Bury the Living (Revolutionary #1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

gashes. His nose was crushed, and his jaw jutted out at an unnatural angle.
    For a long moment, all she could do was stare, conscious of the sudden silence that had fallen on the room. She tore her eyes away from his ruined face and watched his chest under the white hospital sheet, certain that if she could only see it rise and fall, ever so slightly, everything would be okay. They wouldn’t wait until they had the money this time; they would leave Belfast the minute he was released from hospital. They would do whatever it took to survive outside this godforsaken country.
    But his chest remained still.
    Someone reached over and lifted the sheet over Eamon’s head, hiding his face from her view. It was Mick O’Connor.
    “How?” Nora asked, her voice foreign to her own ears. “Who did this?”
    “UDA,” Mick said. Ulster Defense Association. “Picked him up on his way home from the factory. Dumped him outside the pub where we were meeting. He was still alive when we brought him here, but he didn’t last long. Father Donovan’s just done giving him the last rites.”
    “They . . . beat him to death?”
    “Aye.”
    “And he was unarmed?”
    “Aye.”
    “But why ?”
    “Why else? He was a Catholic,” Mick spat. “The UDA and the rest of the Prods want nothing more than to kill us or send us running. That’s what Eamon was fighting for, Nora. An Ireland where you can be safe. Don’t forget that.”
    “Mick, I don’t think this is the time . . . ,” Paddy started, but Nora was only half-listening. Her eyes were fixed on the stillness of the figure beneath the sheet, her thoughts consumed by one dreadful realization.
    This is my fault.
    She pushed past Paddy, heading out of the room. The bright lights of the hospital corridor mocked her. She walked, not caring where she was going, just needing to get away from the suffocating guilt in Eamon’s hospital room.
    A chapel loomed at the end of the hall. She stormed up the center aisle and threw herself on the railing in front of the altar. She squeezed the wooden rail with her hands, as though it would keep her from dissolving completely. She tried to pray but couldn’t remember the words.
    “Nora?”
    Her head whipped around at her name. Father Donovan stood in the doorway. He came and knelt beside her.
    “I’m very sorry about your brother,” he said.
    She couldn’t answer. Her nostrils flared with the effort of breathing.
    “He was a very good lad,” Father Donovan continued. “One of the best of us.”
    “I need . . . ,” Nora croaked. “Confession.” But it didn’t matter, not really. Nothing could absolve her now.
    “Confession? Ach, Nora, this wasn’t your fault. It’s natural to feel that way when someone you love has passed away, but you mustn’t blame yourself.”
    “He only joined up because of me,” Nora forced out. The weight of Father Donovan’s hand settled on her shoulder.
    “His was a noble fight, my dear. You should not regret that.”
    “But he’s dead.” The statue of Jesus on the cross behind the altar seemed to glare at her. Judging her. “He’s dead.”
    “You didn’t kill him, Nora. But you can continue his fight.”
    She tore her eyes away from the crucified Christ to look at the priest.
    “What do you mean?”
    “We need young people like you to fight for Ireland.”
    And end up dead, like Eamon?
    “I’m afraid,” she whispered.
    The priest’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “God will be with you.”
    Something stirred in Nora’s gut. What else was she to do? Avenging her brother’s death would give her purpose. And if she met with the same fate . . . well, it would be no more than what she deserved.
    She stood, still gripping the railing. “Sign me up.”

Chapter Four
    Fourteen years later
Darfur, Sudan
    “November Oscar, it’s go time!” The voice crackled over the walkie-talkie hanging from Nora’s hip, calling out her code name.
    “Aye, I’ll be right there!” Nora shouted,