless act to save a life. Bravo!”
    The idea that he had enjoyed this horror as if it were a show put on for his amusement turned my stomach. I thought about taking a swing at him with the pipe but realized he would shoot me before I got close enough to do any damage.
    “What is your number?” he asked me. “You can speak. Please.”
    “You tell me,” I said and turned my back to him.
    Bova stopped walking suddenly, as if I had slapped him. He stared at me with those sparkling eyes. I tensed up, expecting him to raise his weapon and blast me into oblivion.
    Instead, he laughed.
    “I remember you, Zero Three One One,” he said, almost jovially. “You were there to enjoy my little game earlier. Quite the busy day for such a young lad. I trust you will remember it for a good long time.”
    Bova stepped away and addressed the circle of anxious prisoners.
    “I trust you will
all
remember this for a good long time,” he announced. “In spite of the dramatic turn of events, punishment must still be given.”
    Kent’s opponent sat up slowly, shaking himself back to clarity.
    “We gathered here to determine which of these escapees deserved to live,” Bova continued. “That has not changed. If not for the interference of this young man, the tall one would most certainly be dead.”
    Bova strolled toward the dark-haired prisoner and held out his hand.
    “Please,” Bova said with a smile.
    The guy tentatively took Bova’s hand and was helped to his feet.
    Bova stepped away and addressed the crowd.
    “This prisoner saw that the fight was very much in doubt and made a tactical decision, hoping it would turn the tide in his favor.”
    Bova strolled up to Kent and me. I felt Kent tense up, preparing for the worst.
    “He deceived the tall one into making a grand, rebellious gesture that would demonstrate the disdain he felt toward his captors . . . and lower his defenses. It was a clever ploy, for his treachery almost won him the fight.”
    The dark-haired prisoner actually smiled as he soaked up the praise.
    Bova walked back to him and stood staring him square in the eye.
    “Almost,” Bova repeated. “I’m not against treachery, if it’s effective. Your stunt proved to be futile. Therefore, you are not deserving.”
    The smile dropped from the dark-haired