The Tenth Order Read Online Free Page A

me here, maybe she can get me out .
    He didn’t know who the unconscious nurse had been, or how she had ended up in his room, but he didn’t want to be anywhere near the hospital when the cops arrived. A patient admitted for attempted suicide and roughing up a dead Sunday-school teacher, not to mention the nurse thing…it wouldn’t take much for Hunter to wind up at the police station on the wrong end of an awkward conversation.
    So he walked. And as he made his way toward what he hoped was downtown, he tried to remember a time in his life where he wasn’t running from something.

    Hunter was seven-years-old when he got in his first fight.
    It was at school, in the cafeteria where most elementary brawls begin. He had forgotten to bring any money that day, and was reduced to what the school called “pot luck.” It mostly consisted of the unlucky boy going table to table and begging for leftovers. It was humiliating and did a number on your reputation, but the school was more concerned with fed children than happy ones.
    When Hunter realized he had forgotten his lunch money he panicked. “I’m on a diet,” he told Mrs. Bryls. “I’m concerned about my cholesterol.”
    But, unfortunately for Hunter, Mrs. Bryls was not in a believing mood. She marched him to the cafeteria, arm in hand, and watched as Hunter hung his head and did his best impression of Oliver Twist.
    It didn’t start out badly. The first table took pity on him, and one of the girls gave him a cupcake and a small handful of baby carrots. The next table wasn’t as generous, and Hunter came away with a half-eaten bologna sandwich. But the third table—that’s where the trouble began.
    “Aw, poor baby. Did baby forget his milk?” One of the larger boys laughed. His name was Francis and he was known for being a terror on the playground. Hunter guessed it was bound to happen when you named a boy “Francis.”
    “Yeah, baby, baby, baby,” one of the other boys joined in. “Baby’s milk all gone.” The rest of the table started to chant: “All gone! All gone! Baby’s milk all gone!” Hunter had a clear memory of what happened next, despite claiming he had blacked out and only come to later in the nurse’s office.
    Hunter whipped around, cupcake in hand, and smashed the dessert into Francis’ face. The table went silent as the other boys watched frosting drip down their leader’s face. Francis’ eyes widened and he started huffing like a bull about to charge. “You’re dead!” He roared.
    Hunter didn’t stop to listen. He leaped on top of the table and planted his foot squarely in one of the other boy’s sternum, launching him out of his seat and half-way across the cafeteria.
    The table exploded.
    Hunter hurled himself at the two boys who’d been the most vocal in their mocking. Tackling them both, he dragged them to the ground, shrieking. Hunter stood, taking a second to grind his foot in one of the weeping boy’s faces, and moved on.
    Teachers were rushing to the table, but Hunter didn’t pay them any mind. Instead, he turned back to Francis, whose eyes were filled with tears and cupcake frosting. Hunter stepped forward, fists raised.
    “Ah God. Ah God, just leave me alone!” Francis cried.
    The next part was fuzzy. Hunter remembered reaching Francis and grabbing him with both hands. He had a clear sensation of lifting the struggling boy, knowing it shouldn’t have been possible. Francis was big for his age, and must have weighed at least eighty pounds.
    Then, the rest really did go black, and the next thing Hunter knew he was in the nurse’s office. His parents were there, a worried look on his mom’s face. Hunter’s dad, on the other hand, seemed like he might burst a blood vessel. The nurse had talked with his folks a bit, assuring them Hunter was fine. Later, he’d learned there hadn’t been a scratch on him. Not one. But back then all he could think about was the angry red of his dad’s cheeks, and his mom’s eyes