Slip (The Slip Trilogy Book 1) by David Estes Read Free Book Online

Beads of sweat dot his forehead. “This is my fault. I screwed up. Punish me. Leave my daughter alone.”
    Michael silently grits his teeth at the desperation in the man’s voice. In the same position, he wonders if he would sound exactly the same. He thinks he would.
    Not for the first time, he wishes he was someone else. Anyone else.
    The Red Team Leader approaches the man, whose hair is shaggy and unkempt, his beard brown and thick and streaked with gray. His eyes wild.
    Through his facemask, the Red Team Leader’s voice sounds muffled and metallic. “For creating an unauthorized child and—”
    “No!” the man screams, clutching his daughter. She’s crying, hanging around his waist. She’s only five years old , Michael remembers.
    “—and harboring a fugitive…” the Red Team Leader continues. “You have made yourself an enemy of your own country. Your crimes are punishable by death without trial.”
    Tears spill from the man’s eyes, streaking his cheeks. They glisten like diamonds in the sunlight. “Fine,” the man says. “Kill me. But leave her.”
    “Daddy, no,” the girl whimpers, tightening her grip on his waist.
    The Red Team Leader’s arm extends away from the holo-screen. Michael watches in horror as the sights lock on the man. On his head.
    The shot sounds like nothing, like the error noise you get when you press the wrong spot on a holo-screen. Not a deadly sound. All Pop Con weapons are silenced, so as to prevent widespread panic as they carry out their gruesome work.
    There’s a poof of pink mist and the man’s head snaps back. His daughter falls with him, crumpling to the roof, still clutching him, wailing and wailing and screaming .
    Michael wants to clamp his hands over his ears, to close his eyes, to run from the room shouting obscenities and words of treason against Pop Con and the government.
    But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. He watches with everyone else.
    “One down,” Corr says casually, like he’s watching some kind of sporting event.
    “For being born illegally and resisting arrest…”—the Red Team Leader’s voice can barely be heard over the girl’s wailing—“…you’ve been sentenced to death.”
    The gun is aimed at the girl, who’s now sobbing into her dead father’s chest. Look away, please look away , Michael urges himself. He stares straight ahead, his lungs burning without oxygen.
    There’s another nothing-noise and the girl’s sobs cease. Her little body stops shaking. A circle of scarlet spreads from beneath them.
    “The Blood Team,” Corr says, a hint of reverence in his voice. He glances at Michael, who refuses to pull his gaze from the two people dead at his hands. “Boss?” Corr says. “You all right?”
    Finally, Michael looks at his second in command, someone he once thought of as his friend, who’s looking at him with concern. He feels a sharp sting and realizes he’s biting his lip. He raises a numb hand to his mouth. When he pulls his fingers away, they’re glossy with warm blood.
    “Too much excitement,” he says, managing a chuckle. “Well done, everyone. Another successful operation.” Before Corr can say another word, Michael strides from the room, his knees shaky, his mouth full of his own blood.

Chapter Nine
     
    W hen his father arrives home an hour late, he reminds the boy of one of his old toys. He looks old and worn, his face as gray as ash, his eyes red, his dark clothes full of wrinkles that match the ones on his face.
    “What happened?” Janice says the moment he walks in.
    His father’s eyes snap to the boy, then back to Janice. Janice seems to realize the boy is there, as if she’d forgotten. “You can have dinner in your room tonight, child,” Janice says to the boy.
    “Have I done something wrong?” he asks.
    “No, no, nothing like that,” Janice says. “We just have some adult things to talk about. You can take some toys with you to play with before bed.”
    The boy looks