by Matt Hilton
The first bunker was a dead end for his search. He checked his watch and saw that barely thirty minutes of the time Tess had allotted remained. It would take him a quarter hour to get back to the river unimpeded. The man he’d knocked out and tied up would have wakened by now: had he already attempted to free himself, and perhaps raised the alarm? Po got no hint that a hunting party was on his heels. He backtracked through the dimly lit tunnels, and was approaching the room containing the guns once more when he noticed a door he’d missed the first time. A large figure ‘9’ was stenciled on the door but there was no other signage. He tried the handle and found it stiff but unlocked. He pulled the door open and peered into a narrow passage that led as straight as an arrow shot into the darkness. By his reckoning, the passage must extend beyond the hill in which the bunker had been built. He recalled the dotted lines on Tess’s maps of the compound, and understood they were indications of a subterranean network of pathways throughout the camp. He was tempted to enter the passage and follow wherever it may lead, but he was on the clock and every second was precious.
He closed the door and moved back towards the loading bay.
Voices filtered to him from beyond the huge steel shutters.
Po had gained entry through a smaller door in the shutter, the padlock securing it proving no impediment to his knife. The problem was he had left the opened lock hanging on its hook, the latch swinging loose, so he had an escape route. From what he could make of the voices, the open lock had been discovered. He ducked back out of sight just as the door squealed open and a face peered into the cavernous loading bay. Luckily for him, it appeared the man he’d knocked out was yet to be found, so the open padlock was the only cause for alarm: for now it provoked only surprise and mild concern from the duo of men that’d discovered it.
The two men entered the loading dock tentatively, calling out, ‘Eldon? Are you in here?’
It made sense to Po that Eldon held the keys to the storage bunker, being as he supposedly controlled all aspects of life in the commune. The men expected to find their leader inside, and when he didn’t reply it gave them pause. Would they enter further, when it was apparent to Po they had no right to be there unsupervised?
The two men debated.
Po listened, gauging their movements from the scuffs of feet on concrete and their brief mutterings.
He should do something other than stand there with his back to a wall, because he had a horrible idea about what might come next.
The men gave up, and deciding that they’d overstayed their welcome, they retreated from the bunker. Po exhaled in frustration as he heard the latch being fixed in place. The padlock was about to be fastened securely. The duo must have concluded that leaving the padlock undone was an oversight from Eldon’s last visit, and they chose only to rectify his mistake. If it were locked from the outside, it sealed Po inside the bunker with no hope of returning to Tess and Pinky in the agreed time. Concerned by his non-appearance they would enter the commune seeking him, and needlessly place themselves in danger. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
Without further thought, Po stepped around the corner, and hurled an oath at the door. He ran along the loading dock and jumped down between the parked vehicles, slamming his palm repeatedly on the side of the panel van. The racket was heard, and he was relieved to hear that the padlock had not yet been clasped shut. Confused by whom they were about to lock inside the bunker, and probably afraid that they had unduly raised the ire of their leader, the duo rapidly worked the latch off its hook and yanked open the door again. They peered in from the open portal, but Po needed them inside with him.
‘Over here,’ he croaked, ‘help me.’
‘What’s wrong?’ asked one of the men. Happily, he hadn’t enquired who had begged for help. At this moment they’d no reason to suspect that a stranger had infiltrated the commune let alone made it inside the usually secure bunker. The first man stepped inside.
‘Help me, I’m hurt,’ Po wheezed. ‘I fell and busted my ankle.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m here.’
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me, Jeremy Decker.’
The two men debated a few seconds, and then the second man entered too. They approached, one of them pulling a flashlight out of a pouch on his belt and flicking it on. The beam danced over the parked vehicles and landed on Po. He faced them with the rifle braced against his shoulder. ‘Make one damn sound and I’ll shoot you dead,’ Po warned.
These men, like others living under Eldon Moorcock’s thrall, were not necessarily bad men. Po felt no personal ire towards either man, except for a couple of brief facts: right then they stood between him and his quest to find Elspeth and Jacob, and to return safely to Tess’s side.
‘Get over here,’ he ordered, jerking the rifle barrel towards the van for clarity. ‘And take that damn flashlight outta my eyes.’
The men were younger than he first thought, neither of them older than their mid-twenties. Sometimes the rashness of youth can cause an illogical response to a threat, where they believed testosterone made them immune to bullets, but it seemed that these men had been systematically conditioned into taking orders from their elders. They both stumbled forward and the guy with the flashlight lowered it as commanded.
‘Kneel,’ Po instructed.
Perhaps it was the wrong signal to send out. A hostage was usually ordered to kneel before his execution. Both young men thought they were about to be slain, and the fear caused them to stagger, heads spinning as they sought escape.
‘Kneel down, goddamnit. I don’t want to hurt you so don’t give me reason to shoot y’all!’
Po’s words gave them hope and overrode their flight instincts. First one, then the other went down on their knees and stayed there, peering up at Po. He moved around them, never lowering the rifle, until he was at the side door of the panel van. One-handed he clutched the handle and tugged. The door was not locked and it slid open on its guide rails. Warm air and the smell of humanity wafted out, despite it being hours since the van must have held several occupants. Po gave the interior of the van only a cursory glance before his attention snapped back to his prisoners. Nothing inside told him that Elspeth and Jacob had been in there, but he sensed they had.
‘Whose van is this?’ he asked.
The two men exchanged glances. One of them elected to speak, but he did so at a whisper, taking heed of Po’s earlier warning. ‘Everything here belongs to the community.’
‘Is that so? But who’s most likely to use it?’
‘Whoever needs it most.’
‘Who used it most recently?’
‘I don’t know.’ The young man checked with his friend, who also shrugged an apology.
Po didn’t want to put words in their mouths, but he was certain that Caleb Moorcock, or at least somebody acting on his behalf, had driven the van to Portland and back.
‘When was it last used?’ Po asked.
‘I don’t know.’
The second man shook his head.
Po actually believed them. Judging by their appearance and their lack of animosity towards him, Po doubted the youngsters were party to the inner workings of the Moorcock compound. He regretted having to do what was on his mind.
‘Get up, one at a time, and get in the back of the van.’
‘Please, mister, don’t hurt us.’ It was the second youth who’d spoken. His mouth trembled as he blinked up at Po through tears.
Po snapped out his hand. ‘Give me that flashlight.’
The young man held it up, and Po saw how hard he was trembling. He took the flashlight and stuffed it in his belt. ‘Go on. In the van.’
The young man scrambled to obey. He sat up towards the front of the van on a bench seat fitted to the wall. Po shook his head, nodding down at the floor. The young man went to his hands and knees to obey.
‘OK, now you,’ Po told the elected speaker.
As the young man stood, he glimpsed
into the van’s interior and perhaps he imagined it as his tomb. Something snapped inside him. With a shriek of desperation he lunged and tried to grapple the rifle from Po. Po easily avoided the swiping hands, and instead he turned the rifle in his grasp and gave the youth a sharp jab of the butt in the chest. The man staggered back, his knees colliding with the step up into the van and he sat down hard. Po gave him another sharp jab with the rifle butt, this time to the chin, and the young man splayed backwards, unconscious. The other man had watched open-mouthed, silenced by dismay.
‘I hoped I wouldn’t have to do that,’ Po growled, ‘but your buddy gave me no choice. What about you, son? You goin’ to try to be a hero?’
Showing his open palms, the young man whimpered, ‘I won’t give you any trouble, mister.’
‘Good. Here’s what you’re going to do. Grab your friend and drag him inside. Make sure he can breathe and isn’t goin’ to choke on his own tongue. I’m going to lock you both inside, and then I’m going to walk away. But here’s the thing, son, if I hear one peep outta either of you, I’ll come back and shut you both up for good. D’you hear me?’
‘Y … yeah, I hear you, mister. I understand. I won’t make a noise.’
‘Good idea.’ Po waited while the youth manhandled his sleeping pal inside the back of the van, then he gave the youth one final reminder, by placing his finger to his lips. The youth nodded and clamped his lips tight. Po closed the door on them, and stood a moment, listening. Inside, the conscious youth didn’t even move, for fear the door would be yanked open once more and they were blasted to death.
Po backed away, and then he turned and jogged for the open door. He took a quick scan around before fully emerging from the bunker, and once outside, he closed the door and fitted the padlock in the latch and snapped it shut. He’d cowed the youth into silence, but he couldn’t rely on it lasting. Once the youth realized he was no longer in imminent danger, he’d escape the confines of the van. He would likely try to get out through this door and finding it locked would kick up a ruckus. Po intended being well away from the bunker by then. He began a rapid walk away, taking the same path he’d originally followed to reach the bunker along the warped concrete road.
He cursed his ill luck. Not only had he failed to find Elspeth or Jacob, he’d advertised his presence in the commune by coming into conflict with three of its residents. None of them knew who he was, but once they raised the alarm it wouldn’t matter. Po would be hunted. That in itself wasn’t his major concern because if the caliber of enemy could be judged by those he’d already met, he fancied his chances; however, returning to the compound to continue his search had just become a task ten times more difficult than before.
He’d wanted so much to demand answers from the two youths. He could have forced them into telling him where Elspeth and Jacob were likely being held, but doing so would have given Caleb and the other Moorcocks a heads-up for when he would return. He had no wish to forewarn them that he was coming back. For now, they might suspect that his reason for being inside their community was to steal from them, not to liberate their prisoners. The youths might have no idea where Elspeth or her son was, but had he mentioned them then the game would be up. For now he must bite his tongue, hold in his frustration and get the hell outta there before everything blew up in his face.
From behind him came distant pounding, then the thin strains of a voice. The youth had found his way out of the van, but the outer door was locked. Po wasn’t worried that the sounds would travel across the defunct parade ground to the houses, but there might be somebody closer. He picked up his pace and approached the hut where he’d left the older man trussed and gagged. For now, the man was silent. Po felt a momentary pang of concern that perhaps he’d hit the guy too hard and he’d never wake again. His concern was fleeting; back inside the bunker, the youth showed he was more resourceful than Po had at first given him credit for. He repeatedly hit the horn on one of the vehicles, and the sound carried further than any dull thuds or muffled hollers. The racket was certain to draw curiosity, soon replaced by a hostile response once Po’s presence was discovered. He relinquished the rifle, tossing it aside, while feeling for the flashlight in his belt with his other hand. There was no possible way he could safely return to the river by the same route he’d followed in: he’d be captured in minutes if his pursuers chased him in vehicles. He must negotiate the labyrinth of crags and deadfalls, and in there the flashlight would be a handier tool than a firearm. By the same measure, so would the knife currently nestled in his boot.
TWENTY-FOUR
‘Time’s up,’ said Tess as the countdown on her cell phone hit zero. She shifted in the darkness but didn’t move far.
‘So let’s go get him, us.’
‘We should wait a bit longer,’ Tess cautioned. Her words went against her grain, but they must be sensible about this. The two hours timescale she’d agreed with Po was specific, but not chiseled in stone. He could be mere minutes from returning, and they might spoil his chances of getting out undetected if they immediately stormed the bridge.
Pinky leaned close and peered at her with one eye almost pinched shut.
‘We’ll give him another ten minutes,’ she said.
‘A lot of harm could be done to a man in ten minutes,’ he said.
‘I know, but like you said earlier, Nicolas has skills. We have to trust that he hasn’t been spotted and is on his way back to us.’
‘The guards are still relaxed,’ Pinky pointed out, and edged back into the shadows. ‘They haven’t been alerted to watch for him, them. Maybe all will be well, but don’t you think I should go back to the car and be ready.’
By the time they had returned from collecting the pistols from their hotel room the police cruiser had disappeared. Pinky had driven the GMC to a wholly different hiding spot and they had disembarked, and walked back to the ravine between the crags, where Po should return shortly. Their vehicle was only a minute up the road, concealed further back in the woods so it wouldn’t attract the attention of the patrolling cops again. They could fetch it if they decided there was no other play than to storm the commune, or – a move they were both in agreement with – they could approach on foot, subdue the guards and liberate their pickup truck for the task.
‘Just another ten minutes,’ Tess repeated.
Earlier, Pinky hadn’t exhibited much concern for Po. But as the seconds had ticked down and his best friend had failed to return, Tess had noted him licking his lips frequently, and also touching the butt of the pistol he’d pushed into his waistband. He was almost as anxious as she was, despite his admiration of Po’s skills. He stepped forward to check downriver towards the bridge again. He looked back at her. ‘Still not reacting.’
Tess nodded silently. She peered over to where the river rumbled through the boulder-strewn terrain, watching for any flicker of movement that might indicate Po was on his way back. For now the forest lay still. Not even a bird was startled from its roost. She was tempted to go up to where Po had jumped the river, ready to grab and haul him to safety on his return leap.
She checked her cell phone. The last message from Po was the one saying he was in, and where she’d exhorted him to be careful. She tapped out another message now: WHERE ARE YOU?
She waited. Beside her, Pinky loomed, staring at the cell phone as if he could hurry a reply by force of will alone.
No message was forthcoming.
The tracker app failed to work.
‘Don’t let it worry you: it’s like I said, the signal here is very weak,’ said Tess, with a lack of faith in her own explanation.
‘We shouldn’t’ve let him go in there alone, us,’ Pinky moaned. ‘One of us should’ve backed him up.’
By ‘one of us’ Pinky meant him.
‘He’ll be back any minute,’ Tess said.
‘How much longer do we wait till we accept we made a huge mistake, us?’
‘You’re right. Go fetch the car, Pinky. I’ll wait here in case
he does come, and you can pick me up. If we have to take those guards hostage, I will, and I’ll force them to take us to Po.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Pinky. The trouble was that it was anything but a plan: it was more a foolish kneejerk response to a previous failed plan, but she was as anxious as Pinky was, more so probably, and only wanted to have her man safely back with her. She wasn’t kidding about forcing the guards at gunpoint to do her bidding.
Pinky slipped away into the night. It was a minute’s walk to the car, and probably as long for him to get it started and drive it back here. By then Tess’s revised timescale would have come to an end. She’d given Po as much time as she ever would.
Way off in the woods dogs bayed.
A rifle fired … the sharp crack echoed among the treetops.
Tess stepped forward, as if getting an extra yard closer would help her to hear better.
Further up the road Pinky must also have heard the gunshot, because he exclaimed, and then the slap of his running feet told her he’d thrown caution to the wind. Tess drew her pistol and went across the road, heading for the boulders where she’d last seen Po. He was nowhere in sight. She turned following the baying of hounds: it sounded like a pack of them was on a fresh scent trail. Maybe the dogs and the gunfire signified a normal night hunt on the Moorcock property, and that some kind of wild game was the prey, but she wasn’t hopeful. She couldn’t see the bridge from her new vantage point, but the reaction of the guards might clarify events for her. She began jogging towards the bend in the road, to get a look at their response. Behind her, hidden among the trees, the GMC’s engine coughed to life. Tess kept going and gained the corner. The guards were beside their vehicle. No, one of them was actually leaning inside, and the second stood close to the open door listening. He was paying no attention to the dogs, but to something being relayed to him by his pal; Tess assumed they were in radio contact with somebody deep within the encampment.
