Bunker (A Post-Apocalyptic Techno Thriller Book 5)

by Jay J. Falconer

  Zeke ran to Bill King and checked the body for vitals. “Jesus Christ! Both of them?” Zeke got to his feet and charged Bunker with his jaw firm.

  Grace stepped in front, stopping him with a grab of her hands. “It was self-defense, Zeke.”

  Zeke flared his eyes at Grace, then brought them to Bunker, his chest heaving.

  Grace latched onto Zeke by the shoulders and brought his attention back to her. “Kenny did this, not Bunker. The Mayor would be dead by now if Bunker hadn’t stopped Kenny when he did.”

  Zeke tucked in a lip and shook his head, looking defiant.

  Bunker could feel the heat from the man’s rage. It was palpable, bolstered by the fury within.

  Grace leaned her head to the left, blocking his view of Bunker. “What else was he supposed to do, Zeke? They’d already killed the woman. He couldn’t let them kill the Mayor.”

  Zeke’s rapid breaths continued for another minute as the three of them stood there, nobody moving.

  Grace let go and took a step back when Zeke’s eyes finally softened. “It was self-defense, Zeke. You know Kenny and his temper.”

  Zeke nodded, his breath slowing.

  “We need to deal with these bodies,” Bunker said, wanting to move the situation along.

  Zeke walked to Valentina’s corpse, his hands on his hips. “Was this you, too?”

  Bunker shook his head. “She was dead before I got here. I’m guessing that’s why Buckley and his posse showed up. To stop the torture.”

  “Dammit, I was afraid this would happen,” the man snapped, his eyes focused on the floor.

  Bunker took his statement as a confession, confirming what he already suspected after Zeke led them straight to the panic room without any direction from Grace. Zeke had obviously been inside this space before, probably after they’d taken the Russian interpreter hostage. “I was wondering if you were in on this.”

  “We all were. Me, Rico, and Russell.”

  Grace raised her hand. “So was I. Oh, and Billy Jack. Almost forgot about him.”

  Bunker pinched his eyes but didn’t respond. He’d heard the name Billy Jack, but wasn’t sure until now that the man actually existed.

  “I guess you haven’t met him yet,” Zeke said. “He owns the Pump and Munch and the café.”

  A new thought burrowed into Bunker’s brain. “Just curious—why isn’t he here?”

  Zeke paused, looking at Grace before bringing his eyes back to Bunker. “Good question. He was all gung-ho to start, but I haven’t seen him since we first agreed to interrogate her.”

  “Maybe he changed his mind,” Grace said.

  “Do you trust him?” Bunker asked.

  Grace answered. “I didn’t like him much after he opened that convenience store across the street, but I think he’s trustworthy. Why do you ask?”

  “Because it comes down to one simple premise. The more people who know about this room and what happened to Valentina, the higher the risk. For all of us. If he changed his mind and mentioned Valentina’s death to someone in a Russian uniform, then—”

  “We’re fucked,” Zeke said, finishing Bunker’s sentence.

  “What about the Mayor? Was he okay with interrogating the woman?” Bunker asked, even though he was sure of the answer.

  “No, he was against it from the start,” Zeke said before an extended exhale passed over his lips. “Kenny was just supposed to get information from her. Nobody was supposed to die.”

  Bunker nodded, but kept his thoughts to himself. He knew torture was never the answer. Usually, you end up with bad intel because the prisoner is desperate and will tell you whatever you want to hear. Or else the captive ends up dead. Like in this case.

  “What’s done is done,” Grace said, her tone somber.

  Zeke’s eyes indicated he agreed, but he didn’t respond.

  “Was Fielding involved?” Bunker asked.

  “No. Stan had nothing to do with this,” Grace said. “It was just us.”

  “Then how did the uniform end up in his place?”

  “Kenny must have planted it,” Zeke said after a beat. “Now that I think about, he did say something about getting some payback when the Mayor first tried to stop him.”

  “Payback for what?” Bunker asked.

  “Testifying. Stan’s the reason he went to prison. So was the Mayor.”

  “Which is why he stabbed Buckley,” Bunker added.

  “Shit,” Zeke said in a sharp tone. “None of this should have ever happened.”

  “What do we do now?” Grace asked.

  “We get rid of the bodies,” Zeke answered, sending a single head nod to Bunker. “If anyone sees them, then—”

  “I was talking about the execution,” Grace said, interrupting. “We have to stop it.”

  Zeke shook his head. “I don’t think we can. There are too many of them.”

  “We could, if we still had guns,” she said.

  Bunker took her comment to mean the insurgents had confiscated their weapons. He wasn’t surprised. It was step one in the Russian Occupation Playbook.

  Zeke nodded, looking dejected. “Though Bill and Kenny did mention they had a stockpile the Russians didn’t know about.”

  “Where?” she asked.

  “They didn’t say,” he said, looking at Kenny’s body. “Now I guess we’ll never know.”

  The volume of Grace’s voice shot up a level. “Then that’s it? We just give up and let them murder Stan?”

  “There may be a way,” Bunker said, using his most confident tone, “but it’s risky.”

  “If it stops the killing, we have to try,” Grace said. “Stan’s innocent. His girls can’t grow up without a father.”

  Bunker wasn’t sure if these two were ready for what he had in mind. “If we do this, it means doing some things none of us wants to do as civilized human beings. Are you ready for that? Because this is war and there’s no turning back once we go down this road.”

  Grace gulped down a bulge in her throat. It looked painful. “Yes.”

  Zeke nodded, though it wasn’t convincing.

  A flash of words stormed Bunker’s thoughts, taking him back to something the Mayor said a few minutes ago. He replayed them in his mind.

  The Russians were desperate.

  The woman was important.

  To him.

  Bunker figured Buckley’s clues meant the woman was close to the General. Made sense if she was part of his personal staff. Perhaps there was more to her assignment than simply being an interpreter. Maybe they had a relationship. Romantic in nature.

  In the US military, that type of relationship would violate the Uniform Code of Military Justice, specifically, the rules against fraternization that would compromise the chain of command. Then again, these were Russians. They might have different rules about getting involved romantically with a junior officer.

  Regardless, her corpse presented a unique opportunity. Assuming, of course, the “him” in Buckley’s statement was referring to the General. Right then, a slew of new ideas percolated in his mind, causing him to re-evaluate his plan.

  Bunker looked at Zeke. “You were right when you said there are too many of them, plus they’ll be well armed. We can’t go head to head in a straight-up fight. Not with untrained civilians.”

  “It would be a slaughter,” Zeke said.

  “Even with guns.”

  “Then what are we gonna do?” Grace asked.

  “We use asymmetrical warfare techniques,” Bunker said without hesitation, delivering the words with the intensity they deserved.

  Grace threw up her hands. “What does that even mean?”

  Bunker slowed his tempo as he answered. “Normally it means we go blood simple with small unit tactics, hitting them hard and fast to create chaos. In this case, we’re going to need something a little more clever. Something with a specific goal in mind. If we can get them off their game, we might just have a chance. But the timing has to be perfect. We’ll only get
one shot at this.”

  Grace pointed to the three of them with a circular sweep of her hand. “Us?”

  Bunker nodded. “We could use a couple more reinforcements. People you trust.”

  “How many?” Zeke asked.

  Before Bunker could answer, three men appeared in the doorway. One of them was Rico, the man who had hauled the Mayor to Doc Marino’s clinic.

  The second man was one of the deserters who had bailed from Buckley’s posse—the young man wore jean shorts and was extra thin. Bunker doubted if he was strong enough to complete a single pull-up.

  The third man was an unknown, but looked physically capable. He stood several inches taller than the others, almost matching Bunker’s height.

  “Ask and ye shall receive,” Grace quipped.

  Rico pointed at the body Bunker had stabbed. “Is that Kenny?”

  Zeke nodded, then aimed a finger at the other male victim. “And Bill.”

  Rico looked dumbfounded. He turned his eyes to Valentina’s blood-covered carcass, shaking his head.

  Bunker picked up his rucksack and slung it over his shoulder.

  “How’s the Mayor doing, Rico?” Grace asked, her tone genuine. Her concern was obvious, exaggerating the wrinkles across her face.

  Rico looked unsure when he answered. “Doc said it’s sketchy. He’s lost a lot of blood, but they’re working on him now.”

  Grace gasped, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s too bad FEMA isn’t still here. Their medical teams would have helped.”

  Zeke fired back, “You know that was all bullshit, right?”

  Bunker wasn’t sure he heard Zeke correctly. “FEMA was here? Already?”

  “Yeah, some blokes from down under,” Zeke said in an entertaining Australian accent. He returned to his normal voice. “Just showed up out of the blue with trucks and medical supplies.”

  Grace nodded. “Right before the Wal-Mart semis brought all the food.”

  A torrent of thoughts slammed into Bunker’s mind, one of which was a vision of the now-dead Angus Cowie. He, too, was from Australia. “And none of that raised any red flags?”

  Rico shrugged. “From what the Mayor told me, they were in Denver for a multi-national first responder training exercise when the EMP hit. FEMA needed help, so they volunteered.”

  Bunker couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Please tell me someone checked their credentials?”

  “I think the Mayor did,” Grace said, turning to Rico.

  Rico looked puzzled. “It’s possible he didn’t. Everyone was pretty stressed at that point.” Rico looked at the third man who’d arrived with him. “What about you, Russell? Did the Mayor mention anything about asking for IDs?”

  “I don’t think so. Everyone was in panic mode and worried for their lives.”

  Zeke pointed to the side of his neck. “When FEMA told us that an airborne virus was on its way here, we all lined up for the inoculations without a second thought.”

  “Well, almost everyone,” Grace said, challenging Zeke’s answer.

  Rico spoke next. “Grace is right. There were a couple of families who resisted, but FEMA convinced them to get inoculated. I think Fielding and his daughters were skeptical at first, if I remember right. Anyway, at that point, everyone was thankful for FEMA’s help.”

  “Of course, later we found out that the virus never existed and they supposedly shot Russian tracking devices into our necks,” Zeke said.

  “And explosives,” Russell added.

  Zeke pointed at the dead female prisoner. “That’s why Kenny wanted to interrogate her. He didn’t buy any of it, which, as it turned out, was correct. Valentina eventually told us the injections were fake. They were done to keep us under control so we’d work the mine and not cause trouble. They’ve been drafting people to work ever since.”

  “I had one couple come into my store earlier and tell me that some of those workers never returned from their shifts in the mine,” Grace said.

  “It’s dangerous work,” Zeke said. “That’s probably why they’re holding back on dragging everyone to the mine all at once.”

  “Or it’s a space issue,” Grace said, the words sounding more like a question than a statement of fact.

  Bunker shook his head. “It was done as a security measure. When I first arrived, they were hauling small groups in the backs of trucks under heavy guard.”

  “At least they’re keeping us fed,” Grace said.

  “It’s more like they’re keeping their inventory of slaves fat and happy,” Zeke added.

  “Wal-Mart was obviously in on this, too,” Russell said.

  “He’s right,” Rico said. “They don’t just show up in force like that right after a disaster.”

  “Unless the Russians stole their trucks,” Zeke answered. “Hell, it wouldn’t take much to paint some trucks to look like the real thing. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit. They knew we wouldn’t question a fleet of Wal-Mart trucks showing up.”

  “When’s the execution?” Bunker asked Grace.

  She grabbed his wrist and looked at the watch. “At the top of the hour.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “That’s what Colonel Orlov said in his morning announcement. But General Zhukov could have changed it with the storms in the area.”

  Bunker knew the Russians would never break their schedule. Everything they did was part of a plan. They’d never deviate once it was set. It was a pride thing. Or arrogance. Those two terms being blood cousins.

  “Those poor girls,” Russell said, shaking his head.

  Bunker retrieved the photo from his pocket and gave it to Grace. “Before I forget, have you seen any of these people in town? Specifically, the women.”

  She took the photo and studied it. “Sorry. Haven’t.” She gave the photo back to Bunker.

  Zeke shot Bunker an inquisitive look.

  Bunker stowed it in his pocket, deciding to keep the answer to Zeke short. “Part of a family who’s missing.” He looked at Rico, remembering the changes occurring in the sky on his way into town. “What’s the weather like outside?”

  “There’s a storm rolling in. Gonna be a big one, too. At least the drought will finally be over.”

  “Then it’s now or never, gentlemen,” Bunker said, using a commander’s tone. He thought he had more time to set up his plan, but the change in weather and the availability of the female’s body provided a better opportunity. He’d have to adjust on his feet and advance the timetable. Hopefully, Albert had his shit together and wasn’t sloughing off.

  “What’s the plan?” Zeke asked.

  Bunker scanned the gray-haired woman’s figure. “We start with Grace getting naked.”

  “I’m sorry, what was that?” she asked, her eyes as big as softballs.

  “We need you to take off your clothes, Grace. Now, please.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Any word from Bunker?” Albert asked Daisy after she delivered the final two boxes of Tide laundry detergent.

  “No. All quiet.”

  It was all Albert could do not to stare at her whenever she was around. It wasn’t just her incredibly sexy walk, her hips swaying from left to right like a stripper working the stage. It was all of her—how she carried herself—how she filled out the uniform. Even her smile was mesmerizing. He knew she wasn’t interested in him, but it still didn’t stop his desire. Or his eyes.

  “No news is good news,” Rusty quipped as he emptied the last of the potable containers, splashing water onto the outside of the barn. The liquid pooled under the back leg of the portable table Albert had just set up.

  Daisy furrowed her brow, nodding gently. “As long as his radio is still working.”

  “Maybe you should call him?” Dustin asked.

  Rusty put the empty five-gallon jug on the rolling cart in front of Dustin. It was next to a handful of others he’d already prepped.

  Daisy shook her head with vigor. “Bunker was explicit about maintaining radio silence unless i
t’s an emergency.”

  Albert sniggered. “Wouldn’t want our Russian friends getting a fix on our location.”

  “At this point, all we can do is wait and listen.” Daisy looked at her watch. “Speaking of which, I gotta go.” She scampered away, with two of the three men watching her from behind.

  “Damn,” Dustin said, craning his neck to watch her progress. Albert flared an eyebrow in agreement.

  Rusty seemed oblivious to the sexual overtones. “Wouldn’t the fifty-gallon drums out back work better?”

  Albert picked up one of the heavy-duty water jugs from the cart and shook it. “On paper, yeah. But there’s a reason Bunker put these on his list. We can move them a lot easier once they’re filled with diesel. Those drums would weigh over four hundred pounds. Dicky’s strong, but he’s not that strong.”

  Dustin grabbed the handle on the front of the cart and began to push. “Now for the fun part.”

  “I love the smell of napalm in the morning,” Albert said, his tone deep and purposeful.

  “Apocalypse Now, right?”

  “Great flick, especially that intense scene with the ox.”

  Rusty marched alongside Albert, both following Dustin’s lead to the pasture behind the barn. They made the first corner and headed to the elevated, 300-gallon, gravity-fed diesel supply.

  When they arrived at the overhead tank, Dustin stood on the bottom rail of the metal platform and grabbed the fuel hose hanging above. He hopped down, then removed the cap on the first water container. “Here, you’re in charge of these,” he said, tossing the cap to Rusty without warning. “Put them on after I finish filling each one.”

  Rusty nodded, then looked at Albert. “Do we fill them all the way?”

  Albert pointed to the side of the blue container, his finger several inches below the top. “No, we stop about here to leave air space for combustion.”

  Dustin removed the rest of the caps and gave them to Rusty. He put the fuel hose into the first spout and began to fill it. “After we make the pressure plate detonators, we should test one of these. Just to be sure it works.”

  Albert let out a snort, the corner of his mouth raised on one side. “Sure, we could do that. But first we’ll need to decide who’s gonna be the guinea pig.”