“Trust me, the last thing I ever wanted to do was see you naked.”
“What the hell does that mean?” she asked with attitude.
“Shit. That came out wrong. I’m sure you look fabulous naked. I just, well, ah . . . never mind,” he said in a blundering stammer.
She snickered, shaking her head. After a short pause, she waved a hand forward. “Come on, everybody’s waiting.”
He followed with gratitude in his heart. Not for the free peep show, but for the fact that someone he knew was here and walking around freely. That meant no Russians. Unfortunately, he couldn’t un-see what he had just witnessed. The embarrassment would haunt both of them to no end.
CHAPTER 39
Bunker pulled Sheriff Apollo aside, walking him twenty yards from the others in Patterson’s Meadow. Dallas, Rusty, Victor, Dicky, Burt, and stickman Dustin remained behind with Stephanie King, the only female from Tuttle’s camp. “What’s Stephanie doing here?”
Apollo shrugged. “I tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted.”
“Well then, I guess you didn’t try hard enough. She should be back at camp with her son.”
“I agree, but I don’t think she’s totally onboard with your plan.”
“Ah, shit. She’s gonna try to talk me out of this, isn’t she?”
“Or she wants to keep an eye on you. I hate to say it, but I think she’s here as more than just a friend.”
“Great, just what I needed.”
“Daisy wanted to join the fight as well, but at least I could order her to stay. Someone with training had to stand guard. Hope it’s enough.”
“Should be. She’s capable. Plus I’m betting we’ll keep the Russians focused on us for a while,” Bunker said, thinking about his promise to Daisy. He’d agreed to come clean about his past when he returned. However, since she wasn’t here, he figured he wasn’t breaking his word if he waited until they all got back to camp.
Bunker’s eyes found Stephanie on their own, specifically her shapely backside as she bent over to adjust the position of one of the boxes next to her. “I still can’t believe she’s here.”
Gus seemed amused when he said, “Steph never listens to anyone, anyway, so why should we be surprised?”
“That’s true, but Jesus, Sheriff. This is the last place she should be. It’s gonna be beyond dangerous.”
“That’s what I told her, but I think that just made her want to come even more. Not sure what else we can do at this point. She’s a free person and can do what she wants.”
“You’re right. The harder we push, the more she’s gonna want to stay.”
A sly grin arrived on Apollo’s lips. “I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure Stephanie King has her eye on a little Bunker meat.”
“Don’t even go there,” Bunker said in a sarcastic tone. He’d have to find a subtle way to convince her to head back to camp. Something that she thought was her idea.
“What did you find out in town?” Apollo asked.
“About what you’d expect. It’s pretty intense. The Russians showed up in force.”
“Everyone okay?”
Bunker shook his head. “Some are starting to fight back. There’ve been some casualties.”
“My God, I should have been there.”
“There’s nothing you could have done, Sheriff. Casualties are inevitable. No way around it. But what we do here, right now, in this meadow, can put an end to all of it. So we have to stay focused and not dwell on the shit we can’t control. Agreed?”
Apollo nodded. “Who’s been hurt?”
“The Mayor for one. Stabbed by Kenny King.”
Apollo sucked in a quick breath. “He’s out of prison?”
“Apparently. But he’s been dealt with.”
“What do you mean, dealt with?”
“He came at me and I took him out.”
“Well, I can’t say that’s a bad thing,” the Sheriff said, looking almost relieved. “Is Buckley dead?”
“Not as far as I know, but he was losing a lot of blood when Rico rushed him to Doc’s.”
“Anyone else?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know who. There were some executions before I got there.”
“Shit.”
“That’s why we need to get this right. It’s the only way we can help everyone in town. There isn’t time to waste on anything else.”
“Agreed. But we’ll need to talk later, though. I discovered a few things after studying Tuttle’s obsession.”
“The newspapers?”
Apollo nodded. “They tell an interesting story.”
“Does it affect what we need to do here?”
“No.”
“Then it can wait.”
“My thinking exactly.”
Bunker walked back to the group.
Dallas and Rusty stopped his approach, working together as the junior varsity team to block his path. He could see the apprehension smothering their faces, looking as though it was about to explode from their eyes.
“What’s up, boys?”
“Did you see my grandpa?” Rusty asked. “What did he say? Did he ask about me?”
Bunker didn’t have the heart to tell the kid the truth about the stabbing. The youngster had a right to know, but Buckley’s condition was an unknown. The Mayor could be dead or recovering nicely.
That left two options, one of which would break the kid’s heart. If Bunker could somehow soften the information to avoid what little he actually knew, it technically wouldn’t be lying. It would be more along the lines of protection, until they actually knew more.
Bunker cleared his throat, buying a few more seconds to formulate his response. “As a matter of fact, I did. One of the first things we talked about was you. I told him you were safe and helping all of us deal with this crisis. I know he’s proud of you.”
Rusty smiled, sending the concern in his eyes screaming for the exit.
“What about my mom and sisters?” Dallas asked. “Were they there?”
Bunker took the photo from his pocket and gave it to the boy. “I’m sorry, I looked and asked around, but I didn’t see them.”
The boy’s eyes started to tear.
Bunker didn’t let a second pass. “But that doesn’t mean anything bad has happened to them. The town is a big place with lots of hiding places. I probably just missed them. So let’s not worry about something we don’t know.”
Dallas sniffed before he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.
“Bunker?” Apollo said, nudging his arm. He pointed at the items stacked together. “We need to get this stuff into position.”
Bunker was thankful for Apollo’s save. Had he been pressed for more information, he would have run out of spin to sling at the boys. The last thing the kids needed right now was the harshness of truth.
Bunker took a quick visual survey of the load the gang had brought with them. They’d stacked everything in neat, ordered piles. Boxes of explosives, including Tannerite, were waiting to the left with spools of detonation cord and blasting caps.
They’d also brought several handguns, a half-dozen rifles, a stack of tactical vests, and a healthy reserve of ammo. They even remembered the camouflage netting and gas masks.
Bunker looked at the oversized meth cook, reminding himself not to call him Tin Man. “I’m guessing it’s all here?”
Albert pulled a folded wad of paper from his pocket and gave it to Bunker. “Yep, plus a few items. Go ahead and check the list, if you don’t believe me.”
Bunker opened the papers and scanned the items he’d written, then visually checked the inventory they’d stacked. He didn’t have time to review everything, but Albert’s thoroughness was evident. “Impressive work.”
“Thanks, but I had a little help,” Albert said, moving his eyes from person to person in acknowledgment.
“Don’t believe him, Bunker,” Dustin said. “Albert did most of it. We just helped where we could.”
“S
peak for yourself, Slim,” Burt snapped, holding out his arms. Several new burn scars were present, no doubt from all the welding the man had been doing. “Those hides were a bitch. But they’re done. So is the drawbridge. So you better come through with your end of the deal.”
Bunker had no plans to break the agreement he’d made with the sweaty mechanic. “The gun’s yours, Burt. As soon as we’re done here.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Burt said, pausing for a ten-count before he spoke again. “Looking at all the shit we hauled here, did we really need me to do all that fabricating? We got enough to start World War III.”
“We’ll need them if this plan doesn’t work,” Bunker answered, turning to Albert. “Did you bring the handheld?”
“It’s in the glove compartment of the truck Stephanie drove. Kept it off like you asked.”
“Excellent,” he answered, noticing an item that looked out of place. It was a large duffle bag. It was black with long straps draped over the middle. He pointed to it. “What’s in the duffle?”
“Punji sticks,” Albert said. “Thought they might come in handy.”
“Actually, it was my idea,” Burt said, sounding a little miffed that Albert tried to take credit. “Turned them on that old lathe Tuttle had. They’re all exactly the same length and fucking sharp.”
“Not sure there’s time for them,” Bunker said, wishing Burt hadn’t wasted the effort on something he didn’t need. Punji sticks are best used in massive numbers with poisoned tips or feces, either buried in a drop pit or to booby trap trails against foot patrols. There wasn’t time for any of that. Plus, his team of untrained civilians would lose track of where they were located.
“Well, use them if you want. They’re here. I don’t really give a shit.”
“I gotta tell you ya, Bunker,” Stephanie said, breaking the tension. She pointed at the stockpile. “It took some creative packing to get all that stuff here. Especially on the horses. Good thing I took charge, otherwise it wouldn’t have fit. Not with all of us tagging along.”
“Yeah, all of you,” Bunker said, holding back what he truly wanted to say. If she’d stayed at Tuttle’s place, there would’ve been more room available. Not to mention, there would be one less person he’d be responsible for—a single mother, no less. A mother with no tactical skills whatsoever.
“What do you want us to do first?” Burt asked, cracking his knuckles. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I get what’s coming to me.”
“We start at the center and work our way out. It’s safer that way. I’ll need the blasting caps, det cord, and TNT first. Once that’s done, we’ll move one of the Land Rovers into position, then focus on the rest of the perimeter.”
“Not both trucks?” Albert asked. “I’m sure we have enough trinitrotoluene.”
“One is all we need,” Bunker said, adjusting his plan on the fly. They’d need to hold back one vehicle for Stephanie to use when she decided it was time to head back to camp. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to accomplish that feat, but he figured it would come to him. “Bring the shovels and auger, too.”
He turned to Dicky, pointing at Tango’s position. “Tango’s half a click up that ridge. Grab him and the rest of the horses and take them to the top so they don’t get spooked.”
“Consider it done.”
“But I’ll need them back down here when we’re done.”
Dicky nodded, the expression on his face indicating he’d come to a conclusion. “In case we need to make a fast getaway.”
“That, and other things.”
“Easy enough,” Dicky said, moving the TrackingPoint rifle away from his chest. “Should I leave this here?”
“Yes, you should, cuz that’s mine,” Burt said, trying to grab the rifle from the big man.
Dicky spun away, keeping the precision guided firearm out of the mechanic’s reach. Dicky locked eyes on Bunker, waiting for orders.
“Take it with you. It needs to be up on that ridge at all times. If you see anyone, fire a warning shot.”
“I’ll go with him,” Burt said in a matter-of-fact way, turning to follow Dicky.
Bunker grabbed Burt’s arm. “Look, I know you’re anxious, but I need you to be patient until this is over.”
Burt ripped himself free. “Get your fucking hands off me!”
“Easy now, Burt. We’re all on the same side here.”
Burt’s temper fumed with a clench of his teeth, his face flushing a deep shade of red. “I know you think you’re hot shit around here, but don’t ever try to manhandle me. Otherwise, you and me are gonna go. And trust me, I can throw with the best of ‘em.”
“Didn’t mean anything by it,” Bunker said, searching for the proper words to calm the situation. “There’s a lot of work to do and I need your steady hands down here, with me. Otherwise, none of us makes it through this alive. So it’s in everyone’s best interest, including yours, that we work together.”
Burt paused until the heave in his chest waned. He looked exhausted. “You know, I’ve been quiet and gone along to get this done, but there are limits. And getting grabby is one of them.”
“I understand. I overstepped my bounds.”
“You’re damn right you did.”
“Just need you to see this through, as agreed. I know you’re a man of your word. So am I.”
Burt exhaled a slow breath, nodding. “Fine, but as soon I get done killing me some Russians, I’m outta here. With that rifle. Don’t get in my way, Bunker. I’m not bullshitting here.”
“Fair enough.”
* * *
An hour later, Bunker, Apollo, and Burt had all but one of the blocks of TNT buried in a straight line across the head of the clearing. Blue detonation cord connected each one in a series, precisely how Bunker had envisioned. Albert and Dustin were on hand as well, though their primary duty was that of observers during the rigging process.
The calculations Bunker had made earlier by pacing the width of the meadow were right on the mark. He might have been a little rusty, but his math about the number of charges and length of detonation cord needed was dead-on.
The fence-post auger had made quick work of the digging requirements, manually corkscrewing the earth loose to make deep, six-inch wide holes. It would’ve taken them ten times longer with a pick and shovel, and not been nearly as precise. Apollo and Burt had done most of the auger work, though Bunker had taken his turn as well.
Blasting caps had also been buried with each charge after being inserted into their respective brick of TNT. The process was simple and repetitive—so much so, a monkey could do it. Well, a trained monkey, that is. One who chewed dirt for a living in the wasteland known as Afghanistan.
Rusty, Victor, and Dallas stood a hundred yards away with anxious feet, the tree line at their backs. Stephanie was in front of them, playing chaperone, her arms extended like a member of security protecting the band on stage. A high-energy blasting machine sat a few yards from her feet, its hand crank waiting to be engaged.
Bunker looked at Apollo, then nodded in the direction of the boys. “What do you think, Sheriff? Should we teach them a little something about explosives? The world’s a much more dangerous place than it used to be a week ago.”
Apollo nodded. “That’s true. We all need to learn new skills. Even young men.”
“My old man taught me when I was about their age,” Burt said, his skin glistening in the overhead sun. “You know they’re chomping at the bit to be part of this.”
Bunker chuckled. “What member of the male species doesn’t want to blow shit up? That’s why I became a Sapper in the Marine Corps.”
“That must have been a total gas,” Burt said.
“Most of the time, as long as you didn’t find yourself at the end of a sniper’s scope.” Bunker waved at the young men to come forward.
Stephanie shook her head no, keeping her arm block in place.
“It’s okay, Steph. Trust me. I used to do this for
a living,” he yelled across the clearing.
She still didn’t move.
Bunker assured her again. Same words. Firmer tone.
After a short pause, she dropped her arms, though she didn’t look happy about it.
The boys didn’t hesitate, sprinting to Bunker’s position. They arrived short on breath but long on enthusiasm.
“It’s time to earn your stripes,” Bunker told them.
“Awesome,” Victor answered, standing between Rusty and Dallas. All three of them had mile-wide grins, showing nothing but teeth.
Bunker grabbed the last block of explosive. It was a yellowish cream color and slightly bigger than a double deck of playing cards. He peeled off the protective paper and held it up for the boys to get a clear view.
“Looks like C-4,” Victor said, sounding confident.
“Actually, this is trinitrotoluene, also known as TNT.”
“Oh, like dynamite,” Dallas said.
“Not exactly,” Bunker answered, not wanting to dampen the kid’s interest with a hard no. “But a lot of people get them mixed up. Even a few Marines I once knew. It all comes down to chemistry.”
“It always does,” Albert said with pride in his voice. “Gotta love the symmetry of formulas.”
Bunker continued, “Dynamite is nitroglycerin and diatomaceous earth wrapped together in paper, with a little sodium carbonate mixed in for good measure. I’m sure you’ve seen sticks of dynamite used on TV and in video games.”
The boys nodded in unison.
“The white powder inside dynamite is extremely sensitive to shock, which makes it very dangerous to handle. TNT, on the other hand, is a yellow crystalline aromatic hydrocarbon and it’s much more stable. It doesn’t sweat or deteriorate over time like dynamite does. In fact, we could store this brick underground for sixty years and it wouldn’t change its molecular properties at all.”
“You know what else is really cool?” Albert asked the boys. “We could melt the TNT and pour it into shell castings to make any shape we want. Like a rabbit or a keychain. For booby traps.”
“Exactly,” Bunker said. He was glad Stephanie wasn’t standing close. There was zero chance she’d approve of the conversation. But these kids needed to learn and the best way to do that was to make the class fun and interactive. “Now, if we added a little ammonium nitrate, which is basically fertilizer, it would serve as an oxidizer and feed high amounts of oxygen into the explosion.”
Bunker: Boxed Set (Books 4 and 5) Page 31
