Death Springs Eternal: The Rift Book III Read Online Free PDF

if he remembered correctly, and everything was still fresh: every rapid heartbeat, every flash of gunfire, every shriek of fear that had penetrated his eardrums. As they sat there talking through the night, all he could feel was relief that he wasn’t the only one.
    Pitts exhaled deeply, stood up, and turned away from the window. He swallowed hard, trying to make himself think he’d had it good. He’d been with the general since that day, the first member of the SNF, survived the rain-drenched winter and watched him rally survivors, civilians and soldiers alike. The general promised them security and bound them together into what was now, five months later, a living army of close to ten thousand men, women, and children. He’d given Bathgate everything of himself, done things he had never thought himself capable of, and even indulged the man with his obsession for Klan literature, which Pitts couldn’t understand. He’d never had a problem with black folks in the past, but now they were outlawed, as were Arabs, which seemed a little random. He knew it wasn’t right, but many of those who were folded under the SNF umbrella included members from the multitude of armed militia groups that had formed over the years, from anti-government folks to white supremacists to good-ole-boys who just loved to play at being survivalists. They dictated a large portion of the public morality, even though the majority of the rank-and-file had no clue…or at least pretended they didn’t. And the general’s own personal beliefs didn’t help matters any. There were times where Greg thought the murder of these people was downright evil, but he dealt with it as best he could. Be thankful , his conscience ordered. You’re alive and safe when so many others are dead. That’s what matters. So stop with the woe-is-me crap.
    “I know,” he muttered, and flopped down in bed. He needed to pack his things in preparation for the long trip ahead, but his desire to rest his weary bones overrode all else. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to find sleep, but all he could see was a battalion of rednecks and ruffians, pressing ever onward, dragging the discarded pieces of his soul away with them.
     
    *    *    *
     
    The sun rose, baking the landscape even though it was still early in the morning. General Bathgate stood in front of the hotel and glanced at the mist still hanging in the air, cringing at the thought of the haze growing as the day went on. The heat would be virtually unbearable again, much too hot for springtime, even in North Carolina . He wondered for a moment how Captain Hawthorne and the rest of the troops he’d sent to the southern coast were dealing with it, but the oppressiveness brought him quickly back to the here and now. Good thing the Hummer still has air conditioning , he thought. Too bad the rest of the public transport vehicles, the buses and vans and hollowed-out tankers they’d commandeered over the last few months, did not. He worried for his followers and how comfortable they’d be on the treacherous journey, but eased his mind by repeating his mantra: trying times breed strong souls.
    And no time was as trying as the here and now.
    Pitts pulled alongside him in his reinforced snowplow. He leaned out the window and looked down at him, appearing petulant as sweat poured down his forehead. Bathgate saluted, and Pitts returned the gesture.
    “The rig’s all set,” said Pitts. “Is Dante gonna meet us here? He’s driving my baby today, right?”
    The general shook his head. “No, Lieutenant. I think you should take point this time. I had Dante join the Peacemaker crew. See if the wily old bastard who drives it can impart any of his…wisdom…to the boy.”
    Pitts blanched. “What? The Peacemaker? You already got five bastards on that crew! You know you can’t fit more than that in the thing. It’s a freaking tank, not a bus. And you know Randall won’t teach the kid anything! He never does. I mean