The brute went down hard, landing awkwardly with his arms and legs sprawled like a dead body. He was out cold.
Albert looked up through the glare of the setting sun to see who was wielding the nightstick. It was Sheriff Apollo. Next to him was Dustin Brown, whose eyes were as big as pears.
“I thought I told you to just observe and report back?” Apollo asked, moving a step over to block the sun, his eyes tight and energized.
Albert sucked in a few breaths and let them out before answering. He needed to let the pain in his hand ease a bit. “You know how Burt is, Sheriff. Someone needed to step in and keep the peace.”
“By getting your thumb broken?”
“Well, that wasn’t my plan originally. And, just for the record, I don’t think it’s broken,” he said, flexing his thumb gingerly.
Albert could feel the eyes of everyone around him, silently judging and mocking the person kneeling before them. It was difficult not to speak up and expose the onlookers to the real story about the fat man with the badge. But he chose to keep his cool and stay in character.
“What were you thinking?” Apollo asked with a sharp tongue. “You don’t have any training for this.”
“I was thinking I needed to do my job. I thought he’d respect the badge.”
“Burt? Come on, that guy doesn’t respect anything.”
“I know. I went to high school with him.”
“Then you should have known this would happen.”
Albert did know and he expected it. But he didn’t want the Sheriff or anyone else to know it was all just a ruse and he let Burt manhandle him. He stood up, then shrugged. “Just trying to do my best.”
“Next time, just wait for backup.”
“But what if you’re not around? Or that delicious POA, Daisy?”
“Get one of the other teams to help you. They’re more . . . physically able.”
Albert nodded, though he didn’t want to. He had much more to say in his defense, but decided to keep his mouth shut.
With the grid and electronics down, he was sure the current situation was going to last for a while. If he was right, he needed time to reestablish his tradecraft and start recruiting. All of that would be much easier if everyone’s attention was focused elsewhere. After all, it’s much easier to hide in plain sight when the entire town thinks you’re a fat, lazy, incompetent human being.
Oh, how he couldn’t wait to show them all how wrong they were.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Bunker felt a twinge in his back when he returned to the clearing with an awkward eighty-pound load in his arms.
Stephanie’s eyes locked onto the boulder he was carrying. “I thought you went to find a splint for Megan’s leg?”
“I did. But then I saw this just sitting there, begging me to use it. I couldn’t resist.”
“Seriously? Now? We need to get Megan out of there.”
“We will, but a little more weight in the back can’t hurt. If we’re wrong, we won’t get a second chance at this,” he said, continuing his trek to Stephanie. “How’s she doing?”
“Scared, but I’ve been talking to her so she knows we’re still here. But her cries for her daddy are killing me inside.”
“I know, but we’re almost ready,” he told her when he arrived with the heavy stone.
The rock was narrower than the frame around the missing window of the rear door to the bus, allowing him to easily slip it inside and let it drop. It landed on the stack of backpacks and rolled to the floor with a loud thud.
“Please, Stephanie. Hurry. It hurts so bad,” the girl cried out.
“My friend, Jack, will be there soon. Just hang on, baby.”
Bunker pulled a two-foot-long stick he’d found in the forest from inside the tuck on the back of his pants. It was about an inch in diameter and almost perfectly straight.
He bent down and, with his free hand, picked up the wad of belts he’d lashed together. Earlier, he’d looped the ends through the buckles and connected them all to each other to form a makeshift rope.
“Do you think it’s long enough?” she asked.
“It should be, if I can get close enough.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“Wish me luck,” he whispered to Stephanie.
“Believe me, I’ve already said my prayers. Twice. Now it’s up to you.”
He bent forward and climbed in, wedging his torso in and through the missing glass. He used the wrap of belts to support his left hand as his legs came in next, then he slid the stick in carefully.
“Stephanie? Is that you?” Megan asked, stopping her crying for a few seconds.
“No, honey. It’s my friend, Jack Bunker. He’s coming to rescue you.”
“Yes, I’m in the back right now, Megan. I’m working my way to you. So just hold on,” Bunker said.
“Okay, but please hurry. I’m really scared.”
“I will, I promise.”
The bus’ stability was solid, as expected. With Stephanie and the pile of stones on top, plus his weight and the extra mass of the rock he’d just brought in, there was more than enough counterbalance to keep the bus from falling—for now anyway. But he knew the physics at play would change as soon as he moved forward, and that was the deadly, unknown part of the equation.
Bunker walked across the inside of the windows on the left side of the bus, using the seat backs on his right as a stabilizing brace. He did his best to keep his movements even and slow, knowing that if the bus was going to start moving, he needed to be able to feel it or hear it so he could react.
This rescue would’ve been a lot easier if the bus was still upright and on its wheels, not laying on its side. Moving down the center aisle would have been smoother and faster, versus having to walk across rows of sideways windows and frames.
He continued his journey, passing row after row, each time stopping to see if there was any movement before continuing. He was five rows deep when the metal frame under his feet began to wobble, telling him the bus was jostling a bit.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Stephanie yelled, pounding on the top of the bus.
“I feel it,” he shouted back, putting his arms out for balance.
“I think that’s about as far as you can go,” she said.
“Hang on. I might be able to get a little bit closer. Just be ready up there.”
“Okay, but be careful. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
He took a shorter step this time, gently moving his shoe forward. There was a sound of creaking, but the angle of the vehicle didn’t change.
When he shifted his weight from his back foot to his front, the rear end of bus lifted off the ground about an inch, letting in a stream of light from underneath. He thought it was stabilizing, but then the bus lurched forward, sliding several inches.
“Stop! Bunker! Stop!” Stephanie screamed. “The bus is going to fall!”
Bunker quickly backed up a step, realizing some of the dirt ledge had given way. It took a few more steps in reverse before the rear of the bus was touching the ground once again.
He ran it through his head, thinking about the weight of the rocks on top and the counterbalance mechanics. When the bus slid forward, the fulcrum point changed, making the situation even more dangerous and unpredictable. The weight of Stephanie and the rocks were less effective now.
Megan’s crying was louder than before. The vehicle’s sudden movement had obviously scared her.
“Megan? Can you hear me?” he called out, hoping his voice would trump the sound of her weeping.
“Yeah,” she said, lessening her cries.
“Can you put your hand out for me? I need to see exactly where you are.”
“Okay,” she said, stopping her crying altogether. “I’ll knock for you.”
A petite, dark-skinned fist came into view for Bunker, pushing past the seats and rapping on the metal to the left. Her knuckles were hitting what used to be the underside of the top of the bus.
&nbs
p; “Okay, I got ya. Now, there’s something else you gotta do for me,” he said, unwrapping the clutch of belts from his hand.
“What?”
He looped and tied the end of the last belt around the stick he’d brought in. “I’m going to throw you something you need to use for your leg.”
“What is it?”
“A small branch from a tree.”
“What’s it for?”
“To help keep your leg straight, so it doesn’t hurt when you move it. It’s called a splint.”
“Okay.”
“Here it comes,” Bunker said as he swung his hand back and brought it forward quickly. He let go of the branch and the attached strings of belts, sending the stick whirling sideways like a helicopter blade.
Unfortunately, his aim was off. One of the ends hit a seat back, then ricocheted left and crashed into the metal top of the bus. It landed about two rows short of the girl’s position.
“Did you throw it? I don’t see it,” Megan said.
“Hang on. I missed. Let me try again.”
He pulled on the belts and brought the makeshift splint back to his hands. Once again, he launched the stick, only this time he tossed it with an overhand motion, as if he was throwing a hatchet at a stump. It somersaulted through the air, hit the mesh guard behind the driver’s seat with a ping, and dropped down. A perfect shot.
“Okay, sweetheart. It’s right there. Now unhook the stick from the belts.”
A pair of tiny black hands grabbed it a second later. He watched her delicate fingers fiddle with the looping tie he’d used to secure the end of the belts to the wood.
She worked it free in a few seconds. “I got it.”
“Good. Now I need you to put it alongside your injured leg. Be sure to put the middle of the splint right next to where your leg hurts the most. We need some of the stick to be above the pain and some of it below. Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” she said, turning quiet for a bit before speaking again. “It doesn’t work.”
“What do ya mean?”
“My leg looks funny and I can’t put the stick next to it. I think it’s too long.”
He sighed, realizing what the problem was and what she needed to do next. “Can you straighten your leg? It’s really important so the splint can work.”
“I’ll try.” A few seconds later, she cried out in pain, sending a chill down his spine. “I can’t, Jack,” she said, sobbing. “It hurts really bad when I move it.”
“You gotta try, Megan.”
“No. No. No. It hurts,” she said, sobbing through the words.
He couldn’t let her give up. “You can do this, sweetheart. But you need to be really brave and straighten your leg so you can put the splint on. Then I can get you out of here.”
“It hurts too much. I can’t. I just can’t.”
His head slumped. If she couldn’t put her leg in a splint, his only choice would be to drag her out with force. But with an unstable leg, the pain would be excruciating and he doubted she’d be able to hang on to the belts.
The girl was crying heavily now. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he wasn’t about to give up.
“Megan?” he asked with a louder voice, needing to get her attention so he could calm her down. “I need you to listen to me.”
Her crying slowed before she spoke again. “Please, Jack. Come and get me. I just wanna go home to my dad.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Stephanie couldn’t stop the tears when she heard the little girl’s desperate pleas for help. Bunker was trying his best, but it was becoming clear this crisis wasn’t going to end well. For any of them.
Images of her son flashed in her mind, initially filling her heart with joy. Then the pain came crashing in when she imagined Jeffrey in Megan’s place.
Every parent knows when their children leave the house, there’s never a guarantee they’ll return home safe. Not in today’s world. Not with danger and evil lurking around every corner, just waiting for an opportunity to strike.
She wondered where this girl’s parents were. What they were doing? Could they somehow sense she was in danger?
Her mind flashed back to Jeffrey again, thinking about her son being trapped inside a bus with an injured leg. If the roles were reversed with Megan’s parents, would they do everything they could to help save a little boy they didn’t know?
Deep down, she knew they would. There’s a bond that all loving parents share and it stems from the primal need to protect their offspring at all costs.
But not just your own kids—everyone’s, and it stems from more than just instinct or love, or from some unwritten social contract. It’s part of our genetic code and was installed in our DNA back when humans first roamed the Earth.
“Bunker?” Stephanie called out, hearing a break in the conversation inside the bus. “Can you come out here for a minute? It’s important.”
“I’ll be right back, Megan,” Bunker said.
“No. Please, Jack. Don’t go. Don’t leave me here,” Megan said in an emotionally charged voice.
“I’m not leaving you, Megan. I’m just gonna talk with Stephanie for a minute. I’ll be right back. I promise.”
“Okay,” she answered in a sweet voice.
Bunker appeared a few seconds later, standing with his hands on his hips in the dirt below. He looked up. “What’s up?”
“You’re wasting your breath. Megan’s not going to be able to splint her own leg. Heck, I don’t think I could do it. So we need a new plan.”
“I know. I’m working on it.”
“Well, work faster,” she said, thinking about Jeffrey and the other kids waiting up on the road by themselves.
“I’m afraid we only have one choice,” he said.
“What?”
“Pull her out as is.”
“With a broken leg?”
He shrugged. “It’s not a great plan. But I’m out of ideas.”
“It’s too bad we don’t have some way to pull this bus away from the cliff. Then you could go inside and get her, like she wants.”
“Well, that’s not gonna happen. Not unless we had a heavy duty block and tackle rig, or a tow truck.”
“What about that tree back there?” she asked, pointing. “Could you use the belts like a long rope?”
“It’s too far, Steph. Plus we don’t have the pulleys.”
She wasn’t sure where the ideas were coming from, but her brain was formulating them as fast as she could utter the words. “What about anchoring the bumper to the tree? It might help hold the bus long enough for you to get her out.”
“I thought of that, but the belts are too short. That’s at least a hundred feet away.”
She pointed to the right. “That tree’s a lot closer.”
“Yeah, but it’s at the wrong angle. The bus would swing sideways and out of control before I got close to her. Once that happened, there’d be no way to stop it from dropping.”
She nodded, letting her eyes wander across the clearing and blur together. When her peripheral vision took over, her brain saw an imaginary shape—the letter S—and it was coming from the boulders in the clearing. Their placement, size, and shape formed the letter from left to right, like the S was lying sideways in the dirt. An idea roared in her thoughts.
“Hey, what about these rocks? Couldn’t we just run the belts around this first one,” she said, aiming her finger at the huge rock on the left, then tracing a path to the right, “then take it up and loop it around these others before tying it to the closer tree?”
His face lit up with excitement. “Yes, I see where you’re going with this. We use the rocks like a pulley system.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Bunker stood motionless with his eyes pinched and jaw slightly ajar for a three-count. Then he nodded. “They’re all pretty good size and probably wouldn’t move much, if any. With the belts looped around them, it would give us a considerable mechanical advantage.”
“Enough to keep the bus stable?”
“Maybe. But it’s still one hell of a gamble. There’s no way to know how strong the belts are, or how well they’ll hold up around all those rough edges.”
“I gotta believe it’s better than trying to drag a little girl out with a bad leg.”
“Can’t argue with that. But I’ll have to move quickly.”
“Then all we need are the belts,” she said, wanting to kick him into gear.
He turned in a flash and went inside the bus. When he returned, his hands worked quickly to find the end of the belt string before tying it to the lower edge of the bumper. He followed the path Stephanie had suggested, looping the belts around the rocks in a snake-like pattern.
Ten feet from the tree, the length of belts ran out. “Are you kidding me?” she asked in a sarcastic tone.
“I thought it was long enough, too.”
“Maybe we need to wrap it fewer times around the rocks?”
“No, I have a better idea,” he said, taking his knife from its sheath. He grabbed hold of his blue jeans below his left thigh, then pulled the material away from his body as he stuck the tip of the knife inside and began to slice around his knee in a circular pattern.
When Bunker was done, the denim fell to the ground around his foot, revealing the whitest calf she’d ever seen. No tattoos either, like she expected. His skin was pristine and devoid of any more of the curious artwork.
Bunker shook the piece loose from his foot and then cut off the bottom of the material on his other leg, leaving him with an uneven pair of ragged jean shorts.
“What are you doing?” she asked him as he scooped up the cutoffs and quickly sliced them lengthwise into equal segments of cloth, about one inch wide.
“Making more rope,” he said, braiding a few strands together. When he was done weaving all the strips, he tied the braided sections to each other to make a new length of rope several yards long. “That should do it,” he said, coiling the jean rope on the ground like a rattlesnake waiting to strike. “Now I just need to strengthen it.”
“How?” she asked, seeing him move around to the front of the coil and turn away from her, the rope lying at his feet.
Bunker: Boxed Set (Books 1, 2, and 3) Page 11
