Bunker: Boxed Set (Books 4 and 5)

by Jay J. Falconer

  A crunch came from the left. It was uphill from his position. A moment later, a male’s voice said, “Yeah, just try to get up. I dare you.”

  Burt brought his eyes around in a squint, following the sounds he’d just heard. When the tone and inflection of the voice registered in his mind, a face appeared from his memory.

  “Jumbo?” Burt asked as his vision cleared. He found a pistol aimed at his head from three feet away.

  “Looks like your welding days are over, asshole,” Albert said as two more sets of legs appeared behind him. They belonged to Victor and Dallas, their eyes wide.

  Burt held up his injured hand. “What, this? Ah, this ain’t nothing. I can still whoop your sorry ass.”

  “Those are tough words coming from a man about to die,” Albert said as his hands shook, sending the end of the pistol into a bobble.

  “Who’re you kidding, Albert? You don’t have the stones to pull the trigger. Hell, my ninety-year-old grandmother has more guts than you and she’s been worm food for ten years.”

  Burt sat up and put his back against the log, feeling emboldened. It was obvious. Albert was scared, unable to keep the gun still in his hands. He wasn’t going to fire. Neither would Bunker, not with Albert and the boys standing close, assuming the man was still alive.

  Burt wasn’t so sure about the wildcat behind the TrackingPoint. He flashed a hand in Stephanie’s direction. “Someone might wanna tell Miss Big Mouth over there to hold her fire. I’d hate for one of you fine, upstanding citizens to end up down here with me.”

  Albert turned to Victor. “Go tell her I got this.”

  “Why me? Why don’t you send Dallas?”

  “Both of you go. I’ll finish up here.”

  The boys didn’t move.

  “I said go! Make sure she’s okay.”

  The boys turned and cut across the hill, heading for Stephanie’s position.

  “Okay, lard-ass. Let’s finish this,” Burt said, his eyes glancing at the rifle lying next to him.

  “Don’t do it, Burt. I’m warning you,” Albert said, the shake in his hands double what it was before.

  “Hell, you’ll miss. Even from there. Look at your hands. You’re shitting in your pants right about now.”

  Albert looked down at his pistol. “This isn’t nervousness, Burt. It’s excitement. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

  “Ah, go fuck yourself, Jumbo. You ain’t gonna—”

  Boom!

  Burt choked back the last word he was going say, feeling the impact of the bullet Albert had just fired. He looked down. His stomach was bleeding, just below the diaphragm. “Fuck . . . you shot me,” he said, fighting for air. “I can’t believe you sh—"

  Boom!

  Burt felt the impact above his left eye. He took one massive breath, trying to hang onto the last trickle of thought fading from his mind, but it vanished when his heart gave out, turning everything black.

  * * *

  Stephanie King couldn’t seem to convince her body to move after watching Albert shoot a man—twice. Her limbs were frozen, much like Albert’s arm at the moment, his hand holding the gun on its lifeless target.

  She never thought Albert would pull the trigger. Not in cold blood, but he did. Almost like it was nothing. But who was she to judge? She’d just shot a man, too. The same man, adding her name to the list of the guilty.

  The vision of Burt’s head blowing apart kept replaying in her mind. Each time the bullet hit, the blood spatter grew in intensity and color, like some kind of malignant cancer set free from hell.

  The world went into a sudden spin, sending her to her backside. She couldn’t convince her eyes to focus. Nor could she catch her breath, not with the jackhammer pounding inside her chest. It felt as though someone was trapped below her ribcage, trying to break free.

  “Focus, Steph. Focus. You can do this,” she mumbled with her eyes closed. The shake in her hands had spread to her knees, making her want to throw up. But somehow, she held it down, even with the severed arm lying near her feet.

  The gruesome sight must have belonged to the Sheriff. A thick trail of blood indicated he’d crawled to the left—somewhere—and probably died. Nobody could lose that much blood and survive.

  She choked back tears, trying not to see his kind face in her thoughts. At least Apollo was able to share one kiss with the woman he’d been chasing.

  Stephanie wasn’t sure how she was going to relay the news to Allison. The middle-aged woman put up a good front when it came to her feelings about Apollo, but Stephanie could sense there was more there than just the excitement of a first kiss.

  Sometimes a woman convinces herself that she’s not interested, even though her emotions tell a different story. Preconceived ideas of the perfect guy never come true, catching a woman off guard when a different kind of man enters her life.

  Whether the new mate seems against her acceptable age range, body type, or even occupation, the feelings creep in and take residence, growing against every effort to stop them. They persist no matter how hard she tries to bury them. They can’t be faked or denied, waiting just below the surface. And now, after all the chasing and flirting, their budding love affair was probably over.

  Stephanie flushed the depressing thoughts and turned her attention to the boys. Thank God they were headed in her direction when Albert killed Burt. They didn’t need to witness someone’s last moment on Earth.

  Hell, she wished she hadn’t seen it. The mechanic was already wounded from the shot she’d taken a minute earlier. Albert could have let the man live. He didn’t need to shoot him.

  Stephanie opened her eyes and sent a charge of energy to her legs. She got up in a sideways stumble, barely able to hold her balance. The boys had started their climb to her position. She needed to intercept, before they saw the bloody arm lying in the dirt.

  Stephanie turned sideways and short-stepped a slow, methodical path down the steep-angled terrain.

  “Did you see it?” Dallas asked when she arrived. “Did you see the shot? What did it look like? Was there a lot of blood?”

  She ignored the boy’s dig for information. “Let’s not worry about that now. We need to find Jack. Burt shot him.”

  “What about the Sheriff?” Victor asked, peering up the rise.

  “I haven’t seen him, but I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” she said, spinning the truth to diffuse Victor’s curiosity.

  CHAPTER 55

  Bunker kept pressure on the through-and-through wound in his side. He was fortunate Burt wasn’t a better shot; otherwise, the bullet would have shredded his heart, sending his consciousness to the realm of the afterlife, assuming he chose to believe in such things.

  Right now. Right here. He needed to focus on one task—finishing the job. There was still plenty to do, but first he needed to control the pain.

  A focused mind is a Marine’s greatest weapon, not only for pain management, but in the relentless pursuit of victory. Unlike his body, his mind was locked and loaded. That’s all he needed. Well, that and the abandoned tank sitting behind him.

  Bunker swung his head, locking his eyes on the multi-ton death machine. Its hatches sat open, much like a hostess extending an open arm, greeting patrons for dinner at the entrance to a five-star establishment. The invitation was obvious; so were the issues that still remained.

  The last few days had been brutal, but at least he was still alive and breathing. That was the minimum required. As long as one breath remained, a Marine could still deliver hell.

  Right then, a phrase from his past rose up and landed in his thoughts. It was something his Drill Instructor had said—more than once—usually when a member of the platoon was down and ready to quit.

  “Get up; otherwise I will haunt your dreams like a ghost! And I’m not talking about Casper, either. Think Freddy Krueger, motherfucker.”

  A vengeful spirit was a term that fit the situation, Bunker decided. So did unstoppable demon. He was sure the Russ
ian occupiers in town were on full alert, waiting for news from their commander about the tattooed man who’d started his own little war against them.

  He figured the sudden swell of lingering radio silence would only ramp up their apprehension, adding to the legend that was surely growing by now about the Clearwater demon. But it wouldn’t last. The time to strike was now.

  “Come on, Jack. Get the fuck up,” he mumbled, pressing to his feet only moments before Stephanie, Victor, and Dallas arrived in a rush. They were unharmed after their collective jaunt, remembering to follow the marker logs near the entrance to the trench.

  Albert wasn’t far behind, his legs pumping in an uneven, pegged-legged running style. He was holding the pistol that ended Burt—a shot Bunker thought would never happen. Not from Tin Man.

  If Bunker had to choose one characterization for Albert, he’d pick the Cowardly Lion. Someone who preferred to hide rather than fight. Intellect can do that to a man, taking him down the road of self-preservation, thinking it’s the smart move, despite the danger.

  Yet, when facing a force as lethal as the Great Red Menace, intellect rarely protects you from a bullet with your name on it. The right move was to act. With speed, force, and intent. Anything short of that would get everyone killed.

  Stephanie wrapped her hand under Bunker’s armpit. “Oh my God, Jack. You’re bleeding.”

  Bunker turned to face the trees blocking the entrance, Stephanie’s grasp never waning. “I don’t have time to bleed. We’ve got to finish this, while we still can.”

  “Finish what?” Albert said, his eyes scanning the area. “Dude, you killed them all. It’s like something out of a video game around here.”

  “Time to take care of the troops in town. Right now, we have the element of surprise on our side.”

  Albert shook his head, throwing his arms up in confusion. “How?”

  Bunker pointed at the tank. “First we need to clear a path. Someone get me Dicky’s chainsaw. Hurry.”

  “I will,” Victor said, taking off an instant later.

  Bunker peered at Dallas. “I need you to bring me that sword. It’s by the tree, next to the trench.”

  “Sure,” Dallas said, his feet spinning in the dirt before he, too, began a full-on sprint toward the marker logs.

  “Sword?” Albert asked.

  “I’ll explain later,” Bunker said to the fat man, shooting a subtle head nod at Stephanie. He hoped Albert would understand his cryptic gesture, because explaining the gruesome details with Steph present was something he wanted to avoid.

  She wasn’t going to like what came next and he was too tired to debate the merits of the medieval Vikings and their preferred method of intimidating the enemy.

  Those ancient seafarers had been extinct for centuries, but their ruthless reputation still struck fear in the hearts and minds of those familiar with their tactics. Or their lore.

  “Where’s Dicky?” Stephanie asked. “We could really use his help.”

  There were a number of answers Bunker could give, most involving blood and guts. However, he was dealing with an emotionally-charged Stephanie. Caution was needed if he had any hope to keep her calm and cooperative. He chose the explanation with the most positive spin. “I told him to make sure Rusty was safe. He must have bugged out.”

  “Leaving Burt alone, with an assault rifle,” Albert said in a matter-of-fact way, his tone even and slow.

  “Thanks for that, by the way,” Bunker said, giving the man a nod out of respect. He turned to Stephanie. “You, too. Didn’t think either of you had it in you.”

  “We couldn’t let him kill you, now could we?” Stephanie answered.

  “Yeah, but how? I never showed you how to shoot.”

  “Men,” Stephanie scoffed in a quick retort, rolling her eyes. “You always think women are clueless when it comes to guns, or tools, or whatever. Just because I don’t carry a machine gun and get all decked out in camouflage doesn’t mean I can’t pick up a rifle and pull the trigger. Don’t forget, I’m a country girl. We all know how to shoot. It’s sort of required around here.”

  Bunker looked at Albert, whose eyes were locked onto the cleavage she was sporting—at least until Stephanie brought her head around. Albert’s eyes came up only an instant before she caught him gawking.

  Stephanie’s tone turned sharp as she addressed Albert. “And you—I told you to take the boys back to camp. What the hell are you doing here?”

  Albert cleared his throat, stalling. “We were almost there, but Dallas convinced me to turn around. Well, actually, it was both of them. A vote type thing. They didn’t want you to go alone.”

  “The boys, huh?” she said in a sarcastic tone. “I find that hard to believe.”

  Bunker got the impression she knew Albert had just been staring at her boobs. Then again, maybe her odd look meant she sensed Albert was lying about why he came back; his body language and tone were off, even for him.

  “It took a little convincing, but I caved. Not sure what else I could have done. They’re not my kids.”

  Time to change the subject, Bunker decided. “I’m going to need a huge favor, Steph.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “I need you to drive.”

  “Drive what?”

  “The tank.”

  “You can’t be serious!”

  “It’s cramped quarters and you’re the only adult small enough to fit,” Bunker said, thinking of the height restrictions. The T-72’s low profile was an efficient design, though it required the tank crew to be no more than about five-foot-five inches tall.

  “What makes you think I can drive a tank?” she asked, her tone one of shock.

  “Relax, it’s easy. In fact, they’re designed to be monkey simple. It’s only a couple of levers and a gas pedal. Anyone can do it. I’ll show you everything you need to know.”

  “So now you’re calling me a monkey?”

  “You know what I mean. There really isn’t any choice. I’ll never fit.”

  She looked at Albert, lingering on his rotund middle before nodding. “I guess the boys are too young.”

  Bunker was pleased she agreed. A rare event, indeed. “I’ll be in the tank commander’s seat, working the override controls.”

  “What do they do?”

  “They control the main cannon and the autoloader.”

  “No. No. No. Please tell me you’re not planning to fire that thing at our town?”

  “If we play this right, we won’t have to.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Please Steph, just trust me on this. For once. I’ve got it covered.”

  “Fine,” she said, her lips pinched. “But we’d better think about patching up that wound. You’re no good to us if you’re dead.”

  Bunker nodded. Not out of agreement, but rather one of surrender, to save time. He aimed the next statement at Albert. “You’ll be driving one of the transports.”

  “Ah, no. I don’t think so. Getting involved really isn’t my thing.”

  “And yet here you are. Standing there with a smoking gun.”

  “That was different.”

  “So is this.”

  “Well, that’s your opinion, dude. Not mine.”

  “Look Albert, I don’t have time to debate everything. So you might as well get used to the idea. You will be driving the GAZ Tigr. End of story.”

  Albert didn’t respond, taking a step back. Every muscle in the man’s face was screaming two words: hell no.

  Bunker realized he’d come on too strong. He knew Albert didn’t like to be pushed. Or volunteered. Pressing the issue was a tactical mistake, one he should have avoided. An effective leader must understand his men, knowing what motivates and what antagonizes. It’s all about which buttons to push, and when. Albert was no different. Neither was Stephanie.

  “Look, we all gotta pitch in, Albert,” Stephanie said in that pushy tone of hers. “You included.”

  Bunker thought he was see
ing things when she leaned forward, giving Albert a prime view down her shirt. Her tone turned coy, surprising Bunker even more when she turned on the charm in a full court press. “Can I count on you, Albert? I can’t do this alone. I really need you.”

  Albert didn’t respond, his gaze finding its way to the glorious sight being presented. He must have suddenly realized what his eyes were doing, because he turned them away in a lurch.

  Bunker held back a chuckle, watching Albert scramble to cover his embarrassment, pretending to search for something in dirt around his feet. It was comical but not entirely unexpected. Bunker couldn’t help but take a peek as well. Few women were put together like Stephanie and she obviously knew it. She was a master manipulator, working the meth cook with the assets available.

  A ten-count ticked by before Albert brought his attention back. His face was calm, almost serene, as if he’d flushed all of his humiliation and done a hard reboot. “Sure, I’ll help, Steph. Someone has to babysit the boys.”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” she said, firing her eyes at Bunker. “They’re not coming along, are they?”

  “No. They’ll be heading back to camp. Just have to work out a few more details in my head, first.”

  “Good, because there’s no chance that was happening. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  “What about the Land Rover? I parked it just over the ridge,” Albert said.

  “Okay, genius. Who’s gonna drive?” Stephanie asked.

  “I was thinking Victor could. He kept asking to take the wheel. Maybe we should let him?”

  “I don’t know. Those roads are pretty rough,” Stephanie said.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Bunker said, putting two fingers into his mouth. He let loose with a series of sharp whistles, sending the hail toward the rise beyond the trench.

  A short minute later, Tango appeared atop the hill, standing proudly like a general overseeing his troops.

  Bunker whistled again, sending Tango into a trot, his hooves working against the steep angle of the slope.

  “Hey Dallas?” Bunker yelled.

  The eager kid stopped near the entrance to the trench and turned.

  Bunker added volume to his request, pointing at the horse. “Bring Tango with you.”