Bunker: Boxed Set (Books 1, 2, and 3)

by Jay J. Falconer

  Some of the men put orange safety cones around their vehicles, while others carried clipboards as they walked to the rear of their trailers. One by one, the cargo doors were opened, releasing even more men wearing the same casual uniform.

  Next came ramps from two of the trucks, pulled out by hand and lowered at an angle to the asphalt. The men stood aside as several all-terrain vehicles drove out of the trailers and down the ramp. Each four-seater featured bright yellow paint and a heavy roll bar design.

  “Looks like FEMA did a little Christmas shopping,” King said. “Those are just like the two I own, right down to the paint job and 28-inch tires. We’re talking top of the line equipment.”

  “What are they?” Buckley asked.

  “Maverick Max Xs. Each one of those bad boys carries 131 horses of turbo-charged kick-ass. Only theirs are still working.”

  Buckley shook his head as his inner politician took control of his thoughts. “Leave it to the government to spend as much as they can on every piece of equipment. No wonder we owe over twenty trillion in debt.”

  “Yeah, those rides are about twenty-seven grand a pop, depending on add-ons. Maybe more.” King hesitated before he spoke again. “I wonder if those trucks are shielded in some way. It would explain why their Mavericks are still running.”

  Three more trailer doors opened, only this time off-road vehicles didn’t roll out. Bodies did—live bodies—men dressed in all-white lab coats and black shoes.

  “Medical is here,” King quipped.

  “Must have been one hell of a ride in the back of those trucks.”

  “Probably short on transportation, so they had to make do. We should feel lucky they sent anything at all.”

  Buckley agreed. “Exactly what I was thinking. Clearwater can’t possibly be a priority for the government.”

  King shrugged, looking amused. “Well, today, we apparently are. That’s the first piece of good news I’ve heard since this whole thing started.”

  Buckley wanted to rejoice, but something inside was holding him back. “Let’s hope it’s good news.”

  “What do you mean, Mayor?”

  “Not sure. This just seems a bit off to me.”

  “Ah, you’re just being paranoid. Which, by the way, is usually my job. Funny how quickly things switch.”

  “Can’t argue with you there,” Buckley said, holding back what he really wanted to say. When you’re the Mayor, you must choose your words—and your battles—carefully, not letting your true feelings and true self bleed through when unexpected situations arise. That’s how elections are lost. He put a friendly hand on King’s back. “Let’s go see what’s going on.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Sheriff Apollo stood at the river’s edge and waited for his horse to finish a long drink. If Apollo inched his toes forward, they’d be underwater and touching his aging, portly reflection staring back at him.

  He locked eyes with his mirror image, his mind wandering to memories of the stunning Allison Rainey. His heart wanted to take over the moment, but he quickly quashed the idea. And the vision. There wasn’t time for daydreaming. He needed to stay sharp.

  Rusty Buckley was to his left, sitting on a protruding rock with his mountain bike parked a few paces behind. The kid scooped up another handful of water and draped it across the nasty case of road rash on his knee.

  The boy’s kneecap looked swollen and must have been painful as his fingers pulled out a collection of pebbles from the bloody recesses.

  Apollo didn’t want to say anything, but the Sheriff’s badge on his chest was screaming at him to make a safety point. “Next time, let me take the lead downhill. Your grandfather will have my badge if you don’t come back in one piece.”

  “Yeah, had no idea that rock would be there. Just came out of nowhere, like it was trying to send me flying.”

  “Slow and steady wins the race, my young friend.”

  “Not in the Olympics,” Rusty shot back a split second later, his face looking as though he regretted answering so quickly.

  “True. But out here, we take our time and make the trip safely. Understood?”

  “Yeah, sure. I get it. I’ll take it slow. I promise. Just anxious to get there, that’s all.”

  “I know, son. But we have a job to do and we can’t do it if we’re dead. Or seriously injured.”

  “I’ll be okay. I’ve jacked myself worse than this lots of times. Usually though, it’s from catching the tire of a racer in front of me, not some stupid rock in the dirt.”

  “Still, no more craziness or next time, you’re on a horse like me. And I’m sure neither of us wants that. But from here on out, safety must be job number one.”

  Rusty nodded, his youthful eyes turning to the massive figure standing behind Apollo.

  Apollo followed Rusty’s gaze up to Dick Dickens, the third member of their team. The temporary deputy’s shadow seemed to stretch across as much of the shoreline as the horse he was sitting on.

  The faithful steed’s pant was heavy and Apollo wasn’t surprised. The animal had been working double-time thanks to the nearly three hundred pounds of chiseled muscle on its back.

  Apollo had known Dickens for as long as he could remember. Over the years, he’d grown accustomed to his imposing stature. However, to the uninitiated, namely Rusty, the prominent veins in his biceps were like a magnet for the eyes, twisting and contorting like cords of rope every time he moved.

  Apollo decided to address Dickens by his nickname, wanting to keep the conversation light. “You’re up, Dicky. Might not be another chance for water until we get to Tuttle’s place. Make sure your horse gets a good drink.”

  “You got it, chief,” Dicky said, his tone sharp and to the point.

  The thirty-year-old behemoth never said much and Apollo was okay with it. Rusty talked enough for all three of them. If Dicky suddenly became a chatterbox, Apollo’s patience would evaporate.

  It’s one thing to coddle a youngster’s natural inquisitiveness, but having to deal with a grown man’s diarrhea of the mouth, well, that’s a different animal all together—a dangerous animal wearing a deputy badge.

  If provoked, Dicky could probably break him in half with one punch. But as town sheriff—hopefully, a smart one—he knew better than to test his staff like that. Certainly not the team members who carried an impressive girth across their frame.

  Lead by example and never piss off the giant was the new motto he just decided to adopt. He liked it. Plus, it was even more applicable when the bodyguard was a semi-famous offensive lineman.

  To a stranger, Dicky may have appeared to be as gentle as a sack of flour. But Apollo knew better, especially when someone got under his skin. Or in his face. Apollo remembered several defensive linemen who’d made that mistake over the years, their season ending after a series of forearm-led concussions.

  Apollo liked to call that side of humanity The Demon Self—that thing inside that all of us have, but none of us ever wants to set free. Not until the shit hits the fan.

  Before the Sheriff could utter the next phrase forming on his lips, echoes of gunfire erupted. They were off in the distance, but distinct. It was a heavy barrage that was originating from upstream, somewhere beyond the trees.

  The echo of the rapid-fire pops told him they were from a machine gun. Possibly more than one. The pops were not close by, but not far either, factoring in the uneven terrain of the mountain range and the bend in the waterway.

  “What was that?” Rusty said, standing up on the same rock he’d been using as a triage chair.

  Dicky hopped down from his mount and moved in close to the kid.

  “Automatic weapons,” Apollo said, pulling his horse from the water.

  “What should we do?” Rusty asked in a hurried voice, his eyes pleading for an answer.

  Apollo gave the reins of his horse to Dicky, then pulled the gun from the holster on his hip. “You two stay here. I’m gonna go have a look.”

  “By yourself?
” Rusty asked. “On foot?”

  Apollo didn’t want to elaborate, deciding to keep the answer short on words and detail. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just some yahoos out here testing their new machine gun. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Dicky asked, his square jaw stiff and ready for a fight.

  “Keep an eye on our young friend here. Make sure he doesn’t wander off. If I’m not back in twenty minutes, then use my horse to get him back to town on the double. Don’t wait for me. Understood?”

  Dicky nodded, grabbing Rusty with his oversized hand. The kid didn’t struggle, following the man’s lead.

  A moment later, a woman screamed, “Help us! Please! Help us!”

  Apollo tried to locate the female’s position, but his eyes came up empty.

  She called out again for help, this time sounding even more frantic.

  Dicky pointed upstream about fifty yards. “There. In the water. Two of them. Just passing the rapids near the shore.”

  Apollo spotted them, their heads bobbing together on the surface. The woman waved one of her arms, while the other was wrapped around the neck of the second person.

  “Quick, outta my way,” Apollo ordered, planning to run into the river for a rescue.

  Dicky held out an arm bar, not allowing the Sheriff to pass. “I got this, sir,” he said, giving one set of reins to Apollo.

  Dicky hopped on the other horse and jammed his heels into the side of the animal. The beast shot into the water, taking a stance perpendicular to the flow. Dicky leaned down, hanging his arm low with a hand just above the waterline.

  Apollo liked the deputy’s idea, but worried the man might miss. “Don’t move,” he told Rusty as he climbed into the saddle. He took his horse into the river, positioning himself about ten yards downstream from Dicky’s position.

  It took several tries, but Apollo was able to convince his oversized gut to give way to his intentions, allowing him to bend down with a hand extended like Dicky had done.

  “Grab my hand!” Dicky yelled to the pair in the water.

  “Save my fiancé,” the woman yelled, holding up the other person’s hand. “He’s hurt.”

  Dicky grabbed the man’s hand, sending the pair of refugees into an uncontrolled spin between the horse’s legs. The animal got restless, moving forward a step and braying. “Easy boy,” Dicky said in a stressed voice.

  One of the woman’s arms was now free, flapping in the strong current as she tried to correct her balance. She screamed, her other hand holding onto to her fiancé’s shirt.

  “Just let go,” Apollo said, waving a hand at her. “I’ve got you.”

  She didn’t answer, her eyes wide and showing excesses of white.

  Apollo could see Dicky struggling to hang onto both of them, despite his incredible strength. “My deputy can’t lift you both up. Not with the river pulling on you. You need to let go and aim for my hand.”

  The woman shook her head, but didn’t respond.

  “Trust me. I’ve got you.”

  “No! No! No!” she screamed, her face full of panic.

  “Please. You have to trust me. Just let go. I’m not going to miss.”

  She hesitated for a two-count, then nodded and let go. The current brought her quickly toward the Sheriff with her hands held high, then spun her around without warning. She screamed again as the position of her hands was now off course, making Apollo have to lunge at her before she raced past him.

  His palm landed on hers, their fingers searching for an interlock. A millisecond later, their hands came together in a tight squeeze. Her grip was strong, no doubt supercharged by the adrenaline pumping in her veins.

  The water took her past the belly of the horse, flipping her body around feet first. When their arms straightened from the downstream force, the mass of her body tripled. The sudden weight shift startled his horse, its feet moving back a short, corrective step.

  Apollo grunted, sending all his strength to his right hand to keep the river from sweeping her away.

  “Don’t let go!” she screamed, her face buried in a tangled mess of wet hair.

  Apollo wanted to reassure her verbally, but all his focus was on their hand hold. He tried to pull her up, but the river’s tug was too strong.

  Right then an idea came to him as his grip began to loosen. The horse’s corrective step a moment ago. It was the solution.

  He tugged back on the reins with his free hand, hoping his mount would know what he wanted. The beast did, backing up one half step at a time until the woman was safely out of the raging water and lying on shore.

  Apollo let go of her and sat upright, his lungs burning after the ordeal. Apparently he’d forgotten to breathe during the struggle to hang on to her. Or maybe it was his belly, compressing his diaphragm and keeping the air from his lungs.

  A few seconds later, Dicky arrived on land with the woman’s fiancé draped across the front of the saddle.

  “Rusty, help him,” Apollo said in a breathy voice, slowly dismounting with his chest heaving. He dropped to his knees to help the woman crawl free from under the horse. He put his hand out.

  She wiped the hair from her face, tucking the wet clumps behind her ears to reveal her eyes. There was a hint of familiarity in her face, but he couldn’t quite place her.

  Her eyes lit up when they met his. “Gus? When did you become Sheriff?”

  The voice registered in Apollo’s brain, igniting a flood of memories. “Misty? What the hell?”

  “Is my fiancé okay?” she asked, leaning to her right to look past Apollo.

  Apollo turned to his deputy, who was now off the horse and kneeling beside the unconscious man. “How is he, Dicky?”

  “Not sure, Sheriff. He’s breathing, but not very well. It’s kind of all over the place.”

  Apollo pointed at the gash on the man’s head. “Get some pressure on that wound. We gotta stop the bleeding.”

  Dicky leaned forward on his knees and put his enormous hand on the victim’s forehead.

  Misty crawled through the sand and latched onto her man. “Angus, sweetheart, please wake up. Come on, I need you to talk to me. Right now. Right this very minute.”

  Angus never moved.

  She hugged him, rocking him slowly in her arms as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “What happened?” Apollo asked.

  It took a second for her trembling lips to respond. “The Russians.”

  Apollo didn’t believe what his ears just reported. He must have misheard what she’d said. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “We were on our way to Clearwater when they found us and started shooting. We tried to get away but—” she said, stopping her response in mid-sentence when Angus opened his eyes.

  “The formula? Safe?” Angus asked, his words weak and disjointed. His eyes were glazed and not looking at anything in particular, almost like he was in some kind of waking dream state.

  “Don’t worry about that now, baby. Just rest until we can get you some help.”

  “My head,” Angus said, closing his eyes a moment later, his head tilting to the left, limp. His chest was still moving, the breaths short and choppy.

  Rusty stood up, looking confused. “Russians? They’re here? In Colorado?”

  Apollo shook his head. “Easy now, everyone. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  Misty brought her watery eyes up for a moment, aiming them at the Sheriff with purpose behind them. Her voice turned sharp. “They’re the ones who set off the EMP.”

  “Why? Why would they do that?” Rusty asked, his face locked in denial.

  She looked at Rusty and hesitated for a beat, her voice sounding apologetic now. “We stole their formula.”

  “What formula?” Apollo asked her in a cynical tone, worried she was delusional from all the trauma. Sure, Bunker had theorized about a Russian invasion, but he couldn’t believe they would start World War III over a stolen formula, assuming any of t
his was true.

  “It’s called Metallic Hydrogen. Angus stole it from one of their secret labs.”

  “Why would he do that?” Apollo asked, his eyes burning a hole in the unconscious man’s face.

  “And then bring it here?” Dicky added.

  “We were trying to get it to my friend who works for the Pentagon. That’s why they’re trying to kill us. They’re going to use it. That’s why we came back. To stop them,” she said, shooting the words out in spurts. She let Angus slip out of her arms, carefully putting him on the ground. She crawled to her feet, then looked at Dicky. “Can you help me get him on the horse? We need to go. They’ll be coming for us.”

  “Doc Marino?” Rusty asked Apollo, sounding like he was seeking approval.

  Apollo nodded, his mind working in slow motion, still chewing on the facts. “If we head toward the lake, it’ll take us straight to route six.”

  “No!” Misty snapped. “We can’t. They’re setting up roadblocks everywhere. We’ll never make it to town.”

  “Roadblocks? Seriously?” Rusty asked, shooting Apollo a look of panic.

  She pointed. “We should go to my father’s place. He has plenty of medical supplies.”

  “As a matter of fact, we were just on our way there,” Apollo said without much thought. His attention was elsewhere, still processing the landslide of revelations.

  Misty continued, her eyes sharper than before. “If Martha is home, she can help, too. She’s a former nurse. Used to patch me up all the time when I was little.”

  Apollo nodded, though he still needed a few moments to think this through carefully. Their lives were in his hands and he couldn’t make any mistakes. Not with access to town being blocked and armed insurgents taking control.

  Of course, all of this was assuming he actually believed Misty and her formula excuse. She seemed genuine and he’d known her a long time. She wasn’t one to exaggerate, at least not when her father wasn’t around.

  The scope and implications of what she just revealed were beyond anything he could have imagined. It all seemed preposterous, almost beyond belief.