Free Escape The 1st Omnibus: WTF Books 1-3 by W.J. Lundy Page B

now ringed in by the large forty-foot-long, ten-foot-high containers.
    The men slowly made improvements to the camp’s perimeter. After the wall was constructed, they started to lose some of the fear of making noise. Any stray primal that moved too close to the compound was quickly terminated with the use of Sean’s suppressed sniper rifle. After a week, the camp was fortified. Containers stacked end to end completely enclosed the camp. They had a sliding gate and the men had cut access doors into the containers that held food or other valuable supplies. Brad was extremely happy with the progress made.
    Late on the thirtieth night after the outbreak, Brad made his way to the communal fire pit inside his former residence. The warehouse now was divided into small shacks constructed of cardboard and crates salvaged from inside the containers. He saw Junayd with Sean and Brooks off to the side of the fire so he sat next to them. Once he was settled, a smiling young woman handed him a bowl of rice and dried meat. A child handed him an energy drink which made Brad laugh.
    “You have done well by these people Brad! They would welcome you into their tribe,” said Junayd.
    This gave all of the military men a laugh. “I am honored Junayd, really, but this isn’t my home. I think there is more for me than this.”
    Sean gave Brad a serious look. “That’s exactly what we have been discussing lately. Brooks and I have decided that it’s time to move on; we have to see where things are at.”
    “What are you getting at Sean, you want to leave? Where will you go?” answered Brad.
    “Brad, I’m afraid we’ve been forgotten out here. We were thinking we could make our way to Bremmel; things should have died down by now. We should be able to gather supplies from there; then do our best to make it to Bagram down Route 76. It won’t be easy, but I’m confident we can make it. Bagram fell fast in the early days of the outbreak; maybe there’s something left, maybe we can find an aircraft and get out of here.
    “Oh yeah, and we want you to go with us.”

 

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

Tales of the Forgotten
    W. J. Lundy

 
     

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

PROLOGUE
    It had been weeks since the first attack – since the day the world went dark and everyone had forgotten about them. The day he lost his company and most of his friends. They must have more to worry about than a half-dozen stranded soldiers in the back forty of the world. No contact, no messages, not even a flyover from a friendly aircraft. They were completely isolated and alone.
    “Target, twelve o’clock. Primal on the wire,” the spotter whispered.
    Brad’s team had done well for themselves, considering their situation. They had held up in the customs compound at Hairatan; they’d fortified it, made it a refuge. Their previous mission, in their old life, had been to patrol the streets looking for the Taliban. Now they worked with a former Taliban commander named Junayd, rescuing civilians and rebuilding in the furthest reaches of Afghanistan. Once enemies, they were now unified in a common goal to survive.
    “Identified, primal on the wire,” Brad whispered, pulling the rifle into his shoulder and letting his cheek rest on the butt stock. Gripping the heavy M24’s handguards tightly, he forced himself to relax as he lined his dominant eye up with the scope.
    The routines had become monotonous, the same tasks over and over. His deployment to Afghanistan had felt the same, but this was different. There was no real end to this, no day circled on a calendar