Whole Pieces by Ronie Kendig Read Free Book Online Page B

punched him in the chest. He glanced down and froze.
    A bullet was lodged in his Interceptor vest.
    He’d have a wicked bruise come morning—if he survived.
    He slapped a hand to his face and swiped it over his nose and mouth. “We gotta let the kid go.”
    Sand and dirt scraped—Stratham. Probably glancing over his shoulder at Hawk. “Why? Got another bad feeling?”
    This mess went way beyond bad. How did he explain it? Nobody would believe him. Suffocating pressure gripped him tight.
    If they let the boy go, would the fighters go on their merry way, back to the meeting house or, better yet, out of the village? Would that save the SEALs?
    Wait. Was that happening now? Were the SEALS under attack right this second? Or had he stepped into another alternate stream of time? The holocaust vision—he was almost certain that had been a picture of the future. So maybe the battle he’d just seen was the same kind of deal. Maybe there was a chance to save their brothers in arms.
    Heart and head pounding, Hawk drew up a leg and shifted on the rocky bed to look over his shoulder. Who are you, kid? Why are they willing to fight so hard for you? Why are they worried about you more than the average kid out late?
    â€œHawk, what’s up?”
    He skated his attention to Stratham. “We . . . need to move.” He kept his voice low in case the freedom fighters started their search up here, on the crest of the hill that bled into the mountains. No need to be a homing beacon for the men who wanted bodies to drag through the cities as trophies.
    Stratham’s eyes, lit only by moonlight, darkened. He grunted, then shook his head. “No. We stay.”
    â€œI saw . . . Taliban.”
    â€œWhere?” Stratham jabbed his eye to the scope.
    Quiet dropped on them as Hawk peered through his own reticle, begging God to show him something he could use to avert this tragedy. Please . . . help me save this kid and the team. The two had somehow become integrally connected. As more bad things happened to the kid, the end game worsened exponentially.
    â€œWhere?” Stratham repeated. “I got nothing.”
    Hawk swallowed. “I . . . They were there. By the field.” He scanned, searching for the mound of rocks, remembering where the SEALs had holed up. But try as he might, he couldn’t find that spot. “I saw them.”
    â€œYou’d better be wrong,” Stratham hissed. “Jensen and Jacobie are still out there.”
    Guilt climbed down his throat and clenched his heart in a fist. Was this how it would play out now? He tried to fix one mess and created another? Had he just killed two men?
    The kid. This was all the kid’s fault.
    No, that wasn’t fair. Abda was only an innocent element tangled up in this nightmare. Why had Hawk ever thought he could fix this? Save the day, alter the very fabric and integrity of time, play God.
    â€œLet me take the kid back.”
    â€œWhat!” Stratham’s voice strained, carrying with it incredulity and anger. “No. Just . . . do your job. Eyes out.”
    â€œThe kid—”
    â€œI said no!” Stratham clambered toward him. “Don’t know what’s wrong with you, Hawk, but you’re wigging out. Making bad calls.” Breath, heated by his terse words, soared over the cool wind and smacked Hawk. “Just . . . eyes out.”
    â€œWhat if the fighters are working with Tarazai? What if they are out looking for the boy?”
    â€œEyes. Out!”
    Teeth gritted, Hawk shoved his eyes to the terrain. Clenching his hand, he fought to tamp down his anger and frustration. God, I need a break. Show me . . . show me.
    Dirt crunched and ground to his left. He skidded a look to the side and found Abda hauling himself toward him using his tied-up hands, eyes locked on Hawk. Wait a minute—I tied up his legs too!
    Abda chewed the edge