There's Always Tomorrow (Immortal Series) (2 page)

“Christ.
 
How many do you see?” Anthony managed
to ask over the pounding of his heart.

Thomas
whispered, “Three, maybe four.
 
It’s the big black one I’m worried about.
 
He’s their leader.”

“Help me,
please.
 
They’re going to kill me,”
the young girl pleaded, as she tugged on her bleeding foot.
 
She saw the two men carefully
approaching.
 
They stood no more
than twenty feet away, but they carried no weapons.
 
“The wolves are going to kill me,” she cried.

Anthony looked
around for something they could use to defend themselves.
 

“Find a sturdy
stick or a club.
 
Heavy rocks might
help.
 
We need to scare them off,
but I’ll tell you now, Thom, I think our chances of walking away from this
aren’t too promising.”

Their eyes
locked in understanding, and they silently nodded.
 
They would save this girl from the wolf pack, or they would
die together, trying to do the right thing.

“Damn, I wish I
hadn’t followed you down the path,” Anthony joked.

“And miss all
this?”
 
Thomas laughed.
 
“It’s been a great life, Anthony.
 
Now, let’s get to it.”

Armed with a
large piece of white oak and a good-sized stone gripped tightly in his other
hand, Anthony crept to his left, to the far side of the circle.

Thomas waited
until his friend got into position and then began throwing large stones at the
wolves, hoping to scatter their numbers.
 
Startled, the animals fell back slightly, only to regroup again.
 
Thomas picked up a sturdy tree
limb—his makeshift club—and charged forward, into the center of the
fray.

“Get the girl,”
he shouted.
 
“I’ll keep them
back.”
 
He waved the large stick
back and forth, and bravely tried to stare the wolves down, yelling obscenities
at the top of his lungs.

Anthony rushed
in during all the chaos, and discovered the beautiful young girl had her foot
firmly trapped under a boulder.
 
It
would take a few minutes to dislodge it, precious time they did not have.
 
“Keep them back, Thom.
 
She’s caught pretty good.”

Just then, the
leader of the pack made his move.
 
Within moments he had Thomas on the ground.
 
Anthony could hear his friend’s tormented screams.
 
Turning away from the girl, he picked
up his club and ran at the snarling beasts, swinging like a mad man.
 
He shouted, he clubbed, his thumbs
gouged at eyes and ripped at throats.
 
Consumed by the will to survive, he fought on, finally rejoicing as he
watched Thomas scoot out from under the teeth of the large, black male.

Immediately,
the wicked menace turned his feral, yellow eyes upon Anthony, his fangs
dripping with saliva, and mixed with the blood of his friend.
 
Strong muscles hunched across his
immense shoulders as his claws dug into the wet ground.
 
His terrifying growl ripped through the
silence of the night, warning Anthony of his imminent attack.

With a
terrifying howl, he lunged through the air.

The girl
screamed, and Thomas launched himself onto the monster’s muscular back.
 
As Anthony tried to avoid the teeth,
Thomas repeatedly struck the wolf’s skull with his sharp rock.
 
Blood splattered through the air, and
still the monster kept up his attack.
 
The wolf seemed to possess a superior, almost human intelligence.
 
It was as if he understood their
tactics and planned one step ahead.
 
Just as Anthony positioned his thumbs over the animal’s eyes, the wolf
reared on his hind feet, flinging Thomas’ body to the ground.

The monster
stood more than six feet tall on his hind legs.
 
With his head thrown back and his eyes fixed upon the silver
moon, he howled an unearthly cry and skulked off to the edge of the
clearing.
 
One wounded female
limped over to his side.
 
He stood
and glared back at the two injured men before disappearing, once again, into
the darkness.

The last thing
Anthony did, just before everything went black, was to free the young girl from
her trap.
 
As he felt her foot
release, he let go his grasp on this world.
 
What little strength he still possessed, quickly drained
from his body.
 
He glanced over at
his friend, lying unnaturally still, at the edge of the clearing.
 
They had given it their best, and he
was proud of their efforts.
 
As his
life’s blood flowed from the jagged wound on his neck, he felt no fear and no
regrets.
 
Thomas had died
bravely.
 
Who would have thought
that the young, devil-may-care rogue, Pinkerton, was made up of that kind of
courage?
 
Anthony smiled.
 
The young girl was safe and he was
feeling so very, very tired.

Everything
seemed to vanish as he drifted somewhere between life and death.
 
As the cold wind howled, Anthony
Bowles, second son, closed his eyes.

* * *

Nadia wiped the
tears from her face and looked down at her swollen and bloodied ankle.
 
She had been very fortunate, unlike the
handsome men that had come to her aid.
 
With great difficulty, she managed to walk over to the man with the dark
hair.
 
He had freed her foot and
she needed to know if he survived.

“Sir?” she
whispered.
 
He did not
respond.
 
Blood had soaked his
jacket and pooled upon the soft earth beneath his head.
 
She thought he breathed, but it was
unclear.

“Grandfather,”
she muttered.

Nadia knew that
this man, and perhaps his friend, needed the kind of help that only her
grandfather could provide.
 
Looking
around the clearing, she picked up the man’s large stick and used it to brace
her body.
 
“I’ll return for you,”
she promised the man, as she fled back through the woods.

* * *

Rollo looked at
the two gadjos lying on the ground, and sadly shook his head.
 
They were still with the living, but
just barely.
 
The wounds they had
suffered were indeed mortal, and he had a decision to make.

His lovely
granddaughter, Nadia, had pleaded with him to save the two strangers.
 
This he could not do, but he would take
them back to his camp and make them as comfortable as possible.

“Help me,
Nadia.
 
We’ll load them into our
wagon and take them back to camp.
 
They will die in peace, there.”

“No,
Grandfather.
 
You must save
them.
 
They saved me.
 
They fought bravely and it isn’t fair
that you should allow them to die.”

“They are not
like us, Nadia.
 
They are not
gypsy.
 
I will attend to their pain
and see that they die well.
 
I’ll
say no more on the subject.
 
Now,
help me.”

As Rollo and
Nadia rolled into camp, curious men and women approached their wagon.

“What do you
have there, Rollo?”

“Is Nadia badly
hurt?
 
I see the blood on her
foot,” one older woman declared.

Guiding his
colorful wagon to its proper location, Rollo ignored the curious
onlookers.
 
After unhitching the
horse, Nadia’s grandfather went in search of Dante to help him with the injured
men.
 
Dante was his brother and
could be trusted not to speak out of turn.

Upon closer
inspection of the bloody wounds, Dante looked at his older brother with fear in
his black eyes.
 
He crossed
himself.
 
“It is a wolf that has
done this?” he whispered cautiously.

Rollo
nodded.
 
“The gadjos fought more
than one, to protect our Nadia.
 
I
must care for them, but they will not survive night, I’m afraid.
 
We’ll clean them up, and in the morning
I’ll need help digging their graves.”

The two gypsies
worked for the next several hours, attending to the men’s fatal injuries.
 
After doing all that could be done,
Rollo turned down the light and stepped out into the cool, night air.
 
He felt very old and needed his sleep.

Nadia had
waited patiently for her grandfather to finish with the injured men.
 
As soon as she saw her grandfather exit
the wagon, she rushed to his side and asked, “Are they going to survive?
 
Did you save them?”

“No, Nadia.
 
In this, they will not survive.”

“But you can do
it.
 
I know you can.
 
Please, Grandfather, they were so
brave.
 
They saved me and I must
not let them die.
 
Have you tried
everything?
”

The tired, old
man put his wrinkled hands on his granddaughter’s slight shoulders.
 
“Listen to me, child.
 
I
cannot
save them.
 
It is kinder to let them die
peacefully, as it is written.
 
They
are not gypsy, and they do not understand our ways.
 
Believe me, Nadia, it is best if we honor them with a decent
burial.”

“I’ve seen the
medicine you keep in the blue box.
 
I know you can save them,” she accused.

“No!” he
shouted harshly, and stomped away from the child.

Rollo was
snoring loudly, asleep under the wagon, when Nadia climbed the ladder and
stealthily entered through the rear door.
 
Her bare feet made little noise as she crossed over to the wooden chest
her grandfather stored under her bunk.
 
Inside, locked safely away, were his most treasured possessions,
including the two powders sealed separately in the blue urn.
 
It was wrong to steal from her
grandfather, but the young girl refused to allow the handsome men to die
without trying everything she could to save them.

Nadia had seen
her grandfather heal men and animals, alike, with the powdered mixture.
 
He’d stir in some water, making a thick
paste, and rub it into their wounds, or he would have them drink it in a strong
tea.
 
They never died.

Her small hands
shook as she carefully picked at the simple lock.
 
Her mother had taught her how to use a pin and trip the catch.
 
A soft click told her she was
successful.
 
Carefully, she lifted
the urn from the chest, and sat it on the table.
 
Removing the lid, she opened the packages wrapped in
oilcloth, and spooned a bit into a bowl.
 
She mixed equal parts of powder with water, making a smooth, thick
paste.

The man with
the yellow hair seemed to be very close to death, as Nadia removed the bandage
from his chest.
 
The angry redness
of the gash across his white flesh almost made her gag.
 
Taking a large amount of the paste, Nadia
gently applied it to the worst of his injuries.
 
He made no response as she rubbed it in, praying it would
work.

After
rewrapping the bandage, she turned her attention to the Englishman with the
dark hair.
 
He looked kind, and had
fought so bravely.
 
Her heart
lurched in her small chest as she touched his cool forehead and straightened
the stubborn curl that had fallen over one eye.
 
Even with all the cuts and bruises, he was remarkably
handsome, she thought.

Saying a silent
prayer, she unwrapped the linen cloth, covering his throat, and gasped at what
she saw.
 
The flesh was completely
torn away, exposing his muscles and the tendons beneath.
 
He’d lost an enormous amount of
blood.
 
For the first time, she
feared he might die, even with the help of her grandfather’s medicines.

The wounds were
treated and dressed, when Nadia decided they should also drink the
powders.
 
It certainly couldn’t
hurt them and it might increase their odds of survival.
 
Mixed with water, not tea, the young
girl forced some of the putrid liquid over their lips, trying to get some of it
into their stomachs.
 
Neither
swallowed, but she was confident the liquid had drained past their throats.

“I pray I have
done enough,” she sighed.
 
“God
will watch over you and so will I.”

* * *

Early the next
morning, Rollo and Dante were surprised to see the two gadjos were still among
the living.
 
By the third morning,
Rollo noticed their wounds were healing nicely and rapidly, too—
too
rapidly
.
 
They should not have
survived the first night.

“What have you
done, Granddaughter?” Rollo shouted, from the back of the wagon.

The young girl
had been busily preparing his dinner over the fire, and was surprised to hear
the anger in her grandfather’s voice.
 
Never had he yelled at her like that.