Warlord: Dervish Read Online Free Page B

through. Individual grains of sand, almost too small for the eye to see, started to vibrate. Some would jump up, and when they landed, they’d loose more particles of dust and sand. Granular material would start popping off the ground and travel in suspension and before you knew it, you’d have a billowing cloud bearing down on you.
    It’s been awhile, Jason thought, since they’d had a sand storm. He studied the grime on the back of his gloved hand. Which particle would start it? Which grain of sand would start to thrum and then leap up, setting in motion something that couldn’t be stopped, something that just had to be allowed to run its course?
    There was never any way to tell.
    “…yeah, ya feel me? Let me tell you, Meech, ain’t nothin’ like dem bitches in Itaewon. Hey, Espada.”
    “What’s that?”
    “You know what Confucius say?”
    “What’s that, Tucker?”
    “Confucius say…” Tucker assumed a horrible Chinese accent “…man with penis in peanut butter jar be fuckin’ nuts.”
    “‘ Be’ fuckin nuts, huh?” Espada sounded amused despite the heat. “That what Confucius would have said?”
    “Nah,” said the Gift. “Confucius say—let me tell you what Confucius say—Confucius say, man with hole in pocket feel cocky all day. Like Tuck.”
    “‘aight, Giff. Why’nt you come over here and put jo hand in my pocket, see what dere?”
    Espada was laughing and Meech started laughing too.
    “That nigger ain’t funny.” Tucker berated them. He turned to Meech. “What chew laughin’ at? You even understan’ what he say? Here, listen this…” Tucker addressed Espada “…Confucius say, Kotex not best thing in the world, but next to best thing.”
    “You’re wrong , Tucker,” Mook exhaled. “You just ain’t right.”
    Jason looked up from the back of his gloved hand to the road.
    “Heads up.”
    A white, compact car had pulled to a stop ahead, beyond the Jersey barriers. The car looked like it had been dipped in the mud and dust. Its chasis hung low to the ground.
    “Ah, shit,” Tucker raised his M-4. “Shit about to get real…”
    “Gift, Meech.” Mook nodded his head towards the car.
    “Got it.” The Gift started ahead, the barrel of his rifle level at his waist, their interpreter next to him. Tucker yelled out, “Giff, don’t go getting’ yo’ ass blown up.”
    Jason shifted his shoulder, snug against the stock of the M-240B, watching the car.
    “Jay, you get ready to light they raghead asses up.”
    “Tucker,” Mook warned, “Shut up.”
    The Gift and Meech had covered half of the space between their barrier and the car, which continued to idle.
    “I can’t see shit,” noted Espada. The sun was behind them, glinting off the windshield of the vehicle. Even with their sunglasses it was impossible to make out the interior of the car.
    The sand around Jason was calm.
    The day the kid checked out, the road had been still too. Like this. The snow had stopped falling. He was nine years old.
    The Gift and Meech were past the Jersey barriers now. The Gift was calling out to the car, holding one hand up, Meech translating.
    Uncle Ritchie stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at him in the snow. Jason was riding in the back of the Humvee, behind the driver. Tucker was up on the fifty, his legs next to Jason’s head. The kid was in the vehicle ahead of theirs.
    A white-sleeved arm was sticking out of the driver’s window of the white car, gesturing as the person inside spoke with Meech and The Gift.
    The Humvee in front was passing a pile of scrap when the IED blew. The flash—the heat—the smoke. Jason’s Humvee shook. Yeah, Aspen wouldn’t recognize him anymore.
    The Gift held up a hand with one finger extended, like he was saying give me a minute. He turned away from Meech and the car and started walking back towards the barrier.
    Tucker had sent a stream of fire into the fields, looking for a target, but there were no targets. No one was firing on