Bunkers

by Nicholas Antinozzi

  Tears streaming down his cheeks, he stood there until his arm felt weak. “Not today,” he said to himself, before lowering the gun and setting the safety. He put the gun away and gathered himself. He wanted so badly to rejoin his family, but somewhere deep inside of him, Mark knew that suicide wasn’t the way to do it. He climbed the stairs and stripped out of his dirty clothes. He then took his second shower of the day. He dressed and poured himself a cup of coffee and waited for Bones and Dottie.

  They arrived at precisely 11:00, just as he had known they would. The morning was still a bit cool and both were dressed from head to toe in blue denim. Mark was happy to see the excitement on their faces. Bones carried the Colt and Dottie carried the ammunition. Mark told her to hang onto it. “Those are some pretty hot rounds,” he said. “I reload my own cartridges. We’ll use those.”

  “I don’t know how we can ever repay you for this,” Bones said. “But maybe this will help,” he then reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out three checks. “We can’t take these,” he said.

  Mark smiled, held up his hands and shook his head. He had been expecting this and had come to a decision. He picked up his bank ledger and handed it to Dottie. “The furnace manufacturer sent me a check to try and make things right. As you can see, I have no need for your money. Thank you so much for your generosity.”

  “Oh dear,” said Dottie, handing the ledger to her husband.

  Bones raised his eyebrows and whistled. “That’s a lot of zero’s. I wish my bankbook looked like that.”

  “And I wish mine did not,” said Mark. “Just keep the balance to yourselves and explain to Glick and Larry that I appreciate it, but I’ll be okay.”

  Dottie patted him on the shoulder. “You poor man,” she said. “I can’t imagine how much you miss them.”

  Mark felt the weepiness coming on, but he bit his lip and shook it off. “Come on,” he said. “I have some targets set up. Let’s see how you two can shoot.”

  “Oh dear,” said Dottie. “Promise not to laugh, okay?”

  Mark smiled. “I promise. Like anything else, it’s all in how much time you wish to put into it. The first lesson starts right now.”

  Mark taught them the correct way to carry a firearm, showing them how to position their finger across the trigger guard and telling them never to assume any gun was unloaded. He showed them how to break down the Defender and gave them a lesson on how to clean the weapon. Slowly, methodically, Mark walked each of them through the process. Nearly an hour had passed before they even stepped outside.

  Mark holstered up his Ruger SR-22 and grabbed two boxes of ammunition. The SR-22 was somewhat similar to the Defender, but packed much less of a punch and was decidedly cheaper to shoot. “I’ll start you both on my .22,” he said. “These are great little weapons to practice with.”

  They walked out to the back yard to a weathered picnic table. Bones and Dottie waited while Mark set up some targets at the base of the mound system. He returned to the couple and began his talk by revisiting the importance of safety. He then handed them each a pair of yellow noise suppression headphones and safety glasses. “We never used ear protection back when I learned to shoot,” he said. “That was a mistake.”

  “Huh?” asked Bones.

  Dottie elbowed her husband and the two smiled. Mark then handed Bones the SR-22 and he pointed to a rusty paint can, approximately twenty yards away. Mark and Dottie stepped five feet behind Bones and after a few seconds, the chiropractor began to shoot. He fired until the Ruger was empty, and although he came close on several occasions, Bones never hit the can. He shook his head as he handed the weapon to Mark to be reloaded. “It’s not as easy as they make it look on television, is it?” asked Mark.

  “No, it certainly isn’t.”

  “You almost hit it,” said Dottie. “I’d say you did pretty well for your first time out.”

  Bones shrugged as Mark reloaded the small semi-automatic. “Just remember what I told you,” said Mark. “You have to practice. Pay attention to how I’m doing this. From here on out, you’re on your own.”

  The couple watched as Mark carefully inserted the tiny cartridges, one at a time, into the magazine. After inserting the loaded magazine back into the butt of the SR-22, he handed the Ruger to Dottie. He and Bones stepped behind her. Dottie took aim and just as Mark had taught her, she took a deep breath and exhaled. She then squeezed the trigger. The paint can jumped and Dottie whooped. She fired until the Ruger was empty, striking the target four times. Smiling, she removed her headphones and handed the weapon to Bones. “I think I’m in love,” she said. “I had no idea that target shooting was so much fun.”

  “You’re a natural, Dot,” said Bones.

  Mark nodded his head. “That was impressive,” he said. “And you’ve never shot a handgun?”

  Dottie shook her head. “Nope, I’ve always been afraid of guns.”

  “There is no reason to be afraid of firearms, as long as you never forget to respect them. Never let your guard down, that’s how accidents happen.”

  Mark sat down at the picnic table and watched as the couple continued to take turns shooting. He felt better than he had in a long time. Half an hour later, Larry and Tina wandered over. Glick and Anita followed, just a few minutes later. Both men were carrying cased handguns, ear and eye protection and boxes of cartridges. Mark was happy to see them. After visiting for a few minutes, Mark set them each up with a shooting area and a target. He then sat back and watched as the men taught their women how to handle the 9 mm weapons. Larry uncased a Glock Model 19, while Glick instructed Anita how to fire his Beretta M9. These larger firearms thundered while the little .22 popped.

  The group continued shooting for over an hour. Mark found himself continually looking over his shoulder, waiting for Jumbo and Tiffany to walk over. The last thing he wanted was for the two alcoholics to show up and ruin their shoot. Alcohol and firearms did not mix. Mark knew he would have to end the session if they showed up with booze on their breath. And while Jumbo and Tiffany never did show up, two deputies of the Washington County Sheriff, did. They appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, dressed in their brown uniforms. The shooting stopped as they stepped over to the picnic table.

  The partners, an older man and a younger woman, were friendly. They explained that there had been a complaint and that they were just checking it out. There was no problem, said the salt-and peppered, male deputy. “You folks seem to know what you’re doing,” he said. “And there is no danger to anyone in the neighborhood. I don’t know why some folks need to be such a pain in the butt. You’re not breaking any laws. We’ve got better things to do than come out here and interrupt your fun.”

  “Can you tell us who called you?” asked Anita.

  “I’m afraid not, ma’am,” said the female deputy.

  The neighbors all glanced up at Jumbo’s house and nodded, knowingly. The deputies wished the group a good day and walked back up to their cruiser. From their vantage point, they watched as it pulled into the Lystrom’s driveway. A few short minutes later, the cruiser left the cul de sac. A minute after that, Jumbo appeared in his backyard and he slowly walked over. “I’m sorry,” he said, sheepishly. “I didn’t know what was going on. I was in the garage and it sounded like a war had started. With everything going on, I was scared for my family. You should have told me you guys were going to shoot. Tiff and I could have come over here and joined you.”

  There was a lot of eye rolling, but nobody called Jumbo a liar. The moment had been ruined. Mark was secretly seething as he watched Jumbo waddle back inside his garage.

  Tiffany Lystrom was sipping a beer, her third of the day, when Jumbo returned. “I told you not to call the cops,” she said. “Those people are our friends. So, what did you tell them? What did they say? I’ll bet they were pissed, huh?”

  “Who cares if they were pissed off,” grumbled Jumbo. He walked up to his bar and replenished his Jack and Coke. “They could have invited us. That was rud
e of them. I don’t know what SleepingBear has against me, but it’s like he’s trying to drive a wedge between us and our friends.”

  “I knew they were pissed. God, you’re such a jerk.”

  “I told them that we didn’t know where the shooting was coming from. They can’t prove that I knew it was them. What if we had still been sleeping? They don’t know if we were in bed or not. And who gives a shit what they think, anyhow? They should have invited us, Tiff. That pisses me off.”

  Tiffany lit up a cigarette and shook her head. “Whatever,” she grumbled. She then turned on the television. Moments later, her jaw dropped open. She pointed at the television. “Will you look at this?” she cried. “Has the whole world gone crazy?”

  Reluctantly, Jumbo walked over to stand next to his wife. He knew he had been in the wrong to call the police, but Tiff didn’t need to throw it in his face. He glanced up at the television as Tiffany turned up the sound. The news was grim enough to cause Jumbo to drink straight from his bottle of Jack Daniels. “Come on,” he said, “we have to let the others know about this.”

  “Are we gonna die? I don’t want to die. What about the kids? Oh baby, I’m so scared.”

  Jumbo was scared, too, but he wasn’t going to let Tiffany see his fear. “We’re not going to die,” he said. “I promise you that, okay?”

  The target shooting had started again. Jumbo and Tiffany held hands as they walked. As they approached the group, Tiffany broke down in tears and the shooting stopped. Dottie rushed over. “Oh dear,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  Tiffany rushed into Dottie’s arms and the two embraced. “Someone is firing missiles at the United States,” she gasped.

  Jumbo nodded, solemnly. “Both coasts,” he said. “We managed to shoot them down, but we don’t know who fired them. They were all fired by submarines.”

  Mark’s mouth went dry as he considered the news. He had prepared for this very moment, yet he was reluctant to run to his shelter. There simply wasn’t enough room for everyone.

  “It has to be the Russians,” said Larry.

  “Or the Chinese,” said Glick. “How many missiles did they say were fired?”

  Jumbo shrugged. “They said several. Crabby is supposed to be holding a news conference. I thought you guys should come over and watch it.”

  “I don’t want to die,” moaned Tiffany.

  Mark nodded his head. He wanted to see what was going on and he didn’t want to be alone, not yet. “Let’s go,” he said. “We better hear what he has to say.”

  Dottie pried herself away from Tiffany and she rushed over to her husband. “You can’t leave,” she said. “I won’t let you.”

  “Settle down,” said Bones, as the group began jogging over to Jumbo’s garage.

  They settled in around Jumbo’s bar as a Disney commercial played on the big screen television. Jumbo handed out beers and Mark surprised himself by accepting one. Whatever had happened earlier had become a distant memory. He wanted to ask Jumbo if the government suspected the missiles had been nukes, but he didn’t want to frighten the others any more than they already were. Nervously, he sipped his beer as skinny people peddled fast food on the TV. The garage went silent as the commercial abruptly ended. A man in a dark suit and a navy blue tie stood at the presidential podium. He held up his hands. “The Vice President of the United States,” he said. He then gave way to Vice President William J. Joseph.

  “They said Crabby was giving the news conference,” said Jumbo. “Not Billy Joe.”

  “Quiet,” said Larry.

  Joseph stood at the podium for a long moment. He was dressed in a charcoal suit, but he wore no tie and his white hair looked strangely unkempt. Tall and lean, his face was ashen and his expression was dark. “My fellow Americans,” he began. “At precisely One fifty-three, Eastern Standard Time, the United States of America, without warning or provocation, was attacked. Sixteen cruise missiles were fired. I am proud to stand here and tell you that the attack was repelled by our missile defense system. And while it is still unclear who fired these missiles, you can rest assured that the United States will punish the perpetrators of this attack for this blatant act of cowardice. The good news is that we have no reason to suspect that these were nuclear missiles. Let me repeat that: these missiles were not nuclear. The attack was coordinated, with eight missiles coming from somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, and eight from somewhere in the Pacific. The fact that these missiles were launched from submarines narrows down our list of suspects. At this time, we have no reason to suspect more missiles are on the way. That being said, our country now stands at DEFCON Two.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” asked Jumbo.

  “That means we’re ready to attack,” said Mark. “Condition Red.”

  “Does he mean with nukes?” asked Larry.

  Mark nodded. “Not necessarily, but they’ll be primed and ready to fire.”

  “Oh my God,” said Tina.

  “Are you serious?” asked Anita.

  “Hush,” said Glick. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

  Mark returned his gaze to the television, but inwardly, he was fighting a war of his own. He didn’t have family or friends, all he really had in this world were the people in this room. What if there was a limited nuclear attack? Should he survive it, his neighbors probably wouldn’t. What would be the point of living? With the exception of Jumbo, he genuinely liked everyone standing in the garage. And even Jumbo, as annoying as he could be, seemed to have his good points. The others seemed to get along with him. Mark reasoned that maybe Jumbo was an acquired taste, like lutefisk.

  In the end, the secret simply proved itself too good not to share. “I have somewhere we can go,” he said.

  Vice President Billy Joe had finished giving his speech and the analysts were busy dissecting and speculating. Everyone turned to face Mark. “What are you talking about?” asked Jumbo.

  “I have a bomb shelter.”

  Jumbo pumped his fist and pointed at Mark. “I knew it,” he said. “You’re one of those guys who quietly prepares for when the shit hits the fan. How big is it? Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. Was that an invitation?”

  Mark nodded his head. “It’s not very big, but I think we could make it work.”

  “What about our kids?” asked Tiffany, weepy-eyed.

  “Everyone,” said Mark. “It’ll be tight, but I have food and water and my shelter is twenty feet underground. At least we’d have a chance to survive.”

  Jumbo jogged around the bar and he gave Mark an uncomfortable bear hug. “You the man,” he said. He stepped back and picked up his glass. “To Mark,” he said, holding his glass in the air.

  “To Mark,” repeated the others, and they all drank.

  Mark was already wondering if he’d live to regret his decision.

  Chapter 6

  They walked in a group over to Mark’s, with Jumbo leading the way. Glick, Anita, and Mark, brought up the rear. “I already knew about your shelter,” whispered Glick.

  Mark was stunned. “Did you follow me?” he asked.

  Glick laughed and shook his head. “The kids found it, last year. They were playing out in the woods and they saw the sheet of plywood. They came and got me and naturally, I went down there to investigate. I figured it was a bomb shelter and I made them promise not to tell the other kids.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “They weren’t supposed to be on your property.”

  “You know how kids are,” said Anita.

  Mark nodded, but the pain hit him like an icepick; as he remembered his own kids. They walked past the sidearms spread haphazardly across the picnic table. Mark slapped his forehead. “Hold on,” he said. “We can’t leave these guns out here. Unload your weapons and we’ll lock them up inside my place. We shouldn’t have left them out here like this, unattended.”

  “Well,” said Dottie, “we did think the world was about to end, if that helps.”

  Mark laughe
d. “Good point,” he said. “I guess, considering that, we shouldn’t beat ourselves up too badly.”

  “I’ve got guns,” said Jumbo, “lots of them.”

  “He does,” said Tiffany. “Jumbo is my Rambo.”

  “Just call me Jambo.”

  “That is good to know,” said Mark, gathering up the noise suppressors and ammunition. “We always have room for more weapons.”

  “Damn right,” said Jumbo. “We don’t want to be caught with our pants down in case we’re overrun by the Chinese.”

  Mark was somewhat disturbed by the thought of Jumbo carrying a gun. He liked to drink too much. With that on his mind, he and the others carried their guns and gear up to the house, where Mark locked them safely away. He then led the way down to the shelter.

  Mark stopped at the brush pile and crossed his arms. “I’m breaking the rules here,” he said. “This shelter has been in my family since the Cold War. You people are the first outsiders to know of its existence. I need to have your word that you will keep my secret. No one is to know about this. Can we all agree on that?”

  “My lips are sealed,” said Jumbo.

  “We won’t tell anyone,” said Tina. “I swear we won’t.”

  “On my mother’s grave,” agreed Dottie.

  “Good,” said Mark, “because we’ll barely have enough room for ourselves down there.”

  “Down there?” asked Tiffany.

  Mark leaned over and reached down into the oak leaves; he then pulled on the new sheet of plywood to reveal the outer door of the bunker. “Down here,” he said, proudly. Mark unlocked the new padlock and pulled open the hatchway. “Be careful, the stairs are very steep.”