Bunker: Boxed Set (Books 4 and 5)

by Jay J. Falconer

  “Yes sir.”

  “Did it look like force was used, or did someone use a key?”

  Victor knew what the Sheriff was suggesting and decided to tell his side of the story first. “I crawled in through a window in Franklin’s office. He always leaves it open.”

  Rusty looked at him. “That was you?”

  “Yeah, but I never trashed the office. That part is a lie, Sheriff.”

  “There were papers everywhere. I saw it,” Rusty said, his tone elevated.

  Apollo held up his hands. “Easy boys. Nobody is accusing anyone of anything. I’m just trying to understand what happened.”

  Victor could sense the Sheriff’s distrust. “I already told you, Sheriff. I went in through the window and took the Colt that was under the desk. When the men in black came into the store, I went back out the window, but lost the gun in the bushes or something.”

  “Maybe someone needs to head back there, Sheriff, and take another look? I’ll go if you need me to,” Dicky said.

  Apollo didn’t hesitate, shaking his head. “I don’t want anyone leaving without an escort. But since we only have one horse, our choices are limited.”

  “What about the Land Rovers?” Rusty asked, giving the maps back to Apollo.

  “We’ll only use them if our camp is overrun. Otherwise, they sit right where they are.”

  Dicky nodded. “Too much noise.”

  “Exactly. We can’t risk using them unless we know precisely where the Russians are. No, I’m afraid horseback is the only choice. For now.”

  “It’s too bad we only have one,” Dicky said.

  Apollo shot a nod at Rusty. “Let’s go have a chat with Bunker.” He looked at Dicky and Victor before he departed. “Stay sharp, men. Everyone is counting on you.”

  “You got it, sir,” Dicky answered.

  Victor waited until Rusty and the Sheriff were out of sight. He looked up at the giant. “You believe me, right?”

  “I’d like to. But at this point, the jury is still out.”

  Victor dropped his head. He knew most of this was his fault, but some of what happened wasn’t. “It seems like no matter what I do, I get in trouble. Even before we moved here, it was the same thing. Everyone judging me all the time. Even when I didn’t do shit. It was always my fault. But not this time. All I was doing was trying to protect my mom. That’s all. It’s just not fair.”

  A heavy silence hung in the air for what seemed like a minute.

  “Hey, I’ll tell you what,” Dicky said, holding out the rifle. “You hold this and stand guard while I go take a major leak. All that water is running right through me. My back teeth are floating.”

  Victor took the gun and smiled. “Really?

  “Yes. But don’t let me down.”

  “I won’t. Thanks for trusting me.”

  Dicky pointed to the rifle. “That’s the safety. It won’t fire as long as it’s engaged.”

  “Okay, got it.”

  “But let me be perfectly clear,” Dicky said, pointing at the stand of trees on the other side of the bridge. “The safety stays on unless you see the entire frickin’ Russian Army coming through those trees. Not some rabbit, or a bird. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Crystal. Safety stays on.”

  “You’d better have both feet intact when I get back. Hands, too,” Dicky said, turning to head toward the tallest oak tree in the area—the same tree Bunker had selected for the first sniper hide.

  Victor leaned his weight under the heavy rifle and held it up to his shoulder. The scope was a million times bigger than the one mounted on his grandma’s .22. He looked through it. The image was clear and bright, allowing him to see every detail across the bridge.

  Right then, something Dicky said tore into his mind. It was his earlier statement to the Sheriff about the need for more horses.

  Victor’s thoughts filled with an idea. One that would surely earn him the respect of everyone in camp. Even the Sheriff.

  He brought his eyes around to check on Dicky’s position. The man was almost to the base of the oak tree, his hands working the front of his pants. A few seconds later, Dicky was behind its wide trunk and out of sight.

  Victor leaned the rifle against the wooden posts of the barricade, being careful to brace it so it wouldn’t fall over. He grabbed one of the water bottles and twisted off the cap. After a quick swig, he used the remaining liquid to fill the orange water container hanging on the downtube of Rusty’s bike.

  He gripped the handlebars and flipped the kickstand up with his toe. A few seconds later, his butt was on the seat and his right foot on the pedal, ready to take off for the far end of the bridge, and beyond.

  If he hurried, he figured he would be back before dark. However, he needed to buy himself some time so Dicky wouldn’t miss him and send out search parties.

  Victor turned his head in the direction of the tree masquerading as an outdoor toilet. “Hey Dicky! I gotta pee, too, and check on my mom. I’m gonna ride back to house. The rifle’s right here for ya.”

  “Okay. Grab some more water while you’re there.”

  “Will do.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Sheriff Apollo unrolled one of the maps he’d brought to Martha Rainey’s house from the hidden bunker beneath Tuttle’s barn. He held it down with a spread of his hands, its footprint spanning almost the entire length of the dining room table.

  The second map was still rolled and standing in the corner of the room, its center bound by a rubber band. He was saving it for later, once he had a chance to test a theory he was working on regarding Tuttle’s maps.

  Bunker stood across the middle of the table from Apollo, sandwiched between Stephanie and Daisy, both of them leaning forward, eyes glued to the map.

  Apollo made a mental note to pull Bunker aside later and have a discussion about the new information he’d uncovered about the theft of Franklin’s Colt 1911 and the subsequent appearance of the men in black at the store.

  He also needed to verify Victor’s testimony with Megan—the part about the girl giving up the secret location of the gun. Something was nagging at him about the words Victor had used. Most notably, his statement about the office window always being open.

  Victor couldn’t have known that fact unless Megan told him on the bus, or he’d been using that entry point to break in on a regular basis. Either way, Megan needed to confirm.

  Albert was next to Daisy, looking nervous, with his skinny friend Dustin on the other side of him. Both men stood erect, with their arms folded across their chests.

  Martha Rainey took position at the head of the table, just as the matriarch should do, with her daughter Allison manning the opposite end of the six-foot-long mahogany surface.

  The Mayor’s grandson Rusty hovered only inches beyond the reach of Apollo’s right elbow, with Dallas and Jeffrey pushed in close on his left, their hands pressing down on the map.

  Megan Atwater and her knee brace sat in the dining chair in front of Stephanie King, her eyes wide from the mounting excitement. Megan glanced up and sent Bunker a smile over her shoulder. He reciprocated with a grin of his own, then put a soft hand on the top of her back.

  Misty Tuttle remained upstairs after her breakdown during the burial of her fiancé. Apollo could still feel the run of tears on his arms, having carried the distraught woman up those same steps earlier.

  “This is what I was telling you about,” Apollo told Bunker, shooting a long, extended look at the map on the table.

  Martha put a candleholder on the end of the map in front of her, while Allison used a thick photo album to secure the other.

  Apollo pulled his hands away and gave Bunker a black magic marker from his pocket. He’d found it in Martha’s kitchen drawer.

  Bunker removed its protective cap, then flashed a look at Burt and Albert. “Where did you see the convoy?”

  Burt pointed at a road cutting through the mountain range on the left, just above a bridge symbol printed in black.
“It was about here.”

  “Actually, it was here,” Albert said, aiming his finger an inch lower. “We hadn’t quite made it to the bridge.”

  Bunker looked at Burt with one eyebrow raised, obviously waiting for confirmation.

  The mechanic’s eyes tightened for a few seconds before he answered, moving his finger on the map to match Albert’s correction. “I hate to admit it, but Albert’s right. They set up the roadblock here, just past the bridge. We were coming up a rise on this side when he spotted them.”

  Bunker drew the letter ‘X’ where Burt had indicated, smothering Mason’s Bridge in ink.

  Dustin smiled. “Yep. That’s where we were.” He pointed about a quarter inch to the right. “The boulders we hid behind were over here. I’ll never forget that moment for as long as I live. Talk about intense. Especially the tanks.”

  “How many tanks?” Bunker asked.

  “Three, I think.”

  Bunker nodded. “Sounds about right. What did the chassis and turret look like?”

  Dustin shrugged. “Not sure. They looked kind of old, but we weren’t exactly close.”

  “Does it matter?” Apollo asked.

  “Yeah, it does. If it’s a classic T-72, it might not have reactive armor. If it’s newer, then all bets are off.”

  “With our luck, it’ll be the newer model,” the Sheriff said.

  “I wouldn’t say that. The T-72 may be old, but it’s still their most popular main battle tank. There are literally thousands of them still around, so I wouldn’t rule it out. Those things are damn reliable,” Bunker said, looking at Dustin again. “Did you see rectangular, raised objects covering the hull? They’d look like pillows, or wedge-shaped packs around the turret.”

  “I don’t remember any of that,” Dustin answered. “But Burt got a better look at them.”

  Burt nodded. “Flat hulls, for sure. Plus they had steel drums attached to the back. Two of them.”

  “For extra fuel,” Bunker said before looking at Apollo. He nodded. “I’m betting T-72.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “Possibly.”

  Stephanie King spoke up next, her finger aimed at a spot not far from the first roadblock. The map legend in the corner indicated its distance was only a handful of miles away. “I think this is where we stopped for a potty break. Right, Daisy?”

  Daisy took Stephanie’s hand and moved her finger an inch closer to the first roadblock. She brought her eyes up to Bunker. “Do you think it was the same convoy?”

  Burt spoke before Bunker could respond. “Did you see any tanks?”

  Daisy shook her head. “No, just a few trucks. But they could have been there, and we just didn’t see them.”

  “Tanks are kinda hard to miss,” Burt replied, his tone sharp and to the point. “Unless you’re asleep.”

  “Burt’s right,” Bunker said, tracing his finger along the roadway. When he came upon another bridge named Royal Palace Bridge, he stopped.

  Dallas joined the conversation, tapping his finger next to Bunker’s. “That’s the first roadblock I saw.” The kid moved his finger down another inch on the map. His voice cracked when he said, “My parents’ house is here. At least it used to be.”

  Bunker drew a second X on the map to cover the Royal Palace Bridge, then put a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “We’ll find them, I promise. Just need to be patient.”

  Dallas nodded, sniffing. His hand went back to the map, touching two different points. “The other roadblocks I ran into were here and here.” Both of his touches landed on landmarks, the first being Kay’s Crossing Bridge and the other Union Towers Bridge.

  Bunker drew two more X’s, each over the designated bridge. He looked up at Apollo. “Where did you find Misty and her boyfriend?”

  Apollo took a second to find his bearings on the map, looking for a waterway that followed the river flow he remembered. When he found a match, he put his finger on it. “Dicky, Rusty, and I were here.”

  Bunker’s eyes followed the river upstream several miles, then his finger landed on the paper next to another landmark. “I wonder if they were headed to Rickman’s Bridge before they spotted Misty and Cowie,” he said, circling the bridge and drawing a question mark inside the ring.

  “No, they weren’t,” a new female’s voice rang out from behind Apollo.

  Apollo turned his head.

  It was Misty Tuttle, her feet landing at the base of the stairs. The bedsheet wrinkles on her right cheek were distinct, no doubt due to some serious sack time. Her eyes were puffy and her hair was a tangled mess, sticking up at odd angles.

  Misty ambled across the floor and squeezed in next to Allison. “The Russians weren’t headed to some bridge. They were hunting for us. They wanted us dead.”

  “Why?” Bunker asked, sounding skeptical.

  Apollo didn’t wait for Misty to answer. “Because allegedly, they’d stolen a formula from the Russians.”

  “We did steal it. Well, actually, Angus stole it, but I convinced him we needed to get it here, to NORAD. I have an old friend who works there,” she said with conviction. Her hand traced a path from Colorado Springs to Clearwater. “I wanted to see my dad while we were in the area, but they found us first. Almost like they knew we were coming.”

  “What kind of formula?” Albert asked.

  “It’s probably a new kind of bomb,” Burt added. “The news likes to say the arms race is over, but they’re full of shit.”

  Misty shook her head, looking frustrated. “No, it’s not for a bomb. Why do men always assume it’s a bomb? That’s exactly what my friend in NORAD asked me when I first texted him about it.”

  “Well, it is the Russians after all,” Albert said, shrugging. “That’s what they do. Develop new and better ways to kill the planet. Just like we do.”

  Misty seemed to ignore Albert’s statements. “It’s for something called Metallic Hydrogen.”

  Albert sucked in a breath, his eyes flying wide. “What did you say?”

  “Metallic Hydrogen. They’ve figured out a way to make it.”

  “That’s not possible,” Albert snapped. “The pressures required are enormous. Plus, you’d need to keep it super-cooled.”

  “What’s Metallic Hydrogen?” Dustin asked Albert.

  “A theoretical phase of hydrogen,” Albert answered, his eyes never leaving Misty’s face.

  “I hate chemistry,” Burt mumbled, though Apollo heard it clearly.

  Albert continued. “Basically, it would be a new kind of liquid metal, made entirely of hydrogen. A Quantum Fluid with nearly unlimited superconductivity. At least, that’s what the theoretical physicists said in the article I read.”

  “Sounds like a bunch of gobbledygook to me,” Burt said.

  “We’re talking cutting-edge stuff. One of the scientists went on to say that if we could solve the manufacturing process, we might be able to use it to create a quantum bridge that could tap directly into zero-point energy. Of course, the man was just speculating, because nobody has a clue how to actually make Metallic Hydrogen. We just don’t have the technology.”

  “Well, they do now,” Misty said. “They’re making it in Russia as we speak. And from what Angus told me, they’ve figured out a way to avoid supercooling it. It has something to do with a rare Earth element found in only certain parts of the world.”

  “Are you talking about some kind of subatomic stabilizer?” Albert asked.

  She shrugged, the corners of her mouth turning south. “I don’t know. Angus mentioned a new kind of nano-particle, but it was all over my head. I wish I could remember more.”

  Albert looked at Apollo, his voice charged with intensity. “If she’s right, do you know what this means?”

  Apollo shook his head.

  “It means the Russians would have access to almost unlimited amounts of free energy. Something they could sell to the rest of the world at a fraction of the cost of oil.”

  “Holy shit! They’d put the Middle
East out of business,” Dustin said.

  “And the United States,” Bunker added. “We have more oil reserves than anyone.”

  Burt smirked. “I’m not sure putting all the oil companies out of business is such a bad thing.”

  “Except for all the jobs we’d lose. And tax dollars,” Bunker said.

  “I’m betting it would crash the stock market, too,” Albert added.

  Dustin laughed. “Rich people always hate it when someone tries to turn them into poor people.”

  “Once the oil companies are out of the way, Russia could raise the price to anything they wanted,” Martha said.

  “And control the world,” Albert said.

  “So this is all about money?” Allison asked.

  “It usually is,” Bunker answered. “Money and power, though most of the time they are the same thing.”

  “He who controls the energy has the power,” Albert said, his tone deliberate. “In more ways than one.”

  Misty continued, “Angus stumbled across a classified file while he was working as a contractor in one of their joint research labs in Australia. When he told me about it, we decided to get this information to my friend in NORAD. Someone needed to know about it.”

  “Why NORAD, if it’s not a bomb?” Burt asked.

  Misty rolled her eyes. “Weren’t you listening? I had to tell someone in the government, and he’s the only one I knew. Plus it was close to my dad’s house. That way I could kill two birds with one stone.”

  Kill being the operative word, Apollo thought. Franklin and Cowie—two unintended victims of the techno-invasion. “That explains why they were hunting for you, but it doesn’t explain why the Russians decided to invade the US.” He looked at Bunker, hoping for insight.

  Bunker nodded, slowly. “Unless the two are related somehow.”

  Daisy spoke next. “Maybe that’s what the Morse Code signal was for.”

  Apollo nodded, though he was still having a hard time processing the meaning of the new information. “If those coordinates were to deposits of the rare elements—”

  Bunker finished his sentence. “—it would be worth the risk of invasion.”