Read Generation Dead for Free Online

someone was yanking his ankle from behind with each step he took-- over to the loose cluster of players near Coach Konrathy. Many of the players were covered in sweat beneath their pads and
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    trying to control their breathing, but the dead kid wasn't even winded.
    He doesn't breathe, Adam remembered. Adam was sweating freely but his breathing was pretty good. Trying to keep in shape in the off-season with lifting and karate was paying dividends. He knew he'd never be the fastest guy on the field, but there was no reason he needed to be the most out of shape. Karate gave him some techniques that were going to keep him on the field longer, and it also gave him some tricks he couldn't wait to spring on those bastards from Winford. The season couldn't start soon enough, as far as he was concerned. Normally he loved the practice and the discipline of it, but the recent tension with Pete took some of the luster away--and that was before the dead kid joined. Adam tried to avoid getting caught up in the philosophical aspects of the new addition to the team, but it was undeniable that the presence of Tommy Williams cast a hush over what was usually a pretty boisterous event.
    Adam liked to be the first one into the locker room, but not today. He found it was eerie to walk into the locker room and see the kid sitting there on the bench, all suited up, his eyes glossy and staring from within the shadow of his helmet.
    Focus , Master Griffin whispered in his mind. Adam thought the interior voice was starting to sound more and more like Yoda now that he had cut back his trips to the dojo to once every couple weeks rather than twice a week like he had over the summer. Master Griffin would have to wait his turn behind Coach Konrathy and Emily Brontë.
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    And Phoebe.
    Adam started some post-running stretching exercises, feeling his muscles lengthen and contract. This was Konrathy's first late practice--he liked to do a few a season to get the team used to playing under the lights--and Adam was pleased with the way his body was responding to the shifts.
    Coach Konrathy frowned at Tommy as he joined the other players. He took his cap off and put his hand through his thinning hair, and Adam knew that some punishment was coming their way.
    "We're going to start out with some tackling drills," Konrathy said. Adam thought he could hear him wheezing; he looked like he needed a shave and his eyes were glassy. "All the rooks line up. We're going to see how you take a hit."
    Adam watched Tommy Williams take his place at the end of the rookie line. There were about twelve kids trying out for the team this year; mostly freshmen. Oakvale didn't have enough players to field both a JV and a varsity team, so pretty much all of the new kids would at least get a uniform to wear on the bench. Every year, though, there were a few who washed out, didn't make it through the practices, or decided they didn't enjoy peeling themselves off the ground with a headache and a bloody nose.
    Adam watched Konrathy looking over his tacklers. Adam's instincts at the line caused him to read meaning in everything: eye contact, nonverbal cues, the inflection of the quarterback's voice as he called the signals. He watched a look pass between the coach and Pete Martinsburg.
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    "Look alive, Williams!" Coach shouted, drawing a dark laugh from some of his veteran players. Adam saw Pete watching Coach like a guard dog waiting for the attack sign. Pete smiled before putting his helmet back on, and then Adam saw why. Coach's left hand was held flat at his waist with thumb down.
    Adam wasn't grinning at all. He was thinking of the last time he saw Coach make that sign, when he'd ended Gino Manetti's career by hitting him in the knee. He could still hear the tendons pop as he drilled into the side of Manetti's leg with his shoulder, and he could still hear the other boy's shrill cry of pain as he went down. It wasn't until Adam saw Manetti months later at the mall that he realized