The Fugitive by Pittacus Lore Read Free Book Online Page A

out the little cylinder covered in the weird symbols.
    “You just have to click the top of it,” I add.
    He stares down at the object in his hands for a few seconds and then motions towards the van.
    “Take him back to headquarters,” he says. “Call in reinforcements. I want a strong perimeter. We’re takingAgent Walker in for questioning.”
    The two agents at my sides start to drag me towards the van.
    “No!” I shout. If I get in that van, I’m never seeing the outside world again. “You can’t do this! Let me stay here and wait for—”
    Something hard hits the back of my head and shuts me up. My vision goes a little starry.
    I shake my head and look back at the agent who took the grenade. He’s still eying it curiously. And then he does it—he pushes the button. I hear a click, followed by a few electronic beeps. He stares down at the grenade in confusion.
    “What the—” he starts.
    I muster all the strength inside me—every weight lifted and drill run and tackle practiced—and break free from the agents’ grips.
    I hit the cement floor just as the grenade goes off.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    THE CONCUSSIVE WAVE PASSES OVER ME AND presses me into the concrete floor so hard I’m afraid my ribs are going to snap. There’s no fire, just pressure, like some telekinetic force pushing anything and everything away from the detonation site. Agents fly through the air. The lights go out almost immediately. All around me there’s the sound of breaking glass as the force of the weapon shatters the windows of the building and van.
    And then it’s over. I’d probably think the whole thing was pretty awesome if I wasn’t in the middle of it.
    I get to my feet as fast as I can and run towards the rectangle of moonlight where the front doors had been earlier—the blast must have blown them out. My head is all fuzzy, like I’ve just stuck it inside a subwoofer. I can hear people groaning and moving about in the rest of the building, but I can’t tell where any of them are orhow hurt they might be. All I can do is run.
    I’m almost to the door when I realize I can’t leave without my bag. It’s got my computers and my notes—everything, really—in it.
    Including my keys.
    Luckily, the blast blew out all the dirty windows and the boards that’d been covering half of them, so there’s at least some moonlight, and it only takes me a minute to locate the messenger bag. I find it piled up with a bunch of debris. But this detour is enough time for a few of the agents to get back to their feet—I can hear their boots pounding against the concrete floor. Which is great, because it means that I didn’t accidentally kill anybody, but also means I’m one step closer to getting shot, arrested or both. I sprint towards the door. I just have to make it outside and into my truck.
    The lead agent steps in front of the doorway when I’m just a few yards away. He holds his gun up directly at my chest.
    “You smug little asshole,” he says. “Didn’t you know stealing classified intel is considered treason?”
    He lowers the gun to my legs and pulls the trigger. I brace for impact, ready for my knee to be destroyed. It’s all over now.
    Only, nothing happens. I see him pull the trigger again and again, but there’s no bullet or laser or even wisp of smoke. Just a little click each time he tries toshoot me. It’s only then that I realize the gun’s not lit up anymore. I take a quick glance around and don’t see any of the purple lights anywhere. Whatever that grenade did must have screwed with the Mog weapons.
    Which means the only thing standing between me and freedom is an unarmed man.
    The lead agent is still trying to pull the trigger when I lunge forward. I may not be the best spy or computer geek or liar, but I do throw a hell of a right hook. All the fights I got into back in Paradise taught me that. And while John Smith may have been able to kick my ass with his alien kung fu, this guy is very much a human. He