It wasn’t easy to hold a flashlight steady while riding a steed, nor was it easy keeping the cold from creeping into his bones. The sun had long since extinguished its flame for the day, bringing with it a damp chill he knew was only going to get worse.
Despite the patchy darkness, he could see Daisy was an accomplished rider. That much was clear. He watched her work the reins with the grace and control of a well-seasoned orchestra conductor, gliding along in the saddle as if it were a magic carpet in the sky. Her posture was perfect and confident, like she’d been born on a horse.
He, on the other hand, was under siege from the saddle, feeling the polished leather smack into his undercarriage with every step of the great beast. His back was starting to feel it, too, and he found himself wishing he’d never sold his old ride. He needed something he felt comfortable on. Something with far more than one horsepower and something with a reliable, built-in suspension and foot pegs.
If they didn’t reach Tuttle’s place soon, the pain between his thighs and in his lower spine would continue to rise, threatening his ability to walk right. Or have kids. Even his teeth were starting to hurt, clanking together about every fifth stride.
It had been a tiring day of challenges but thankfully, only one task remained: obtain communications gear from Tuttle, and anything else that could be useful, tactically speaking.
The Sheriff and Mayor were counting on him. So were Daisy, Stephanie, and Jeffrey. Plus all those kids he’d rescued. Oh, and their parents, too. Now that he thought about it, he’d essentially given his word to everyone in town.
Even though he could turn the reins and slip off into the night, he planned to complete the mission. As appealing as a smooth getaway sounded to the old version of him, the new Bunker wouldn’t allow it. Not now. Not after the town had claimed him for their own. He was committed. At least for the short term.
More importantly, if an invasion was imminent, where else could he go where there was food, water, shelter, and people who trusted him?
If their theories were correct about the Morse code signal and what was coming across the southern border, going it alone was not the right move. Safety in numbers was the only way to play this, even if the town was filled with a bunch of mostly untrained civilians.
“Tuttle’s place is just over there,” Daisy said, pointing to the right as they cleared the wooden bridge.
“Good, ‘cause my ass is killing me.”
She laughed. “On the way back, I’ll show you how to sit properly so you can move with the horse and not against him. It’s much easier that way.”
“I figured there was a trick to this. There has to be. Otherwise, nobody in their right mind would ever take a long ride like this.”
“Long ride? This is nothing, Bunker. Some day you’ll have to take a trip with me to Thompson Falls. It’s about thirty miles from here, across some super tough trail. But it’s totally worth it. It’s one of the most beautiful places on Earth. When you get there and the trees open up, you’ll see this massive waterfall that pours into a crystal-clear lake. All of it surrounded by forest and mountain peaks as far as you can see. I swear to God, you’ll think you just found heaven. It literally takes your breath away.”
“Yeah, some day,” he said, not wanting to be impolite. It sounded amazing, but he doubted he’d ever agree to that level of torture on his backside. Not unless her secret trick for the saddle solved the pain he was in, and did so quickly. Otherwise, he’d never survive the agony of a thirty-mile ride.
She turned, taking her horse down a wide dirt road that faded off into the shadows ahead. The surface was uneven and rocky, with deep ruts from water runoff snaking their way across the road from high to low.
“Down on the right is Rainey’s place. I think you may have met her in town. Her grandson was supposedly on the bus. Though now that I think about it, I don’t remember seeing him. But I only met him once since her daughter moved to town, so maybe I just missed him in all the commotion,” she said, sauntering her horse ahead a few more strides. “North, across the street, is Tuttle’s. When we get there, let’s get off our horses and stand together. You’ll need to stay close and keep the flashlight on both of us so he gets a good look at you. But whatever happens, let me do all the talking. Otherwise, he might just start shooting.”
“He’s really that twitchy?”
She nodded. “He doesn’t like strangers. Well, actually, he doesn’t like anyone at all. But I think he has a soft spot for me. At least I hope so.”
“Great, just what we needed.”
“He’s really not that bad. But ever since his wife died of ovarian cancer, he’s kinda withdrawn from society. He and Helen were together ever since high school. After all those years, it’s gotta leave a big hole that just can’t be filled. I can’t imagine a love like that.”
“Speaking of relationships, is there a Mr. Clark?” Bunker asked her in a smooth, gentle tone, not knowing where the words came from. They just came flying out on their own, making him suck down a quick breath afterward.
She scoffed, sounding amused. “A girl’s gotta have a boyfriend for more than a minute if she’s ever gonna get married. I’m sure you noticed in town, it ain’t exactly full of underwear models. Slim pickin’s, if you know what I mean. Most of them missing a few teeth.”
Bunker’s mind drew him a visual, which he quickly erased. “You ever thought of moving to the big city? Denver isn’t that far away. A lot more choices there.”
“Nah. I love it here, despite the total lack of men. I figure I’ll grow old in Clearwater and then they can bury me next to my dad. He’s been gone eight years now.”
“And your mom?”
“Eleven years. I miss them both so much. Especially around the holidays. My trailer isn’t very big to start with, but when Christmas comes, I feel like I live inside a tuna can. It’s just me and my cat, Vonda, who loves—”
“—tuna,” he added, interrupting her.
“Exactly. The walls close in like a noose around our necks. Sometimes, I just can’t breathe and have to get out of there. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah. I do, as a matter of fact. Sometimes the only thing you can do is say no more and get the hell out of there. Change is good for the soul.”
She hesitated for a moment, then swung her head around to make eye contact. “Is there a Mrs. Bunker waiting for you somewhere?” she asked, using the same tone and playfulness in her voice as he did a minute ago.
“Nope,” he said, wishing he hadn’t opened himself up for investigation by asking her about her love life. Now he was compelled to answer or he’d sound like a complete jerk.
She spoke again, this time sounding more deliberate. “So . . . no one who’s waiting for you back in LA? A girlfriend? Friend with benefits? Regular Thursday night stripper?”
He smiled, enjoying her candor. However, he wished it wasn’t aimed at him. He needed to end this line of questioning and fast, before he was cornered.
Keep it simple and to the point, he decided. “Nope. Nobody. I don’t even have a home back there anymore. I decided it was time for some drastic changes in my life and I left town. That’s why I was on the train when I met Steph and her kid. Just looking to start over. My old life wasn’t going the way I planned, so I set out to see where fate would take me.”
“And bam, you ended up here. Lucky us.”
“Well, I don’t know about that.”
“Yeah, seriously. Lucky us. Those kids wouldn’t be alive if God hadn’t brought you here,” she said, slowing her horse as a metal gate came into view. “We’re here.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bunker rode his horse next to Daisy, then aimed the flashlight higher, showering the top of Tuttle’s gate with light. Beyond the gate were piles of rock and then a tall structure—the barn, he assumed. They were on the left, opposite a singlewide trailer on the right.
The house looked to be sitting on a foundation, but its distinctive shape and style screamed
mobile home—a model from the seventies, if he had to guess. The four windows along the front were covered in horizontal blinds, something he figured Tuttle purchased from Home Depot and installed himself, given the rundown look of the place.
In front of the home were three old Ford pickups, sitting bumper to bumper with their driver doors facing the road. Beyond them was a huge stash of gas station and roadway signs. They’d been stacked up vertically, with their faded lettering and logos aimed away from the trailer.
“Tuttle’s a serious packrat,” he said to Daisy.
“Yeah, no doubt. I’m pretty sure he does it to get under the skin of Mrs. Rainey across the street.”
Bunker couldn’t hold back a half-smile. “Gotta love neighbors. Doesn’t matter where you live, there’s always one who pisses you off. Even way out here.”
“I think he angled all this junk to shield his place, too. You know, privacy. Rainey is a gawker, supposedly.”
“I was wondering why the trucks were parked parallel to the street. A collector would’ve had the hoods facing the road.”
“Yep and those signs are way cheaper than a fence. Plus, I think he gets off knowing she has to stare at them all day.”
Tuttle even had a couple of safes lying in the weeds, their reinforced doors hanging open. But there was something else between the house and the trucks—something much smaller and a darker color.
He moved the beam to get a better look. It was a red lawnmower, but it wasn’t old and rusted like the rest of the scrap.
Daisy dismounted.
He did the same, taking the reins of her horse so she could focus on Tuttle. Bunker stood to her left, with the flashlight angled up from his waist, showering both of their faces in light.
A single light was burning in the house, near its midpoint. It wasn’t flickering or moving, so it wasn’t a candle. Nor was it a flashlight or a fireplace. Probably a lamp or some other type of fixed, hard-wired light source. If his assumption was correct, it meant Tuttle had power—backup power—with the grid down.
Daisy took in a deep breath before she spoke in a loud, deliberate tone. “Frank? Are you home? It’s me, Deputy Daisy Clark with the Sheriff’s Department. From earlier.”
They waited for an answer, but none came.
She called out again, this time louder than before. “Frank? We really need to speak to you. This is my friend, Jack Bunker. Sorry to bother you again, but we need to borrow one more thing.”
“Rent one more thing,” Bunker reminded her quietly. “Not borrow.”
“Rent one more thing!” she yelled, correcting herself. “I know it’s late, but can you please come out and talk to us? It’s super urgent.”
Again, there was no answer. She called a third time, pleading with him to show himself. He didn’t.
“That’s weird. The light’s on,” she mumbled before turning her eyes to Bunker.
“Probably on battery backup. I don’t hear a generator running.”
“I don’t understand. Why doesn’t he answer? He’s got to be home. He’s always is.”
“It’s possible he’s not inside. Could be out back somewhere. Or he’s busy taking a leak.”
“Yeah, maybe,” she said, laughing. “Probably has his hands full. Sort of.” She pointed at the stacks of rocks in the driveway. “Last time, he was hiding in that middle pile. He’s got some kind of little hidden bunker thing going on in there.”
“A bunker?”
She smiled. “Yeah, bunker. Just like your name. Hmmm. How about that? Never dawned on me until just now.”
“Is it deep?”
“I don’t think so. It’s more like a hatch, but I never went inside. Maybe it leads somewhere. Who knows? He did mention something about having more than one stash of supplies. Underground, I think. I just wish I could remember exactly what he said.”
Before Bunker could respond, three brilliant flashes caught his attention from inside the house. Two happened quickly, then another one a second later. Each of the flashes was immediately accompanied by a loud bang.
“Get down,” Bunker said when he recognized the sound of gunfire. He turned off the flashlight and grabbed Daisy’s arm in an instant, pulling her and the horses about twenty feet to the left. He stopped when the bulk of the rock piles were between them and the house.
“Oh my God! Frank?” she said in an emotional voice, pushing large amounts of air out with each word. “We gotta get in there,” she added a few moments later, pulling her weapon from its holster. “I think he just shot himself.”
Bunker kept his grip on her arm, preventing her from standing. “No. Wait. There were three shots. Not one. When you shoot yourself there’s only one. Then it’s over.”
The fright on her face disappeared and was replaced by concern. “Someone’s in there with him?”
Bunker nodded. “That’s my guess. Whoever it is probably didn’t expect a deputy to show up just now, either. With some other guy.”
“Then Frank is d—”
“Probably. Did you notice how the first two shots were close together, then the third?”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“When I was in the military, they taught us a technique called The Mozambique. It’s two to the chest and one to the head. The timing between those gunshots makes me think that’s what we just heard.”
“Military?”
“Or former military. Then again, could be some lowlife who happens to know what a triple tap is.”
“Why would someone do that? Frank’s no threat to anyone, except himself.”
“Probably robbing the place when we showed up.”
Her eyes dropped their focus to the ground, then began to dart from left to right. She stopped and looked up, as though she’d just reached a conclusion. “Then this is all my fault for calling out like that,” she said, with her nose pinched and forehead wrinkled. “Damn it. I should’ve waited and checked everything out first.”
“You couldn’t have known someone was in there with him.”
“I should’ve followed procedure. He’s probably dead because of me.”
“Look, we both thought he was out here all alone.”
She shook her head, looking determined, eyes wide and face tense. “I gotta do something. I can’t let the shooter get away. I have to arrest him.”
Daisy tried to stand up again but Bunker wouldn’t let her go, noticing she was breathing heavily, with her gun hand shaking. He figured she hadn’t been in many situations like this. Not out here in the sticks. Small towns like Clearwater didn’t exactly have a lot of shootouts, or murders.
“Daisy, you need to slow down. Think it through,” he said, squeezing her arm gently to reinforce his words. “The last thing we need is to make the situation worse. It’s just you and me out here and there’s no backup. We need to take this step by step and work together.”
She nodded, taking a few extra breaths.
He leaned to the right and scanned the area around the house. The light inside was now off, leaving the home shrouded in darkness. He aimed the flashlight at the windows along the front, moving quickly from window to window. Each of the blinds was still closed, but the glass in the far window looked like it had been broken.
Bunker turned the flashlight off and waited for his pupils to adjust. Once they did, he let his gaze run out of focus, switching to peripheral vision.
He’d been taught in the service that peripheral vision works best in near-total darkness. Something about the rods around the retina being more light sensitive than the cones inside the center. He waited for movement, but didn’t see anything.
He looked at Daisy. “Is there a back door to the place?”
She pointed at the front of the trailer. “No, just that door in the middle.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I used to hang out here all the time with his daughter. It was back in high school, before Misty skipped town with a total jerk from overseas.”
“What about windows across the back?”
“Three, I think. But I’m not sure. It’s been a while.”
He tied the horses to the gate, then checked Tuttle’s house again. Still no sign of anyone. “Looks like one of the windows at the far end is broken. You know what that means—”
“—break-in.”
“By an amateur.”
She nodded. “A pro wouldn’t have done that. Too much noise. Probably a meth-head looking for a score. Something they can pawn for some easy cash. Wouldn’t be the first time around here. But these types of break-ins don’t usually happen while someone is home. And there’s normally not a shooting involved.”
‘Maybe not around here. But where I’m from, they do,” he muttered, looking down at Daisy’s right hand, staring at the Glock semi-auto. “You wouldn’t happen to have a backup I could borrow, would ya?”
She reached down and pulled up her pants leg. “You mean something like this?”
“What’s that? A .380?”
She nodded and whispered, “Ruger. LCP. My belly gun.” She unwrapped the Velcro strap and pulled it from the ankle holster, then gave it to him.
“Is it chambered?” he asked, ready to rack the slide and inject a round from the magazine.
“Yeah, with Black Talon hollow points.”
“That’ll work,” he said, wishing he had her Glock instead.
The smaller caliber of the LCP meant he’d have to be dead-on accurate and at close range in order to take down the assailant. A .380 round didn’t pack a lot of punch, but the Black Talon hollow points would do some serious damage once they were inside the chest cavity and began to sprawl.
That was assuming, of course, the target wasn’t wearing body armor. Otherwise, he’d have to go for a headshot. Just under the nose and above the lips was the most lethal shot, severing the spinal cord at the back of the neck in an instant.
“Let’s move,” she said, moving forward in a crouched position. She climbed through the split-rail gate and scampered to the closest rock pile.
Bunker (A Post-Apocalyptic Techno Thriller Book 2) Page 8
