Bunker (A Post-Apocalyptic Techno Thriller Book 1)

by Jay J. Falconer

  She quietly mouthed out the words from the acronym’s letters: THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT.

  Tuttle kept walking past the line of doomsday cabinets and eventually stopped in front of what appeared to be a trap door built into the floor. He pointed. “It’s down there.”

  “You built a fallout shelter inside your barn?” she asked as another round of acrid BO and cigar smoke invaded her nostrils. She wanted to gag, but managed to hold it back.

  “Yeah, this one. Can’t build them all outside. That’s too predictable. Gotta keep ‘em guessing and you gotta have options. Options is the key since you never know what’s coming your way or what you’re gonna need. Gotta prep for everything. Got to have backups.”

  “You have more than one?”

  His eyes pinched and he straightened his posture, but didn’t respond.

  Daisy got the sense Tuttle just realized he’d shared too much information. She needed to redirect his focus elsewhere before he got upset and refused to cooperate any further.

  She nodded and then pointed at the floor hatch. “Okay then, let’s get to it.”

  “You wait here. Nobody goes down there except me.”

  “No problem, Frank. Whatever you want. But please hurry.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sheriff Gus Apollo stood in front of the six men he’d just drafted for temporary assignment as Clearwater Deputy Sheriffs. None of them were over thirty but they were in good shape. Well, except for the two on the left.

  One of the questionable selections was tall and grossly underweight, while the other was short and must have weighed three hundred pounds. Maybe more. Gus wasn’t exactly rockin’ a killer bod as Daisy would say, but compared to this kid, he felt like an underwear model.

  The odd pair reminded him of Laurel and Hardy, from the black and white TV days. Even though their shows were first broadcast well before his time, Gus had fond memories of the reruns.

  When his Reserve Unit rolled into town after their annual fishing trip to Canada, he planned to say goodbye to these six recruits. Until then, they’d have to do. None of them were trained or ready, but they should be able to help if he kept them on a short leash.

  For privacy, Gus closed the door to his office before giving each man a Deputy Sheriff’s star. He motioned for them to pin it on. “Left side pocket, gentlemen,” he said, waiting until they were done sticking the tin to their chests.

  “To save time, I’m gonna shortcut the swearing-in ceremony and offer a revised oath of duty. I’ll recite it from start to finish and then have you all agree to it in unison when I’m done. Understood?”

  Each of the men nodded.

  “Excellent,” he said in a firm tone. “If you can all follow orders that well from here on out, this new partnership might have a chance to work. Are you ready, men?”

  A collective though disjointed set of affirming answers came from the group. “Yes . . . Yes, Sheriff . . . Ready . . . Roger that, sir.”

  “Raise your left hand and put your right hand over your heart.”

  Gus waited until everyone was in oath-taking position, then pulled out a note card from his front pocket and looked at the words inscribed on it. The Mayor’s handwriting was excellent and easy to read.

  “I, Sheriff Augustus Apollo, do hereby deputize each of you under the rights granted to me by the esteemed Mayor and the proud citizens of Clearwater, Colorado.”

  Some of the men puffed out their chests and stood a little more erect than before.

  “Do each of you swear your solemn oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States, the Constitution of the State of Colorado, and the laws of the city of Clearwater? Will each of you faithfully discharge any and all duties that I or the Mayor assign to you in accordance with the policies and procedures of this Sheriff’s Office, and do so until such time as your temporary duty ends or is revoked? If you agree, then step forward and answer with Yes, Sheriff.”

  Each man in the group took a single step forward and answered as instructed.

  “Therefore, by the power vested in me, I hereby grant each of you legal standing as Deputy Sheriff of Clearwater, Colorado.”

  There was a long pause in the room.

  “That’s it?” one of the younger men asked after making eye contact with the man standing next to him. Gus remembered his first name as Wayne, but his last name eluded his memory.

  “That’s it, Wayne. You’re now on the team. So are the rest of you. Welcome aboard.”

  The tallest and most muscular of the group stepped forward. “Orders, sir?”

  “I need you to break into teams of two. Team One will head out to the Silver King Mine and assist Mr. King with the recovery of his men trapped in the mineshaft. Who wants this assignment?”

  Sheriff Apollo waited, but nobody spoke up. “Okay, since none of you want to volunteer, we’ll do this another way,” he said before pointing at the closest man on the right. “You and Wayne, head out there. From now on, you’re Team One.”

  The two men nodded.

  Gus waited for them to turn and leave, but they stood there, looking confused. “On your way, boys. Time to get cracking.”

  “On foot?”

  “Yeah, we really don’t have a choice now, do we? Mr. King will guide you. He’s waiting outside my office.”

  They nodded and left the office, failing to close the door behind them.

  He pointed at the skinniest and the fattest of the two. They were standing together on the left. “You guys are Team Two and assigned to crowd control.”

  “Crowd control? Really? That’s all?” the skinny man said.

  “Watch the square and try to keep everyone calm. I’m not sure how long this outage will last, but there’s bound to be some stressful moments around here.”

  “Do we get guns?” the shorter member of Team Two asked. Gus remembered his name as Albert from their brief introduction outside. This man’s excess poundage was only outdone by the pimples across his nose and neck. There was probably more acne hiding along his chin, but the thick stubble across his rounded chin and plump cheeks covered up some serious acreage on his face.

  “No, you don’t get guns. Not until I’ve had a chance to train you on proper handling techniques and certified your ability at the range.”

  “Come on, Sheriff, I know how to shoot. I’ve mastered all fifty-five levels in Call of Duty, Black Ops 3,” Albert said, reaching for the holster on the side of Gus’ waistline.

  Gus blocked Albert’s attempt with his hand. “Let me say this one more time. No guns! Now, you two get outside and stand watch before I change my mind and revoke your deputyship. If anything pops up, notify me immediately. You’re my eyes and ears out there.”

  They nodded before leaving the room single file. Albert was the second of the two and sauntered with his shoulders slumped and head hanging low. It bobbed from side to side on his neck thanks to his rocking, peg-legged walking stride. Gus figured if the kid lost a hundred pounds, his knee-locked stride would be a lot smoother. Possibly even non-existent.

  The sheriff addressed the remaining two men. “Team Three, you’re on search and rescue.”

  “Who are we looking for, boss?”

  “A group of kids who haven’t returned from their field trip. When Deputy Clark returns from her field assignment, I want the three of you to ride out to Atwater’s place and borrow some of his horses.”

  “Ride, Sheriff? Before we have the horses?”

  “Wrong kind of ride,” Gus said. “Grab a couple of bikes from Ye Old Bike Shop and head out there. Exchange them for the horses we’re commandeering, then assist Deputy Clark in search and rescue efforts out by Clayton Ravine on County Road C. You guys can ride a bike, can’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. Spent most of my high school years riding to and from school every day on those uncomfortable seats,” the blonde man with the stout chest and wide shoulders answered.

  Gus knew him as Dick Dickens, the former starting offen
sive guard for the high school football team a few years back. The brute would’ve finally earned All-State honors if it weren’t for his Achilles’ tendon snapping in the second game of his senior season. Gus decided to address the young man using his nickname. “Must have been a darn big seat, Dicky.”

  “That it was, Sheriff. We grow ‘em big in Colorado.”

  “That we do,” Gus said as a smile hit his lips. He glanced down at Dicky’s right leg, then brought his eyes back up. “Looks like your foot is all healed up.”

  “Rehab took forever. But for the most part, I’m as good as new.”

  Gus looked at the other guy. “And you?”

  “Yeah, I can ride. It’s been a while, but I’m sure it’ll come back to me.”

  “Fair enough. Now get out there, men, and make me proud. Daisy—I mean Deputy Clark—should be back any minute.”

  “Yes, Sheriff,” Dicky answered, leading his partner out of the office.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Stephanie King doubled her grip on the door latch of the toppled bus as she kept a close eye on the kids inside. They were packed in like gophers, sitting only inches from her on the other side of the glass.

  “How are the kids holding up?” Bunker asked from five feet away.

  “They’re okay, for now. I think watching you haul the rocks up on top is keeping them preoccupied. But we need to get this done before they lose interest.”

  “Working as fast as I can,” he told her, loading another round of rocks inside the back of his tucked shirt.

  “That’s gotta hurt,” she said, seeing splotches of blood dotting the cloth covering his back. Each time he dropped another rock inside the collar of his shirt, the stones clanked together at the bottom and sent the bulge of material wider along the man’s slender waistline.

  “Ah, this doesn’t hurt. I’ve felt worse, trust me,” he said, climbing up the yellow metal wall. He planted his knees on top of the sideways bus after pulling himself up. He stood up and with a quick yank, he untucked his shirt and let the rocks fall like he’d done the previous six trips, then dropped back down to the ground.

  “How will you know when we have enough weight up there?” she asked, looking at the remaining stones she and Jeffrey had brought from a nearby creek bed. Thanks to the recent drought, they didn’t have to wade through any water, so collecting the stones was simple.

  Bunker pointed at the pile. “When all of those are up there,” he said, swinging his index finger from low to high. “I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “I hope we brought enough,” she added, wondering if his shirt could stand up to the stress of the remaining sharp edges and weight—a cotton t-shirt wasn’t exactly the strongest material.

  Jeffrey interrupted. “It should be enough, Mom. Since the bus was balancing on its own before, all we need is the same amount of weight as all the kids inside. Plus a little bit extra just to be sure.”

  “How do you know all of this, angel?” she asked, figuring Bunker must have told him when she wasn’t paying attention.

  “Frankie’s Science Lab, Mom. Remember?”

  “Oh yeah, right,” she answered, remembering how hard it was to track down that educational game in Denver at Christmas. Hardly anyone stocked the slow-selling item, but she finally found one in a rundown secondhand toy store on the west side of town.

  Until then, she thought her trip to visit her mom and take her shopping for the holidays was a complete bust. But the effort was worth it. Jeffrey loved that game, spending hours upon hours interacting with it to answer questions. And now, it appeared he actually learned something useful along the way.

  Bunker spent the next handful of minutes transporting the rest of the counterbalance material to the top of the school bus. After the final load was delivered and stacked, he stood atop his perch and looked down at Stephanie. “Moment of truth.”

  “Would it make sense for you to stay up there while I get the kids out? You’d add more weight,” she said, not knowing where the idea came from. She’d just put herself square in the middle of what must come next, heaping all the responsibility upon her thin shoulders.

  “Yeah, it would. But that means you’re gonna have to get the kids out and do so in a hurry. Do you think you’re up to it?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out before answering. Her brain was telling her to say no, but her heart had other plans. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Are you sure? Because if we don’t have enough weight up here, then the bus will . . . well, you know. If that happens, you’ll have to make a snap decision on who you will sa—”

  She didn’t need to hear any more of his explanation, and neither did her son. Or the trapped kids who were listening with curious ears. “I got it. You don’t have to spell it out for me.”

  Stephanie turned her neck to look at Jeffrey, standing behind her. She wanted to wrap him in a tight hug and give him a series of tender kisses across his forehead while she had the chance, but she couldn’t. Not now. Not with her hands pressing down on the door latch. She couldn’t take the chance that Bunker’s plan with the rocks was wrong.

  “Jeffrey, honey, I need you to go stand over by the big boulders.”

  “No, Mom,” he answered in his most boyish voice.

  “Yes. Go. Like I said.”

  “But I should stay and help you.”

  “This isn’t open for debate, young man. Over by the boulders, now! I’m not going to say it again.”

  “Okay, fine,” he said, turning and walking away, stomping his feet with force.

  “You’re gonna need this,” Bunker told her from above. He dropped a rock the size of a softball. It landed near her feet.

  She spread her legs out and bent forward, trying to reach the stone with her right hand. It wasn’t easy to do and keep her left hand on the door latch.

  “Hang on a sec,” Bunker said.

  Stephanie froze, her fingertips only a few inches from the rock.

  “You can let go of the handle now. I’m pretty sure things are stable,” he said in a confident tone.

  She wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Try letting go.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” she said, pulling her hand back from the rock and bringing her legs together again. When she straightened her back, she made eye contact with the kids inside. They must have known what was about to happen because all of their little eyes were now wide. “It’ll be okay, kids. I promise.”

  Some of them nodded, but Stephanie could see their fear building. She eased her hand off the door latch but decided to keep it close just in case she needed to grab it again.

  The bus didn’t move.

  “Like I said. Stable,” Bunker quipped. “You really need to think about trusting me.”

  “I do. Mostly,” she answered, picking up the rock in one hand. She held it in her palm, bouncing it gently to get a feel for its weight. “What about the glass breaking? Some of the kids might get hurt.”

  “Right. I forgot about that,” Bunker said, hesitating for a three-count. “I think I have an idea.”

  Stephanie watched him turn away from her and pull the bottom of his t-shirt up and over his head. She expected to only see bloody scrapes and cuts across the white of his back, but that’s not what she saw.

  The man’s sculptured back and powerful shoulders were covered in a tapestry of colorful tattoos. The ink featured numerous symbols, shapes, and animals, plus some numbers scattered about.

  A beautiful red, white, and blue eagle with its wings raised at a ninety-degree angle took up a good portion of his back. The wingspan stretched from one shoulder blade to the other and was easily the biggest piece of artwork.

  The smallest item was a bloody upside-down peace symbol over his left kidney area. Next to it were the crosshairs of a target, and farther to the right was a red spider’s web drawn over an all-black skull with fiery red eyes.


  Above the prominent eagle were the numbers 14-88 written in black ink and underlined in drops of red blood. Below the black skull was the number 666, also in red.

  Other than the devil’s number, she didn’t know what the rest of it meant, but the colors and symbols seemed to be everywhere—at least where there wasn’t a raised scar in the way.

  The artwork looked to wrap around the side of the man’s impressively slender waist. She figured there was more across his front, but since he was facing away from her, she couldn’t see any of it.

  The same was true for the hard-to-identify ink on his arms. Most of it looked faded and old, like he’d started his self-expression on his forearms first.

  When Bunker spun his head and glanced over his shoulder at her, she moved her eyes away. She didn’t want him to catch her staring at his tattoos. He’d obviously covered them up for a reason. Otherwise, who would decide to wear a long-sleeve t-shirt in the middle of the summer?

  She wondered if the bandages along his neck were hiding more of the same. Made sense, she thought. He couldn’t cover them up with his shirt when he was out in public, so maybe the bandages were his attempt to protect his secrets.

  “It’s okay,” Bunker said. “You can look. I don’t mind. But let me say this . . . what you are seeing isn’t what you think. At least, not anymore. I’m no longer that guy,”

  “You don’t have to explain,” Stephanie said, figuring she was either looking at jailhouse or gang tattoos. Probably both. “It’s really none of my business anyway. And besides, we both agreed not to judge each other, remember?”

  “True, but I’m sure you wanna know what kind of man you’re traveling with.”

  She had questions, sure. But in truth, she really didn’t want to know what kind of man he was. Not after seeing all the disturbing artwork.

  Sometimes, too much information is a bad thing. She’d learned the hard way that there are times when it’s better not to know the answers since you can’t unlearn what, in the end, turns out to be something you really didn’t want to know in the first place. If his secrets turned out to be something horrible, she could never go back.