Bunker waited for Albert to bring his eyes to him, but he never did. Bunker got the sense that it wasn’t an accident. Maybe their altercation in the barn earlier had calmed the fire inside of Albert. Bunker hoped it did. For everyone’s sake.
Burt spoke next. “If we rig up some ropes, we might be able to Tarzan our way across the river. If it came down to that.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” Albert snarled, his tone sharp.
“You don’t even know what we’re talking about,” Burt snapped. “Why don’t you go hang out with the women, where you belong?”
“Guys. Let’s keep it civil, please,” Apollo said.
“We’d have to hide the rope in the trees,” Dicky said, breaking his silence.
“And have some way to get to them,” Rusty added.
Bunker shook his head. “In theory, that might work if the enemy doesn’t spot them first. Otherwise, we’re defending two entry points instead of one. Either way, I’m not sure it helps the women and kids. They’ll struggle to make it across.”
“So will I,” Albert said.
“Me too,” Dustin said. “It’ll take too much upper body strength.”
“Well, at least some of us could get the hell out of here if the bridge is taken out. It’s better than nothing,” Burt said.
“How much rope do you have?” Albert asked Burt, his flabby cheeks wiggling with each syllable.
Burt shrugged, his eyebrows pinched. “I don’t know exactly. It’s coiled up.”
“Take a guess. Are we talking a hundred feet, or what?”
“More like a thousand. Tuttle has a bunch.”
“What are you thinking?” Bunker asked Albert, trying to forget the heavy man’s insults from the barn earlier. It wasn’t easy to let those feelings go, but he needed to take the high road.
“A suspension walkway and a catapult. But we’d need explosives and a delivery system. Something we can use to launch the ropes over the river.”
Burt scoffed. “Okay, genius, how do you anchor it on the other side? It’s gotta hold weight.”
“They’re called grappling hooks, dumbass. You do know how to weld, right?”
“Of course I do.”
“Good. Then all we have to do is shoot a couple of ropes across with hooks to catch on the trees. Then a couple of guys crawl across with lead ropes so they can secure everything. Then we pull the rest of the walkway across. Some wood planks and a little bush engineering should do the trick. Even the women and kids could use it.”
“And your fat ass,” Burt said.
“Yeah. Even me. I don’t think it’ll be that hard, as long as we use the proper amount of explosives. Hell, I could even mix some up, if I had the proper chemicals.”
“He’s a chemistry genius,” Dustin added, his eyes searching for someone who was listening. “Tin Man is the bomb.”
CHAPTER 10
When the nickname Tin Man landed on Bunker’s ears, a memory stirred in his mind. It was a vision from his days in The Kindred biker gang, back when he provided security for his boss, Connor Watts, whenever Watts attended a business meeting.
The drugs-for-money exchanges always took place on the south side of LA in the abandoned warehouse district. Plus, they usually involved the crew of the infamous meth cook who went by the name Tin Man, a legend who pioneered the formula behind the purest form of ice ever to hit the streets, Clearwater Red. Occasionally Tin Man would attend the meetings himself, passing Bunker at the checkpoint he’d set up.
Bunker studied Albert and let his eyes take in every contour of the guy’s round face. He’d only seen Tin Man a couple of times, but this unimpressive deputy could be the same guy.
Bunker also needed to consider the name of the drug, Clearwater Red, and the name of the town he’d stumbled into after the train incident. Was it purely coincidence that they matched, or was it another clue?
If Albert was Tin Man, he wasn’t showing any indication that he recognized Bunker, or knew his secret past. Otherwise, Albert never would’ve gotten in his face in the barn over grave digging duty. Only an idiot would antagonize the head of security for The Kindred biker gang and expect to live through it.
Then again, there was a rumor floating around that Tin Man was a Tae Kwon Do expert. If that was true, Albert couldn’t be the legendary meth cook. A man of his size would never be nimble enough to carry out the moves required.
No, it was more likely Albert knew of Tin Man’s reputation and decided to impersonate him. To what end, Bunker couldn’t be sure.
It would be easy enough to test Albert’s chemistry skills by having him mix some of the improvised chemicals Bunker was thinking about deploying in their fight against the Russians. Assuming it came down to that.
Of course, that test would only happen if Tuttle had the necessary materials on hand, and Bunker could find a suitable ambush point. There was a lot to figure out before he brought his ideas to the rest of the group, but at least a plan was starting to form.
“We’ll need Burt to fabricate some launch tubes,” Apollo said, snapping Bunker back to reality.
“Not a problem,” Burt answered. “Saw some steel pipe in Tuttle’s bone yard.”
“There’s a huge stack of old pallets we could use for the boards,” Dallas said. “They’re in the back, just past the pile of fifty-gallon drums and some wooden spools.”
“Spools?” Burt asked.
“Yeah, the kind the cable company uses on the back of their trucks for their wire. My dad made a backyard table out of one of them. Tuttle must have been collecting all that junk for a while.”
“We’ll need to find a place down river a bit,” Bunker said. “If we need to egress quickly, we’ll want a head start and effective cover.”
“Guys . . . that’s all well and good, but we still need explosives,” Albert added, his eyes holding onto Bunker’s.
Bunker nodded, noticing the odd look from Albert. He turned his attention to Apollo. “Did you notice any when you and Daisy were taking inventory?”
“No. But it wouldn’t surprise me if Tuttle has them around here—somewhere. He seems to have everything else.”
“Probably hidden,” Daisy added. “When I was here the first time, he hinted at a secondary bunker. Not just the one in the barn.”
“I know where we can get some,” Victor said.
Apollo whirled his head around to peer at the longhaired boy. “Where?”
“At the stables. I know for a fact that Atwater has a cabinet full of stuff in his store. Plus, a ton of ammo. Even some guns. Nice ones.”
“How exactly do you know all that?” Apollo asked, his tone reminiscent of a detective grilling a suspect.
“Ah, well, uh,” the kid stammered, fumbling the words. “I think I heard Megan talking about it on the bus. You know, before it crashed.”
“So, let me get this straight . . . a little girl, who you probably don’t know very well, just so happens to mention explosives, guns and ammo on the bus? Out of the blue?”
“Yeah, Sheriff. But it wasn’t to me. It was to one of her friends, I think. I don’t know exactly. I wasn’t super close when she said it.”
Apollo raised an eyebrow and then shot a troubled look a Bunker.
Daisy cleared her throat. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I think you’re overthinking the problem. There’s an easier solution for an escape route.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” Burt asked, his delivery gruff and condescending.
“Since we’re in the Rocky Mountains, I’m guessing there are some trees near the ledge. I heard they grow in these parts.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Burt quipped.
Daisy didn’t seem to care about his attitude. “Couldn’t we just cut a few of them down to use as the foundation for a bridge? I’m guessing one of you knows how to chop down a tree?”
Apollo pointed at one of his newly appointed deputies. “Seems to me Dicky worked at a logging camp a few years ago. I’m sure he can handle it.”
/>
“Yes sir, I did. In Alaska. Spent three summers running chainsaws.”
The expression on Daisy’s face indicated she’d expected that answer. “Just make sure they land where you need them. If they’re tall enough, they’ll span the gap, right?”
Daisy’s idea about dropping trees gave Bunker an idea. Not for their escape route, but for setting up a Russian ambush. He filed the idea away, saving it until later.
“Absolutely, they’ll be tall enough,” Dicky answered. “We can pre-cut most of the branches, too. Just need to make a climbing harness so I can get up there.”
Burt threw out his hands. “But we still have to get across. We can’t just tightrope our way over a drop like that.”
Daisy’s piercing eyes scanned Burt from head to toe, pausing for a moment on his well-worn shoes. “No, of course not. But if you had sections of the walkway already built, then we could just slide them into position and nail them in place as we go.”
Burt didn’t respond.
Daisy finished her explanation. “I’d suggest making them a bit wider than we think we’ll need so they’ll cover the width of the tree spacing if Dicky’s aim is off a smidge. Seems easy enough, assuming there’s a chainsaw around here that still works.”
“Dallas and I saw a few of them in the barn on a workbench,” Victor said.
Bunker looked at Burt, needing to deliver a directive while he was thinking about it. “When you’re finished with the Land Rovers, we’ll need to park them on the other side of the river as part of our x-fill.”
“After I fortify them, I’m assuming.”
“Roger that.”
“Should probably hide the keys somewhere close, too.”
“Actually, no. I need you to rewire them with a quick start mechanism.”
“A push button type thing?”
Bunker nodded, thinking of the Humvees in Afghanistan. “We won’t have time to deal with keys.”
“Wouldn’t that make it easy for someone to steal them?” Victor asked.
Burt motioned with two fingers. “I could design it so a pair of buttons on the radio have to be pressed while you start it.”
“That’s a cool idea,” Rusty said. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Sure. People do that all the time. Usually when they’re tired of their cars getting jacked. I’ll have to run all new electrical, though. But it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Tuttle has a bunch of electrical wire in his workshop,” Dallas said. “Big spools of it.”
A new idea flashed in Bunker’s thoughts after he heard the words big spools of wire. “Guys, I have a slightly different idea. It’s based on all of your suggestions, which were excellent by the way. Instead of dropping those trees with a chainsaw, how about we use the Massey Harvester like a winch and lower a premade walkway into position.”
“Like a drawbridge,” Daisy added.
“Exactly.”
Burt nodded, his upper lip tucked under. “I see where you’re going with this. The harvester’s weight should anchor everything in place, then we use its engine and the gears on the header out front to let ropes drop the bridge into place. It’ll take a lot of welding to build the framework we’ll need.”
“Can you do it?”
“As long as I can find the parts in the boneyard, I don’t see why not. Though I’m going to need some help if I’m gonna get the sniper hides built, the Rovers fortified, and the other stuff done any time soon.”
“Rusty? Victor? Dallas?” Bunker asked, flashing a look at all three kids.
“Sure, happy to,” Rusty answered. The other two nodded in earnest.
“But before I do, Bunker. Can I talk to you in private?”
Bunker nodded, then the two of them stepped away. “What’s up?”
Burt’s eyes tightened as he spoke. “I don’t mind helping out, but I don’t work for free.”
“I can’t pay you, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No, not exactly. I was thinking more about a trade.”
“Okay, we might be able to arrange something.”
“I want the TrackingPoint rifle when this is over.”
Bunker didn’t like the idea, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Without Burt’s skills, there was little chance any of them would survive an encounter with hostiles. He held out a hand for a shake.
When Burt grabbed it, Bunker said, “Agreed.”
Burt let go of his hand, but didn’t return to the group. “Oh, and there’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“I want to be the one in the first sniper hide. If I’m building it, then I get to take out the first Russian.”
“Have you taken a shot like that before? At a human target?”
“No, but I’ve been hunting all my life. And just so you know, I rarely miss.”
“Shooting a man is not the same as taking down a deer, Burt.”
“Ah, bullshit. You aim. You fire. How hard is that? Especially when it’s them or us. Trust me, it won’t be a problem.”
Bunker disagreed, but needed to soften his objection. “I’ve seen stronger men than you freeze in the heat of battle. It’s not as easy as you think.”
“Then they were a bunch of fucking pussies.”
Bunker didn’t respond.
“Look, it’s simple. If you want all this welding work done, then that’s the deal. It’s non-negotiable.”
Bunker paused, needing to consider all the angles. Burt seemed sure of himself, but trusting an untrained civilian with the security of the group was not the right move.
Yet, on the other hand, the TrackingPoint rifle would greatly increase the odds of success. “Okay, you have a deal. But I’ll need to bring you up to speed on that rifle. Apollo, too. It’s not like anything you guys have shot before.”
“Why Apollo? I thought we just agreed on me?”
“As backup. Cross-training is important.”
“Fair enough,” Burt said after a pause. “As long as you don’t try to fuck me out of this deal.”
“My word is my bond,” Bunker said, following Burt back to the group. However, before he could issue the next directive, Jeffrey arrived with a basket full of eggs. “What’s going on?”
“They’re talking about building a drawbridge,” Dallas told him.
“Cool,” Jeffrey said. “I wanna watch.”
Apollo shook his head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Jeffrey. Your mother’s waiting for those eggs.”
“But I wanna see.”
“You need to run along now, son. Let the grownups handle this.”
“But Victor and Dallas aren’t grownups,” Jeffrey whined.
Apollo hesitated for a moment before he spoke. “No, they’re not, but they’re helping Mr. Bunker and me, just like you need to go help your mom. We’ve all got our jobs to do. And yours is to help your mother.”
Jeffrey dropped his head and turned away.
Bunker noticed a brown stain on the kid’s hands, and across his clothes. “Hang on, Jeffrey. What’s that on your shirt?”
Jeffrey stopped his departure. “Rust.”
“From what?”
“This handle thing I found in the chicken coop. I tripped over it at first.”
“What kind of handle?”
“It was round and sitting on a bunch of boards.”
“Stacked up boards, or were they flat?”
“Flat. Like a door. I tried to pull it up, but it was too heavy.”
Bunker flashed a look at Daisy. “Secondary bunker?”
CHAPTER 11
The armed escort tugged at Seth Buckley’s arm as the Mayor was led down the corridor on the third floor of the Town Hall.
General Yuri Zhukov had summoned Buckley for an unscheduled meet-and-greet. They were headed to the largest office in the building—the one at end of the hall—Buckley’s former office.
The guard grabbed Buckley by the back of the shirt collar and stopped him just sh
ort of the door. An empty nameplate holder stared back at Buckley.
A crisp Russian command found its way through the door from the inside. The door flung open and the guard forced him inside with a firm jab to the back of his neck.
Buckley took an off-balance step forward, landing in the grasp of yet another guard. The trim man with a huge, mangled nose led him to the front of the desk—an expensive desk that belonged to Buckley.
A high-ranking Russian officer with thick forearms and a square jaw sat behind the work surface. His rear end was nestled in the high-back executive chair, its leather plush and inviting.
General Zhukov’s head was down, buried in a stack of paperwork. His right hand was busy scribbling across the paper with a pen, while his left worked a grip training device, squeezing the spring-loaded handles in rapid-fire succession.
Despite the squeaks of metal, the time between compressions held steady at about one every half second. Zhukov’s short-cropped hair may have been laced with peppered gray, but he was obviously in terrific shape—at least his hands and forearms.
Buckley wasn’t sure if he should speak, so he kept quiet and took the opportunity to look around his former office. All of his belongings were missing, including plaques, awards, certificates, artwork, knickknacks, and family pictures.
The bookshelves were empty, with only a smattering of dust remaining. The credenza was now to the right and turned around against the adjacent wall, its sliding doors facing the drywall.
Both visitor chairs were gone, probably to intimidate anyone who entered, forcing them to stand with nervous legs like Buckley. Nothing looked the same except for the placement of the desk and the brand-new chair he’d ordered from Amazon two weeks prior.
Two armed soldiers stood behind Zhukov, their eyes facing the picture window. The rumble and hum of activity outside told Buckley another convoy of supply trucks had rolled into town. He figured the two soldiers were keeping an eye on the truck deployment below.
Two equipment towers rose up into view beyond the glass, each recently erected by the occupying force.
Bunker (A Post-Apocalyptic Techno Thriller Book 4) Page 8
