Read Blackout for Free Online

Pak Kun found a place on the side of the road that was clear of decomposing ox dung, then laid out the stones, forming a small T .
    Pak Kun quickly made his way back to the riverbank and found a particular tree. He walked around to the river-facing side, removed the sheath from his mouth, and tucked it into the crook of a branch.
    Silently asking his ancestors to protect the message, he slipped back through the fence and onto his raft. Pak Kun still had a dangerous and exhausting journey ahead of him before the new sunrise came, and with it another long day at the textile factory in Chosan.

Monday, July 13, 10:45 a.m. MDT
    Inverness Training Center, Centennial, Colorado
    Riley’s eyes opened, and the first thing he heard was shouting off to his left. He shook his head and tried to clear the cobwebs. Then the pain hit. It started like a small seed just under his right ear and soon grew to encompass everything from the neck up. His jaw felt like it had been nailed with a Kathy Bates sledgehammer swing, and he could taste blood in his mouth. There was a tickle under his nose, and when he went to wipe it, his hand came away red.
    What is all that shouting? he wondered. A hand slid under him, helping him to sit up on the grass.
    â€œPach. Pach, you okay?” Afshin was asking him.
    â€œYeah, I’m fine. Help me up, would you?”
    â€œDon’t you think you should—”
    â€œJust help me up!”
    Another arm slipped under his opposite shoulder. “You heard the man, Rook. Up we go,” safety Danie Colson said.
    Riley’s world spun, and he felt for a moment like he was surfing the earth’s rotation. He was finally able to steady himself by picking a point on the north goalpost and fixing on it until his brain caught up with his body.
    Turning around, he immediately saw the source of the racket. A scuffle was being broken up as one group of large bodies tried to pull apart and hold back a second group of large bodies. When things sorted themselves out, Riley could see linebackers coach Rex Texeira and several defensive players holding Keith Simmons and center Chris Gorkowski. Facing off with them and being restrained by two other players was one man—tight end Muhammed Zerin Khan.
    Like a light being switched on in a dark room, the last several seconds came back to Riley with sudden clarity. It was minicamp, and the Mustangs were running a touch drill—no pads, no hard hits. Riley had spotted Zerin cutting across the middle. But the ball was thrown downfield to Jamal White, so Riley had let up.
    Zerin hadn’t.
    The last thing Riley remembered was Zerin’s head hitting his cheek. Then came the waking and the spinning.
    Ted Bonham, the head of the medical team, came running up and set his bag on the grass. “Riley, you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine,” Riley replied, unsure whether his answer was true or not.
    â€œI want you to look at my finger and—”
    â€œHold on, Bones,” Riley said, pushing past the trainer and moving toward the crowd of players. “I’ll be right back.”
    Bonham’s protests were quickly drowned out by the curses of various players as Riley approached the group. Standing just outside of the melee was Coach Roy Burton. He raised his eyebrows to Riley, and Riley nodded that he was okay. He must be waiting for everything to calm down and disperse before he gets his pound of Zerin’s flesh.
    Riley put his hand on Keith’s chest and then reached over to Gorkowski’s. “I’m fine, guys. Really, it’s all right. Back off.”
    Both reluctantly stood down.
    Riley spotted Texeira, who had found the receivers coach. Riley let them keep on arguing—that was none of his concern.
    Turning to Zerin, who had quit yelling but was still pressed up against the hands of two other players, Riley said, “That was quite a hit.”
    Zerin just stared at him silently.
    The look in his