Time and experience—that’s the key.
That’s how you solidify your resolve in the face of tragedy. Or loss.
Nobody is born with this skill.
You learn it, acquiring it over time, assuming the savagery that tragedy brings with it doesn’t consume you first.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Mayor Buckley took a step back with an arm outstretched, waiting for the next family in line to move forward and enter the FEMA medical station.
Most of the residents hadn’t wanted his help, but a few had taken it, the last of which was an elderly couple who found the metal steps a challenge. They’d been fetched from their home and delivered to the staging area by one of FEMA’s four-wheeled ATVs, apparently complaining the entire way.
Other than assisting the old, Buckley felt useless, much like an old-time usher at the movies—a man who took up space near the entrance but offered little in terms of real value to the procession.
The line had been over a block long ever since the inoculations began, but FEMA’s medical staff was working with precision and speed to handle the demand. He was impressed with their assembly line organization, using a three-member squad to process each patient.
The first medic would start by marking off the resident’s name on a digital list being displayed on a computer tablet, then rubbing a cotton swab containing some form of sterilizing agent with numbing properties across the side of the person’s neck.
The patient would then be passed to the second station, where medicine was injected with a needleless gun. Each time the high-tech unit fired, it emitted a momentary swooshing sound that was followed by a hollow click.
Buckley knew air was being used to deliver the drug, but the hollow click was odd. Perhaps the injector had to lock itself back into position for the next round of treatment, causing the metallic sound of metal on metal.
The process finished with the third guy applying a peel-and-stick circular bandage over the entry point, then checking the resident’s name off a secondary list.
The procedure was slick and rehearsed, always ending with the third man uttering the same seven words: “Leave the bandage on for 24 hours.” The tech’s words carried an Australian accent, matching that of the FEMA commander.
A few residents had asked the bandage man a follow-up question, but he’d only respond with the same seven words in response, then direct them with an outstretched finger to the exit door on his right.
Buckley understood the medic was ultra-focused on keeping pace, but the guy didn’t have to act so detached and uninterested, ignoring the worry in the patients’ voices. Sure, FEMA had a job to do and unnecessary questions would just slow the process down, but the man’s bedside manner needed work.
Regardless, Buckley chose not to say anything. It really wasn’t his place. Everyone had a role to play, including him, and there wasn’t a moment to waste. The hazard cloud was still rolling this way and they had plenty of residents to inoculate.
Stan Fielding stepped forward with his twin daughters, Beth and Barb, his eyes locked onto Buckley’s. His mouth was slightly agape, as if he were debating whether or not to speak.
Buckley decided to take the lead. “Do you have a question?”
The man stopped his feet. “As a matter of fact, I do. Lots of them.”
Buckley waved his hand from right to left, motioning Stan and his kids toward the steps leading into the medical unit. “I’ll answer what I can, but we need to keep the line moving forward.”
Stan and his twins resumed their pace, matching the people in front of them. “Is this medicine safe for my girls?”
Buckley nodded, walking along with them. “Yes, perfectly. Nothing to worry about.”
“What is it, exactly? Some kind of penicillin?”
“It’s called MH2. It’s an anti-contamination protocol, whatever that means. I wish I understood more about the treatment, but we’re really pressed for time here, Stan. With the hazard cloud on its way, we need to process everyone quickly. Trust me, these men know what they’re doing.”
The look of concern faded from Stan’s face as he nodded in response. Yet he still chose to pull his daughters in close to his legs.
Buckley was aware of everyone’s trepidation and he didn’t blame them. It wasn’t every day that FEMA showed up with a fleet of trucks and then unveiled equipment to treat everyone you knew against a lethal contaminant.
One of the twins, with tears in her eyes, said, “I’m scared it’s gonna hurt, Daddy. I don’t want to do this.”
“It’ll be okay, honey,” her father told her in a gentle voice, pointing at the people coming out of the trailer. “Look, they’re not in any pain, sweetheart. These doctors know what they are doing. I promise. We all need this medicine to keep us safe.”
“He’s right, young lady,” the Mayor added, wanting to support the single father. He turned his head and pointed to the bandage on the side of his neck. “See? I got mine and I promise you, it didn’t hurt at all. All it feels like is a puff of air on your neck.”
The girl didn’t answer as the trio went up the steps, her face frozen in fear.
Buckley didn’t enter with them. Instead, he ambled to the left and traveled around the outside of the trailer. He waited at the bottom of the exit stairs, praying the girls wouldn’t come out too upset, especially since they’d need to go through this same process every day for the next thirty days.
He wasn’t sure if the FEMA timeframe was etched in stone or not; the commander never confirmed after he’d asked a few minutes ago. Maybe they’d adjust it once they had a chance to collect more data about the threat. Or the winds might shift, taking the cloud in a different direction. One could only hope.
When Stan Fielding and his girls came out, the tears were gone and circular bandages were present. Buckley bent down to address the twin redheads, not able to tell them apart. He wasn’t sure which one of them had been crying before, so he addressed them both with solid eye contact. “How did it go? Did you feel anything?”
The girl on the right answered. “No. It was okay, but I was still really scared. Do we really need to do this every day?”
“Yes, you do. It’s how we are going to keep you and your sister safe. We’re all proud of you for being so brave.”
“And keep my daddy safe, too,” the other girl said, wrapping her tiny fingers around her father’s hand.
Buckley felt a warm sensation fill his chest when the girl said those words, pushing a full smile to his lips. “Yes, and your dad. We all have to stay safe and this medicine will do just that.”
Stan seemed pleased, or perhaps it was relief. “Thanks for the assist, Mayor. I can’t thank you enough. Sometimes they need to hear it from someone other than me.”
Buckley gave him a quick nod before changing the subject. “Hey, there’s one more thing we need to discuss, if you have a minute.”
“Yeah, shoot. Got nowhere to be at the moment.”
“That motorcycle you sold recently,” Buckley said in his most serious tone.
“The 1932 Indian?”
“The very same.”
Stan’s eyes lit up. “I’ve got two more if you’d like to buy them. They’re up for sale. My girls and I could really use the money.”
Buckley didn’t need to hear the man’s words of financial desperation, or see it in the eyes of his little ones. It wasn’t going to make the next part of the conversation any easier, but it needed to be addressed, regardless. “No, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I guess I don’t understand then.”
“The town would appreciate it if you didn’t sell any more of them to Burt. I know he’s your buddy and all, but we need to slow down his plans for a taxi service.”
“Why? Is there a law against what he wants to do? He needs to earn a living, too. And like I said, we need the money.”
“We have no problem with you selling them to raise cash. Just not to Burt.”
; “With all due respect, Mayor, I don’t think that’s something you can really control. It’s a free country and I can sell them to anyone I please.”
“Yes, you can. But his new service is going to use a lot of fuel. And right now, everyone needs to conserve, including Burt. It’s for the good of everyone in town.”
Stan didn’t respond, but he no longer looked upset.
“Can I count on you to help us out, Stan?”
The man hesitated before he spoke again. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks. The residents of Clearwater thank you.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
“Guys, I need a break,” Albert said, letting go of the back of the motorcycle seat. He bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. The burn in his lungs was strong, and so was the strain in his oversized thighs as he watched the bike roll up the steep grade. Burt was pushing on the left and Dustin on the right, pressing on without him.
“Come on, Jumbo. Suck it up,” Burt shot back in his usual condescending tone, his head never turning to look at Albert.
Albert wished he had a semi-automatic in his hand, feeling the need to shoot the man in the back. Pulling the trigger would feel amazing right about now, as his body reeled from the lack of oxygen.
A handful of breaths later, Albert was able to speak, albeit barely. “Would it . . . be too much to ask . . . that you stop calling me that? It’s not helping . . . the situation. After all, we’re in business together now . . . So how about a little civility?”
“Wow, a little touchy, aren’t we? I thought you were a tough guy now?”
Albert ran a few more breaths through his lungs before responding. “That has nothing to do with it . . . The slurs . . . they just get a little old after a while. Yeah, I’m fat . . . So what?”
Dustin let go of the bike and stopped walking, folding his rail-thin arms over his chest, looking defiant.
“What’s your problem, Slim?” Burt said to Dustin, stopping his feet. He put the kickstand down and let go of the handlebars before turning to face him. “Come on, out with it.”
Dustin finally spoke up, though the tone of his voice sounded like he was unsure whether to speak or not. “Albert and I have had enough of your constant insults and put-downs.”
Burt turned his attention to Albert. “So what is this? A mutiny?”
“If you want to call it that, then sure. A mutiny,” Albert said, sucking in more air. “You need to start treating us with respect; otherwise I’ll be forced to rescind our agreement.”
“Yeah, right,” Burt said, rolling his eyes. “You guys need me a lot more than I need you.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Dustin added.
“Look, we all need each other,” Albert said, not wanting to admit the brute was right. They needed Burt. More than he would ever confess.
Yet Albert also knew that in order to deal from a position of strength, he could never show a glimmer of weakness. He needed to use his opponent’s greatest desire as a weapon to suffocate the man’s mounting arrogance and need for control.
“Look Burt, the situation is pretty clear. Money doesn’t flow into your pockets unless we work together. You know that. It’s business 101.”
Albert was finally able to stand up straight, his lungs back to normal. “We all want the same thing—to make money. And I’m talking about more money than you could ever make on your own. Like a thousand times more. And none of that happens unless we proceed ahead like adults. So no more of your third-grade bullshit. We’re tired of it.”
“Wow, there’s a shock. I’m working with a bunch of wimps,” Burt snapped, shaking his head. He craned his neck, looking up at the sky. “I swear to God, the universe must hate me.”
“So, what’s it gonna be?” Dustin asked the mechanic, slipping out of his backpack and putting it on the ground. “Because me and Albert can just walk away right now and you can go fuck yourself.”
Albert couldn’t believe what Dustin just said. The dude actually found some backbone and did so in the middle of nowhere, with little in the way of backup. Not the best timing, but impressive nonetheless.
Albert decided to reinforce their stand against the slimy dictator with one last comment. He pointed at Dustin, while looking at Burt. “Like he said, show us respect or we walk.”
“Respect is earned, not demanded,” Burt quipped.
“Yeah, you should talk,” Dustin said, his chin stiff.
“So, what’s it gonna be?” Albert added, not letting a second of dead air linger after Dustin’s last comment. “Last chance to man up and do the right thing. Money and success, or slams and poverty. Your choice. We’re not kidding around here.”
Burt looked at the steep hill ahead, then down at the Indian motorcycle. His head dropped to his chest and his shoulders slumped for a bit, as he mumbled something to himself. When he brought his eyes back, he answered, “Fine. No more jabs. Let’s just get this done already.”
“There, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Albert said, walking to the rear of the bike, his eyes locked onto Dustin’s backpack. He couldn’t help but lick his lips in anticipation.
Dustin must have noticed Albert’s gawk, opening the pack and giving Albert one of the water bottles inside.
Albert twisted the cap off and took three full swigs. The water was heaven, exactly what his body needed. He took one last drink, then put the cap on and gave it to Dustin, who quickly stowed it in the pack.
“You should drink, too,” Albert told his assistant.
Dustin shook his head forcefully. “Nah, I’m good. Don’t want to use it all up at once. We’ve got a long way to go.”
Burt put out his hand. “I’ll take some. My mouth is so dry, I can barely talk.”
If only, Albert thought to himself.
Dustin flashed a look to Albert, obviously waiting for a response. Or approval.
Albert nodded. “We’re gonna need to share if we have any hope of getting all of us back to town.”
Before the next heartbeat, a rumble cut through the mountains, vibrating the road beneath Albert’s feet. He put out his hands as if his balance was about to vanish. “You guys feel that?”
“Hell, yeah,” Burt answered with eyes wide. “We’ve got company.” He turned on his heels and tore up the asphalt grade, heading in the direction of the sound.
Dustin did the same, leaving Albert to hold up the rear as all three went to higher ground.
When Albert made it to the top, Burt grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked him down to his knees. “Get down,” Burt said in a sharp whisper, tugging at Dustin as well.
“What’s wrong?” Albert snapped, prying Burt’s fingers loose from his shirt.
Burt pointed. “Check it out.”
“Jesus, look at all of them,” Dustin said, his eyes watching the procession of military-green trucks coming their way.
“Yeah, but those are not ours,” Burt said, his voice full of anxiety.
About a half-mile ahead, Albert could see a long line of vehicles, including tanks, with soldiers marching alongside.
“How do you know they’re not ours?” Dustin asked, his voice as low as a purr.
“The tanks—those are definitely not ours. I was always building models when I was kid and I can guarantee you those are not US tanks. The size and shape is all wrong.”
“Maybe they’re something new. Let’s face it: it’s been a while since any of us were kids.”
“Bullshit,” Burt said, his tone low and words fierce. “I doubt we would ever roll tanks and troops through the streets like that. Not here. Not in the middle of nowhere. Not unless we were at war.”
Albert searched for the end of the procession but couldn’t spot it with the road winding itself around and out of sight. There was a two-lane bridge between their position and the convoy ahead, making him wonder if the structure could support all the weight once it arrived.
The sheer number of troops and equipment brought a new idea i
nto Albert’s mind, one he thought Burt might want to consider “What about martial law? It’s possible after the EMP attack.”
“Out here? In the mountains? You can’t be serious. What would be the point?”
“Just tossing out ideas.”
“Not a very good one,” Burt said, never taking his eyes from the danger marching their way. “Just look at those transports. We don’t have anything like that. I’m pretty damn sure we use Humvees for personnel, not those eight-wheelers.”
“Who do you think it is?” Dustin asked.
“China? Russians, maybe? I don’t know.”
Dustin pinched his pointed nose and furrowed his brow. “So this is some kind of invasion?”
“This far inside our borders?” Albert asked in a sarcastic tone.
“Obviously, yes. They’re right there. Plain as day,” Burt answered, looking at Albert.
“The Russians? Invading Colorado?”
“Or China,” Dustin added, obviously on board with Burt’s theory.
“Do you know how nuts this all sounds?” Albert asked, his mind not able to process what Burt was suggesting.
“Yep. But the facts are the facts.”
Albert didn’t buy it. “I’m not sure I’d call any of this fact. Somebody has to know these guys are here. They just can’t march around like they own the place. I think you’re reading too much into the situation.”
“We should get a better look to know exactly what we’re dealing with here,” Burt said, ignoring Albert’s redirect.
“We?” Dustin asked.
“Yeah, but not from here,” Burt said, pushing back ten feet before getting up and running downhill to the motorcycle. Albert and Dustin followed.
The three of them pushed the bike off the road, using a natural opening that led into the forest. They hid the machine behind a tall stand of bushes, making sure it couldn’t be seen from the road.
“What now?” Dustin asked.
Bunker: Boxed Set (Books 1, 2, and 3) Page 41