Bunker (A Post-Apocalyptic Techno Thriller Book 5)

by Jay J. Falconer

  At first, Bunker thought they might be after him, but he soon realized their attention was on the sky above. Probably to keep an eye on the location of the surveillance blimp.

  He ducked behind an electrical service box to see what would happen next. The men continued their advance for another hundred feet or so before stopping at a white service door on the alley’s left. They huddled for a short minute, then the door flung open and they went inside, with weapons raised.

  CHAPTER 2

  Mayor Buckley led the charge through the back door of Charmer’s Market. The throbbing sting across the back of his hand was getting worse, dripping blood from the handkerchief wrapped around the wound.

  If only he’d been more careful a few minutes earlier, the bent piece of sheet metal never would have sliced open his skin. He’d been around long enough to know that most accidents happen when you’re distracted. Even more so when you’re tired, or in this case, when you’re in a rush to have a chat with a pair of brothers like Bill and Kenny King.

  The four men he’d commandeered as reinforcements kept pace as they scrambled through the stock room and into the employee break room. Buckley released the latch under the wall cabinet, allowing him to pull the fridge open on its hidden mount.

  Buckley entered the secret hallway behind the refrigerator. The others joined him a few seconds later. Buckley turned to the last man. “Close it. We don’t want anyone wandering in here uninvited.”

  The man in the jean shorts did as he told.

  The door ahead wasn’t open, giving Buckley time to rally his men. He was sure Kenny King had framed Stan Fielding for the disappearance of the Russian interpreter, Valentina. Stan’s execution was scheduled in a little over an hour. Buckley and company were here to confront Kenny about what he’d done.

  “We go on three,” Buckley whispered, receiving four head nods in return.

  When they burst into the room, they found the Russia interpreter lying on her side, still strapped to the chair, eyes closed. Valentina was completely naked, with dozens of cuts across her body. Blood seemed to be everywhere on the floor, pooling in spots.

  Kenny King stood over her, with his hunched back to the door. Bill King was also in the room, but there was no sign of Rico or the other deputies who had been in this panic room earlier.

  “What the hell did you do?” Buckley screamed at Kenny.

  The blond man brought his head around, peering over his wide shoulder, his eyes filled with venom. “Doing what needs to be done.”

  Buckley flashed a look at his men, then charged the escaped convict with fury in his heart. He knew Kenny was bigger and stronger, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  Kenny stood upright and spun on his heels only a moment before Buckley arrived. That’s when the Mayor saw it—a ten-inch knife in Kenny’s right hand, pointed his way.

  Buckley tried to halt his attack, but it was too late to stop his momentum. He gasped when the tip of the blade impaled his abdomen, penetrating his skin with ease. The cold steel sliced its way deeper, burrowing a path to his organs.

  Kenny was now nose-to-nose with Buckley, close enough for the man’s bitter rage to wash over Buckley in a huff of breath. The criminal clenched his jaw and held a maniacal stare as he twisted the knife in a steady fashion.

  Buckley watched a grin take over Kenny’s lips, while bolts of pain radiated outward from the knife’s damage path, ripping at the tissue holding Buckley’s insides together.

  When the twisting blade reached a vertical ninety degrees, numbness crept into Buckley’s body. It started at the tips of his toes and continued to spread, seeming to match the amount of life force gushing out in a spray of red.

  “It’s time to finish this, Mayor, once and for all,” Kenny said in a growl, holding his pinched eyes in a glare.

  Buckley steeled himself, figuring Kenny was about to draw the knife up to put a violent end to this ordeal.

  “Come on, Kenny. Do it,” Bill King demanded from a few feet away, breaking his silence.

  If this was going to be his last minute on Earth, Buckley needed it to count for something. He summoned all of his remaining strength and sent it to his right arm in one final push.

  His hand responded, rising up in a tremble to Kenny’s face. He aimed his thumb and jammed it into Kenny’s eye, burying it up to the knuckle.

  Kenny let out a painful howl, only moments before a shadowy blur came into view from the right. Buckley felt a massive weight slam into his right shoulder, separating him from the knife. He sprawled airborne, landing next to Valentina’s body in a tumble of arms and legs. He rolled onto his left side.

  The impact was from Jack Bunker. Somehow, the mysterious drifter had found his way here. He stood across from Kenny King in a ready position, much like a wrestler starting a match—his shoulders hunched and arms extended. A few feet behind him was a backpack, sitting on the floor in a lean.

  Even though Kenny’s left eye had suffered significant trauma, he remained on his feet and still held the knife. His breath was short and powerful, like an angry bear preparing to attack.

  “Kill him,” Bill King yelled to his brother. “Kill him now!”

  Kenny charged Bunker and swiped with the tip of the blade. Bunker reacted in a flash, completing a series of moves in an instant.

  First, he dodged the blade with a twist of his hips, then he brought his left arm under the inside of Kenny’s right elbow. Bunker closed the gap between them, then wedged his weight against the attacker’s outstretched arm. His right hand came down to latch onto Kenny’s wrist with heavy force.

  Kenny lunged as Bunker tugged the man forward, bringing the blade safely past his right leg, then using his kneecap as a fulcrum to snap Kenny’s wrist. The knife fell to the floor as Kenny screamed in pain, grabbing at his wrist.

  Buckley heard the hollow pings of aluminum baseball bats hitting the floor before a scamper of feet headed toward the exit. The Mayor’s posse had just taken off, leaving him bleeding in spurts on the floor.

  Bill King took a run at Bunker, driving him backward and away from his brother with a shoulder to the gut.

  The two men staggered across the room in tandem, until Bunker’s back smashed into the wall with a sudden thud. Bunker brought his arms up and made a double fist, driving them down in a swift chopping motion.

  King grunted when the impact slammed into his upper back, but he didn’t release his grip.

  Bunker landed three more lightning-fast blows, driving his fists down with successive force.

  King let go of Bunker’s waist and dropped to the floor, face down.

  Bunker spun and dropped a knee into the man’s spine, then threw a firm right, smashing his knuckles into the back of King’s skull. Buckley heard a horrendous crack when King’s nose flattened against the floor.

  Bunker was about to land another blow when a foot came around from the one-eyed Kenny, catching Bunker in the face.

  Bunker toppled backward, with blood flying from his mouth. He landed on his back and didn’t move. Neither did Bill King. Both men were bleeding from their head wounds; however, the amount of blood pouring out of Bill’s face was much more noticeable.

  Buckley wasn’t sure if the younger King was still alive, but his older brother Kenny was, stumbling to the abandoned knife. He bent over and picked it up with his left hand, then went at Bunker.

  Buckley wished he had the strength to call out to Bunker, but his air was thin. All he could do was watch, straining to keep his eyes open.

  Kenny dropped next to Bunker on his knees, keeping his injured wrist against his body. He positioned the tip of the blade over Bunker’s chest and drew the knife up to shoulder level.

  Just as Kenny brought the blade down in a stabbing motion, Bunker’s eyes snapped open. Bunker’s hands came up to catch Kenny’s wrist in a two-handed grab, stopping the knife just short of his chest.

  Kenny let out a commando yell, leaning forward to add more weight behind the blade.

  Bu
nker pushed back, groaning to summon additional strength as the struggle continued.

  A few seconds later, the dagger began to rise. Bunker released one of his hands, then sent three sharp jabs at Kenny’s throat, all of them hitting the mark. The final blow cracked the man’s windpipe.

  Kenny let go of the weapon and fell back to the floor, his voice a jumble of gasps, gurgles, and grunts.

  Bunker didn’t hesitate, crawling to Kenny with the knife in his hand. He aimed the tip of the blade at the bottom of Kenny’s throat, pushing it deep with both hands wrapped around the handle.

  Buckley watched the last shallow breath escape from Kenny King’s lungs. The lawbreaker’s life came to end a moment later, his head tilting toward Buckley with eyes open.

  * * *

  Bunker rolled off the man he’d just stabbed to death. He crawled to the naked woman to see if she was still alive. The volume of blood on the floor around her body gave him little hope, but he still needed to check.

  Most of the cuts and bruises on her body didn’t look life-threatening. There was one injury, however, that did—a wide gash between her breasts. The size and shape of the wound appeared to match the blade Bunker had just driven into the one-eyed man’s throat.

  He put two fingers to her neck and held it there for a ten-count. No pulse. Her chest wasn’t processing air, either. There was only one conclusion. She was dead. Probably slain by the same man who’d stabbed the Mayor just before he arrived.

  The other attacker hadn’t moved since Bunker knocked him out with a blow to the back of the head. The loud crack from the man’s nose smashing into the floor was fresh in his mind. Bunker wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead, but, like the woman, the sheer amount of blood on the floor wasn’t a good sign.

  Three possible dead, two by his hands, and Bunker didn’t recognize any of them. It wasn’t surprising; he hadn’t spent much time in this town after arriving with the kids from the bus crash. They could all be locals. Or outsiders. He didn’t know. But Buckley did.

  He slid over to the Mayor, wishing he’d arrived a minute earlier. Buckley’s gut was bleeding in spurts. Bunker put his hand on the wound, adding pressure to slow the blood loss.

  Buckley opened his eyes, showing only a sliver of white. “Bunker? How?” he asked in a weak, thready voice.

  “Snuck in through the main gate. Saw your crew in the alley, then followed the blood trail in here.”

  “The Russians,” he grunted. “They’re—”

  “I know, Mayor. Save your breath.” Bunker scooped his arms under Buckley. He pressed to his feet and turned for the door

  “Desperate—” Buckley said in a grunt, his tone barely audible. “She’s important. To him.”

  Bunker didn’t understand the words Buckley had just uttered. He wanted to ask more about it, but the Mayor needed to save his strength.

  The door to the hidden room swung open. An elderly woman with gray streaks in her hair stood in the entrance, her eyes wide. The smock across her front said Charmer’s Market. The garment looked as old and frazzled as she did.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked.

  “Getting him to a doctor,” Bunker answered, searching his memories for the location of Doc Marino’s clinic. “Hold the door.”

  She nodded, standing aside with her arm outstretched, wedging the door open.

  Bunker kicked two baseball bats out of the way, sending them to the corner of the room, then nudged his backpack to the right on the floor with his foot. After he slipped through the door with the Mayor in his arms, the woman ran ahead and pushed open the refrigerator.

  Bunker stepped outside into what he assumed was the break room in the back of Charmer’s Market. Buckley put his hand out and grabbed onto the woman’s sleeve as she closed the fridge. “Help him, Grace. Help Bunker.”

  “Help him what?”

  “Stop the execution,” Buckley said, letting go of her.

  She looked at Bunker, the shock evident.

  “You can trust him, Grace,” Buckley said, before looking at Bunker. “Daisy? The Sheriff?”

  “They’re safe, Mayor. So are Steph and her son.”

  “Rusty?”

  “Yes. And Dicky. Burt’s there, too,” Bunker answered, deciding not to waste time mentioning Franklin’s death or the others in camp.

  “Where?”

  Bunker didn’t want to divulge too much information. “That’s not important right now. We need to get you to a doctor.”

  Grace took Buckley’s hand in hers. “Who did this to you, Mayor?”

  “Kenny King,” Buckley said, his eyes weak. A moment later, they closed and his arm fell limp.

  “Is he dead?” she asked.

  Bunker could see the Mayor’s chest moving air in short, shallow breaths. “No, but he will be if we don’t get him medical attention.”

  “Doc Marino’s clinic is just across the square.” She put out her hands. “I’ll help you.”

  “No, I got him,” Bunker said, adjusting the weight in his arms to better center the Mayor’s body. The man was in good shape; otherwise, his weight would have been impossible to carry in his arms. A heavier man would have forced him to use an over-the-shoulder firefighter’s lift, putting extra pressure on the Mayor’s belly wound.

  Bunker motioned with his head for Grace to lead the way. “What execution is he talking about?”

  “Stan Fielding’s.” She turned and hurried to a different door. It wasn’t the entrance Bunker had used to follow Buckley and his gang inside.

  Bunker followed, running the condemned man’s name through his mind. An image flashed of two bubbly young girls he’d rescued from the bus. “Stan Fielding is the twins’ father, right?”

  “Beth and Barb. The redheads.”

  “Nice kids,” he said, remembering their playful nature during the walk back to town. Their banter never took a break, wearing out Deputy Daisy in the process. “What happened with Stan?”

  “The Russians want revenge for the disappearance of their interpreter. They found a bloody uniform in his house,” she answered, shooting a troubled look back at the fridge.

  Bunker stopped his feet. “The woman back there?”

  Grace nodded, tugging him forward with a grab on his arm. “She’s the interpreter. Her name is Valentina. They’ve been looking all over town for her ever since I . . . ah . . . well . . . knocked her out.”

  “You did this?”

  “I didn’t mean to; it just happened. One minute she was nosing around the back of my store with that Russian attitude of hers, and the next I’m hitting her over the head with my broomstick. I don’t know what came over me.”

  Bunker angled the Mayor sideways to fit through the door, following Grace out of the back room and into the retail area of the store. “Who were those other guys?”

  “Bill King and his brother.”

  “Stephanie’s ex?”

  “Yeah, I went to him for help,” Grace answered, leading him through the maze of display racks and counters. “But I didn’t know Kenny was there. He just escaped from prison. Had I known—”

  “Which one was he?”

  “The bigger one, with blond hair. Did he stab the Mayor?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  A few turns later, they were in the center aisle, heading for the front of the store. When they reached the halfway point, two men in civilian clothes flew through the entrance and took a path straight for them.

  Bunker stopped, flashing a look of concern at Grace.

  Grace shook her head. “It’s okay. That’s Rico and Zeke. They work for the Sheriff.”

  When the men arrived, Grace stopped. So did Bunker.

  She looked at the man on the left. “Rico, take the Mayor to Doc’s.”

  “What happened?” Rico asked, putting his arms out.

  “Kenny stabbed him,” Grace said as Bunker slid the body into Rico’s hands. “Better hurry. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  Rico carried the Mayor t
o the front door and went outside.

  The other man grabbed Grace’s arm, then motioned to Bunker. “Who is this guy, Grace?”

  “Jack Bunker.”

  “The drifter who saved all those kids?”

  “Yes, and he’s a friend of the Mayor’s, Zeke.”

  Zeke turned his attention to Bunker, looking him over from head to toe. His eyes spent the most time on the blood covering Bunker’s shirt. “You’re taller than I thought.”

  Bunker held back a comment about the man’s shorter stature.

  Zeke looked at Grace. “Why would Kenny stab the Mayor?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, pulling her arm free from his grip. “I wasn’t there.”

  Zeke pointed at Bunker. “Then how do you know this guy didn’t do it?”

  “Because the Mayor just told me.”

  Bunker was out of patience. “Look, you don’t have to take my word for it. Just hunt down the men Buckley brought with him; they’ll confirm what happened.”

  “What men?” Zeke asked.

  “I only caught a glimpse of them, but they didn’t look familiar. Then again, I haven’t met many of you people. Buckley obviously knew them. All I can tell you is there were four of them and they took off running as soon as the shit went sideways.”

  Zeke ran quiet, his eyes turning to the side in a long stare. After a short pause, he asked, “Where’s Kenny now?”

  Grace pointed to the back of the store. “In the panic room. On the floor.”

  “He’s dead,” Bunker added.

  “What?” Zeke asked, pausing for a two-count before he took off running, his feet pounding the floor.

  Bunker and Grace followed him to the break room.

  Zeke opened the secret hatch and went inside, making a beeline through the secondary door and straight for the bloody pile of meat in the center of the room. He stood over the one-eyed corpse with his jaw hanging open. “What the hell happened?”

  “I arrived just after he stuck a knife into the Mayor, so I took action.”

  “You did this?”

  “Didn’t have a choice. He came at me next,” Bunker said, pointing at the other body. “So did his brother.”