Bunkers

by Nicholas Antinozzi

  Mark rolled onto his side, trying to catch his wrists on a sharp rock. When that didn’t work, he twisted onto his stomach, trying to dislodge the tape from his mouth. All he got for his efforts was a face-full of gravel. He glared at Tiffany.

  She tapped a handful of pills into one hand and swallowed them. “I’m sorry, but Mitch would kill me if I helped you. Don’t worry about Tina, those guys are both Two Minute Tommy’s. She’ll get over it.”

  Furiously, Mark twisted onto his back. He couldn’t look at her. He closed his eyes as tears began to well up. Minutes passed. Mark felt Tiffany straddle him.

  “You like it,” she whispered. “I know you do.”

  Mark twisted and bucked Tiffany off of him. She stood up, laughing. From out of the corner of his eye, he caught Mitch walking back in their direction. He was no longer wearing the bio suit and he was shirtless. Mark had never felt such rage, his body trembled with it. “Hey,” Mitch said, kneeling down next to Mark. “Your old lady, she’s alright.”

  Mark thrashed in the gravel, feeling as if his heart would burst open. “That was fast,” said Tiffany. “I can see you haven’t changed.”

  “You’re such a bitch. That’s why I love ya. Come here and give your husband’s cousin a kiss.”

  Tiffany stepped over and gave Mitch a slow, lingering kiss. “I’ve missed you,” she purred.

  “What the hell happened to you?” he asked. “You look like a barber pole.”

  “Very funny, Mitch.”

  “Shut up! A car is coming, can’t you hear it? Are you expecting company?”

  “Well, yeah, these people are coming over to take us to Kansas City.”

  “Are you kidding me? Help me drag this piece of shit behind the RV. Hurry up!”

  Mark closed his eyes as Mitch grabbed him by his ponytail. “You don’t have to do that,” said Tiffany, taking Mark under his arm.

  “Shut up, just help me!”

  Mark felt as if his hair was being pulled out from the roots. He slid across the gravel, groaning with pain and frustration. “I’m sorry,” grunted Tiffany. “This wasn’t my idea.”

  They dropped him behind the trailer. Mitch leaned over and stuck his finger in Mark’s nose. “I ain’t killed anyone, yet. You keep quiet and maybe we can all come out of this alive. Do you understand me, Tonto?”

  Nearly out of his mind with rage, Mark nodded his head. All he could do was pray that Gadget could somehow save them. He wondered why Tiffany had failed to mention him. Clyde was suddenly standing beside them, his zipper was down. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked. “Do you hear that car?”

  “Zip up your pants,” said Tiffany.

  “Some friends of theirs are on their way,” said Mitch. “Just play it cool. Let’s check them out.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Clyde. “What about Tina? Are you done with her, or should I kill her?”

  “Just hang on, stupid. It ain’t like we got anywhere to go.”

  “Right, Mitch, we got nowhere to go, what’s the rush?”

  Mitch rolled his eyes and waved them up to greet the oncoming car. Mark listened as it slowly drove into the cul de sec. The vehicle stopped and the engine was turned off. Mark heard the sound of doors opening. “Hi Tiffany,” Mark heard Lindeman say, warily.

  “Hi Officer Lindeman,” said Tiffany. “We have a couple more friends coming to Kansas City, isn’t that nice?”

  “Yes, it certainly is. I’m sorry we’re late. We had some trouble with the Bronco. I think I have it figured out. Hi, I’m Matt Lindeman. This is my lovely wife, Wen. We’re pleased to meet you.”

  “Yes, indeed it is,” said Tiffany. “These little urchins are Ben and David.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, I’m Mitch Lystrom. This is my brother, Clyde.”

  “Hi, I’m Clyde.”

  “Mark is around here, somewhere,” said Tiffany.

  “We’re studying Native Americans in school,” said one of the boys. “What band do you belong to?”

  “Aren’t you a sweet thing?” asked Tiffany, her voice thick with sarcasm. “I’m going to have a beer. Would anyone else like one?”

  “Oh, gosh no,” said Matt. “I’m driving and Wen doesn’t drink. We’re trying to have another baby.”

  “Well,” said Mitch. “Isn’t that nice? Tell me, Matt, what’s going on down in Kansas City?”

  “David, Ben, take Poncho for a walk. We have a long drive in front of us. Well, Mitch, hasn’t Mark told you? There’s a big group down there. We’re starting up the government. I hope you and your brother will be joining us.”

  “Interesting… What kind of gun do you have there?”

  “You like it? This is a Smith and Wesson. It’s a .38.”

  “A revolver,” exclaimed Mitch, “very nice.”

  “I really like it. A lot of the guys carried bigger weapons, but I’m partial to this girl.”

  “Could I see it? I’m thinking of buying one, just like that. I’ve always wanted one.”

  Mark heard the sound of Tiffany as she walked into the RV. He heard the sound of ice tinkling in a glass. Furiously, he tried contorting his arms to reach the frame of the trailer. He stopped when he felt his arm nearly pop from its socket. He felt a hand on his shoulder and his head snapped back. Gadget was there. He held the stainless .380. “I’ve got this,” he whispered.

  Mark felt hope flooding back into him. Gadget stood up and disappeared around the corner of the trailer. “Don’t give him your gun,” he shouted.

  “Myron!” shrieked Tiffany. “Don’t do it!”

  “Hey!” shouted Matt. “Give that back to me! Hey, let me go!”

  “Daddy!”

  “You so much as flinch, I’ll kill this man. Put down the gun, Myron.”

  “I was in the war,” said Gadget. “I lost my leg over there.”

  “Put down the gun!”

  “I lost my leg for the American people; not just the good people, but for people like you. And do you know what? I think you should thank me for my sacrifice.”

  “Are you out of your mind? I’m going to kill this man. Put the gun down.”

  “No, please don’t shoot my dad!”

  “What about you, Clyde? Are you going to thank me?”

  “You can kiss my ass.”

  Those would be the last words of Clyde’s troubled life. There was a shot, followed quickly by another. The next sounds were of falling bodies and screams. Mark thought he recognized Gadget’s feet, but he couldn’t be sure. The feet shuffled back in his direction, and Mark could see that he had been right. Gadget held the tip of the barrel to his lips and gave it a quick puff of breath. “Right between the eyes,” he said, “both of ‘em. They won’t be bothering us, not ever again.”

  Mark struggled and Gadget rushed over to him. He set the Walther PPK/S on the back of the trailer and he bent over to pull the tape off of Mark. Just as he bent down, Tiffany appeared behind Gadget. “Those were the last members of my family!” she shrieked. “You killed them!”

  “They were a couple of shit-bags,” said Gadget, without turning his head.

  Mark watched in terror as Tiffany spotted the gun. She picked it up with both hands and aimed it at the back of Gadget’s skull. “Nobody talks about my family like that,” she hissed, and then she pulled the trigger. Gadget fell onto Mark, covering him with hot blood.

  Matt ran around the corner, his gun drawn. “Police,” he screeched, “drop it!”

  Tiffany dropped the gun and put up her hands. “Did you really just say that?” she asked. “You’re not a cop, not anymore.”

  Matt, still holding his gun on Tiffany, stepped forward and he kicked the murder weapon, a good ten feet. He then grabbed Tiffany by the back of the hair and he slammed her face into the back of the trailer. “You have the right to remain silent,” he began. He produced a set of handcuffs and he snapped them tightly around Tiffany’s wrists, her hands behind her back. When he was finished, he pushed her down into a sitting position. He then pulled Ga
dget from off of Mark. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t know.”

  “Daddy, he shot them right between the eyes!”

  Mark heard Wen chastise her boys. “Into the car, both of you!”

  After Matt removed the last of the tape, Mark’s eyes fell on the Walther PPK/S. Matt shook his head. “We’re not murderers, Mark. She’s under arrest and I’m going to turn her over to the authorities in Kansas City. I’m still a cop. No matter what she thinks, I’m still a cop.”

  Mark tried to absorb that. He wanted to kill her. He was going to have to go up and rescue Tina. He knew that she wouldn’t rest until Tiffany was dead. “Those men out there,” he said. “They raped Tina. Tiffany did nothing to stop them. Tina is going to want some justice.”

  “Dear God, I’m so sorry. Promise her that we’ll get justice in Kansas City.”

  “He murdered my family,” spat Tiffany. “He deserved to die!”

  Mark slapped his hand down onto Tiffany’s bare shoulder. Matt looked away as she squealed in agony. “How’s the sunburn, Tiff?” asked Mark. “You rotten, murdering bitch; you best keep your mouth shut when Tina gets out here. Are we clear on that?”

  Tiffany’s head bobbed up and down. Tears streamed down her red face.

  Mark stood and stared at Tina’s house. He had no idea what to expect. He knew she wasn’t dead, but knowing Tina, she would rather be dead. He kicked gravel at Tiffany and began walking up to the house. “Wait here,” he said to Matt. “I’m going to go and get Tina. You might want to hide that .380. She’s going to want to kill Tiffany.”

  “Yes, I should secure the evidence. We’ll need that in Kansas City. Please, tell Tina how sorry we are.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Mark. He then walked over to Tina’s. He stopped at the idle diesel generator and he fired it up. With a heavy heart, Mark walked into the house.

  Chapter 29

  Mark found Tina bound to her four poster bed. She stared at him without expression, her mouth hanging open. “They’re dead,” he whispered. “Gadget shot them both,” he waited for a reply, but there was none. Mark cut the tape and peeled off what remained stuck to her skin. He then led her into the bathroom and started the shower. Obediently, Tina stepped into it. Mark closed the door and the second he did, Tina began to cry.

  Feeling guilty, Mark rummaged in the medicine cabinet. There, among the vapor rub, Tylenol, and cough syrup, he found a prescription bottle of Xanax. He wasn’t surprised to see the prescription was in Larry’s name. There was a glass next to the sink and Mark began rinsing it out with cold water, but instantly, Tina’s sobs turned to screams of pain. “Oh shit,” he mumbled, shutting off the water, “I’m sorry!”

  He went back into the bedroom and quickly made the bed. He then wadded up the sticky strips of gray tape. Mark brought the ball of tape out to the trash can in the garage. When he got back upstairs, he found Tina standing in her robe. “How are you?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.

  “Not good,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m going to dry my hair and get dressed. I want to get out of here. And Mark, I don’t want to talk about what happened. Don’t ever ask me about it.”

  Mark nodded his head and he pulled the prescription bottle out of his front pocket. He twisted off the cap and tapped two pills into his hand. “Here,” he said, “these will help you.”

  Without asking what they were, Tina took them. She picked up the wet water glass. “I thought you flushed the toilet,” she said. “Larry used to do that when I was in the shower. He was such an asshole.”

  Mark watched Tina take the pills and then he looked at himself in the mirror. Gingerly, he touched his fingers to the scrapes on his face. Tina pulled a bag of cotton balls and a bottle of rubbing alcohol out of the cabinet. She then set them on the counter. “Thank you,” said Mark.

  Mark cleaned his wounds and left Tina in the bathroom. He then walked outside, where he found Lindeman digging in another of Anita’s flower gardens. Gadget’s body lay next to him. Mark was thankful that the young cop wasn’t digging where they had buried Jumbo. The bodies of Mitch and Clyde were still where they had fallen. One at a time, Mark dragged them down into the ditch. He then kicked gravel over the blood and gore. Wen and the boys sat in the little Bronco 2, watching him.

  Finished, Mark found that he had a decision to make. The trailer was packed with things that he and Tina had wanted to take with them. Even if he had the right hitch, his half ton pickup would not be able to pull it. He knew he was going to have to leave the Ford here. Mark unloaded the box and placed the things inside the motorhome. He saw that Tiffany had already nested inside the RV, so he began gathering up her things. He then tossed them out onto the gravel. “Hey,” she shouted. “Stop it! That’s my stuff!”

  “You won’t need it,” he growled, “not where you’re going.”

  At the flower garden, Mark found Matt was already filling the grave. He felt guilty for not lending a hand to bury his friend, but he knew Lindeman understood. After saying a few words over Gadget’s body, they walked back to join the others. Tina, wearing a black blouse over blue jeans, walked over a few minutes later. Her eyes were dry and she had applied fresh makeup. She looked from the RV to the pickup. “Where’s Gadget?” she asked.

  “He’s gone,” said Mark. “I’m leaving my truck here. We’re taking the Winnebago.”

  “Gone?” She asked. “Where did he go?”

  “He killed my family,” shouted Tiffany.

  Tina stared down at Tiffany, who still sat with her hands cuffed behind her back, next to the trailer. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Lindeman stepped in. “She killed your friend,” he said. “We’re taking her to Kansas City to face justice.”

  “She did what?”

  “She shot Gadget,” said Mark. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  “She killed Gadget? Give me a gun, I’ll show that bitch some justice!”

  “There has been enough killing for one day,” said Lindeman.

  Tina turned on him. “And where is she supposed to ride?”

  Lindeman made a face that said he hadn’t thought that far ahead. Mark stepped over. “She will ride with us, we have plenty of room.”

  “Oh my God, are you serious? I ain’t riding anywhere with that dirty skank!”

  “There is a door in the back,” said Mark. “You won’t even know she’s back there. Come on, let’s get moving. We’re burning daylight.”

  Tina threw her head back and marched up into the RV. Mark and Lindeman pulled Tiffany to her feet. “He killed my family,” she whispered.

  “Save it for the judge,” said Lindeman. “And if you give these good people any trouble, we’ll meter out our own justice. Do you understand me?”

  “I won’t be any trouble.”

  They led her up into the RV and into the back bedroom. Tiffany sat on the bed. “There,” said Lindeman, “are we all set to get this show on the road?”

  “Yeah,” grunted Mark. “Let’s get out of here,” he turned to Tiffany. “I still have that roll of duct tape. Don’t make me use it.”

  “I already said I won’t be any trouble. What, do you want me to swear on a Bible?”

  “No, you’re in enough trouble, already.”

  They closed the door and Mark sat down behind the wheel. He watched as Lindeman climbed into the Bronco 2. Mark hadn’t seen one for years and he wondered if it would survive the trip. Mark reached down for the key and he started the engine. He followed Lindeman, but they hadn’t driven six blocks before Tiffany kicked open the thin door that separated them. “You bitch,” growled Tina.

  “I’m not riding back there like some animal.”

  Mark reached down into his door compartment and fished around for the duct tape. He handed it to Tina. “Handle it.”

  “With pleasure,” she spat.

  Tiffany screamed in protest, but her screams were soon muffled. Mark continued to drive. Minutes passed, when Tina returned, she handed Mark
the empty cardboard roll. “Holy shit,” he said, “you used it all?”

  “Oh yeah,” said Tina. “We won’t be having any more trouble with her.”

  Mark nodded his head. “Good,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “I hate her. I don’t think hate is even a big enough word. I would have shot her, you know I would have.”

  “I know you would have, but Matt is right, we’re not vigilantes,” he turned on the radio and scanned the FM band; finding nothing, he scanned the AM band with the same results. “I thought it was worth a shot,” he said.

  “I brought some CD’s,” said Tina, lifting her purse onto her lap. “Do you want to listen to some music?”

  “Yeah, that would be great. What do you have?”

  “Do you like new wave?”

  “Uh, sure… I like eighties music.”

  “That’s good, because that’s all I’ve got.”

  Tina put in a Duran Duran CD and she cranked up the volume. They passed a pasture filled with bloated livestock. Mark could see that many had burst open. A rancid smell filled the inside of the RV, sweet and pungent. Tina covered her nose and concentrated on the back end of the little Bronco 2. Mark did the same. Heading south on Highway 65, they drove past several gruesome wrecks. The stench of death came in rolling waves, each more terrible than the previous one had been. Fifteen minutes into their trip, the smell drove Tina into the bathroom.

  Mark wondered what would become of the big cities, such as Minneapolis. Would people ever return to live there? The more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed. Even without the smell, after the dead had rotted away, Mark couldn’t see the draw of living in a large city. Besides, like it or not, they were going to have to adopt a vegan lifestyle in order to survive.

  Heading south on 35W, they found the going easier. From what Mark could gather, someone had driven a large piece of equipment down the middle of the interstate. Dead vehicles sat in the median and on the shoulder. Silently, he thanked whoever had taken it upon themselves to clear the freeway. The Bronco 2 sped up to an even 55 mph. Tina reappeared as they entered Minneapolis. She no sooner had sat down, when the Winnebago filled with such a stench that it sent her scrambling back to the bathroom. Mark thought of Tiffany, he hoped she hadn’t eaten a big breakfast.