by Jen Wright
Frank watched in silent dread as Don pulled things together enough to wrap up his bleeding arm and drink some whiskey. Damn, but Frank really wanted some whiskey himself. He felt he couldn't say anything because he didn't know how Don would react. He didn't have any experience with people who heard voices. He didn't want to make things worse. He knew from talking to Jean that Don could be dangerous. And when Don shot that Deputy at the third cabin, it was obvious what he was capable of.
Frank heard a loud thud on the roof and then several more. This caused Don to shout, get up, and pace in an agitated manner. Frank thought that Don seemed to be hearing the voice again, and then he put the gun in the food storeroom. Frank guessed that Don didn't trust that he wouldn't shoot himself again.
This is good, Frank thought. If he doesn't have a gun, he can't shoot me.
Don wandered around the cabin muttering until there were more loud bangs, this time on the door. Frank felt the first glimmer of hope during this whole ordeal.
Thank you, God. I promise, if this is my rescue, I'll be a good person. Please, God. I promise. Please let this be a rescue. Maybe I can see Jean again. We'll get out of this godforsaken place and move to Texas. We deserve to be happy. I love her so much.
Don yelled at the top of his lungs. "No! No! No! This is my time. Mine! You can't come for me now. I built this bunker to keep you out." He then held his arm and crouched over. "It's going to be all right. Plan B."
He walked over to Frank, untied his hands from his feet and retied his hands behind his back. Frank still couldn't feel his hands. He couldn't even tell if they had warmed up.
"Get up! Get up!" Don screamed as he kicked Frank. Frank watched Don go into the food storage room, and when he came out, he had a pistol, which he held to Frank's back. As he walked forward, he couldn't believe he was getting used to the feel of a gun against his back. A gun held by a freaking madman.
They walked into the tiny five-by-five pantry, and Don told Frank to wait while he pulled a shelving unit away from the wall, exposing a tunnel.
Don pushed him into the tunnel. It was completely dark, and Frank had to navigate without the use of his hands. He worked his way forward bent over with his hands tied behind his back. He struggled with whether to speak up or not. In his mind, if he spoke up, there was no telling what Don might do. If he did, maybe he could push Don over his edge. He felt way too trapped to try anything. He silently made a plan to wait and make some kind of move when the opportunity presented itself. He wouldn't miss another opportunity. To fight the terror, he pictured himself and Jean living a happy life in Texas.
Frank knew they had reached the end of the tunnel when he ran headfirst into something wooden. An "Oomph!" escaped his mouth. Don quietly ordered him to lie down, and then Don edged forward until his legs straddled Frank's arms. Don opened a hatch of some sort. As soon as the hatch opened, Frank felt the cold outside air rush into the tunnel.
It was still dark out, but the opening was brighter than the tunnel. Don backed up and ordered Frank up. He tried to stand but fell back down flat on his face. He just wanted to lie there. He couldn't get leverage with his hands tied behind his back, and he was so tired. Don grabbed him by the collar and gave a yank, ordering: "Up, idiot." When Frank finally made it upright, Don placed the butt of the gun into the small of his back and pushed him forward again.
Frank stumbled out into the night with Don following. After a few minutes, Don quietly told Frank to stop. Frank watched Don take a moment to listen and look around. It was snowing lightly, and they were standing thirty feet from the bunker on the low side of a hill. There were no sounds, but Frank thought he detected the faint smell of snowmobile exhaust. He felt hopeful that his rescuers were close by. He wondered what would happen right now if he cried out for help.
Why is he holding me? Why hasn't he killed me? Did this mean he wasn't going to, or did it mean he wants to torture me first? He decided not to risk it. Don shoved the pistol in Frank's back, and they walked once again into the woods. Frank felt some comfort in the knowledge that he had escaped the bunker.
CHAPTER 33
"Hey…over here." Tanner was shouting and waving his flashlight. Zoey, Ree, Sandy, and Jo snowshoed over to the south side of the bunker, where they found Tanner at the bottom of a hill. When they reached him, they could see that he was pointing his flashlight to tracks leading from what appeared to be a couple of rotted out tree trunks. Then he pointed his beam at a hatch door.
"When you first came, did their tracks lead directly here?" Tanner shined the flashlight back at the tracks.
"No, they led to the door. These tracks weren't here before." Jo spoke with confidence. "Right, Sandy?"
"Right."
"We did our own perimeter check, and the only tracks in led to that door." Jo pointed toward the cellar-like door that they had believed was the only entrance to the bunker.
"We better check this out. I need a volunteer to come with me." Tanner looked at the group.
Sandy shuffled and looked at Ree before replying. "I'll do it." Jo looked at Ree, trying to gauge her reaction.
Ree simply said, "I'll join you."
Zoey gave Jo a little squeeze, which Jo took to mean. Way to go. Way to not be an idiot for once. What Jo didn't tell her was that she was thinking that one person with a gun should stay back because Don was more likely to be outside than in.
After a long five minutes, the cellar door opened, Tanner yelled, "All clear," and everyone entered the cabin. A single dim bulb lit the space containing a rough kitchen table and two chairs, a woodstove, shelving, and a food pantry.
They stood motionless, sensing the building's raw unpleasantness. Even Tanner, who had already cleared the building for safety, seemed to be stunned, taking in his surroundings. Jo realized that she was holding her breath in an effort to seal herself off from how creepy the place seemed. She could smell a faint coppery smell that she knew from past experience was the smell of blood. She also smelled Don's body odor competing with the dank smell common to basements. This was hardly the cozy retreat in the woods most folks dreamed of building. She sensed her companions were struggling with the same thoughts.
She reached for Zoey and massaged the back of her neck with her hand. "You OK?"
"I will be." Zoey leaned into Jo just slightly, grateful for the support.
"It's warm and dry," Jo said to the group. "And we need that." She looked around and noted that her friends simply nodded without speaking.
Jo felt the need to dispel the gloom and walked over to the pantry in search of food. Everyone else sat at the table. Jo emerged from the pantry with unopened packages and offered them peanut butter on crackers, dried fruit, and bottled water. The rest of the group began to take their wet boots off while Tanner took a look around. They had been out in the wind and cold for most of the evening, and even Jo felt a sense of desperation that she hadn't let herself give into before. She was cold to the bone, tired, and hungry.
"I would leave my boots on if I were you," Tanner said as he walked over to the far side of the bunker. "This nut could come back. There's a lot of blood over here. The shotgun is here, too."
He picked it up and held it up for everyone to see. "I'm guessing you two spooked him with your banging, and he bolted out his escape tunnel. No telling how long he'll be gone." He pointed at the tunnel with his free hand. "Where he's headed now is anyone's guess. We could follow the tracks, but it's snowing again. It's hard to tell how long we would be able to see them."
No one offered any suggestions. Jo noticed that they were all trying to pace themselves with the small meal. While they were creeped out by the bunker and by the fact that a violent man had built it in a paranoid twist of reality, they were all starved.
Tanner unfolded a plot map on the table and stabbed at it with his finger, "This is my best guess at our location." Jo noticed that the map didn't show any structures where he was pointing. The other cabins where they had stopped were clearly marked with tiny bu
ilding icons. The nearest cabin south of them was roughly three miles away. It too had no road access. "I think this here is the most likely destination," he offered.
"Unless he has another bunker hidden somewhere," Sandy speculated.
"Right. Although that's a possibility, I doubt he could haul enough building materials in for two structures. This is some hike even on a four-wheeler. These stones alone would take an entire summer of hauling." He waved his hand at the cabin walls, "These must be twelve inches thick. I shudder to think about how much water he had to haul just to mortar these joints." He looked genuinely in awe.
"Crazy to me," Jo exclaimed. "Freaking nuts."
Zoey elbowed Jo.
"OK, a schizophrenic," she said in a more professional tone.
"I don't think so. No schizophrenic is this organized."
Jo suddenly realized that having a licensed psychologist on hand could be quite an asset.
"So, can you fill us in on what he is, then? I mean, what are we dealing with?" Jo watched the whole group tune into Zoey.
"I'd say he has a severe personality disorder with paranoid and narcissistic tendencies. He struggles with his own beliefs about the world and how he fits in. His fears are only subconscious. He can't acknowledge them, and he compensates by seeing himself as superior."
"Can you dumb it down a bit for us?" Tanner wanted to understand everything.
"Oh, sorry. I slip into clinical mode. Stop me if I do that again." She looked at the group, then went on, speaking deliberately.
"Narcissism is a deep-seated insecurity that people compensate for by seeing themselves as godlike. They really believe they are superior to everyone, even when they clearly are not. They go to great lengths to protect that image of themselves. Stress will most certainly make him worse."
"What is he capable of?" Jo inquired.
"Well, based on what we've seen here," she gestured toward the foot-thick walls, "he's preparing for a catastrophic event or possibly the end of the world. He's been suffering from this for a long period of time and is, in all likelihood, untreated. I'm just guessing, but he may appear functional a good deal of the time and only begin to show his inward struggles under stress. When he's appearing 'normal' (she made the universal quotation marks with both hands), he may come off as overfocused or obsessed. That's the drive behind all of the time and effort it took to build this structure. Major overkill."
"How violent is he?" Tanner asked what everyone was thinking.
"Well, I haven't done a diagnostic assessment, and I'm going on little information, but based on what he did to the Deputy back there, I'd say he definitely has no compunctions about it. His fears and twisted sense of reality are what trigger him. Most people with mental illness aren't violent. In fact, they're much more likely to be the victims of crime than perpetrators, but there are exceptions." She looked around at the bunker before finishing. "Unfortunately, it's the exceptions that lead to stereotypes."
"Why has he taken Frank hostage?" Tanner kept pressing for more information.
"I assume he got a jolt when he found out his wife was cheating on him. This is probably his answer to that problem. He may be trying to undo the harm done to him, or reclaim what he sees as his. It's impossible to know without having a conversation with him."
Tanner had begun to fidget. Jo knew he wanted to get out there and find Don and Frank. Jo wasn't feeling so motivated herself anymore. It was after 2 a.m., and she was dog tired.
"What's your plan?" Jo asked Tanner.
He shifted in his seat. "I wish I knew where my guys are. They should have been here by now. Either they got lost or they had to bring someone all the way to Duluth for medical help. I have to go after Don and Frank."
"I'd love to help, but I'm bushed. I've been on snowshoes for the past seven hours, and I just can't go any further. I need a rest, and then I'm game." Jo was impressed with her own ability to say no, not usually one of her strong points.
She was very, very tired. Sitting there in front of the fire, she couldn't get up. No one else volunteered until Sandy stirred. "I'm with you. I can go." With a weary smile, Ree chimed in, "I'll join you."
"Sorry, guys," Jo offered. "Come back for us if you need us. We'll be here resting up for the next shift. I'll keep the radio on." Before leaving, Tanner turned to Jo, nodded his head in the direction of the far north wall and said, "That's a crime scene. Minimize your impact."
She nodded back at him. Jo felt a huge stab of guilt as her friends walked up the stairs and out into the cold. Sandy and Ree had been out trudging through this godawful storm every bit as long as they had. Granted, they had signed up for and were trained in searches, but not for this.
Jo struggled to think of a time when she had not been the leader in a crisis. She was always the one out front — using both her physical and emotional will to help others do what needed to be done. She wondered if it was truly physical exhaustion or if her relationship with Zoey was influencing her decision.
Jo was aware of Zoey watching her, but she had to work through this in her own mind. She knew from their previous conversations that her job, and the danger involved in some of what she did, worried Zoey. But Zoey had accepted who she was when they got involved. So far, they had experienced a lot of trauma and intense coping together, but not a lot of just plain daily living. They both needed that. Ironically, that's what this trip was supposed to have been about. Getting away and finding time to be together and do day-to-day, recreational things. She shook her head a little at the irony of where they had ended up.
"You did the right thing," Zoey said.
"Thanks. I really am tired, and I would only get in the way at this point. Let's get some rest."
"Are you sure he isn't coming back?"
"No, but I think it's unlikely."
Jo and Zoey stood together looking around. Jo couldn't imagine herself sleeping in Don's bed. She was too creeped out by him and this place. When she looked over toward the bedroom, Zoey piped up.
"I can't sleep there. It's just too weird."
"Good, me either." Jo looked at the large dog bed next to the woodstove, and they both laughed. Zoey took a blanket from a shelf in the pantry, laid it over the bed, and they both snuggled down on it with their boots and jackets still on. Jo spoke softly to Zoey, "I'm sorry we aren't getting the down time we wanted here. Things won't always be this crazy."
"I'm holding you to that," Zoey said with a gentle elbow.
"I'm counting on it," Jo replied.
Jo made a silent pact to herself to stay awake so that she could alert both of them if Don and Frank returned. She lasted only five minutes before drifting off into a fitful sleep.
As Jo drifted, she dreamed that she was in an aquarium. The aquarium was filled with snow, and she could breathe and swim in the snow. It wasn't cold or hot, and she felt free and at ease. She stopped swimming and rested on a tree trunk.
The snow moved in tiny waves. The waves took on colors and glowed as their colors changed. The colors turned into almost pure white light, and then she realized it was sound. As she listened closely to the sound, she was able to distinguish rhythms similar to the waves. She also saw patterns in the world outside of the aquarium that mirrored the patterns inside.
As soon as she noticed the connection, they all changed into a human voice. The voice was all-knowing and omnipotent. She wondered if it was God. The voice told her that all of the strands connecting everything we know as the world were beginning to unravel. In order to stop the unraveling, she needed to tell everyone about the connections.
She felt the huge weight of this responsibility. If she didn't convince enough people, the world would end. She tried to object but found herself being gently shaken. She tried harder to object and awoke to Zoey shaking her by the arms.
She was saying, "Jo, it's a dream. Jo, it's me, Zoey."
Barely awake, Jo found herself wanting to go back to sleep to argue against being the chosen one. Zoey prompted Jo to tell her ab
out the dream, and then listened carefully as Jo replayed it for her.
"It's very interesting that you had such a vivid dream. You must have absorbed what I was saying about what triggers Don's rage."
"It's interesting — I mean, the human mind and how other people's reality can be so different."
"I love that you have a curious mind." Zoey put her hands on Jo's face and looked into her eyes. "Are you OK? You're not still impacted by the dream?"
"I'm OK. Thanks."
Oddly, Jo felt a sense of home lying in this strange place with her partner. She felt a little overwhelmed with the intensity of her feelings for Zoey. She had never cared for someone so much and was shocked by her fear of something happening to Zoey. She remembered Zoey speaking to her about how difficult it was for her to face Jo being in danger. She found that she had stopped breathing for a short time, but she consciously tried to relax. Sooner than she expected, she settled back into the dog bed and drifted back to sleep.
