The Cage by Brian Keene Read Free Book Online Page A

Hollywood ripped us off,” Jeff said. “The Expendables? That shit was our idea.”
    The four of them sat down in a circle and waited. The air ducts banged and thrummed each time the ventilation kicked on. Occasionally, one of them would stretch or lean against the wire mesh, rattling it. But otherwise, the warehouse was silent. They sat like that for a long time before they became aware of a new sound—a different sound; one that they weren’t used to hearing. It was barely audible—so slight, in fact, that at first Jeff wondered privately if he was just hearing things. He was the first to call it to the others’ attention.
    The noise was coming from the store—an electronic hiss. Not quite static, but close. It lacked the rhythmic, staccato roar of static, and there was a high-pitched whine beneath it, barely noticeable.
    “What is it?” Scott whispered.
    Roy shrugged. “The emergency broadcast system, maybe?”
    Jeff tilted his head and listened. “No. I can hardly hear it, but it’s not that. This is something different.”
    Jared stirred beside him, then slowly got to his feet and walked to the door of the cage. He stared out into the ware-house.
    “It sounds like outer space,” he said after a moment.
    Scott stood up. “What are you talking about?”
    Jared turned to face them. “NASA has this thing on their website where you can listen to audio from one of their deep space probes. It sounds just like that.”
    “Sounds more like tinnitus to me,” Roy said. “That’s what I thought it was, at first. I get ringing in my ears sometimes.”
    “You never told us that,” Scott said.
    “That’s because I didn’t want you guys making fun of me. Clint and I get enough old men jokes around here.”
    “Could it be tinnitus?” Scott asked.
    “Not unless you guys are suffering from it, too. You hear it too, right?”
    “He’s turned on the televisions,” Jeff said, joining Jared alongside the chain link mesh. “That’s all it is. A signal of some kind.”
    “I’m telling you,” Jared insisted, “it’s outer space. That’s the same sound the stars and the sun make.”
    “Stars and suns are the same thing,” Jeff said. “And that’s stupid, Jared. How could he possibly have located a signal from outer space?”
    “Maybe he’s on the NASA website. Maybe he got Carlos or Clint to patch it through one of the home theatre stations or the audio board.”
    “Too bad he couldn’t patch through some Wu Tang Clan instead,” Scott joked.
    Jeff noticed that Roy had an intense look of concentration on his face. The older man’s head was tilted slightly to one side. He frowned, listening. The lines and creases around his eyes and mouth and nose seemed to deepen.
    “What’s up, Roy? What are you thinking?”
    “I’m thinking that I know what it is,” Roy said softly. “And the reason I know what it is, is because I’m an old man. You kids wouldn’t know anything about this.”
    Scott joined them at the side of the cage. “So what is it then?”
    “Any of you ever listen to anything on vinyl?”
    Jeff, Jared, and Scott all shook their heads.
    “Jesus Christ. None of your parents had record albums?”
    “Mine did,” Jeff said. “Billy Idol. Duran Duran. Quiet Riot. A few others that I can’t remember. But they didn’t have a turntable to play them on.”
    “Mine had some, too,” Jared said. “I think they sold them at a yard sale when I was a kid, though.”
    “That sound you hear,” Roy said, nodding at the closed door leading into the store, “is the sound at the end of a record album. When the needle reaches the end, if the record isn’t scratched, and the turntable doesn’t have an automatic return feature on the arm, the record just keeps spinning round and round, and the needle stays stuck in the very last groove. That’s the sound it makes. Sort of a crackly, quiet sound.”
    The three of them glanced at the door and then back at Roy.
    “So he’s playing records?”