“Not sure,” he said, unspooling another map. It also showed Clearwater County, only it was a topographical map, defining the contours of the terrain, including elevation.
The third map contained climate information for the entire state. Apollo tossed it away, moving on to the fourth, which was a detailed road map. It showed the roads, highways, and railways in the area, each in a different color.
There was more ink on this map, too, only Tuttle hadn’t drawn circles. Instead, he drew long, squiggly red lines that seemed to run from point to point, many of them connecting at common locations.
Daisy pointed at one of them. “What do you think these are?”
“My guess . . . Frank was marking the old logging roads.”
“Why?”
Apollo shrugged. “The only reason I can think of is to move his supplies without anyone noticing.”
“Or as escape routes,” she added.
* * *
Victor Rainey waved at his new friend Dallas to keep up as he turned a corner around another stack of pallets in the rear half of Tuttle’s barn. He could hardly contain himself. “The best stuff is back here.”
“How do you know all this?” Dallas asked, his legs working double-time to catch up.
“When Tuttle was done working outside, he’d sit in his old truck and drink a bunch of beer. I could see him from my grandmother’s porch with a pair of binoculars. All I had to do was wait until he went inside to tap a nap, then I’d sneak in here. Tuttle would be out for hours.”
“Old people tap a lot of naps.”
“Yeah, my grandma, too,” Victor said, nodding. “If my mom was in town working, I usually had plenty of time to explore before she got home.”
“Didn’t the old guy keep the doors locked?”
“Yep, but picking a lock is easy. My dad showed me how before he died. Tuttle was so clueless, it wasn’t funny. As long as I put everything back the way he had it, he never noticed.”
“Can you show me how?”
“It takes a lot of practice.”
“I don’t mind. I wanna learn.”
“Maybe later. There’s something really cool I want to show you by the workbench.”
They ran by a dozen more pallets of shrink-wrapped boxes, taking two more turns on their way to the workshop. The last set of items they passed was a wall of stackable water containers. Victor didn’t know if the five-gallon jugs were full or not, but there were a lot of them. Enough that he couldn’t see over the top.
Tuttle had built his workbench out of 2x4 lumber, with a vise on each end. The workspace stretched from one end of the wall to the other and had to be thirty feet long. All kinds of stuff cluttered the top, thrown into piles on the surface.
Tuttle had a ton of hand tools, plus heavy spools of electrical wire and several rolls of electrical tape. A box of screwdrivers sat by the rolls of duct tape, and next to them, three hammers, a mound of wrenches, and at least twenty boxes of nails and screws.
To the right was a hacksaw, pair of vise grips, a box full of measuring tapes, six box cutters, a pack of magic markers, red shop towels, three cans of motor oil, and a bunch of other crap.
The Husqvarna chainsaws at the far end must have been in for repair, one of the three missing the chain. Victor had seen them elsewhere in the barn before today, but never back here. At the time, he thought about starting one of the heavy, tree-eating machines, but never did. The noise would have woken Tuttle up from his afternoon nap.
A coffee maker and pot sat on a rolling cart in front of the bench, complete with two cans of coffee and a stack of filters on the shelf below. The coffee in the pot looked like it had dried onto the glass.
Above the bench were open storage cabinets crammed full of junk. Everything was a mess. The man must have been collecting for years, especially the batteries, steel wool, and axle grease. He had gobs of it, just thrown in the cabinets like a madman.
“Is this what you wanted to show me?” Dallas said, standing in front of the workbench. He looked confused, his eyebrows pinched as he stared at the endless clutter.
“No, it’s over here,” Victor said, turning left and walking to a bunch of items covered up with faded yellow sheets. He pulled the cover off the first to reveal a four-foot-long piece of equipment. It looked like an ancient sewing machine with a few parts missing along the top.
It was made of cast iron and sat on its own integrated pedestal, with a pair of foot pedals installed below and a metal seat out front. Victor had played with its various handles and wheels before, so he knew they worked and hadn’t rusted shut.
“What is that?” Dallas asked.
“A foot-powered lathe.”
“For what?”
“Turning metal and wood. They make bowls and junk with it.”
“Really?”
Victor nodded. “Saw it on YouTube before the Internet went down. I think this one can make stuff out of metal, too.”
“Looks old.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking from the 1800s, just like old man Tuttle himself.”
Dallas laughed. “No doubt.”
“Tuttle was just like my grandma. Old people never throw anything away and need projects to keep themselves busy. Otherwise, they fall sleep in front of the TV. Grandma’s into jigsaw puzzles.”
“I hate those. They’re so boring.”
“No lie. I like to take one of the pieces when she’s not looking, just to mess with her. That way, when she’s almost done, I get to finish it with the missing piece.”
Victor worked his way around to the far side of the lathe. “Help me push,” he told Dallas, peering down at the caster wheels mounted to a sheet of plywood holding the lathe.
The two of them moved the machine about fifteen feet, leaving it a foot away from the welding equipment on the other side of the shop. Tuttle had several torches of different sizes. Some had tanks, while others had a long electrical cord. He wasn’t sure why the man needed so many.
Victor returned to the next covered item. He knew it to be a ten-inch wood joiner made of cast iron steel. It was old, like the lathe, but it was electric and not foot-powered. He pulled its protective sheet. “Tuttle has them all on wheels so he can move them. Let’s get this one out of the way, too.”
It took some effort, but the boys got the heavy joiner rolling. They wheeled it across the workshop and parked it next to the lathe. Had they chosen a spot farther to the left, they would have run into the man’s blacksmithing equipment. Tuttle’s anvil was pitted and a little rusty. So was the pounding hammer. Like the other equipment in the room, the forge was also on wheels and looked ancient.
Victor pointed at the base cabinet exposed after the equipment move. It featured two plywood doors with a latching mechanism made out of a bent nails and hooks. “Check out what’s in the bottom.”
Dallas went to the door on the right and opened it.
“What do you think?” Victor asked.
“What is that?” Dallas asked, his tone energized.
“Samurai sword.”
Dallas put his hand in and pulled at the weapon, but it was stuck. He angled his arm sideways to work the item through the door of the cabinet. He spun around and held it up, still in its protective sheath.
Victor smiled. “Go ahead. Pull it out.”
Dallas didn’t hesitate, sliding the blade free. He put the sheath down on the workbench and wrapped both hands around the grip.
Victor remembered the first time he held the sword. “Pretty, cool, huh?”
“For sure,” Dallas answered, slashing the blade back and forth before pretending to stab someone with it. “I’ll bet this thing is worth a fortune.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Now that Tuttle’s dead, someone needs to take good care of it. I was thinking maybe you should.”
“Really? Me?”
“Yep.”
“Awesome,” Dallas said, putting the blade back into its protective carrier. The kid brought his eyes to Victor. “I�
��ll bet Tuttle has a lot of other cool stuff. Maybe even some guns.”
“So far, I’ve only found the sword. But I do know where there are lots of guns and ammo. Explosives, too.”
“Where?”
“At Franklin Atwater’s store.”
“The horse stables?”
Victor nodded. “My grandma took me there a bunch of times.”
“You still think it’s all there? You know, after what happened to him.”
“It was a few days ago when I was there. I found a pistol hidden under his desk.”
“Can I see it?”
“I wish. It fell out of my pants when a bunch of men in black showed up and started chasing me.”
“We should go look for it. Must be around there somewhere.”
“If those men didn’t take it.”
CHAPTER 7
“We’re gonna need more men if they’re serious about staying here,” Albert said to Dustin as the two of them leaned against the front of the fertilizer stacks, watching the activity in Tuttle’s barn.
“Yeah, seems like a long shot. I know this Bunker guy is one serious badass, but how in the world are we going to stop a convoy like the one we saw back on the road?”
“We won’t. They’re nuts.”
“As nuts as Burt wanting to head back to town?”
“So you finally agree with me?” Albert asked.
“Of course I do. We’re partners.”
“That’s not how it came across before.”
“I know, but that was different.”
“How’s that?”
“We’re not stuck in the woods.”
“Oh, I see. Your loyalty shifts depending on which way the wind is blowing. That’s pretty weak.”
“Dude, you really need to chill. I’m on your side.”
“Only until something else pops up. Then you’ll bail again,” Albert said, unable to stop his disdain from fueling the words.
Dustin didn’t say anything, his lips running quiet as his eyes dropped to the ground. After a long pause, he looked up and pointed at the mammoth of a man, Dicky, who was busy directing a forklift out of the barn. “Maybe we should think about lending a hand. You know, do something constructive.”
“Nah, looks like they got it handled.”
The new guy, Bunker, was behind the wheel of the machine, its engine churning under the strain of a massive spool of barbed wire hanging from the forks. It was clear Bunker was running the show with his endless barking of orders.
Albert motioned at Bunker, waiting for Dustin to catch up with his eyes. “I don’t like that guy.”
“Who? Bunker?”
“Yeah. Something seems off to me. I get that everyone is in love with the guy, but he rubs me the wrong way. I mean, who is he really, other than some overgrown testosterone sack?”
“He seems okay to me.”
“Of course you’d say that. The wind just shifted.”
“Maybe if you got to know him better, you’d feel the same way.”
“I doubt it. He just runs around giving orders and telling everyone what to do. Like he owns the place. It’s really starting to piss me off.”
“I don’t know; he looks like the kind of guy you wanna have on your side, not the other way around.”
“Why? Because he’s tall and slicks his hair back?”
“Well that, and he’s pretty big. Those tattoos are kinda intimidating, too.”
“Dude, just because you look tough does not mean you are tough. Trust me. Some of the guys I used to work with were half his size and they were some of most feared badasses in Southern California. I know. My crew used to have to deal with them all the time. Like I’ve said before, looks can be deceiving.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. You just need to listen to me once in a while.”
Dustin shrugged, his tone changing to one of guilt. “I still feel like we should be doing something.”
“Don’t worry about it. They’ll ask if they need something, especially the new guy, Mr. All Bark and No Bite,” Albert said in a flippant tone, his eyes locked on the tattooed man with scars on his neck. He watched Bunker work the controls of the forklift with precision. Right then, an intense sense of déjà vu washed over him. “Damn, he looks familiar.”
“Bunker?”
“Yeah, can’t seem to place him though.” Albert wasn’t sure if he’d seen the black-haired man in one of the many warehouses or back alleys he’d been in during an exchange, or in some other capacity. But the man was familiar in some way. No doubt about it.
“Hey Sheriff, check it out,” Daisy shouted from somewhere in the barn behind Albert. Apollo and the hot deputy had had been in the back for the last half hour, searching for something.
“Good work,” Apollo told her, his voice wandering through the stacks of pallets. “Looks like the inventory map was out of date.”
“Probably hasn’t been updated since Helen died,” she answered.
“Then we need to keep looking. No telling what else is in here. See if you can find some rechargeables.”
Albert pulled his feet in as the Mayor’s grandson Rusty walked past with a red, heavy-duty toolbox in his right hand, grunting and leaning hard to the left with every step he took. The kid had tree trunks for legs, but they weren’t helping with the weight of the metal box. Rusty followed the forklift, heading for the entrance to the barn.
“That kid’s gonna wreck his back walking like that,” Dustin said.
“If someone asked me, I’d have Dicky carry it. That brute wouldn’t break a sweat,” Albert said, turning his eyes to Dustin. “Now, let me tell you, that guy is tough.”
“How do you know?”
“Used to watch him mow down opposing teams back in high school. He has this switch inside of him, that once it goes off, watch out. He sent more than one defensive lineman to the hospital back in those days.”
“You went to the football games?”
“Sure. Wasn’t much else to do on Friday nights. Though I usually had to sit by myself. But of course, that shouldn’t surprise you, right?”
“Nope. Had the same problem, which is why I skipped the ten-year reunion. Figured what was the point? I couldn’t stand most of those assholes anyway.”
“What high school again?” Albert asked, realizing he didn’t know where Dustin was from. He knew the stickman had moved to Clearwater recently, but that was the extent of the guy’s background.
“Arcadia High School. Phoenix.”
“Hot down there.”
“You got that right. You never stop sweating from March to November. But everyone has a pool, so that doesn’t suck.”
“Really? A pool, huh? I can’t picture you lounging by a pool.”
“That’s because I never did. Not a big fan of the whole swim trunk thing.”
“Yeah, me either,” Albert said as Bunker parked the forklift just beyond the door.
The man jumped off the vehicle, laughed, and then slapped Rusty on the back after the kid delivered the toolbox with a grunt.
“That’ll put some hair on your chest,” Bunker joked.
“What’s in this thing?” Rusty asked.
“Hopefully not rocks,” Bunker said, taking a knee. He opened the box and dug around inside, pulling out a pair of hand tools and giving them to Dicky. He stood up. “Why don’t you get started? I’ve got a couple of things to take care of inside. I’ll be right back.”
Bunker walked through the door and made his way toward the fertilizer stacks. Along the way, he snatched two shovels that were leaning against a crate of bleach, ammonia, Tide detergent, and other cleaning supplies wrapped in clear plastic.
Dustin stopped slouching against the fertilizer bags and stood upright when Bunker arrived.
Albert remained in a causal slump.
“Looks like you two need something to do,” Bunker said, his tone deep. He forced a shovel into Dustin’s hands and tried to do the same
with Albert.
Albert pushed the handle away. “Sorry, dude. Diggin’ ain’t my thing.”
The shovel came at him again. “Well, today it is. Everyone has to chip in if we’re gonna get this place ready.”
Albert refused to grab it, even though Bunker was pushing it with force against his chest. “You do know that this is all just a humungous waste of time, right? Only a complete moron would think any of this will accomplish a damn thing. Especially with what’s out there right now. Ever heard of the term Force Multiplier?”
Bunker’s chin tightened as he spoke through clenched teeth. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I’ve lived it. On both sides, my friend.”
“Well, first of all, I’m not your friend. And second, if you lived it, it means you served, so you know I’m right. We don’t stand a chance against the Russians and all their firepower. It doesn’t matter what we do, we’ll be slaughtered like mindless sheep.”
“Look, I don’t have time to explain it all. But trust me, I’ve got it covered. Right now, we have a few dead to bury and you two just volunteered. I need five graves out back. On the double.”
Albert couldn’t believe the audacity of this man. He tapped the tip of his index finger against the star on his chest, then pointed at Dustin’s badge as well. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re both Deputy Sheriffs. So tell me again, who put you in charge?”
“It just so happens, your boss did.”
Albert smirked, unable to hold back his attitude. “In charge of what? Landscaping?”
“Of all things tactical and practical. So I’d suggest you two get digging.”
“Graves are not tactical,” Albert answered, swinging his eyes to Dustin for a few seconds. “Can you believe this guy? Talk about dense.”
Bunker’s eyes twitched, reminiscent of a cowboy preparing to draw down in a Wild West gunfight. “They are, if the right bodies are being dumped into them. As it stands now, we only need five, but I could easily make it seven.”
Bunker: Boxed Set (Books 4 and 5) Page 5
