Read Online Tales of the Forgotten by W. J. Lundy - Free Book Online Page A

howled in frustration. Several times Brad
woke from a dream, alarmed that the primals had breached the doors and were
pouring through the cage walls, only to find them alone.
    Brad
tried to get comfortable without making too much noise. He found it difficult
and he cursed himself for leaving the lucky unfired Sigma pistol back in his
rucksack. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Tomorrow, he pledged to himself,
he would find a place on his gear so he would always have it with him. He sat
awake, staring at the sleeping men across from him, and wondered how the SEALs never
had trouble passing out.
    Morning
came with an uneasy silence; the pounding had stopped with the dawn, and it had
been hours since they’d heard a moan. Sean sent Brooks back up the ladder to
peek outside. In the meantime, they opened MREs and had a cold, silent
breakfast. Sean quietly opened a case of water and passed out bottles to the
others. After a while, Brooks returned and took his seat back against the cage
door. “Most of them are gone, but there’s still about a half-dozen stubborn
ones standing out there,” Brooks whispered while opening a chicken fajita MRE.
“I would say we’re going to have to wait it out a bit longer; if we creep
outside, one of them is sure to sound the alarm.”
    The
men agreed and settled back into their rest spots to wait uncomfortably through
the day. As morning passed, the temperature in the building went higher and
higher. Soon it was over a hundred degrees inside and the heat, mixed with the
stench of the dead primals and the mess that they had made in the void, made it
a slow torture to sit there. Brad wrapped his scarf tightly around his head and
tried to force himself to sleep to speed the time. He closed his eyes and began
to dream about home.
    He
was at his parents’ home sitting on the porch. The weather was perfect. Brad
stepped off the porch into the fallen leaves and just stood there, enjoying the
cool night air and the breeze on his face. His mother was at the flimsy screen
door telling him to come back inside; his father told him it wasn’t safe on the
porch anymore. Brad didn’t listen, the breeze comforted him. He had the Sigma
pistol in his hand; he squeezed it, the grip cool against his palm. Brad liked
the feel of the weapon. It was a heavy and full-framed pistol, built for war,
and it made him feel safe holding it.
    His
mother pleaded for him to come back inside the house. Brad looked back at her
and said he couldn’t, he had to wait for him. “I can’t leave him behind again,”
he said. “I’m sorry Mom, but I won’t leave without him.” Brad stepped onto the
stone walkway, then calmly walked closer towards the tree line; looking
intently into the shadows, he searched for his friend.
    He
heard the branches snapping in the woods that surrounded the house. Brad saw
him cutting through the woods. It was dark and he couldn’t make out the face,
but he was sure it was him. Brad waved his hand to signal where he was. The man
paused and turned towards him. The man waved back, changed direction and moved
towards Brad.
    Brad
heard the howl of the wolves in the distance. Brad’s father yelled for him to
please get back in the house, but Brad ignored him too. He waved for the man in
the woods to come closer. The man stepped out of the shadows; it was PFC Ryan!
He waved back at Brad and smiled. Ryan was still wearing his full combat gear,
and as he walked slowly toward the house, Brad saw Ryan’s arm was covered with
bloody bandages and his shoulder was twisted at a grotesque angle.
    Brad’s
parents were yelling frantically now, pleading for him to return to the house …
but he shut out their voices. Not this close! He wouldn’t leave him again. Brad
looked beyond Ryan and saw the mob of primals crashing through the forest. The
primal screams drowned out the sounds of everything else; it was all he could
hear now. Brad screamed for Ryan to run to the house as he raised the Sigma
pistol to