Read Online The Starter by Scott Sigler - Free Book Online Page B

one-on-one. Now Doc was gone. Quentin realized that he’d never even learned Doc’s real name.
    “What about my teammates? Did any players die?”
    Father Harry shook his head. “Not that we’ve heard. A few minor injuries, apparently, but nothing life-threatening.”
    Quentin nodded. There was nothing wrong with thinking of his friends first, his teammates. He didn’t know anyone else in the city. Aside from Doc, the fifteen dead were faceless unknowns. Faceless, except for one thing — they included Krakens fans. They’d come out to celebrate Quentin and his teammates, and now they were gone. Fifteen dead... and how many wounded?
    “I should have stayed,” Quentin said. “Stayed, maybe helped people, but I... I ran.”
    Father Harry nodded. “I see. Quentin, ask me if I’ve ever argued with an explosion.”
    “What?”
    “Go ahead, ask me.”
    Ah. It was lesson time , and Quentin was not in the mood for lessons. “Father Harry, I—”
    “Humor me, Quentin. Out of respect for your elders.”
    Quentin sighed. Maybe the people in the Blessed Lamb were racists, but they had always been kind to him . They had welcomed him, fed him, and now they had sheltered him. The least he could do was play along with yet another person who wanted to offer him advice.
    “Father Harry, have you ever argued with an explosion?”
    “No, Quentin, I have not. Ask me why.”
    “Father, come on, you—”
    “Ask me why.”
    Quentin rubbed his eyes. “Father Harry, why haven’t you ever argued with an explosion?”
    “Because an explosion can’t be argued with,” Father Harry said. “What a stupid question, I can’t believe you asked me that.”
    Quentin rolled his eyes.
    “The last part is a joke,” Father Harry said. “One of my favorites, actually. But the first part is no joke. You can’t argue with an explosion, Quentin. Just like you can’t argue with a bullet or the tip of a knife. Do you know the difference between a hero and a martyr?”
    Quentin shook his head.
    “A hero is alive,” Father Harry said. “A martyr is not. And since you don’t seem to follow the teachings of Mason Stewart, you wouldn’t even count as a martyr — you’d just be dead .”
    “Now isn’t the time for a lecture, Father.”
    Father Harry smiled apologetically. “No, of course not, and I’m not lecturing you. I’m saying you made the right call. You can’t even get a firearm into Ionath City. You can bet whatever explosive the bombers used, the city will have analyzed it and installed specialized detectors for it by the end of the week. The people of Ionath City felt safe . They didn’t know what real terror was until today. On the other hand, that feeling of terror is something you know all too well. You just keep listening to your instincts, run when you have to, and you’ll be fine.”
    Brother Guido slid into the back room and flipped on the lights. He and his wife Monica Basset owned the Blessed Lamb.
    “Quentin, your friends are here,” Guido said. “Please get them out of my bar. Now .”
    Quentin stood and walked to the front room. Choto the Bright and Virak the Mean were waiting. Even though the two each had a cast on one leg, their aura said that they were not to be messed with. The fifteen or so Human patrons in the bar stared at the two Quyth Warriors, who stared back. The room seemed wired with tension. Quentin wondered at Father Harry’s words on how hard it was to get a gun into the city — and wondered if the Purist Nation ex-pats had found a way. If they did have weapons stashed, how long would it take for those weapons to become un -stashed.
    The Quyth Warriors saw Quentin. They looked simultaneously relieved and annoyed. Quyth Warriors were good at that combined expression. Slightly different hues of red shaded their eyes.
    “Quentin,” Virak said. “I am glad to see you are unhurt. Gredok wants you back at the stadium immediately.”
    “Good idea,” Quentin said. “Let’s go.”
    He