Free Tales of the Forgotten by W. J. Lundy Page B

answered, then
leaned back into the seat and lowered his hat to cover his eyes while he
drifted to sleep. Brad watched Hasan and liked the idea of sleep. He stared out
his side window and watched the terrain go by. Dwellings and ruins were growing
closer and closer together as they entered the heart of the country. Soon, he
too had drifted to sleep, lulled by the sound of the purring tires on pavement.
    When
Brad woke, the Defender was pulled to the shoulder of the road. There were high
mountains on both sides and the sun was still shining brightly. Brad lowered
his window and called to Sean, who was leaning against the side of the truck.
    “What’s
up? Why did we stop?”
    “Nature
calls, brother,” Sean answered back, pointing to Brooks perched behind a set of
large rocks.
    Brad
undid his seat belt and opened his door; he was drenched in sweat from his road
nap. He reached into his bag and pulled out a water bottle. After opening it,
he drained what was left of the warm liquid. Hasan walked up from the other
side of the vehicle, then stopped, took a seat up on the hood, and perched his
rifle in his lap.
    “So,
how much further to your safe house, Hasan?” Brad questioned.
    “Not
much further, just over these hills and on the approach to Aybak,” Hasan
replied, not looking up from his rifle.
    Brad
took a long look around. They were in a valley; the ground had gotten very hard
and this gave him a comfortable feeling knowing there were fewer dunes for the
primals to rise out of. He walked to the back of the vehicle and examined the
two holes there courtesy of the trip through Kholm. He went back to his bag,
grabbed a large roll of green duct tape, and plugged the holes. He placed a
large amount on the spiderwebbed hole in the glass to try and keep it from
breaking further. When he was finished, he noticed Sean and Brooks had made
their way back to their seats in the Defender. Brad took that as an indication
that their rest stop had ended and moved back to his position in the vehicle.
    The
mountains had grown high and there were even patches of green appearing on both
sides of the winding road as they drove further south. They started to come
across several stone buildings and even an occasional mosque. But there were no
signs of life, or if there was any life, they were hiding it very well. As they
passed over a large hill, Hasan signaled for Brooks to move off of the road and
onto a small trail that broke east away from the highway. The trail was nothing
more than a heavily rutted goat path that wound down and into the
boulder-strewn terrain.
    Out
of the terrain, smaller homes started to pop up. They were very old and most
were crumbled—many without roofs.
    “This
village has been abandoned since the Russians came,” Hasan spoke. “Occasionally
some families will live here during migrations to the river, but for the most
part it is always a ghost town.
    “At
the end of this trail, go to the right; our house sits at the top of the hill
against the mountain,” Hasan said to Brooks while pointing.
    Brooks
eased the vehicle down the winding trail, careful to avoid rocks or large dips
in the road. At the top of the hill was a stone-walled home. It was very small,
unlike the villa they had stayed at on the Hairatan road. The house settled
into a very high mountain slope and faced an open view of the terrain below. It
appeared to be carved into the side of the mountain, as were other homes they
saw when looking at neighboring dwellings.
    They
could see that all of the homes in the area did indeed look uninhabited.
Surprisingly, there was grass and vegetation in the area and a mountain stream
cut a path down through the back of the empty village. This home had obviously
been kept up by someone. Brad was surprised that the coalition forces would
miss it, but then again it was far off the trail and you could not see its
condition until being on top of it.
    Brooks
pulled the vehicle in close to the stone wall and