Escape: The First Omnibus WTF I-III (Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Book 0) by Lundy W.J

Author:Lundy, W.J. [Lundy, W.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PHALANX PRESS
Published: 2014-12-02T05:00:00+00:00

8.

It was a long night; none of the men got much sleep. All through the evening they would be startled awake by a loud bang or the screeching of metal. Primals crashed against the steel walls and 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.

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