“Look, I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect. Just take it easy. Please.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Jack Bunker.”
“What are you doing here?”
Jack figured this kid’s family owned the land beneath his feet. He needed to make sure the boy knew his trespassing was a mistake and part of a rescue mission. “I’m looking for my friend’s horse. His name is Tango. Have you seen him?”
“No. I haven’t. So are you with them?”
“Who?”
“The Russians.”
“No. I’m American, like you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Listen to my voice. Do I sound Russian?”
“No, but that doesn’t matter. My dad told me they have camps set up where everybody learns English until they speak it perfectly.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, but I’m American, one hundred percent, through and through. Go ahead and ask me anything. About sports or whatever. Let me prove it to you.”
“Okay, so tell me this . . . where’s your friend? How did he lose his horse?”
Not the question Bunker expected, but it gave him an opportunity to prove he wasn’t with the Russians. “Well, he didn’t. I did, actually. It was after the Russians tried to kill me a little while ago on this ridge. I barely escaped when they bombed the hillside.”
“So you’re the one?”
“One what?”
“The one they were looking for.”
“Shit,” Bunker said, realizing this ordeal with the insurgents was far from over.
The kid nodded, his eyes filled with dismay. “Yeah, shit. Because of you.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“They came to our farm house a little ways downriver. I was in the barn when they showed up and started shooting. They killed my dad and took my sisters and my mom when they left. I wanted to help, but I didn’t know how so I just stayed in the barn and watched. They kept asking about who was on the ridge. When my mom couldn’t answer, they started hitting and kicking her.”
Bunker’s heart skipped a few beats knowing that he’d brought more pain and suffering to people he didn’t know. Fallout from his continued presence in Colorado was spreading.
The young man continued, reaffirming what Bunker already suspected. “They thought my family was hiding you on our property somewhere. When they started searching, I hid in the secret underground armory my dad built. I was so scared I couldn’t move.”
“I take it they didn’t find you.”
“No. I got out when I heard their engines leave, but there was smoke everywhere from our house being on fire. So I grabbed my dad’s hunting rifle and I ran.”
“I’m so sorry,” Bunker said, realizing that every decision he had made or would make was critical, even when he chose to do nothing. Act or react, it didn’t seem to matter. The universe was gunning for him and leaving a wake of collateral damage in its path.
“You’re the reason my family is gone,” the red-faced youngster snapped with his jaw clenched, his finger moving in and out of the trigger guard. It was clear the boy was considering whether or not to pull the trigger, trapped somewhere between fear and anger.
Bunker needed to diffuse the situation, if he had the time. And the words. “I’m sorry about your family, I truly am. But you have to believe me. The Russians were trying to kill me first. I did nothing to them other than watch what they were doing.”
“Then why’d they come to our house? Why did they kill my dad?” When the tears came, the boy’s hands began to shake and so did his knees. Slowly at first, but the intensity ramped up quickly.
Bunker let out a long exhale. He couldn’t deny it any longer. The kid deserved the truth. “You’re right. This is all my fault for getting spotted up on that ridge. I had no idea the Russians would do what they did. If I could, I’d go back in time and stop all of this from happening by giving myself up. But I can’t and for that, I’m truly sorry. All I can do now is help you get your family back, if you’ll let me. But first you need to put down the gun. Nobody has to get hurt here today. We are on the same side,” Bunker said, sharpening his words and his stare. He needed to reach this kid before the adolescent’s raw emotions turned this standoff into a killing. “The Russians are the enemy. Not me.”
Bunker waited a few seconds before he continued, waiting for a sign that the kid’s paranoia had softened. “I have friends out here, too. Probably captured, like your sisters and mom. If we work together, I think we can get everyone back. But that can’t happen unless you put the gun down and trust me.”
The kid hesitated, the tears worse than before. “You can get my sisters back? And my mom?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“How?”
“I used to be in the military and I know a few tricks. The government spent a ton of money training men like me so we could stand up against enemies like this and protect the innocent. Innocent people like your mom and sisters. There are tactics that can be used against a hostile enemy. It won’t be easy, but I give you my word that I won’t stop until I do. What happened to your family was an accident, but it was my fault, so let me make it right. Please,” Bunker said, pausing to let the words sink in. He needed to personalize the situation and cut through all the turmoil boiling in the kid’s heart. “What’s your name?”
“Dallas.”
“Okay, Dallas. Like I mentioned before, my name is Jack. We are on the same side. I can help you, but I can’t do that if you shoot me. If you want to get your family back, then you have exactly one chance here. Put the gun down and let’s work together. We can do this, son, but only if we work as a team.”
“I said I wasn’t your son. Quit calling me that!” the kid snapped, the fury returning to his face.
Before Bunker could respond, a rustle of noise came storming in from the left, blurring a path to Dallas’ position. It was Tango at full speed, snorting and bucking his head with each stride.
“Tango! No!” Bunker shouted, just as Dallas dove sideways and landed on his stomach. Four angry hooves landed in the dirt next to Dallas’ head and neck, barely missing him as the horse galloped past in trample mode.
When Tango’s feet slowed and turned sharply to the left, Bunker realized he was circling around for another attack.
Bunker ran to Dallas and grabbed the rifle from his hands, then tossed it several yards away. He stepped in front of Tango, holding up his hands and standing firm.
Tango’s feet came to a full stop, knocking a spray of dirt loose in the process. The horse reared up on his hind legs, then flailed his hooves with wild swings and kicks, occasionally ramming them together in a powerful clack.
“Easy now, boy. Easy,” Bunker said between the horse’s blustering neighs and nickers. The kicks continued for another twenty seconds before Bunker’s soothing phrases started to calm the mighty protector.
When Tango finally stopped his tirade, he stood motionless, with his tail flapping from one side to the other. Bunker moved forward, taking slow, even steps with eyes transfixed and hands steady.
Tango held his temper long enough for Bunker to make contact, then rub his hand across Tango’s neck from high to low. “Easy does it, buddy. Everything is okay.”
Tango nodded once, then snorted a quick huff, as if Bunker’s words and his touch were exactly what he needed.
“Good boy,” Bunker said, continuing his rub of Tango’s chest and sides—not a mark on him from the Russian mortar attack. He could feel the heat in the animal’s fur, his heart thumping away. The horse rolled his head into Bunker, nudging gently. “Everything is okay, Tango. You did good, but now it’s time to rest. We’re all friends here.”
Bunker swung his head around to check on Dallas. The kid was still on the ground, only now he was tucked in a ball, covering his head with his hands.
“It’s okay, Dallas. You can get up now. Tango won’t hurt you.”
Dallas uncurled fr
om the fetal position and brought his terrified eyes to bear.
Bunker could sense what the teenager was thinking and feeling, knowing the look of pure panic all too well. “It’s over now. You’re safe. My friend’s horse was just defending me. That’s all. Like I said, we’re all on the same team here. You. Me. Tango.”
Dallas stood up in measured increments, moving slowly and never taking his eyes from Tango. He wiped the tears from his cheeks, then stood motionless, looking as though he was trying to decide whether to stay or take off running.
Bunker waved at him with one hand, patting Tango’s neck with the other. “If you rub his neck, he’ll know you’re a friend. Tango’s not dangerous unless you’re trying to hurt someone he cares about. Since we’re all friends now, he’s not going to hurt you.”
Dallas shook his head in silence, taking a step back.
“Trust me. Tango won’t hurt you, but you need to come show him that you’re a friend. Just rub his neck a few times and he’ll understand.”
Dallas took two steps forward, then stopped.
Tango never flinched.
Dallas continued forward until he was able to put his hand out and make contact with Tango. Bunker grabbed the kid’s hand and helped him get started with the petting process.
Tango responded, letting out a slow, non-threatening breath, his eyes blinking and tail swatting a few determined flies.
The tense look on Dallas’ face vanished in an instant, his hand working the rub even faster now.
Bunker waited a bit before he turned the conversation to a more pressing topic. “As much as I’d like to hang out here and just chill, I need to know more about what happened when your family was attacked. Did you see which way they went?”
“Yeah. They took the service road that eventually leads back to town.”
“Clearwater?”
Dallas nodded as a few tears returned. “Dad has an office there. He builds underground shelters, or at least he used to.”
Bunker put a hand on the brave young man’s shoulder. “I know it hurts, but you need to stay strong. For your mom and for your sisters. Do you think you can show me exactly which way they went? I want to follow their trail and see if I can’t find a way to rescue your family.”
“You’re really going to do that?”
“Yes, of course. I gave you my word.”
“I thought you were just saying that because I had a gun.”
“If a man is any kind of man at all, his word is his bond. That’s what my dad taught me. I’ll bet your father taught you the same thing.”
“Well, sort of. He was more about making sure you show up on time and get the job done. Otherwise, you don’t get paid.”
A bit shallow and greedy, Bunker thought, but close enough. “That’s really the same thing, Dallas. It’s a promise that you keep to someone who’s depending on you.”
Dallas nodded, the tears consuming his face.
Bunker stepped aside. “I think you should ride first. I’ll walk. Tango needs to get used to you.”
“We can’t.”
Bunker tilted his head, trying to find meaning in the cryptic phrase. “Can’t what?”
“Follow them.”
“I thought you said you knew which way they went.”
“I do. But I had to stop. They are setting up roadblocks everywhere.”
“Like a perimeter. Around town?”
“Uh huh, every bridge into town that I tried was blocked.”
“How many men did you see?”
“Uh . . . all of them, I think. They’re everywhere. Tanks and missiles, too.”
Bunker paused, needing a moment to think it all through. The EMP. The plane crash. The grid failure. Technology useless. Grinder in the miner’s camp with the English-speaking Pokémon men, most of them dressed in tactical black. The BTR-80 and support vehicles arriving later, the Russian mortars across the hillside, and the drone being recalled from its overhead position.
And now to top it all off, a perimeter was being constructed around a small mountain community that was little in the way of a threat to anyone, except themselves.
It didn’t make sense, especially the targeted execution of Tuttle at his trailer. The tightness in Bunker’s gut was screaming at him that something was missing. Something critical. A second later, the answer came to him: the US military and the National Guard.
Even with a coordinated computer attack and EMP strike, some of the US armed force’s equipment and vehicles should have survived. He knew for a fact that certain transports, communications gear, and mobile weapon arrays had been designed to be EMP-proof. They had to be, given the always-present nuclear threat.
Plus, somewhere along the way, someone had to notice a Russian battalion marching across the border. Unless, of course, they were already in country and just waiting to deploy.
Before his next breath, a flashback to an old news report he’d seen roared in his mind: Jade Helm 15. The largest military training exercise ever conducted on US soil.
At the time, he remembered endless conspiracy theories erupting across the Internet, everyone focused on the reason for the volume of troops and equipment being deployed across seven Southern states. Martial law was the favorite answer offered up by the bloggers and loonies, but what if it was something else entirely?
If Bunker was right, it meant the central question about Jade Helm 15 had just changed from why to who. As in whose assets were being moved? The US’ or someone else’s?
Regardless of the answer, someone must have put up some form of resistance by now, but it didn’t appear to be so. Not from what he’d learned thus far.
He didn’t understand any of it. It was almost as if the insurgents were given a free pass to take over.
Bunker looked at Dallas, waiting for the kid to bring his eyes around before he spoke again. “You mentioned something about your dad building an underground armory. I’m assuming he stocked it with guns and ammo.”
“Yep. Lots.”
“Did it survive the fire?” Bunker asked, figuring they needed to bury the kid’s old man while they were there. Then he planned to grab some gear before stashing the young boy somewhere safe.
“I think so. But I didn’t stick around very long.”
“Can you take me to it?”
“Okay,” Dallas said in a tentative voice, looking like he was dreading it. Bunker couldn’t blame him; his emotional wounds were fresh and gaping.
He felt sorry for the kid. And responsible. In truth, Bunker caused this to happen when he decided to take position on that ridge and spy on the miner’s camp filled with Russians. This young person’s life was now in his hands.
A smarter man would have known this result was coming since every decision has a consequence, some known and others not. This was both, wrapped up into a single teenager’s life. A life without his father and quite possibly without his sisters and mother.
Bunker’s first instinct was to protect Dallas from what would come next. But deep down, he knew that was the wrong move. Especially in a society without power and an apparent invasion in progress. More death was headed their way. Endless amounts of it.
If he could help Dallas learn to face the finality and suddenness of death, Dallas would be stronger for it. It was what Bunker’s father would have done.
“Death comes in waves,” his father used to preach before each of his wilderness exercises. “Both physically and emotionally. Nobody is immune.”
Those words were never truer than this exact moment in time, as he looked at Dallas’ shock-covered face. Bunker hated to put the kid through it, but it had to be done.
At least Dallas wouldn’t be alone. Even the shoulder of a complete stranger to lean on was better than none at all.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
“Where do you want this?” Mayor Buckley asked Grace Charmer, resting the shipping carton of powdered milk on his hip. This was the heaviest load thus far of the eleven he’d made since the Wal-Mart trucks
arrived.
She pointed at the floor next to an empty stand that used to contain a display of green apples. “Just put it there. I want to rearrange some things before I stack it up.”
“You got it,” Buckley said, depositing the box precisely where the store owner had indicated. He wiped the sweat from his brow and stood more erect, his back howling after the latest haul across the town square.
If he had a handful of ibuprofen, he’d slam them down in a heartbeat, not stopping to count them first. Not that he should be surprised—middle age is a culmination of all the decisions we make, physical ones, too.
As we get older, we are the sum of all our parts, even those that are less than functional after decades of pushing a pencil behind a desk. Too many bagels with cream cheese and not enough exercise—a receipt for health problems, none more common than near-constant back pain, flaring to level seven anytime he engaged in something physical.
The day was far from over, but he needed to finish what he’d started. Someone had to help Grace out and so far, only two had. The last pair of Wal-Mart trucks were emptying fast and would pull away soon, so he needed to pick up his pace, despite the lower back twinges.
“I can’t thank you and Rico enough,” Grace said to Buckley. “I could never do this by myself.”
“Least we can do, Grace. We all have to pitch in when we can, including me. We’re all going to need each other before this is over.”
“I just wish I knew who stole the hand trucks, but I’m afraid I was distracted when the Wal-Mart trucks showed up,” she said in an apologetic tone.
“Me too. I should’ve been paying more attention. I still can’t believe how low some people will sink when trouble hits.”
“Yes, it breaks my heart but we really shouldn’t blame anyone. They’re just fending for themselves. We all know the blackout isn’t going to end anytime soon. People gotta eat.”
“That much is true,” Buckley said, watching the buzz of activity outside. It looked like a swarm of ants emptying the remaining Wal-Mart trucks. “But it still doesn’t make any of this right. People need to step up and help their neighbors in a time of crisis. All this selfishness makes my skin crawl. I’m sorry, Grace. I expected more from this town.”
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