There's Always Tomorrow (Immortal Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

sides were heavy, and still the Rebs
could not push the Yankees down off the hills.
    Day Three,
and it was imperative they turn the tide.   Lee gave the order for Pickett to attack through the center and charge
up Cemetery Ridge.   The fighting
was hand-to-hand, and the most vicious anyone had ever seen.   Several times, Tony couldn’t advance,
for the number of bodies piled up in front of him.
    Eventually,
out of bullets, the men lowered their rifles and led with their bayonets
glinting in the sun, and their loud Rebel yell filling the air.
    “Samuel,
stay next to me!” Tony hollered.   The boy had done well, and Tony would not allow him to fall, now.   “This way,” he pointed.   Samuel followed wordlessly.   All color had drained from his young
face.
    They made
little progress.   Tony’s hands were
soaked with Yankee blood and it turned his stomach.   What the hell was he doing here, in the first place?   This wasn’t noble.   This war was insane.   Just as he rounded a stone wall, Tony’s
heart lurched in his chest.   At
some point, Samuel had taken the lead.   Now, standing squarely in front of the kid, was a blue coat, his rifle
aimed at Samuel’s narrow chest, and determination in his cold and empty eyes.
    Before he
could think, Tony lunged with his bloody bayonet.   He felt it sink deep in the muscled chest of the soldier,
just before he felt the burning pain of a bullet, as it tore through his
gut.   “God,” he moaned.   The pain was indescribable.   He heard a scream.   Was it him?   Was it the man he stabbed?   No, it was Samuel.   The boy had grabbed the fallen Yankee’s rifle and fired it into his
chest.   He was going to fire again,
when a stray bullet from an unknown source, entered the back of his skull and
exited right between his disbelieving eyes.   Samuel fell to his knees, in front of Tony.
    Momentarily,
Tony forgot his own pain, as he looked into the beautiful face of a boy, too
young to be there, and he felt his heart wrench.   Sightless eyes stared up at him, bewildered.   This was a good boy—no—this
was a brave and good man.   His ma
and pa had done a good job in raising him, and it hurt to know they would never
see him again.
    In anguish,
Tony hoped he would die of his own injuries, but he knew better.   In fact, he felt very strange.   Something was different.   He could hear the fallen Yankee’s
thoughts.   It was impossible to
read another’s mind, but this man was coming through loud and clear without
saying a word.
    After a few
silent minutes, he whispered to a stunned Tony.   “Name’s Paul Grant.   You’re not crazy, brother, unless you think being here, is crazy.”   The stranger closed his eyes for a few
moments, holding his shirt to his wounds.   “I won’t die, you know.   I
take it, you won’t either.”
    Tony was
dumbfounded.   He’d never met
another man, such as he—other than his best friend, Thomas.   There had been rumors there were more,
but he thought they were just that, rumors.   “Who are you?” he gasped.
    “I told
you.   We are brothers, of a sort.”
    “You don’t
know what you’re sayin’.   You’re
dyin’.   I killed you and I’m happy
that I did.   Samuel shot you in the
chest.   No one survives a wound
like that!”   Tony sounded like a
child to his own ears.
    The Yankee
laughed.   “I guess it is a hard
thing to comprehend, but it is true, nonetheless.   Surely, you have heard the stories.   There are quite a number of immortals,
such as you and I.   Not all of them
are sane, however.   This
affliction, that we share, can drive some mortals mad, causing them to react
violently.   Some choose to live
life in a reckless and immoral manner, but most prefer to exist peacefully, in
the shadows.   There are more than
one or two, here, in this very war.   That’s why I am here.   I
hunt.”
    “You hunt
who?   Them?”   Tony could not believe his ears.   “Are they