Bunker (A Post-Apocalyptic Techno Thriller Book 2)

by Jay J. Falconer

  “Nice to meet you,” Rusty said, putting out his hand for a shake.

  Bill King didn’t respond. Nor did he move.

  Buckley kept his eyes on Rusty. “I just told Mr. King that you took a ride out to the stables to check on a few things for me. Isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, sir. I did.”

  “Well? Were they there? My wife and son?” King asked, his tone charged with hostility.

  Rusty looked at the Mayor with a blank expression on his face.

  “Come on, kid. Spit it out already. We don’t have all day,” King added.

  Buckley sensed Rusty’s reluctance and knew the kid was looking for guidance. “Go ahead, Rusty. Tell us what you found out. Just give it to us straight. Don’t hold back a single detail.”

  “Well, sir, when I arrived, I found the store’s front door just hanging open. I went inside, but the place was empty. Of people, I mean. I waited around for a bit, but nobody showed. So I checked in the back to see if Mr. Atwater was in his office. You know, working at his desk or something. But he wasn’t. It looked—”

  “Is that all you have?” King asked, not letting Rusty finish his report.

  “Please, Bill. Let him finish,” Buckley said.

  Rusty cleared his throat, his tone unsure. “It looked like someone had completely trashed his office. Stuff was everywhere. Like they were looking for something. Plus, I saw some of the horses running loose outside.”

  “Loose?” Apollo asked, finally joining the discussion. “That doesn’t sound like Franklin to me. He’s a stickler for order and proficiency, ever since his days in the Army.”

  Rusty nodded. “Something must’ve happened. Something bad, I think. I even checked the main house, but there was no sign of anyone. It’s like everyone just disappeared.”

  The Sheriff ran his hands across the back of his neck. “I thought for sure that’s where everyone was. What the hell is going on?”

  Buckley stepped out from behind his desk and put a hand on Apollo’s shoulder. “So I take it Daisy wasn’t at her trailer?”

  “No sir. After my knocks went unanswered, I used her spare key to go inside. I found her bed made, and there were no dishes in the sink. When I checked the coffee maker, it was ice cold and spotless.”

  “Coffee maker?” Buckley asked, not understanding the relevance.

  “Daisy told me she always downs a full pot first thing. It’s the only way she can get moving in the morning.”

  “Maybe she cleaned up; did you ever think of that?” King said, his words frothing with contempt.

  “Yes, of course. But that wasn’t all I found. There was no coffee filter in the trash and the gas heater’s thermostat was turned way down. Plus, her cat Vonda wouldn’t stop meowing until I fed her.”

  “Wait a minute,” King snarled. “The power’s out. That would’ve have worked anyway.”

  “Normally I’d agree but she has an old Onan generator she inherited from her father after he passed. It’s from the early 60’s and looks like an old tractor, but it still works. No electronics, either. She has a lot of trouble with the grid out there in the winter, so I know she keeps that beast fueled and ready.”

  “Onan, huh?” King said in a less contentious tone, his eyes tight. “Do you happen to know what model?”

  “No, not off the top of my head,” Apollo said, pausing before he spoke again. “So, after careful consideration and review of the facts, I came to the only conclusion that made sense. Especially after I found the cat’s water bowl empty. Daisy never made it back last night with Bunker.”

  “Bunker? Seriously?” King asked, resuming his nasty mood.

  “Yes,” Buckley answered. “We sent the two of them to Tuttle’s place last night.”

  King flailed his arms. “Jesus, Buckley! How much more do you need to hear? We’ve obviously got a situation here and it is clearly official business. Something that both the Sheriff’s Department and the Mayor’s Office need to address. I’ll bet my last dollar Bunker is at the center of all of it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Bunker snapped awake when someone threw cold water on his face. It took a second to remember where he was. When he did, he realized he must have passed out after the last round of electrocution.

  He glanced around the room, but little had changed. He was still naked and bound vertically to the metal bed frame, with his feet soaking in water buckets. The car batteries were two feet away, wired together with electrical cables that ended with a pair of wide-mouth clamps attached to the frame.

  There was no way to know how long he’d been out, but the pools of blood on the floor were more distinct than before. The electrical burns across his back and legs were intense, but he fought back the urge to wince or show any sign of discomfort. He didn’t want to give these men the satisfaction.

  “Status report?” The words came from a short man entering the room through the only door.

  “So far, he hasn’t said anything. Not a word,” answered the man who’d been serving up the torture.

  “Sounds like we have ourselves a hero,” the new arrival said.

  Bunker studied the man who’d just called him a hero. His neatly-trimmed hair was combed from left to right and peppered with even amounts of gray and black along the sides. His wide nose looked pushed in at the top, like a bulldog, and his eyes were set close together, black as coal.

  The man’s thin lips and narrow shoulders matched the rest of his slender profile, but his most noticeable feature was the pitted scars across his cheeks. They were heavy and deep, much like the collection of wrinkles around his hawk-like eyes.

  Bunker could sense the respect the man carried, leading him to believe he was the commander of this group. His black slacks and long-sleeved shirt were pressed and his dress shoes shined, looking as though he’d just come from Casual Friday at some lawyer’s office.

  “Bring in one of the females. He’ll talk,” the commander said.

  “Which one?” the torturer asked.

  “Doesn’t matter. Just make it quick.”

  “Yes, sir,” the torturer answered, leaving the room in a hurry.

  The commander turned to one of the other men standing nearby, then pointed at Bunker with authority. “Untie him. I want him on his knees for this. Make sure he’s secure.”

  The man farthest to the right stepped forward and began to untie Bunker, while the remaining two guards aimed their rifles at him.

  Once Bunker was free, his vision blurred for a moment before his legs gave out. He landed on his kneecaps with a heavy thud. He ignored the discomfort, turning his thoughts to the other hostages—women and children. They needed him, but he decided not to fight back. Not yet. His strength was only just beginning to recover. If he was lucky, he’d get one crack at these men, and this wasn’t it.

  “Looks like Marco did his job well,” the commander said. “Nobody tenderizes meat like he does.”

  Someone pulled Bunker’s hands together behind his back, then secured them with rope around his wrists.

  The commander grabbed the back of Bunker’s head and yanked, breathing heavy and close. “I can see you take great pride in keeping yourself in shape. And in your artwork. Impressive. But none of that will help you now. I’d strongly suggest you tell me what I want to know before my patience runs out.”

  Bunker didn’t answer, keeping his eyes on the commander’s as his chest swelled with adrenaline. Whether the rush was out of anger or pain, he couldn’t tell; both were thick inside. Either way, he could feel his strength building with each passing second.

  The commander twisted Bunker’s hair in his hands, turning Bunker’s neck to study the blowtorch scars. When he was done, he yanked on the back of Bunker’s hair, nearly ripping the strands out by their roots. “Who are you?”

  The pain sent Bunker’s breath out of control, making him clench his teeth as air and spittle shot out in rapid bursts. He wanted to kill this man. Yet he said nothing.

  “You
are one stubborn son of a bitch, I’ll give you that. It’s obvious you’ve had extensive training in counter-interrogation, but you’ll break. Guys like you always do. Just need to find the proper motivation.”

  Right then, the door swung open. In came Daisy, still in her uniform and with her hands behind her back. The torturer, Marco, had a grip on her, keeping her under control.

  She’d been gagged and blindfolded, her shirt ripped along one of the shoulder seams. Plus, her hair was a confused mess, with clumps hanging about her face and neck, making it appear she’d put up a good fight. Or just gotten out of bed.

  “Looks like motivation just arrived,” the commander said. He let go of Bunker, shoving his head to the side before turning his wrath to Daisy.

  “On your knees,” the commander told her.

  She didn’t move, yelling something into the gag. The words were muffled, but her defiance was clear.

  The commander spun to the side with his arm drawn back, then unleashed his fist, landing a sharp blow to her gut.

  Daisy gasped, doubling over from the force. She dropped to her knees, her chest heaving to gather oxygen.

  Bunker’s heart screamed at him to do something, but his logic killed the idea. They’d shoot her if he made his move at the wrong time. Patience was needed.

  The commander grabbed Daisy by the hair and snapped her head back to expose her face. “Do not defy me again, woman. Next time, I use my knife.”

  She didn’t respond, still fighting for air in short, choppy bursts.

  He let go of Daisy and took the blindfold off.

  Her watery eyes found their way to Bunker. When they shot wide, he showed her a raised eyebrow and gave her a slight head shake, hoping she’d know to stay calm.

  Daisy’s eyes softened and her breathing slowed, even though it was clear she was in considerable pain.

  Bunker flashed a stern look at her, then, with only his eyes, directed her attention toward the commander, who was now moving around behind her.

  She nodded gently as the man pulled his knife and bent down, putting the blade under her chin.

  “Now that we all know each other, it’s time to wrap this up,” the commander said, tugging down on her hands.

  He aimed the tip of his knife at Bunker before he spoke to Daisy again. “Let’s hope your boyfriend over there decides to cooperate. Otherwise, I’m afraid your beauty will be a thing of the past.”

  She said something into the gag, but again the words were garbled.

  The commander brought the knife back to her throat, then told Bunker, “Tell me what I want to know, or I start carving.”

  Daisy struggled against his grip, but the man only smiled, keeping her secure and under his control. “She’s a feisty one. Just the way I like them.” He moved the tip of the blade from her throat to her right eye, only an inch away. “I think I’ll start with her eyes.”

  Daisy’s face went into all-out fright mode, her eyes as big as quarters.

  Bunker couldn’t hold his silence any longer. “Okay. Okay. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  The commander withdrew the dagger and was about to say something when a powerful explosion rocked the building. The blast was close, stinging Bunker’s ears and shaking everything around him, including his teeth.

  The man in charge flinched, then motioned to his men. “Find out what’s going on!” Two of the guards scrambled to the door and disappeared outside, leaving one armed man inside.

  Bunker made sure Daisy was looking at him before he yelled, “Now, Daisy!” He sprang to his feet, hoping she’d take action.

  Daisy reacted in an instant, snapping her head back to catch the commander in the groin. The man doubled over, groaning, his hands covering his crotch.

  Bunker charged the remaining guard with his chest leading the way, ramming him into the wall with a thud. The man fell hard and twisted over to his side.

  Daisy swung her feet around and took out the commander’s legs, sending him to the floor in a heap. She wrapped her thighs around his neck to pin him in a leg vise.

  Bunker kicked the guard lying at his feet, landing a blow to his face. The back of the man’s skull smashed into the wall behind. A moment later, the guard’s eyes closed and his hands fell to the side, releasing the AR-10 rifle. Bunker kicked it a couple of feet away, in case the man regained consciousness.

  Another explosion went off outside, this time farther away. Gunfire erupted next, distant like the blast. It started as controlled bursts of automatic fire, then a pair of powerful single blasts followed. A shotgun, Bunker figured, landing a few more kicks to the guard’s face as insurance.

  He went to help Daisy, but she appeared to have everything under control. The commander’s face was now a deep red color, with the veins along his temples raised and distinct. His tongue was hanging out like a thirsty dog, gurgling sounds emanating from his throat.

  She continued applying pressure to his neck with her thighs, while the commander threw wild fists behind his head. She ducked most of the punches, though one did manage to catch the side of her head.

  Bunker brought his foot up to kick the man’s face, but the commander’s entire body went limp before he could unleash his fury.

  Daisy kept her leg lock in place for a few more seconds, then let go. She rolled herself next to Bunker, then mumbled a string of frantic words into the gag.

  The words were garbled, but he understood what she wanted. He spun around and used his fingers to find the cloth around her mouth. He had to fight through the paracord wrapped around his wrists but he was able to untie her gag and free her voice.

  She moved her legs under her before standing up with an awkward step. “They have Stephanie and the kids!”

  “Jeffrey?”

  “And Megan, too.”

  “Quick, untie my hands,” Bunker said, continuing to hear the distinctive chatter of gunfire outside. The firefight was intense, no longer including shotgun blasts—only intermittent spurts from automatic weapons.

  Daisy spun around and tore her fingers into the knot securing his wrists. She worked it loose. “Now it’s my turn.”

  Bunker freed her hands, then grabbed the sidearm from the unconscious guard’s holster and gave it to Daisy. She cocked the semi-auto Colt 1911 by racking the slide in earnest.

  He snatched the AR-10 from the floor and ejected the magazine to inspect it. It appeared to be full, with twenty rounds of 7.62. His eyes found the chamber next. It was empty. No round present. Odd, given the weapon had been trained on him since he’d been dragged to this location. Had he known the gun wouldn’t have fired, he would have made his move sooner.

  Bunker rammed the magazine into the lower receiver, pulled the charging handle back and let it snap forward to inject a round into the chamber.

  “Which way to Steph and the kids?” he asked, wincing, the sting of the interrogation wreaking havoc on his body.

  “I don’t know. I was blindfolded,” she answered, her tone sarcastic.

  Damn it. He should’ve remembered that fact. It was clear he was out of practice and needed to take a pause to calm himself. Otherwise, his supercharged adrenaline would affect his decision making. Mistakes cost lives.

  He drew in three slow breaths, then he was ready. “We sweep and clear. Shoot anything that moves. Don’t hesitate, not for a second. We don’t stop until we find Steph and the kids.”

  Daisy nodded, then grabbed his arm to stop him. She pointed at Bunker’s privates. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  He looked down. Still naked.

  Her eyes were now taking a survey of the artwork across his chest. They stopped moving when they landed on his left pectoral muscle, the location where he had the most damning tattoo on his body. Artwork from his last job—an insignia—one that told the entire world something he wanted to forget.

  The emblem featured a white skull with wings, painted red with flames. The words THE KINDRED were sprawled above the skull in a curved, downward-facin
g arc with red block lettering on a dark background. Under the artwork were the words Brotherhood Forever, also emblazoned in an arc, only this one faced up.

  She took a step back. “The Kindred, huh? I’ve heard of them. LA biker gang. White supremacists. Shaved heads. Guns. All that.”

  Shit, his secret was out. “Yes, but that was the man I used to be. A man I hated. I no longer run with them.”

  Her eyes pinched and so did her nose. “I thought once you’re in, you’re in for life. Nobody ever quits.”

  “Well, I did. A few months back, when they decided to start selling meth to kids.”

  Daisy’s inquisitive look was replaced by one of confusion. “So, let me get this straight,” she said, her voice now sounding like a suspicious member of law enforcement. “A proud Marine leaves the military and joins a group of white supremacists who ride around on Harleys and break the law. Drugs. Guns. Prostitution. Extortion.”

  “Yeah, I’m not proud of any of it. That’s why I left. Right now, I’m just trying to start over and make up for all the bad decisions I’ve made.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  “Just trying to be honest here.”

  “What’s the story with those scars on your neck?”

  “Blowtorch.”

  She scowled, her eyes tight. “That had to hurt.”

  “You have no idea. But it was cheaper than a trip to the tattoo removal center.”

  He expected her to ask another question, but Daisy kept silent, only blinking with her jaw stiff.

  “Are we good?” he asked, trying to get a read on her.

  She turned and sent a head nod at the guard lying on the floor. “He looks about the right size. You should get dressed.” She held out an empty hand, palm up. “It’ll be faster if you give me the rifle.”

  He froze, wondering if her suggestion was simply a ploy to disarm him. After all, she was the deputy and he was the criminal. Or a former criminal. Her viewpoint would depend on if she believed people could change and make amends.

  Bunker wasn’t sure what to do, but he couldn’t stand there much longer. The firefight outside had gone silent. He needed to find Stephanie and the kids and deal with whoever was outside. It was time to take a chance and trust her. He gave her the rifle and waited to see what would happen next.