Bunker (A Post-Apocalyptic Techno Thriller Book 2)

by Jay J. Falconer

  Bunker exhaled, letting a wave of relief enter his body. The round must have missed; otherwise, it would have sent Franklin twisting to his right side when the sudden impact of a 7.62 round tore into him.

  Bunker crawled forward, crossing the distance between them with vigor. It would’ve been faster to stand up and run, but without knowing who else might be stalking the camp, he needed to stay low.

  “You okay, Franklin?” he asked in a whisper upon arrival, checking the man’s condition. There was blood on his right shoulder, just above the top of the bicep.

  “Took one earlier,” Franklin answered in a low, thready voice, his hand moving to the wound.

  Since it was on the opposite side of where Bunker was aiming, it couldn’t have been from his shot. “I damn near killed you.”

  “I know. I swear I felt it whiz by. Good thing your aim sucks.”

  Bunker smirked, not because it was funny. It was more about relief. Relief that he’d pulled the rifle away in time, making him a bad shot by design. “You’re the last person I expected to see out here.”

  “I could say the same thing. You alone?”

  “No. Daisy’s here, too.”

  “I’m guessing you’re here for the same reason I am. To get our people back.”

  Bunker nodded, but decided not to waste time mentioning their capture. Or escape.

  Franklin continued. “Been tracking these assholes ever since they took my little girl.”

  “Do you have a count?”

  “Eight down. Three remaining,” he said, looking at the blood oozing from his shoulder.

  “Well, you can scratch two more off the list, thanks to Daisy and her killer thighs.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Never mind. Long story, but they’re no longer a threat,” Bunker told him, running the facts through his brain. “So I take it that was you on the shotgun earlier.”

  “Yeah,” he said with a grimace, the pain in his shoulder obvious. “Used explosives to draw them out, then took down the first two with my street howitzer.”

  Bunker saw an assault rifle lying nearby, not a scattergun. It looked identical to the AR-10 he was holding. He figured Franklin picked it up from one of the kills and used it from there. “Where’s the last one?”

  Franklin pointed. “Lost him over there by that shack. Tried to follow, but my legs gave out. I’m pretty sure I winged him. Just need to follow the blood.”

  Bunker wrapped his hands around Franklin’s shoulder, applying pressure with his grip. “Speaking of blood, we need to get this stopped.”

  Franklin tore Bunker’s hands away, then spoke in a deep, controlled voice. “Look, this isn’t the first time I’ve found myself on the X. I know what to do. You need to go. Now. Save Megan and the others. They’re here, somewhere. I can feel ‘em. If that guy gets to them first—”

  Bunker understood. “Roger that. Will do.”

  The large black man gave the spare rifle to Bunker. “Here. Take it. There are a few rounds left in the mag.”

  * * *

  Daisy waited, her eyes searching the area near the base of the old windmill.

  What the hell is going on out there?

  First there was a single gunshot, then the sway of brush from left to right. Since then, nothing.

  Was Bunker down?

  Or the enemy?

  She wanted to charge forward, but her training kept her feet still. More information was needed; otherwise, she might walk straight into an ambush. All she could do was watch and listen for a sign.

  Another handful of seconds went by, then the crown of a head appeared, just above the tops of the weeds, peering in her direction. A hand came up next, waving. A person rose up, showing more of their chest and arms. It was Bunker, signaling for her to join him.

  She checked the area behind her and to the sides. All clear. Time to move. After a short trot through the grass with knees bent and head low, she was at his position.

  Daisy knelt down next to the former biker, expecting to see a lifeless body at his feet. However, that wasn’t the case. The target was still alive and looking at her, smiling. Though it looked like a painful smile.

  “Franklin?” she asked, her mind not believing what her eyes were reporting.

  “Hey Daisy.”

  “What the hell?”

  “This is what happens to old men who forget to duck,” Franklin Atwater said, holding his left hand on his right shoulder.

  Daisy looked at Bunker, who now had two rifles instead of one. “You shot him?”

  “Wasn’t me,” he said, pointing at a building nearby. “There’s one left. Apparently wounded. You ready to finish this?”

  “Ah . . . sure,” she said with a stammer, her mind still processing the facts.

  Franklin pointed at her pistol. “So it was these guys?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “They stole that 1911 from my office. My wife gave it to me.”

  She held the gun out. “It’s all yours.”

  He took it from her. “Thanks, now go find my daughter and finish the job.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Daisy stood to the left of the door leading into one of the mining cabins. Bunker was on the right, reminding her of their breach into Tuttle’s place. Granted, this was a different day and a different location, but they’d both taken the same positions on either side of the entrance. This time, however, they were armed with assault rifles and the target was contained within a much smaller space. Better odds, to be sure.

  They’d followed the blood trail to this location, just as Franklin had suggested. A single threat remained inside—an injured man, wounded at the hands of the burly, bleeding cowboy who was hunkered down in the weeds, waiting for his daughter, Megan, to be rescued—again.

  First the bus accident. And now this. The poor little girl was going to need counseling after everything that had happened to her the past couple of days.

  All Daisy’s thoughts were on the wellbeing of the two kids. Well, them and Stephanie. A woman who hated her guts.

  However, before they could perform a rescue, the lone remaining gunman needed to be neutralized. And to do that, she would team up with Bunker as they entered the shack with clear intention to engage.

  Bunker held up three fingers and mouthed a silent countdown. When he reached zero, he spun out and brought his leg up, then kicked open the door in one massive strike.

  Daisy moved into position, entering the building with the rifle leading the way. She was ready to fire, but held the trigger when she saw a thick, bearded man with a shaved head holding a blindfolded girl at gunpoint. It was Megan, sobbing quietly.

  The stocky white man wasn’t dressed like the others in camp, nor was he as trim. His black muscle shirt showed off his endless hours in the weight room pumping iron. He looked to be covered in tattoos, like Bunker, investing thousands.

  The Neanderthal was on the floor with his back against the far wall, his wounded leg outstretched and bleeding. Megan was on his lap, crying into the enormous hand covering her mouth.

  Stephanie and Jeffrey were also there, huddled on the floor to the left. Both of them were bound and gagged. Daisy couldn’t see their eyes, not with the blindfolds in place.

  “That’s far enough!” the man yelled, the handgun pointing at Megan’s right temple.

  Daisy froze, unsure what to do.

  Bunker slid into the room behind her, then took position on her right with a rifle held tight against his shoulder.

  “Bulldog?” the hostage taker asked in a surprised tone, his eyes locked onto Bunker.

  “Grinder?” Bunker answered, looking confused. He lowered his gun a few inches. “What the hell?”

  “I could say the same thing, pal.”

  “I can’t believe you’re still alive.”

  “Yeah, me either. It was touch and go for a while, but the prison doc managed to put me back together. I’ve got enough metal in me now to make The Terminator
jealous.”

  “You know this man?” she asked Bunker, keeping her sights trained on the perpetrator.

  “Yeah. We used to ride together.”

  Daisy scanned Grinder’s tattoos again, specifically, his upper left chest area. There was a small portion of a winged tattoo sticking out from the under the edges of his tank top. She missed it before, but now that she knew more about this man, it was easy to complete the rest of the emblem in her mind. It was a Kindred tattoo, like Bunker’s.

  Grinder moved the gun a few inches away from the little girl’s head, though it was still aimed at her. He spoke to Bunker, using Megan as a shield. “That we did. A long time ago. Imagine my surprise when I got released and found out you’d disappeared. Not cool, brother. Watts is pissed.”

  “I figured as much,” Bunker said, his face relaxing a bit. “What are you doing here in Colorado? This isn’t Kindred territory.”

  “Watts sent me here to strike a deal. Just arrived when this shit-storm happened. Next thing I know, lead’s flying and someone puts a hole in my leg. I’m pretty sure I dropped the shooter. He’s out there in the grass somewhere. You need to finish him off.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Why not, brother?”

  “That person is a friend of mine.”

  “You’re part of this?” the hulking man snapped.

  Bunker nodded. “Your pals should’ve never taken these hostages.”

  Grinder’s face pinched together. “Hey, I wasn’t involved in any of that.”

  “Except now you are,” Daisy said. “That girl in your lap is the daughter of the man you shot outside. And they’re friends of ours. We’re here to take them back.”

  “Look, I had no idea.”

  “Well, now you do. Time to do the right thing, Grinder,” Bunker said, taking the rifle from his shoulder and aiming it at the floor. He took one hand off the weapon and held it out, in a peaceful, non-threatening manner. “Come on, Grinder. Let the girl go. There’s no need for any of this.”

  “Sorry, Bulldog. No can do,” he answered, nodding in the direction of Daisy. “Not until your hot little friend there drops her piece.”

  “Not a chance,” Daisy said, adjusting her feet and keeping her trigger finger ready. All she needed was for Megan to move to the left and she’d have a clear shot at his head.

  Bunker shot Daisy a look, one that said not to add any more tension to the situation. He returned his eyes to Grinder. “Let the girl go, Grinder. There’s no reason this has to escalate.”

  The man didn’t answer.

  “You can trust me, old friend. Put the gun down.”

  “Trust you? After you just up and disappeared? And then you show up with some cop? You got some big set of balls, Bulldog. I’ll give you that. At least that hasn’t changed.”

  “Yes, I’m still the same man. The same man who put in a lot of miles with you over the years. I’ve always had your back, and you of all people know I’m a man of my word.”

  Grinder’s face softened a bit, but he didn’t answer.

  Bunker continued. “Look, you’re injured and at a severe disadvantage right now. There’s no need for any of us to die today. You and I have been riding together way too long for something like this to come between us. So please, put the gun down and let these people go. We can all walk out of here together,” he said, taking a step closer to Grinder.

  Grinder’s eyes dropped, looking as though he was deep in thought.

  Bunker took another step, this time with the rifle hanging limp along his right side. He held out his free hand. “Come on, buddy. It’s time to end this. Just give me the gun.”

  Grinder paused for what seemed like thirty seconds. Then the tension in his face disappeared, just before he let go of the girl and gave the pistol to Bunker.

  “You made the right decision,” Bunker said, tucking the pistol inside the back of his pants. He motioned for Megan to come to him.

  Megan stood up and hopped to Bunker on her good leg, wrapping her arms around his legs.

  Bunker leaned the rifle against the wall to the right. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  Megan nodded, tears visible on her cheeks.

  Bunker pried her loose. “Your daddy’s outside. Deputy Daisy will take you to him.”

  A sudden chill washed over Daisy when she heard Bunker’s words. She wasn’t about to leave. Not with two bikers and more hostages in the room. “I’m staying here,” she told him, keeping a close eye on the position of everyone.

  “Daisy, I’ve got this,” Bunker said, motioning for her to leave the shack with Megan.

  “Megan, sweetheart, wait for me outside,” she told the young girl.

  “What’s wrong?” Megan asked in a scared, curious tone.

  “Everything’s going to be okay. Just go outside and help your dad. Right now. Like I said.”

  Megan didn’t hesitate, hopping past her and out the door. “Now the others,” she told Bunker, motioning with the rifle in her hands.

  Bunker hesitated for a second, like he was sizing her up for something. Then he walked to Stephanie and Jeffrey, freeing them as well.

  Daisy expected Stephanie to say something when she stood up, but the woman kept quiet. So did Jeffrey, possibly stunned and traumatized.

  Bunker took a step back. “Franklin’s going to need your help, Steph. He’s by the base of the windmill. Go. Now.”

  Stephanie nodded, then corralled Jeffrey with her arms and escorted her son toward the door. She didn’t make eye contact with Daisy as they cruised by and went out the door.

  The instant the hostages were safely outside, Daisy moved forward and put the barrel of the assault rifle against Bunker’s forehead.

  “Whoa, wait,” he said, raising his hands.

  “Give me the pistol, and no sudden moves.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Daisy took a step to the right, allowing her to keep an eye on both Grinder and Bunker. She wasn’t sure where Bunker’s loyalties stood, not with a longtime friend and fellow Kindred gang member in the same room.

  “Bulldog, huh?” she asked, buying herself more time to formulate a plan.

  “Nothing’s changed here, Daisy.”

  “See, I told ya. You can never trust a cop,” Grinder said with pain in his words, his bullet wound bleeding on the floor. Just then, he lunged for the rifle leaning against the wall and grabbed it.

  Daisy spun to shoot him, but Bunker grabbed the end of her rifle and snatched it from her hands before she could fire.

  “Now that’s the Bulldog I remember!” Grinder said with a full smile on his lips. He aimed the rifle at Daisy and pulled the trigger.

  She flinched, expecting to be torn apart by a high velocity round, but the weapon never fired.

  Bunker pulled the pistol from his pants and fired a single round at Grinder, nailing him in the forehead.

  The goliath’s head snapped back, spraying brain matter and blood on the wall behind him. He slumped over with his head hanging limp and to the side, exposing a swastika tattoo on his neck. Daisy wondered if that was what Bunker burnt off his neck—Nazi signs.

  “I told you I had it covered,” Bunker said in a calm, controlled voice, his pistol hand still aimed at Grinder.

  It took Daisy a few moments to catch up to the facts, not believing the speed with which Bunker reacted. First, he grabbed her rifle before she could blink. Then he pulled his pistol and shot Grinder like it was nothing. Right then, the answer came to her. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

  “Of course. I had to test him and see if he’d go for the rifle the second my back was turned. I just didn’t want you involved if he did. Not after what happened in Tuttle’s place. It’s hard enough to free yourself of the guilt from one shooting. But two, that’s an entirely different story. I was trying to spare you.”

  “But you let him grab the rifle and fire?”

  “Yes, but I’d put the weapon on safe before I leaned it against the
wall. That’s why I waited until after he gave me the pistol and released Megan. To control the situation.”

  She wasn’t sure what to say, so she kept silent.

  Bunker continued, his tone turning soft. “His name was Grinder for a reason. He preferred things up close and personal. Fists usually, or knives. Guns were not his thing, and certainly not assault rifles. I knew he’d forget to take it off safe.”

  She felt like an idiot. “You wanted him to make the first move.”

  “To see if I could trust him. Obviously, I couldn’t.”

  “There’s a shock,” she said, still processing the events. “But I guess in the end, the shoot was justified.”

  “Exactly, but you were supposed to be outside. I didn’t want you to be a part of it.”

  “I was afraid you were going to let him go. You know, brothers and all that.”

  “In truth, I was thinking about it. But I needed to be sure.”

  “I get that.”

  “Looks like my suspicions were correct. The first thing he would’ve done was let the brotherhood know where I am. You heard him. They’re pissed and looking for me. They would’ve come to town and painted the sidewalks red. Trust me, it had to end like this. There was no other choice.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought I needed to do something. You might’ve turned on us.”

  Bunker’s face flushed red, then his shoulders sagged. “I’m not sure what else I can do to prove myself. I’m not that man anymore.”

  Daisy now understood why he chose to inflict such pain on his neck with the blowtorch. Everyone judges by what they see, not what they know. Or don’t know in this case. She felt embarrassed and small-minded. “Like I said, I’m sorry.”

  He exhaled, his jaw stiff. “People can change, Daisy. You really need to think about trusting me.”

  Daisy nodded. “I will. I promise.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s get everyone back to town.”

  TO BE CONTINUED IN BOOK 3

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