Bunker (A Post-Apocalyptic Techno Thriller Book 2)

by Jay J. Falconer

  Albert wasn’t sure how much longer he could take the stale odor of Bill King’s breath. Or the man’s attitude as the owner of the silver mine continued his tirade.

  “I don’t care if you went to school with my ex-wife or not, I’d suggest you mind your own business if you know what’s good for you,” King said.

  Albert raised his chin, then sucked in a full breath before tapping his finger on the star hanging from his chest. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I’m not as helpless as your ex-wife.”

  “Ah, that badge don’t mean shit,” King said, looking at the other deputy, Dustin Brown. “You got anything to say, slim?”

  Dustin shook his head. “Nope. Just what Albert said.”

  “I figured as much. Just a couple of wannabe rent-a-cops,” King snapped before walking away.

  Albert flipped him the bird, then looked at Dustin.

  “That was intense,” Dustin said.

  Albert smiled, deciding it was time to push his agenda and start recruiting. “You know, buddy, I think I’m starting to like this gig. Things are finally getting a little . . . interesting.”

  “That’s one word for it,” Dustin scoffed, pushing his lips together and to the right. “Any more intense and one of us would be bleeding. Or in the hospital.”

  “Ah, no worries. I had it covered.”

  “So, you went to school with his ex-wife?”

  “Yeah, she sat in front of me in homeroom. And if I remember right, I’m pretty sure she was in my chemistry class, too. Sat in the back, I think. Though I’m not sure she actually passed the course. At least not with her grades. Rumor had it she was giving out blowjobs for grades.” Albert pointed at the back of King, who was now twenty feet away. “That’s how the two of them met.”

  “She gave him a hummer in the back of the class?”

  Albert laughed. “No, dude. They met in high school. She was supposedly blowing the chem teacher, Mr. Carson. A real ass-hat of a man.”

  “Oh yeah. Right. The teacher. Lucky man. Those lips of hers are righteous.”

  Albert knew he had his hook into Dustin and just needed to set it before reeling him in. “Asshole King over there had a wickedly nice Corvette at the time. And she had the best rack in school. All the guys used to drool over her.”

  Dustin nodded, licking his lips awkwardly. “I see why. She’s fine. We’re talking USDA Prime Choice. I could totally tap that.”

  “Yeah, right. Keep dreaming. She’s not interested in guys like us. I doubt she even remembers ninety percent of the guys in school. Her eyes were only on King and his killer ride.”

  “She remembered you, though. That’s gotta count for something.”

  Albert wished she did for the right reasons. “I doubt she remembers much. Just some fat guy sitting behind her and sweating all over his desk. Until now, I didn’t think she even knew I existed.”

  “Well, she did. Maybe now that she’s divorced—”

  “Don’t kid yourself. That’s never gonna happen. She likes the guys with all the toys. You know, endless bling. Something shiny and new to play with and make herself feel important.”

  “Really? That shallow?”

  “Oh yeah. Just like the rest of the beautiful people. And then you know what happens? The same chicks sit around and bitch and moan after their looks go and their men get bored with them. And they wonder why they all end up divorced and got nothing.”

  “I don’t think that’s what split them up. She’s still smoking hot.”

  “Sure, for now. But it won’t last. It never does. Once women hit their late thirties, they dry up like old hags. My guess is that King stuck his wick somewhere he shouldn’t have. Not that I blame him. If had his money, I’d never settle for one chick, either,” he said, hesitating as a flood of memories filled his thoughts. “But man, even the freshman chicks loved his ride. That black Z06 Corvette was like a two-door magnet, all 700 horses drawing them in. That thing could lay down some serious rubber.”

  Dustin nodded. “The Vette gets ‘em wet.”

  “Not anymore,” Albert said with attitude, letting a smile grow on his lips. He pointed across the square at one of the abandoned cars parked in the street. It was a gray, four-door sedan with its hood sitting open on its hinges. The driver’s door was open. “What we have now is a level playing field. And that, my friend, presents us with a unique opportunity.”

  “With the hot bod?”

  “No. I’m talking about business, not snatch. Right now everyone is scrambling around like idiots. A couple of smart men like us should take advantage and get set up now, so we’re ready when the shit really hits the fan.”

  Dustin was looking directly at him, nodding. But his mouth was silent.

  Albert continued, thinking of his days in New York and LA. “I’ve seen it all before. Misery is a great motivator . . . Let me ask you this: how would you like to make some serious fat stacks?”

  “Money?”

  “Lots of it. More cash than you could ever imagine. Enough money so you can buy ten hot bods and ten Vettes if you want.”

  Dustin’s face lit up, his eyes as big as pears. “What do I need to do?”

  “Follow me,” Albert said, turning south. “Time to go old school, literally.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sheriff Apollo turned the knob and opened the door to the Mayor’s office. He walked in, ready to answer the summons from his boss like a dutiful servant.

  The flickering light from the lamp on the Mayor’s desk caught his attention first, reminding him to go check on the town hall’s ancient gas-powered generator. Its distinctive engine whine was uneven and slow, dimming the emergency lights with every change in pitch. It was a melodic reminder of how tenuous the situation was for everyone.

  Most of the generators in town were newer models with an electric start feature and other integrated electronics, all rendered useless after the event earlier that day. An EMP strike was the official consensus of those in the know, though the group’s conclusion was based on circumstantial assumptions and little in the way of hard facts.

  Apollo expected to find the Mayor sitting behind his desk, but he wasn’t. Buckley was to the left, standing in front of the picture window that overlooked the town square. His back was to Apollo, showing only the rear of his tailored suit. Based on the position of the man’s arms and elbows, Apollo assumed the sixty-year-old’s hands were tucked inside the front pockets of his dress slacks.

  The glistening light from the candles, flashlights, and lanterns outside made the man’s silhouette dance across the ceiling in random patterns, occasionally melding together into one extended blob. Apollo felt like he’d walked into a medieval castle, praying for a chance to impress the king before his sentence was delivered.

  He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Mr. Mayor. You sent for me?”

  Buckley never turned before answering, still looking away. “Gus, do you think any of them have put the pieces together yet?”

  “About the EMPs?”

  “Yes, and the possible invasion,” he added, his voice deep and grizzly.

  “I’m sure some of them have. If not, it won’t be long. Not with the handful of civilians in my office earlier when we were decoding the Morse code signal. We both know gossip flies around this town like greased lightning.”

  “That’s what I’m concerned about. In retrospect, we never should’ve allowed any unauthorized personnel to remain in your office. That mistake is on me. I should have taken charge and cleared the room first.”

  Apollo didn’t want Buckley to assume all the blame. “Well, sir, I was there, too. Trust me, we were all a little caught up in the moment. Neither of us was thinking about a potential information leak.”

  “That may be true. But it’s not how the man in charge should act, regardless of the circumstances. Especially a man who hopes to become Governor of this great state someday. Now there’s no way to contain any of this.”

  “I understand, Mr. Mayor. But
it’s their town, too. They pay our salaries and all of them have a right to know what’s going on.”

  “Yes, of course. But how are we supposed to protect them if they know the whole truth, and not the version of the truth that will help keep them calm and cooperative when the time comes?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”

  “It’s like Bunker said. The masses will panic when tragedy strikes.”

  “I’m pretty sure he was talking about his hometown. Big cities like LA have millions of desperate, down on their luck people. Nothing like the good folks of Clearwater. I think our neighbors and friends might just surprise you, sir. Even if the worst does happen.”

  Buckley turned and made eye contact. “I hope you’re right, Gus. But from now on, it’s best if we hold our meetings in private. We can’t let ourselves get caught up in the moment and forget to do our jobs.”

  Apollo nodded, but didn’t answer.

  Buckley continued. “It’s critical that we control the flow of information in order to protect everyone—from themselves. Too much information is never a good thing, especially when we’re talking about everyday people. Even the truth can get twisted around and over-hyped, leading to a situation that neither of us wants. The less specific we are with the facts, the better, I think.”

  “Sounds prudent, sir. I’d suggest we meet here or in my private office from now on, with only authorized staff and invited guests. It’s the only way we can make sure everything is on a strict need-to-know basis. Going forward, that is.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking, my old friend.”

  “When Bunker returns, will we be inviting him to our meetings?”

  “Yes, for now. He’s proven himself capable.”

  “I tend to agree, but we know so little about him.”

  “True. But if my gut is right, his military background and tactical skills are something we’re gonna need. We should keep him in the loop until he gives us a reason not to. We owe him that, at least.”

  “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

  “Have you identified any candidates for the reconnaissance teams yet?”

  “I’m working on it. However, most of the able-bodied men I’ve talked to are too busy looking after their own to help. I can probably draft a few volunteers from the new teams we’ve deputized, but other than that, we’ll have to focus our efforts on the younger men. Like your grandson, Rusty. Those without a wife or kids,” Apollo said, purposely avoiding the word expendable.

  The Mayor nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  Apollo still had his concerns. “However, now that we have our new need-to-know mandate in place, it’s going to be difficult to ask for volunteers without telling them some of what’s going on. Otherwise, it’s going to raise suspicions and that’ll just lead to more rumors flying around town.”

  “I see your point,” the Mayor answered, hesitating for a few moments. “I trust you’ll use your best judgment.”

  “I will, sir.”

  “Let’s get those teams out there the minute Daisy and Bunker get back from Tuttle’s place. I don’t like the idea of being completely shut off and working in the dark. Literally.”

  Just then, something caught the Mayor’s attention outside. He turned and moved to the window, pressing his face to the glass. He looked sharply to the right. “What the hell?”

  “What is it, Mayor?”

  “There’s a group of men walking into town from the north. Very slowly and erratically, like a bunch of mental patients on drugs.”

  Apollo ran the window, leaning against it with his hands. The Mayor pointed, leading the Sheriff’s eyes across the town square and past the ice cream parlor. He counted the new arrivals—six men—walking with an uneven stride, just as Buckley had claimed.

  A second later, two of the men on the right passed a group of residents holding candles, showering their faces with light. “That’s Rico and Zeke. From my reserve squad!”

  “Thank God they’re back! What about the others? Are they from your unit as well?”

  “Probably, but I can’t see them from here,” Apollo answered, noticing their clothes were dirty and tattered, like they’d fallen down a mineshaft.

  “I wonder what happened to them. They look like the walking dead.”

  “I gotta get down there,” Apollo said, whirling around and tearing across the office floor.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Apollo’s feet took him out of the Mayor’s office and past the empty receptionist’s desk. He flew past the disabled elevator and pushed the exit door open, taking him into the stairwell. After several flights of switchback steps, he reached the ground floor, where he tore through the central foyer of the newly-renovated town hall.

  On the left was the closed gift shop, its interior and overhead sign dark. The shelves were stocked with trinkets, periodicals, and souvenirs, all protected by a wall-to-wall security screen.

  Circular eating tables stood on the right, covered with plastic chairs sitting upside down. He figured the operator of the stainless steel pastry cart wasn’t planning to reopen in the morning, not with the power out. It would be difficult to make coffee and warm up apple fritters without electricity. It also meant Apollo would have to fend for himself when it was time for his morning caffeine and sugar rush.

  He took a sharp corner around one of the decorative pillars and cruised between a pair of potted plants standing watch on either side of the twenty-foot-long corridor that led to the main entrance.

  Just before he made it to the double exit doors, a platinum blonde appeared in his path. She was stationary, with her hands on the shoulders of a stocky boy with black hair that hung down past his neck.

  Apollo recognized the woman with the bandage on her forehead. It was Allison Rainey, the nice-looking waitress he’d planned to ask out. Even in the diminished light, he could see her supple skin, slightly turned-up nose, and perfect cheekbones. Her full lips were in view, too, and beyond them, a perfect set of white teeth.

  The blue-eyed goddess was the complete package, leading him to wonder if she’d been a Victoria’s Secret model in her younger days. Maybe it was just his aging hormones acting up, but when he was around her, he felt ten years younger, always trying to suck in his gut.

  He’d managed to avoid arresting her after the broomstick fight with Grace Charmer in the grocery store, thanks to some quick thinking and a little smooth talking. If he’d been forced to toss her in jail, any hope of a first date would have blinked out the moment he closed the iron cell door behind her.

  Apollo’s eyes drifted down to the stocky boy standing with Allison. He assumed the kid was her son, but the young man didn’t look anything like her. The boy’s eyes were dark like his hair, and deep-set in his face, looking European by descent.

  He didn’t remember seeing this lad when the group of rescued kids walked into town with Bunker and Stephanie. Odd, to say the least, since Allison’s mother, Martha, had made such a stink about her grandson being on the overdue bus.

  “Sheriff Apollo . . . I was just looking for you,” Allison said, holding out a hand to stop his approach.

  Gus put the brakes on, skidding his dress shoes across the polished marble surface. He caught his balance only a second before his forward momentum stopped.

  Whatever this was, he didn’t have time for it. Yet he didn’t want to be rude. He needed to act like a dutiful sheriff and greet this woman properly; otherwise, she’d never consider a relationship with him.

  Apollo offered up a phony smile. “I’ve got a bit of an emergency outside, Allison. Can we do this a little later?”

  “This won’t take long, Sheriff. My son, Victor, has something he wants to say to you. And to the Mayor if he’s available,” she said, leaning to the left to peer around him, her eyes unsure.

  “The Mayor’s office is up on three. But you’ll have to use the stairs since the elevator isn’t working.”

  She nodded, then gave her son a gentle nudg
e from behind.

  Victor stepped forward, his head hanging low. “I’m sorry, Sheriff.”

  “For what?” Apollo said, wondering if Allison had just caught him stealing.

  “For bailing out like a chicken and leaving the kids in my class behind. I never should’ve done that, sir.”

  Apollo took a second to absorb what had just landed on his ears, connecting the facts to something he’d learned earlier about the bus accident. “So you’re the one Mr. Bunker told me about?”

  “Yeah, that was me. I should’ve stayed and helped, instead of being selfish and running off like that. I’m sorry.”

  Apollo looked at Allison. The stunning woman’s lower lip was tucked under, her eyes locked on her son.

  The Sheriff turned his attention to the boy, leaning down to get a better look at Victor’s eyes. “Apology accepted, but I think you really need to say you’re sorry to all your friends on the bus. Not me.”

  “But they aren’t my friends. They’re assholes,” the boy answered in a flippant tone.

  Allison slapped him across the back of the head, making the boy’s hair flop to one side. “Hey. None of that,” she said in a commanding voice.

  “Oooow,” he said, putting his thick hand on the impact point.

  She wagged a finger at her son. “If you think that hurt, young man, just try getting smart again.”

  Victor answered, just not right away. “Fine. I’ll apologize to my friends. Happy?”

  Allison looked at Gus and shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. He never used to be this way. Not until his father passed.”

  Apollo wanted to know more about the boy’s father and how long it had been since he’d died, but now wasn’t the time. He kept quiet.

  Allison pointed at the far side of the entrance before speaking to Victor. “Go wait over there, while I speak to the Sheriff for a minute.”

  The kid nodded, then took off in a slow, methodical walk.

  Apollo could see the pain in her eyes when she brought them back to him. He wanted to comfort her with some encouragement. “It’s good that you’re making him take responsibility for his actions. Not a lot of parents are doing that these days.”