Bunkers

by Nicholas Antinozzi

  When they had finished setting the dead into the grave, they took turns saying things over the bodies. As bad as things had been up until this point, they only grew worse when Mark began filling the grave. Gadget led Poncho away and left the women to their grief. Mark stared down at the agonized faces of the dead, wondering where he had found the strength to do what had to be done. He knew that as much as he tried, he would never forget this terrible day. The heat inside the cab was nearly unbearable. One scoop at a time, Mark filled in the trench.

  Mark parked the excavator where it had been and shut off the diesel engine. For a long moment, he just sat there, absorbing the situation. Sweat running down his face, his eyes fell on the controls for the air conditioner. Cursing under his breath, he opened the door and stepped out of the cab. Tina and Tiffany stood at the gravesite. Mark would make crosses, one for each of the dead, but not today. He walked up and joined them. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m going back down to the shelter. Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m not going back down there,” said Tina. “I’m never going back down there. Mark, will you please bring me my bags? I’m moving back into my house.”

  Tiffany looked at Tina. “Me too,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “I understand,” said Mark. “I think I’ll move back into my house, too.”

  The women held each other and Mark slipped away. He had been thinking the same thing. If they were going to die, they might as well be comfortable. All too clearly, Mark remembered the previous day and night. That had been torture.

  Tina and Tiffany met him on his front lawn. More or less, the women had pulled themselves together. Shock was starting to set in. Mark handed Tina her bags and in zombie-like fashion, she and Tiffany walked away. Mark watched them until they stepped inside Tina’s house. He then climbed the stairs to his own porch and stepped into the house. He found Gadget at the table and Poncho on the sofa. Two bottles of Jim Beam sat on the kitchen counter, along with a twelve-pack of Coke. Jumbo’s cooler sat next to the refrigerator. “Good thinking,” said Mark.

  “I thought you might need one,” said Gadget, “or a dozen.”

  Mark fixed himself a strong drink and sat down next to Gadget. “The girls don’t want to go back to the shelter,” he said, sipping his Beam and Coke. “I can’t say that I blame them.”

  Gadget seemed to consider that. “We might not have a choice,” he said. “But we can cross that bridge when the time comes.”

  “What a shitty day.”

  “The shittiest, man. Good job with that digger.”

  “Thanks, I almost tipped it over. Did you see that?”

  “I was riding right next to you. Are you kidding me?”

  “That’s right, I forgot about that.”

  Gadget took a long drink and nodded toward the open window. “Do you think we have to worry about them?”

  Mark shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess if it happens; it happens. There isn’t much we can do to stop them.”

  “They seemed pretty strong. The next few days will be horrible, but I think they’ll survive.”

  “I pray to God that you’re right. I never want to dig another grave for as long as I live.”

  “That was brutal,” said Gadget, holding his glass in the air. “To the departed,” he said.

  Mark nodded and he touched his glass to Gadget’s. “To the departed,” he replied.

  Chapter 25

  Gadget would sleep at Tiffany’s house that night, but Tina wanted to be alone and Mark respected her wishes. He saw little of her the following day, and even less the day after that. Gadget made himself nearly as scarce. Mark helped him cut up the downed oak tree and to patch the holes in Tiffany’s house. The patch was far from perfect, but neither man claimed to be a carpenter. Mark busied himself with small chores and Poncho kept him company, but he felt very alone. When he did see Gadget, he pressured him into giving up Tiffany long enough to see what they could learn on the radio. Without power or phone service, they were literally in the dark.

  Begrudgingly, Gadget obliged his requests. “Nobody knows what’s going on, man,” was his usual response, after spending half an hour out on the Yaesu. For the life of him, Mark couldn’t understand why Gadget didn’t seem concerned with what was happening out in the world. When the fourth day after the tragedy came and went, without anyone stopping by to even say hello, Mark made a decision. He packed a bag and early the following morning, Mark and Poncho got into his pickup truck and drove away.

  Mark was angry and hurt, and he knew that what he was doing was childish, but it made him feel better about himself. He had no idea where he was heading, but he thought Poncho might like some dog food. He tried to steel himself for what he was driving into. After everything he had witnessed, both past and present, he thought he was ready for just about everything.

  But Mark was wrong about that.

  The highway was a junkyard of wrecked cars. Mark avoided looking inside the cars, but occasionally he passed someone who had tried making a run for it. God only knew where. Herds of cattle, horses, goats, chickens, even emus, lay bloating in the fields. Dotting the roadway, were countless species of dead birds and fowl. Mark drove to Ham Lake and then he took Highway 65 down to Blaine. He barely skirted a horrific crash at Main Street. Off to his left was Cub Foods. Mark thought he would find what he was after, in there.

  Slowly, he drove into the nearly deserted parking lot. Mark speculated that the store had been closed before the chemical weapon attack; that made him feel a little better. He had no desire to find out what a store full of bloating bodies would smell like. He parked at the curb in front of the store. The sudden wail of a siren nearly scared Mark to death. He stared in his rearview mirror and much to his disbelief: he saw a police cruiser with its lights on. Mark stopped the truck and fumbled for his wallet. “Where are those insurance papers,” he asked Poncho.

  The odd look that Poncho gave him jolted Mark back to reality. He unrolled his window as the Blaine Police Officer warily approached the side of his Ford. He was a young man with a bristle-brush haircut and a week’s worth of razor stubble. He held one hand on the butt of his gun. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  Mark stared at the cop with an open mouth. “I’m looking for dog food,” he said.

  “Oh, what’s your dog’s name?”

  “This is Poncho.”

  “He’s a fine animal,” the cop said, smiling. “First one I’ve seen since we got gassed, first live one, anyhow.”

  Mark nodded. “How many live people have you seen?”

  “Including you? Let me see. Well, not counting my wife and kids, I’ve seen four survivors. We had gas masks. How about you, how did you manage to survive?”

  “I had a bug-out shelter with a good air filter.”

  “I’ll bet you did. You never would have found a gas mask to fit old Poncho. No sir, I’m pretty sure they don’t make those.”

  Mark thought the young cop was either about to crack, or had recently cracked and was trying to pull himself together. “What are you doing out here?” he asked. “You should be with your family.”

  The young man shook his head. “No, I took an oath and I plan to keep it. Far as I can tell, I’m the last police officer in the Twin City Metro Area. I can’t raise a soul on my radio. You can step out of your vehicle. I’m not going to hurt you. Let’s go buy Poncho some dog food. You do have cash, don’t you?”

  Mark nodded his head. He did have plenty of cash.

  Mark left Poncho in the pickup and he stepped out into the morning sunshine. Something smelled bad and he wrinkled his nose. “That’s the meat department,” said the cop. “We won’t be going anywhere near that. My name is Matt Lindeman, what’s yours?”

  “Well, Officer Lindeman, I’m Mark SleepingBear. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  The two shook hands. “SleepingBear, SleepingBear, SleepingBear,” said Lindeman, “I know I’ve heard that name before. Are you a wanted ma
n?”

  Mark laughed. “No, I’m certainly not.”

  The young cop put his hand over his mouth and nodded his head. “Oh, now I remember,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry about your family.”

  Mark felt that kicking pain in his stomach, but smiled through it. “Thank you,” he said. “A lot of people seem to have lost their families. These are sad days.”

  “They sure are.”

  Mark watched as Lindeman pulled a large key-ring from his belt. A moment later, the two men were inside the stinking, dark grocery store. “This is strange,” said Mark.

  “Yep,” said the cop, using his flashlight to light their way. “I never thought I’d live to see the day. I mean, we planned for disaster, but did you ever expect it to turn out like this?”

  Mark shook his head. “I never dreamed it would be like this. I have three others at home; two neighbors and a friend. They’re taking it pretty hard.”

  “We’re all taking it hard. I think part of the reason that I’m still out here is to help keep my sanity. I tried warning my brothers and sisters, my friends. Nobody would listen to me. They thought I was nuts.”

  Mark grabbed a stray shopping cart as they turned up the pet food aisle. “We have a ham radio. From the sound of it, the attack was pretty widespread. Did you know that?”

  Lindeman sighed. “I’ve got one, too. From what I’ve heard, the whole planet got gassed.”

  Mark felt his shoulders grow heavy with the news. Gadget must have heard these reports, but he obviously felt it was better to sugarcoat their situation. He began pulling fifty pound bags of dog food from the shelves, while Officer Lindeman stuffed dog toys and treats into the cart. When the cart was full, Mark pushed it back up to the daylight at empty registers. He removed three hundred dollar bills from his wallet. He handed them to Officer Lindeman. “That should cover it,” said Mark.

  “I’m sure it will,” said Lindeman. He walked over to one of the registers and dug underneath it. He removed a coffee can from under the register and he set it down on the belt. “In case it ever comes up, I put the money in here. This isn’t looting. This is an emergency and we’re only shopping, after hours.”

  “You’re a good man,” said Mark. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Lindeman. “Say, maybe you and your friends would like to come to dinner; not today or anything, but somewhere down the road. My wife and kids would love to meet Poncho. We lost our dog in the attack. I think that was the hardest part of this whole deal. We sure loved our little Pepper.”

  Mark watched as the young man lost his composure. He crossed his arms and held one hand over his eyes. Mark felt tears stinging his own eyes. He waited until Lindeman had it together. Pushing the cart, they walked out of the quiet store. Mark already knew what he would do. He walked to the Ford and opened the door. Poncho jumped down from the seat and he ran up to Lindeman. “He loves to play fetch,” said Mark. “And I’m going to want to see him, every other weekend.”

  Lindeman’s mouth hung open and he began to weep. “I don’t know what to say,” he sobbed. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I know I don’t have to, but I want to. A dog should be around children. I mean that about having visitation rights. I’ll expect you to bring him out to see me. I’m only about fifteen minutes away from here. You should be able to handle that. How old did you say your kids were?”

  “Ben is six, David just turned eight. They’re good kids, the best. They’ll take good care of Poncho, honest they will. Oh my God, I think I’m going to knock off early. They’re going to be so excited. Thank you, Mr. SleepingBear. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  Mark helped Lindeman load the dog food and other things into the cruiser. He was going to miss Poncho, but he knew his friend would be happier with a family. Tina and Gadget might be angry with him, but he would make them understand. Lindeman gave Mark a grizzly bear hug, and then he shook his hand. He then wrote down Mark’s address in a notebook and promised that he would bring Poncho, and his entire family, out to see him a week from Saturday. The young cop got behind the wheel and Mark opened the passenger side door of the cruiser. “Come on,” he said to Poncho, “time to go to your new home.”

  Poncho jumped up and put his front paws on Mark’s chest. Mark lowered his head and was smothered in dog kisses. And as if he had understood every word, he dropped to his four legs and leapt onto the front seat, next to his new master. Mark closed the door and gave Lindeman a wave as he backed up and sped away.

  There were more tears on the drive home, but Mark tempered them with thoughts of Ben and David. He could only imagine the looks on their faces when their father drove up with the newest member of their family.

  Mark pulled into his driveway and had no sooner shut off the engine, when Tina appeared in his rearview mirror. At first, she charged him like a mad bull, but then she broke into an all-out run. Mark stepped out the door, unsure what was about to happen. She ran into his arms and held him tight. “Don’t ever leave me like that,” she cried. “I was so worried about you. I’m so sorry for hiding myself away. I’ve missed you. I want to be with you. Please, tell me you’re not mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  Tina gave him a brave smile and then she kissed him. “Where’s Poncho?” she asked, looking into the truck.

  “That’s a good story,” he said. “Why don’t you come inside and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  And they went inside, but Mark wasn’t able to tell Tina the story for another hour.

  Chapter 26

  The week came and went in a mixture of guarded laughter and tears. The gravity of their situation weighed heavily on the little group. Gadget commandeered two large generators from a hardware store in Cambridge. He used one to power Tiffany’s house, the other for Tina’s. The sudden wealth of electricity did wonders to lighten their moods. Tina was thrilled over being able to put her candles away, while Tiffany relished her cold drinks with ice cubes. The two women had formed some kind of truce. The harsh words were gone and Mark was happy for that.

  Gadget had contacted several large groups of survivors. There was a group of fifteen up in Ely, and a group of six down in Rochester. Mark wished that he would spend more time on the radio, but Gadget had other things on his mind. Slowly, his interest in Tiffany had risen above her neck. He measured the ruined garage door, which Jumbo and the men had repaired with sheets of plywood; then he borrowed the Ford for another trip into town. When he returned, Gadget had a new door. Tiffany was thrilled, but Mark could see where this was heading. The next day was spent dismantling the old door and installing the new one. Mark wouldn’t have minded so much, but Tiffany was extremely conservative in the gratitude department. The weather had been blistering hot and the job had taken nearly the entire day; and Mark could see that it took a monumental effort on her part to utter a single thank you.

  Tina seemed to grow stronger with each passing day. Each morning, Tina would visit the big grave and shed her tears. She would then put on her brave face and return to Mark. He knew all too well what she was going through. They spent their days taking walks and discussing their future.

  Mark had lost track of the days, but he knew it was Saturday the moment he spotted the Blaine police car. He called for Tina to come downstairs. They spent their days at her house, but the nights were spent at Mark’s. “Poncho is back,” he shouted, “and he brought his new family!”

  Poncho met Mark at the door. The dog was so happy to see him that he began to bark, excitedly. Tina ran down the stairs, her hands clutched to her chest. She charged out the door and sat down on the porch, wrapping her arms around Poncho’s neck. Officer Lindeman approached with his family in tow. He wore street clothes and the entire family looked cleaned and polished. “Officer Lindeman,” said Mark, smiling. “You remembered.”

  “Please, call me Matt,” said Lindeman. He then put an arm around the pretty woman who stood next to him. She was tall and blonde a
nd wore a simple blue dress that might have dated back to the early sixties, but she wore it with elegance. “Wen, I’d like to introduce you to Mark SleepingBear. Mark, this is my wife, Wen.”

  Mark took her hand and gently shook it. “I’m pleased to meet you,” he said.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Mark,” she said. “I don’t know how Matt and I can ever thank you. Poncho has been such a blessing. He’s such a rascal. We just love him to death.”

  Mark smiled. “He’s a great friend, isn’t he? I remember what it was like to be their age,” he said, pointing to the boys. “My name is Mark, what’s yours?”

  “I’m David and this is my little brother, Ben. He doesn’t say much.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, David,” said Mark, shaking the boy’s hand. He then dropped to one knee in front of Ben. “Hello Ben,” he said. “What do you think of Poncho? Your mom says he’s kind of a rascal.”

  “I love him,” whispered the youngest of the Lindeman clan.

  “He certainly does,” said Matt, with a jaunty swing of his fist. “Those three have been inseparable since the day I brought Poncho home.”

  “He sometimes gets bad gas,” said Ben, sheepishly.

  “Oh boy,” said Tina, “he sure does!”

  Everyone laughed. Mark stood up and glanced over at Tiffany’s house, but there was no sign of her or Gadget. This wasn’t unusual for them; they had recently taken to sleeping until noon. Still, it got under Mark’s skin. There was something disrespectful about it. Mark could tell that the Lindeman family was up with the sun, just by looking at them. If they were any cleaner or more polite, they could star in their own television show.

  The two women immediately hit it off. Tina poured them each a cup of hot coffee. Tina offered the boys bottles of water from the cooler, and both boys gratefully accepted. They then ran off with Poncho to explore. “Stay where we can see you,” said Wen. “Do you understand me?”