by M. K. Dawn
Evelyn lifted her eyebrows but didn’t say a word.
“Go. I’ll catch up,” Sloan promised.
When all had scattered, Fletcher came up beside her. “I can’t say I was sorry to hear you’d be amongst the attendees.” His remark was somber; not the reunion she’d expected.
“I can’t say I was happy to receive the invitation,” she mocked, unable to control the annoyance building within. He had known this entire time and didn’t think to warn her? He of all people must have understood her grievance. So much of her drive, her dedication to patient care, she’d learn from him.
“I think over time you will find the invitation was a blessing in disguise.” Without another word, he strolled off, hands secured behind his back, whistling a tune that sent a wave of chills down her spine.
***
Fletcher had rushed through the first half of the medical tour so they ended up with a two and half hour lunch break. Sloan had never been good with an extended amount of downtime. She preferred to stay busy when her mind was sharp and had not begun to experience the effects of her usual hectic day.
Evelyn and Sloan opted for an early lunch at eleven instead of noon this time. Travis and Vicky joined them out of “pure boredom,” Travis said. “Lunch this early is for children and the elderly. When do you suppose we’ll eat dinner? Four?”
“No one forced you to come,” Evelyn reminded him.
“You’re right, no one forced me to lunch, but to The Bunker…” He shoved his grilled chicken salad out of the way and draped his forearms on the table. His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Why the hell are we here? To voice our opinions? On what? The cutting-edge technology most of us have never seen before, or the same old technology that’s in every damn hospital across this country?”
Sloan took a sip of water and waited for the others to express their thoughts on the matter.
“To be fair,” Vicky said, “we haven’t even seen the surgical wing yet.”
In the little time Sloan had known Vicky, the woman had not one negative thing to say. She was the eternal optimist, bubbly and outgoing, much like Sloan’s friend Beatrice from the hospital. The problem with people like her was they couldn’t fathom the unthinkable becoming reality.
“I agree with Travis,” Sloan said. “Some things are not adding up.”
“Like what?” Evelyn asked.
The first thought that came to mind was her, Evelyn and Archer’s family history, but those stories were told to her in confidence and she didn’t feel right disclosing the information without consent. The other was a feeling that something was just not right. “I’m not sure.”
“You sound just as paranoid as Travis,” Vicky said.
Evelyn giggled. “It must be contagious.”
Sloan stood. “I’m going to take a walk.”
“Would you like some company?” Evelyn asked.
“No, thank you. A little solitude would be nice. See you all in a bit.” She took the remainder of her lunch to the far corner of the hall. The plate, silverware, and cup were to be placed in a rack attached to what was most likely a dishwasher. Napkins went into a laundry shoot. All excess food was dumped in a trash shoot, which she guessed was composted.
Sloan left the dining hall unsure of where she would head. Her room was an option, but there was nothing there for her to do, except perhaps close her eyes for a while. Maybe she still had access to the Recreational Floor? She scanned her wristband on the elevator panel. It was worth a try. Getting lost in a good book would do wonders for her mood.
A couple of her patients were scheduled for surgery today. Her nerves were frayed at the thought of someone else—Dr. Cordon in particular—with a scalpel anywhere near them. She craved the use of her phone—that small, but a vital link to the outside world. Even if she couldn’t contact anyone directly, at the very least check it would be nice to check for emails, texts, or voicemail. No doubt Beatrice was keeping her updated on all that was happening inside and out of the hospital walls.
It took no time for the elevator to climb the ten stories to reach the Recreational Floor. The hallway was silent; the group who toured this part of The Bunker must have already broken for lunch. Unlike the living quarters and medical ward, this floor consisted of only one hall; theater and golf on the left, bar and game room on the right. The library was at the end and spanned the entirety of the floor. She stepped into the familiar room and headed straight for the mystery/thriller section. The assortment was spotty; most she had read. She selected A Time to Kill by John Grisham even though she had read it close to a dozen times. Still, a classic was better than nothing.
In her apartment, Sloan had a window seat, where she would sit and read for hours under the sun’s natural light. It was her favorite place to be if she wasn’t in the OR.
The Bunker’s library did have a few cushioned benches carved into the rock walls, each with a black electric panel beside them. Sloan ran her wristband across the screen but nothing happened.
“It has to be turned on,” the unexpected voice of Major Archer said.
The black screen flickered to life, replaced by an image of a window and a backyard below. The trees rustled in the wind. A butterfly fluttered by.
“Or, if you prefer…” The screen switched to a blustery winter’s day. “Or…” Waves crashed against the sandy beach.
Sloan sat there for a moment and watched as Archer flipped through a variety of scenes, each more gorgeous than the next.
“There’s about a hundred options to choose from. Or that was the last count I was told. The panels in the rooms do the same thing. You can even set the bedroom one to mimic an entire day from sunrise to sunset.”
“I have to say, I’m impressed.”
Archer snorted. “Took you long enough.”
“What are you doing here?” Sloan asked.
“Checking on my favorite attendee.”
Sloan cocked her head to the right. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I receive alerts when one of you trails too far off the schedule.”
“Is that not allowed?” Sloan stormed back to where she retrieved the book. Archer followed close behind.
He grabbed her hand just as she was about to place the book back on the shelf. He took a step closer, his eyes boring into hers. For a moment they stood there, eyes locked—two alphas trying to gain dominance over the competition.
“You can borrow the damn book, Slash.”
Her heart thrashed. “How many times do I have to ask you to stop calling me that?”
Archer dropped her hand and leaned against the bookshelf. “It’s starting to grow on you, admit it.”
She clenched her jaw and headed for the door, book clutched in her hand. “I’ll take this to my room, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. But I’ll have to check your bags before you leave. Make sure you don’t wander off with government property.”
Sloan threw her head back and groaned.
“Just giving you a heads up!”
CHAPTER FIVE
Archer sat alone at a far corner table in the dining hall and picked at his salad. His mind wandered to his encounter with Sloan not twenty minutes earlier. There was something about the woman that infuriated him and intrigued him to no end.
When he received the alert that Sloan had found her way back to the Recreational Floor—alone—he couldn’t help himself. He had to find out what had brought her there. The library was the first place he thought to check since it was the only place she had spent any time during the tour.
As he suspected, she was there, book in hand and seated in one of the nooks. He watched in silence as she swiped her wristband across the screen. If the system was operational, the simple motion would have worked. Damned if that woman didn’t miss a thing.
What better way to find his way back under her good graces than to show her something no one else had been allowed to see? What he hadn’t expected was her reaction. Out of all the t
hings The Bunker had to offer, it was the outdoor simulator that impressed her the most. Not the self-sustained underground city or the ground-breaking technology. Just a simple program designed to make a person feel as if they were near the outdoors.
But she hadn’t toured The Farm yet. If that didn’t take her breath away, nothing would. He would have to make sure he was there for that and not pulled into some god-awful, waste of time meeting like he’d been this morning.
He’d received the call at four a.m. The execs demanded a full report from each of the heads of the departments on their desk by eight. The request had puzzled him for the better part of an hour. He couldn’t wrap his mind around why, after one day into the trial run, they wanted a full report on how The Bunker was handling the influx of occupants. The original agenda—the one he and the others were working off—had the first report due Saturday at eight p.m.—two complete days fully operational. That would give them enough time to discover and work around any kinks that presented themselves. What was one day’s worth of data going to tell them? Anything could run perfectly in a span of twenty-four hours.
He told himself it was the lack of sleep that kept his stomach in knots. It had been well after midnight before he plodded into his bedroom and passed out without so much as removing his boots. His final round of the evening had been tedious, as he expected it would be. The nightly checklist provided by the execs was close to a book in length.
Still, he couldn’t shake the uneasiness that nagged the back of his mind. As a Ranger, Archer relied a great deal on his gut and something about this weekend didn’t sit well with him.
His wristband vibrated to remind him the second half of the tour he led would begin in thirty. He suspected Dr. Barnett hadn’t done justice to the first half of the tour. When Archer contacted Fletcher about covering for him this morning, the man had been less than pleased. For twenty minutes, he went on about what an inconvenience this was for him and how this entire weekend was a waste of time for all those involved.
It wasn’t the first time Archer had heard this speech from the eccentric doctor. He had long suspected all the VIPs knew more about the circumstances surrounding The Bunker than any were willing to acknowledge. Fletcher was the only one he encountered that hinted there was more going on than his clearance level made him privy to.
Archer tossed his uneaten salad in the trash shoot and loaded the rest into the dishwasher. The artificial intelligence on the dining floor alone was extraordinary and a bit disconcerting. The only people employed on this floor were the cooks. Everything else was run by machines. One flaw in the system and this floor—or any floor—could be down for days, months even. In the beginning stages of development, Archer had argued for at the very least human supervision over the day to day operations of the equipment, but he was overruled. There was no room in The Bunker for fillers—those whom the execs deemed unworthy to be saved if the world went to shit; the blue-collar bottom feeders. The first-time Archer had heard the execs speak so poorly of the hard-working people of the world, he almost walked out of The Bunker never to return. But in doing so, he would have been dishonorably discharged for insubordination; everything he worked for his entire life, gone.
Instead he stuck to his assignment, made the best out of a crappy situation, and prayed the world would hold steady.
***
When Archer arrived on the medical floor at a quarter till one, his group was waiting—even Sloan, though she glared as he walked by. “Glad to see everyone’s here and on time. I apologize for my absence this morning. I hope Dr. Barnett’s tour was informative.”
The room erupted in a slew of grievances. From what Archer could gather from the madness, the problems were: Fletcher had not given them the provided resources in which they were to log their feedback, the tour was less than informative and rushed, and the man was an ass (his words not theirs). Sloan was the only one who kept quiet. A few weeks back when the attendees’ names were announced, Fletcher had looked almost relieved to hear Sloan’s. Which made no sense since it was a simple weekend retreat, not that anything Fletcher did made much sense to him.
“If everyone would quiet down, we can come up with a solution to rectify this morning’s disappointments.”
“Why were we invited to The Bunker if our input was not needed?” one of the dentists asked. Archer hadn’t bothered memorizing everybody's name. “Wasn’t that the point of this weekend? For us, to join together and ensure The Bunker can meet every possible need in every possible scenario?”
“You’re correct,” Archer said. “That’s why you were summoned to this place. Again, I apologize for Dr. Barnett’s…” he paused to find the most politically correct word to use but came up blank and settled for, “conduct. If you would like to revisit the room or rooms of your choice and submit suggestions while I take the surgeons to their ward, that wouldn’t be a problem. Each room is equipped with a tablet. Swipe your wristband and the feedback document will appear. Add as little or as much as you would like. When finished, feel free to re-join the tour.”
The group did not hesitate to disperse, except for the surgeons, who anxiously awaited the sole reason most did not fight tooth and nail to be excluded from this retreat.
“Onward to hall one?” His sentence came out as more of a question than he’d hoped.
They didn’t wait for Archer before heading down the hall as if they’d been here a thousand times.
Sloan stayed to the back of the group and fell in step with him. “You know, Fletcher isn’t a bad man. In fact, he’s brilliant and cares very deeply for those he chooses to mentor.”
“All of that may be true. Doesn’t mean he can refuse to follow orders.”
“He’s not a soldier.”
Archer stopped to confront her. “You think he was forced to come here? He is one of the many volunteers—a VIP in fact. Part of his responsibility is to make sure The Bunker is a top-notch facility. To do that, the execs require a group of outside experts to tour the facility and make suggestions on possible improvements. That’s why you and every other attendee are here. Not encouraging the feedback is in direct violation of the directive put forth by the execs—his bosses.”
Sloan waved him off as if she hadn’t heard a thing he just said. “If he didn’t ask for comments or criticism it’s for a good reason. If I had to guess, it’s because he knows there’s nothing that needs to be improved. If you knew more about the medical field, one glance in each room and you would know this place has everything a doctor could possibly need.”
“Why are you defending him, Slash? You two have some secret affair going on I should know about?”
Her face paled. “He was my professor.”
“Just your professor, huh? Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“I don’t see how my relationship with Fletcher matters. To you, especially.”
The way her face contorted when she said the word ‘relationship’ told Archer all he needed to know. There was a personal, perhaps intimate connection between the two—one that didn’t sit well with him. But she was right, her relationship with Barnett made no difference to him unless… “It doesn’t matter except that you’re defending a man who defied direct orders and his influence appears to be clouding your judgment. If you don’t want to do what you were brought here to do—”
“Then send me home. I didn’t want to be here in the first place.”
Archer chuckled. “Nice try, Slash. Couldn’t open the doors even if I wanted to. Not without the two codes, which I don’t have access to. So it looks like you’re stuck here until Sunday. Now, if you don’t mind, we have a surgical wing to tour. Try to throw a few suggestions in the box. I’d like to report you at least attempted to help your country.”
She stormed off to join her roommate and a few others she’d hung out with over the course of the past two days. If she mentioned their little argument or the information he’d let slip, none seemed overly concerned. He needed to be more careful when he
spoke with her. The requirement of two codes to exit The Bunker was classified.
“Archer, honey. Can we wander around?” Vicky stuck her arm in the crook of his elbow. “Or do you plan on escorting us to each of the rooms?”
The woman was impossibly forward—a trait Archer would have found irresistible if not for the judgmental eyes of Dr. Egan boring into him. Sloan didn’t like him. That was clear. But why would she care about a little flirtation between him and her colleague? He had half a mind to indulge in Vicky’s friskiness, but something stopped him from crossing that line. Instead, he dropped Vicky’s arm and rested a more platonic hand on her upper back. “Let’s start with the OR, shall we? I understand that’s sacred ground for surgeons.”
Vicky’s smile slipped for a split second at Archer’s brush-off then returned just as fast. “You already know us so well.”
He glanced at Sloan, who looked less annoyed than she had a moment ago. Could it be that perhaps he had gotten under her skin after all? “What can I say? I’m a quick learner.”
***
Archer leaned against the doorframe of OR two and watched as his attendees picked the place apart. To him it looked like any other operation room he had ever seen: a bed, medical equipment, and bright overhead lights. The difference, as one of the surgeons pointed out, was the wall to wall medical supply closets. It was an amenity Fletcher had insisted on as there would be less medical staff on hand to fetch additional surgical tools if needed.
While her colleagues oohed and awed at everything The Bunker had to offer, Sloan meticulously inspected every aspect of the OR, tablet in hand, jotting down notes. The way she glared at him from time to time told him she was doing this to spite him. He must have hit a nerve earlier, which was laughable. From his brief observations of her, she was as level-headed as they came.
