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

by Jay J. Falconer

  She smiled, though it looked forced. The widow was obviously tired and frustrated, her gray hair tattered and hanging in disarray. “I put your suit coat in the back on the coat rack my late husband used every morning when he came in to work. It seemed like the right place for such a nice garment. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not a problem at all. Thanks for looking out for it,” Buckley told her, watching her sagging, thin arms work nonstop. The woman was relentless, working day and night to keep her dead husband’s store alive after her staff quit when the original inventory ran out.

  Sheriff Apollo’s reserve team leader, Rico Anderson, brought in another box from the truck, struggling to carry its weight. The stenciling on the side of the container said it was bar soap. The anti-bacterial kind. “Where should I put this, Mayor?”

  “Grace?” Buckley asked, not wanting to assume he knew the answer.

  “By the boxes of deodorant. I’m going to start a new row in a minute.”

  Buckley looked at Rico. “You heard her. By the pit spray. If nothing else, everyone in town will smell good, even though their actions stink.”

  Rico laughed through the pain, his recovery still ongoing from bruised ribs and a head injury.

  Buckley had tried to talk him out of this transport duty, but the man refused to stay in bed. Old Doc Marino’s post-concussion orders were clear, but Rico chose to ignore them. He volunteered without hesitation. “It’s not too late to go out there and stop them. I’ll do it, Mayor. Just give me the word.”

  “I appreciate that, Rico. But the food belongs to everyone. I don’t have the legal standing to stop them. Nor do I want to. They have a right to feed their families, no matter how much it disgusts me to watch. Just wish a few of them had stepped up to help us.”

  “I get that, sir. But when it all runs out—”

  “Then it runs out. They’ll have nobody to blame but themselves.”

  Rico paused for a moment, his nose pinched and eyes tight.

  Buckley knew what the loyal thirty-two-year old was thinking. “I know, it sounds cold. But that’s the reality of the moment. Unless more trucks arrive, I’m afraid this is just a temporary reprieve from what’s headed our way.”

  “Yeah, no doubt. Things are going to get dicey.”

  Buckley nodded, the skin across his chest tightening as he brought more words to his lips. “Count on it. People I’ve known for most of my life will most certainly turn on each other when the food runs out. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s human nature to look out for yourself and your own. To hell with everyone else.”

  “Maybe we need to consider the cattle ranch as a solution. Plenty of meat out there.”

  Buckley pointed outside, his tone turning even more cynical. “It’s a wonder none of them have latched onto that idea. If they had, we’ve have dead cows everywhere. Can you imagine the carnage?”

  “Hey guys, look,” Grace said, snapping to attention in an instant. She pointed at more trucks rolling into town. “Looks like our prayers have just been answered.”

  Buckley watched the new procession arrive. Like before, these were full sized tractor-trailers, at least ten of them, only this time the Wal-Mart stenciling was missing. The trailers were all-white and pristine, like someone had just painted them.

  “I wonder what goodies they’re bringing us this time?” Rico asked, stepping in close to Buckley.

  “I suppose it’s too much to ask for some quality booze. A little Jack and water right now might be just what the doctored ordered, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do, Mayor. Been a long couple of days.”

  “You got that right. Just hope your boss makes it back to town soon with my grandson.”

  Before another word was said, the convoy came to an abrupt stop, one of the trucks positioned directly in front of Charmer’s Market.

  Rico shook his head. “That’s strange. Why not park in the same location as the others? There’s plenty of room after the empties left.”

  “Good question,” Buckley said, moving to the window to get a better view of the activity. Rico joined him. So did Grace.

  A second later, the doors on the back of each trailer opened. Out flew dozens of armed soldiers dressed in full military garb, tactical vests and all. They began yelling orders to each other, but the words weren’t in English.

  They were in Russian.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Sheriff Apollo pulled Daisy aside, leading her out of the kitchen at Tuttle’s place and through the front room where the window blind had been destroyed. He opened the front door and the two of them stepped outside.

  “What’s up, boss?” she asked, her feet coming to a stop in the weeds.

  He looked around to make sure they were alone before he spoke. “I need you to fill me in on some things.”

  “Sure, anything.”

  He pointed at the scorch marks in the front yard. “Let’s start with those. What the hell happened here? Where’s Tuttle?”

  “He’s dead, sir. When Bunker and I arrived to get the communications gear, someone had executed him.”

  “Who?”

  “We don’t know exactly. I killed the man who did, but he didn’t have any ID when we searched him.”

  “And the burn marks?”

  “Bunker blew up one of Tuttle’s old trucks as a diversion. It drew the assassin to the window so I was able to get a good shot at him. Worked like a charm.”

  “Clever. Where’s the body? I should probably take a look.”

  “See, that’s the thing. When Stephanie and I pulled up with the kids and Franklin, the man’s body was gone. I figure the rest of the intruder’s team hauled it away.”

  “There was more than one? Here? At Tuttle’s?” Apollo asked, wondering if these men were the same group who attacked Rico and Zeke and stole their shoes while they were on their way back to town from their annual fishing trip.

  “Yep. They took me and Bunker hostage, then started interrogating us at some remote camp they’d taken over. We eventually got loose. That’s when Bunker and I took out whoever was left after Franklin got the party started.”

  “Seriously? Franklin? He was there, too?”

  “Ten-four. That’s how he got shot. Apparently, these same men took Steph and the kids from his property, so Franklin went after them. He took out most of the men before he took a bullet. That’s when Bunker finished off the rest of them. Though I did have to kill one trying to make a run for it at the end.”

  “Where’s Bunker now?”

  “He stayed behind to dispose of the bodies and then go find Franklin’s horse. We needed to get Franklin back to town before he bled to death. That’s when we ran into trouble and decided to head here instead. It was the only place I could think of where the kids might be safe. They needed food, water, and a place to sleep.”

  “Good choice, as long as you weren’t followed.”

  “We weren’t. Since we’d eliminated everyone involved in what happened here and at the camp, I figured it was safe to return. I had to clean up the blood and get Tuttle buried before the kids could come inside, but I think it worked out okay. Martha Rainey has been a huge help. So has Allison.”

  “So I’m guessing Bunker doesn’t know you’re here.”

  “No sir, he doesn’t. He thinks we went back to town. That was the plan, anyway. I just hope he didn’t run into any more trouble.”

  “If he did, I’m sure he can handle himself.”

  “Yeah, he can. Though, on second thought, he might have decided to just take off while he had the chance. You know, resume his life. As much as we need him around here, he’s probably done more than enough for our little town.”

  Apollo agreed, but wanted to change the subject to something else. Bunker was the least of his worries. “What about those trucks parked out back?”

  “We stole them from the miner’s camp. That’s how I got everyone here so quickly.”

  “Good thinking.”

&nb
sp; She shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like those men were going to be using them anymore, right? I figured we could use some working vehicles after the EMP strike.”

  “What about that little skirmish with Stephanie?”

  “Yeah, that never should’ve happened. I thought she just wanted to talk, but then she attacked me, so I had to defend myself.”

  “Do you want to press charges?”

  Daisy shook her head without hesitation. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Are you sure? Assaulting a peace officer is a serious felony.”

  “Well, I really wasn’t a deputy at that point. I was just me. I figure I had it coming, anyway, after what I did with her ex. Can’t blame her. I would’ve done the same thing.”

  “Okay then, if you want to give her a pass, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  “I appreciate it, boss.”

  “Truth is, I’m shocked it took this long to come to a head.”

  “You knew about the affair?” Daisy asked with eyes wide.

  “Of course. Everyone knew. It’s a small town. Can’t expect any secret to remain that way for long.”

  “No, I suppose not. It’s so embarrassing.”

  “I’m sure it is. Those types of slip-ups get around town quickly. You know how rumors are. They take on a life of their own. Especially in Clearwater.”

  Daisy’s eyes turned soft, tears welling inside. “I never meant to hurt her. But I did. God, how could I have been so stupid?”

  Apollo wasn’t sure if she was fishing for sympathy or not, so he kept his mouth shut.

  “I swear, I only let my guard down for a second and next thing I know, I’m in bed with her husband.”

  “But that’s all in the past now, right?”

  “Yes sir. All in the past. I can’t even stand to look at his face.”

  “That’s good to hear. For everyone’s sake,” Apollo said. “What about the fight?”

  “I think Stephanie and I just needed to let it all out. A once and for all type thing. In a strange way, I think it helped. Like we both needed it or something. It’s hard to explain.”

  “No explanation needed. I’m just glad it happened inside the barn so the kids didn’t have to see it.”

  “Speaking of the barn, there’s some stuff I need to show you. I found a few things you should see.”

  “Lead the way,” Apollo said, holding out an extended arm. He followed her around the corner of the house and over to the massive barn Tuttle had built.

  “Damn, this thing is huge,” Apollo said as they angled a path to the front. Tuttle’s reputation as a cheapskate was well-earned, but he’d spent some serious money on this structure.

  “Wait till you see what’s inside. It’s mind-blowing.”

  The double doors along the front were already partially open, allowing Daisy to turn her frame sideways and easily step through. The lights were off, but Daisy had already told him about Tuttle’s backup power. He figured her first task would be to find a light switch, hopefully by the time he wedged his wide hips past the entrance.

  Daisy turned to the right and disappeared into the blackness as expected. He continued behind her and entered the building. When the lights snapped on as expected, he heard a shotgun being pumped behind him, then felt something hard press against the back of his head.

  “Hold it right dere, Sheriff,” a man’s firm voice said, the words laced with twangs and broken syllables.

  Apollo raised his hands and turned his head to the right, seeing another man with a rifle to Daisy’s head. In total, there were three intruders, all wearing black masks and country attire: flannel shirts, jeans, leather work gloves, and weathered boots.

  Only one of them had a pistol; the others held long guns. Apollo guessed the all-black six-shooter was a forty-five caliber based on its massive barrel.

  “Looks like you was right, cousin,” the man with the pistol said.

  Shotgun man tapped the muzzle against Apollo’s skull, like he was trying to loosen a bolt inside. “I told ya. Dey be coming in here next. Dey always do. Gotta take what don’t belong to dem.”

  “Don’t forget. I want dey shoes. Need ‘em for my collection. Specially da Sheriff’s. I like them shiny ones.”

  “I won’t forget. Let’s get dem out front and round up da others. Now dat we have da law under control, da rest is easy.”

  The comment about taking shoes rang true in Apollo’s mind, connecting with something that Rico and Zeke had told him when they stumbled into town. The men who had attacked them stole their valuables, including their shoes. These must be the same men who ambushed Rico’s group, then tossed them down the bank of a gully.

  “Let’s go. Outside. Both of ya,” shotgun man said, shoving Apollo forward. The man holding Daisy hostage did the same thing.

  Apollo kept his hands up, moving slowly while he ran it through his head. If these were the same men who attacked his reserve unit, then they were just here to steal, not to kill or anything else. They’d let Rico and Zeke live, so Apollo decided to play along and make sure this ended peacefully.

  Word was obviously spreading across Clearwater County about the treasures at Tuttle’s homestead, meaning he’d need to fortify a perimeter before the place was overrun with scavengers and thieves. But first things first. He needed to keep his cool and play along to diffuse the situation.

  Shotgun man gave Apollo another shove. “Come on. Keep movin’.”

  Pistol man spoke next. “We should take da women with us dis time. Dey worth a fortune at the Outpost. Their paying good money for da young ones.”

  Their comments about kidnapping the women burrowed a hole into his heart. Apollo was obviously wrong about their intentions. This wasn’t going to end peacefully. At least not for the women. And probably for the kids, either. He needed to act before the rest of his group was dragged into the middle of this.

  He whirled around and tried to knock the shotgun out of the hands of its wielder, then pull his sidearm and shoot, but a powerful jab smacked him in the face in an instant. The force of the punch sent him to the dirt in a heap. He landed on his left side, then rolled before a fleet of stars swarmed his vision.

  When he looked up to get his bearings, he saw the bottom of a foot coming at his face. The man’s boot heel smacked him in the forehead, turning everything black.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

  When Sheriff Apollo woke up after getting kicked in the face, he found himself on his knees with his hands secured behind his back. His feet had been laced together as well, plus someone had a firm grip on his shirt collar, keeping him upright.

  The raging headache pounding at his skull made it difficult to focus his eyes and his thoughts. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blobs and specks, but it wasn’t helping. Neither was the intense pressure across his forehead. He could only assume his face was swelling from the impact, making him look like an aging boxer who just got pummeled in the ring.

  Then again, a more accurate description might have been that he resembled a modern version of a Neanderthal, complete with heavy brow ridges and minimal intelligence. He was hearing echoes in his mind, his brain processing everything in slow motion.

  He tried blinking again to clear the spots, this time keeping his eyes closed for a few seconds. It helped, his vision returning to almost normal. Only a single fizzy spot remained in his right eye.

  He turned his head to peer to his left. Dicky was next to him, only inches away. The giant was also on his knees with his hands behind his back. Apollo couldn’t see Dicky’s feet, but he assumed they were secured as well.

  At least Dicky was awake, his eyes staring straight ahead and blinking. However, there was a deep gash across his cheek. He must have put up a fight, possibly taking the butt end of a rifle to his face.

  Rusty was on the far side of Dicky. The kid was also on his kneecaps and most likely tied up since Apollo couldn’t see his hands. His face didn’t appear to be injured, but when the kid leaned forwa
rd and looked at Apollo, his eyes went round and showed an unusual amount of white.

  Everyone else was huddled about ten yards in front of him, sitting on the ground in a loose circle with their hands behind their backs. Daisy, Stephanie, Allison, Misty, and Megan were to the left, while Jeffrey, Victor, and Martha were separate and to the right. Misty’s face was full of tears and so was tiny Megan’s.

  “What do you guys want?” Apollo asked the shotgun man, who was standing a few yards away with his back turned.

  The man spun around and looked at Apollo, his eyes black as coal. The rest of his features were hidden by the dark-colored ski mask covering his head, but that didn’t stop Apollo from trying to memorize as many details as he could. The man appeared to be about six feet tall and stocky, his chest and shoulders broad. His hands were white, though they were weathered like an old pair of leather work gloves.

  “Let’s finish dis,” the pistol man said, walking out from behind Apollo and entering his field of vision. The man took position about three feet away with his .45 aimed at Apollo’s forehead.

  The third man stood in front of Dicky with his bolt-action rifle in a firing position. He was shoulder to shoulder with pistol man, lining up for what Apollo assumed was an execution. Shotgun man arrived last, aiming his pump-action scatter gun at Rusty’s face.

  “Wait! We can work this out,” Apollo snapped. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Ready,” shotgun man said, straightening his posture a bit. “On three.”

  “Please don’t shoot!” Rusty cried out. “I don’t want to die.”

  Dicky was dead silent, apparently ready for the firing squad to begin their evil deed.

  The women were crying with their heads down, while Jeffrey had his head buried in Martha’s shoulder.

  “Please! Stop! We’ll give you whatever you want!” Apollo said, hoping to reach one of the men before the countdown started.