Bunker: Boxed Set (Books 4 and 5)

by Jay J. Falconer

  Daisy finished another wipe down before stacking the dish on the counter. “You wouldn’t think so, but we all know that’s impossible when men have the attention span of a flea.”

  Allison laughed, bringing a twinge of peace to her heart. There’s nothing quite like a fellow sister telling it like it is.

  Martha took a seat at the table with Megan, choosing the chair formerly inhabited by her grandson, Victor. “You two need to relax. There are good men around; you just have to look a little harder. Sometimes it’s difficult to spot the gems, with all the jerks in the way.”

  Allison rolled her eyes. “That’s easy for you to say, Mom. You only had Dad to deal with the past forty-five years. Trying being a single mother in the world these days.”

  “I know, sweetheart. It’s hard. But trust me, being married to your father wasn’t always easy. I learned to say ‘yes dear’ even when I didn’t want to. Remember that, girls. Once in a while, you just gotta let things go. Especially the little things.”

  “Different generation, Mom. Things are not the same anymore. There are no little things.”

  “You’re right, the world is not the same, but people are. Sometimes, the best men are standing right there in front of you, only you’re not paying attention.”

  “Right there in front of me? I think that’s a little bit of an oversimplification. Don’t you?”

  “Not really. It doesn’t take much to blind yourself to the answer, especially when you’re focused on the wrong question.”

  Allison pouted, “I don’t even know what that means, Mom.”

  There was a long pause in the room until Daisy cleared her throat. “Allison, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “I know you’re not fond of men at the moment, but have you ever thought about getting something going with the Sheriff?”

  “What do you mean? Like a date?”

  “He’s super sweet on you, in case you didn’t know.”

  “Really? Gus?”

  Daisy nodded, then smiled. “Why do you think he stops in every night after work to have dessert?”

  “He’s kinda cute and all, but I thought he just had a sweet tooth.”

  “Well, he doesn’t. In fact, until you arrived in town, he’d been planning to get into shape and drop a few pounds.”

  “I had no idea,” Allison said, seeing a vision of his beaming smile in her mind. He was a gentle soul, to be sure, but she’d never given him much thought. Until now. “He hardly ever says anything.”

  “That’s because he’s shy.”

  “The Sheriff? Shy? But he deals with people all day long.”

  “Yeah, he does. But don’t let the badge and gun fool you. He’s a big softy inside. Like a squishy teddy bear.”

  Allison didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

  Daisy continued. “In fact, he’s one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet. Hell, if he was a little younger, I’d take a run at him myself.”

  “What does age have to do with anything?” Martha said from her seat.

  Daisy paused before she spoke again. “It doesn’t, really. But I know for a fact he only has eyes for Allison. Plus, there’s the whole no fraternization with a co-worker regulation.”

  “Excuse me for saying this, Daisy,” Martha said, her tone motherly, “but from what I hear, you don’t exactly play by the rules when it comes to men.”

  “Mother!” Allison snapped.

  Daisy latched onto Allison’s forearm, squeezing gently. “It’s okay, Allison. Everyone knows.”

  “I’m sorry, but sometimes my mom doesn’t have a filter.”

  Daisy turned to face Martha, her hands working the dishtowel across a plate. “You mean Bill King?”

  Stephanie walked through the back door only moments after the words flew from Daisy’s lips. The conversation dried up an instant later, an eerie hush hanging in the air.

  Stephanie stopped and put her hands on her hips. “You ladies were just talking about my ex, weren’t you?”

  Daisy nodded.

  “It never ceases to amaze me how that jerk finds his way into almost every conversation. Even way out here.”

  “I’m sorry to bring him up, Steph. I know we had a deal.”

  “No, I get it. People need to gossip.”

  “It wasn’t gossip, exactly,” Allison said. “My mother was just being—”

  Daisy didn’t let her finish. “Actually, we were talking about the Sheriff and his crush on Allison.”

  “The Sheriff? Really?”

  “Yep. Really.”

  “And Bill’s name came up?” Stephanie asked, looking mystified.

  “What did Mr. King do?” Megan asked, her sweet voice hanging in the air. “Was he bad?”

  “Never you mind, little one,” Martha said, snatching the boys’ half-empty plates from the table. She grabbed Megan’s, too, then carried the stack to the sink and dumped them into the brown water.

  “Maybe we should talk about something else?” Daisy said to Stephanie, putting a handful of clean dishes into the cabinet.

  “As long as it’s not about my ex, then I’m good with it.”

  “I second that,” Martha added.

  “Then the ayes have it. Motion carried,” Allison said without hesitation, beaming an ear-to-ear smile. “See now, ladies. That’s how the newly formed Clearwater Women’s Group handles its decisions. Collectively and without a second thought to anyone who relies on testosterone to get up in the morning, if you know what I mean.”

  Stephanie laughed.

  So did Daisy.

  Martha turned a deep shade of red before walking to the cabinet next to the leaky fridge. “Speaking of which,” she said, opening the door and pulling out a box of Band-Aids. She turned to Daisy. “I think you should take these and go keep an eye on the men. Someone is bound to need one.”

  Daisy laughed, then took the bandages.

  “At least we don’t hear any power tools outside,” Allison said in a sarcastic tone.

  “Good heavens, can you imagine?” Martha quipped, her grin in full bloom.

  “Do you remember what Dad used to say? If I’m not bleeding, I’m not trying.”

  Martha laughed. “Yes, every time he went outside, I swear.”

  Allison agreed. “When I cleaned out the garage after he died, I must have found a dozen extension cords that had been cut in half by the hedge trimmer.”

  “It’s a wonder he still had all ten fingers when we buried him.”

  “We cremated him, Mother.”

  “I know. It was just an expression.”

  “Sort of like my testosterone joke a minute ago.”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  Daisy motioned with the box of bandages. “I guess I’d better get out there before someone loses a limb.”

  “And if they do, pick it up and smack them over the head with it,” Martha said, laughing after the last word left her lips.

  CHAPTER 9

  Bunker waited for Rusty to step out of the way before he finished the metal tie on the barbed wire. It completed another barricade at the end of Old Mill Road. “One more set after this and we’re done prepping this side of the bridge. We’ll need to keep them out of the way until we’re ready for final positioning.”

  Apollo brought another 4x4 post into position, holding it at a forty-five degree angle. Rusty bolted it to a matching piece of lumber running the opposite direction. The two posts formed the letter ‘X’ lying on its side. Once a pair of ends was made, they’d string wire between them to complete the barrier.

  “When we’re done here, I should probably get back to Clearwater,” Apollo said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Bunker needed him to stick around. “You really think that’s a good idea, Sheriff?”

  “No. But my duty is with the town. It’s my job and I should be there. With everyone else.”

  “It’s not going to be easy to avoid the checkpoints. Probably have a number of patr
ols out, too. If their orders are to shoot on sight—”

  “I can get him there,” Burt said before Bunker could finish his sentence. “Like I said before, I know a few shortcuts. Logging roads, mostly.”

  Apollo seemed to like that idea. His eyes locked onto Burt’s. “Tuttle has some area maps we can use to plot a course around the roadblocks we know about. Going to need everyone’s input.”

  Bunker wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t want either of the men to take off, but knew it wasn’t his place to stop them. Despite the fact that the women and children needed maximum protection.

  He decided to take a neutral, noncommittal approach, giving him time to come up with a plan to change their minds. “We’ll figure something out once we get the perimeter secure.”

  Dicky lowered his rifle slightly and glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes meeting Bunker’s. The huge man sent a head nod, bringing a welcome confirmation Bunker’s way.

  The TrackingPoint rifle looked good in the goliath’s hands, his powerful grip keeping it secure and ready to fire. Bunker didn’t know the man very well, but thus far Dicky had been easy to work with. He wasn’t afraid to jump in and help with any project. Or take guard duty—Dicky volunteered before Bunker had to ask.

  “Is this how you made them in the Army?” Rusty asked Bunker.

  “I was in the Marine Corps, not the Army. That was Megan’s dad. He was a master welder, if I remember right.”

  “Marines, sorry.”

  “It’s okay, kid. I knew what you meant.”

  “So, did you?”

  “Yeah, sure. Made my share of just about everything once or twice. It comes with the job. They teach us how to defend against all kinds of threats, and not just with a rifle. My favorite part was when we needed to improvise in the field. It never ceased to amaze me what your mind can accomplish when you’re desperate.”

  “Or hungry, I’ll bet,” Apollo added.

  “That, or trying to avoid hypothermia. The high-altitude wilderness training was the worst. Nearly froze the boys off that first night.”

  “Did you ever have to shoot anybody?” Rusty asked, catching the attention of Dallas and Victor as well. They stopped their work, turning their heads to listen.

  “Yes, but it’s not something I like to talk about.”

  “That had to be pretty intense. I’m not sure I could do it.”

  “My guess is that you could, if you had the right training.”

  “Maybe. But still, pulling the trigger has to be hard.”

  “For some it is, but they usually get over it if they want to stay alive. We had this saying, The more you train in peace, the less you bleed in war.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “And trust me, we were always training. Sometimes, that’s all we did for weeks on end.”

  “Sounds a little boring,” Dallas said.

  “At times, it was. But that is what’s needed to protect this country. Our government spent piles of money making sure our minds and bodies were prepared for what we had to do. In the end, you have to act without hesitation, otherwise you have little chance to survive combat. There’s no time to think. It has to be second nature.”

  Rusty nodded, but didn’t ask another question.

  Bunker continued, feeling the urge to share information about his father. He wasn’t sure if the compulsion stemmed from the fact that none of these boys had a father around or not. But it seemed like the thing to do. “Then there are the truly great Marines. Those with the mindset to never give up, no matter what they face. Like my father. Before he became a firefighter, he was a member of SEAL Team Two. Men like him have this switch inside that kicks in when the shit hits the fan, always driving them forward regardless of the odds. But not everyone is born to fight,” Bunker said, looking down at the letters tattooed on his knuckles: B-T-F. “Only a few have what it takes.”

  “How do you know if you’re one of them?” Rusty asked.

  “That’s a good question. It starts deep within, somewhere inside your core. I’m not sure how to explain it exactly, but my father knew I had it. He was on me every day, always testing me to see what I was made of.”

  “Sounds harsh.”

  “Yeah, once in a while. But a man can accomplish anything if he is willing to push himself beyond his limits. I think that type of person makes the best warrior.”

  “It’s sort of like my racing. I have a couple of friends who take way too many days off from training. I’m always out there riding, but it seems like I’m the only one. It’s almost impossible to get them out of bed and away from their girlfriends.”

  “Exactly. Whether it’s sports or combat, those who excel are dedicated to accomplishing the mission. And to do that, you must never stop pushing the envelope.”

  “To find your limits.”

  “Yes, because you don’t know your limits until you fail, and that takes blood, sweat, and tears. That’s what my old man taught me.”

  “You were lucky to have a dad like that.”

  “Though I did get tired of the constant preaching and pop inspections,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Especially the dreaded almond duty.”

  “Almond duty? What’s that?”

  Bunker laughed after an intense memory flashed in his mind. “Every night when my father came home after his shift at the fire station, he’d inspect the ground around the almond trees. If a single nut was on the ground, there’d be hell to pay. The type of hell would vary, but when a former SEAL is dishing it out, you can bet your ass it would be tough.”

  “Every almond?”

  “Shell or nut, it didn’t matter. The ground had to be spotless. Those trees are the reason why I hate almonds to this day. I can’t even stand to look at them, let alone put one in my mouth. I swear, I had nightmares about giant almonds crushing me for years, all because of those damn trees.”

  “I can see why.”

  “As I got older, the almond inspections didn’t happen as often, but the punishment for failure went up. It forced me to overcome the anxiety that came with those random inspections, devising new and better ways to keep the birds out of the trees and the nuts off the ground, even in the wind.”

  “Were you a SEAL, like your father?”

  “I planned to be at first, but then a different specialty found me. Something with a unique challenge attached to it. I decided to become a sapper.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Basically, it’s a combat engineer. My job was to clear the way into battle for the infantry to follow. Most of the time that meant engineering a way into the combat zone using explosives and other techniques. To get past the enemy’s defenses.”

  “Was your dad disappointed you didn’t become a SEAL?”

  “If he was, he never said anything. He knew I liked to be first into the fight. So becoming a sapper seemed like the logical choice. It’s an important job. One that requires you to use your brains and your balls to clear a path for those behind you. Most of the time, we’d end up fighting alongside the grunts afterward, but there’s something honorable about being first man in. Plus, we got to blow shit up.”

  “I can see why you liked it,” Victor said.

  “We also spent time fortifying our base defenses, plus looking for IEDs and other booby-traps. You’d be surprised how clever those booger-eaters can be over there. Almost anything can be turned into a bomb: bicycles, sidewalks, electrical transformers—you name it. For some reason, learning all that stuff really appealed to me. I’m not sure how to explain it exactly. It just fit.”

  Burt Lowenstein brought another stack of 4x4 posts from the barn, each cut off at the four-foot mark. The man had some serious pipes, his biceps bulging with every movement of his arms. His sagging gut was another matter; he obviously skipped the cardio portion of his workouts.

  “That should be enough, Burt,” Bunker said, pointing at the spot where he wanted them.

  “You know, Bunker, I was doing some thinking about those Land Rov
ers behind the barn. Tuttle has a seriously nice torch I could use to make some adjustments. A little fortification, if you know what I mean. There’s a shitload of steel plates out back.”

  “Good idea, but first we need to use the Rovers to push Tuttle’s old trucks into position.”

  “I can do that. Where do you want ’em?”

  Bunker pointed to the far end of the wooden bridge. “One on each side, funneling traffic to the middle. Once the Fords are into position, disable their tires and drive trains. If you can weld some of those plates onto the door panels, it’ll be extra protection in case we get in a firefight.”

  “Tuttle’s also got an old Massey Ferguson Combine out back, if you think it’ll help. That harvester is from the ‘60s and built like a tank, but it should still run. At least it used to the last time I worked on it for the old man.”

  “What about the EMP?” Victor asked.

  Burt shook his head. “Should be fine. No electronics in that beast.”

  Bunker agreed. “Just make sure you leave a path wide enough for a horse to get through. But not too wide. I don’t want any vehicles making their way across the bridge.”

  “Why funnel them down the middle?” Victor asked.

  “For easier kill shots. We need to concentrate our firepower in one spot, if they decide to come across,” Bunker said. He pointed, aiming his finger at a mighty oak tree to the right, its branches thick with leaves. “If we build a hide up there, a sniper can cover that position with the TrackingPoint rifle. However, once the enemy zeroes in, he’ll need an escape route. A fast rope down the back ought to do it. That wide trunk will provide excellent cover.”

  “I could reinforce it with some steel for protection,” Burt said. “Then our sniper might be able to take out a few more of them fuckers.”

  Bunker liked that idea, except for one problem. “Might be tough hauling up all that weight.”

  Burt didn’t hesitate. “We can use Tuttle’s chain hoists in the barn. Just need someone to shimmy up there with the rigging to get us started.”

  “I can do it,” Dallas said, raising his hand to volunteer. “I climb trees all the time.”

  “Then we should make two,” Bunker said, pointing at another oak tree.