by Nick Thacker
He’d originally designed his packages for people like him — well-trained military types who wanted to keep their edge after their active-duty deployments. He had a few clients who paid him for range use, but most of the people who frequented his camps were nothing more than enviro-tourists, generally clueless about the world at large, but interested in ‘saving the whales’ or whatever else they decided they were into that month.
After a few bad reviews and numerous complaints about the extreme difficulty level of his ‘best of the best’ courses from the executives and enviro-tourists who couldn’t take it, he crafted a much more appealing survival camp: one that mixed semi-primitive camping with a few classes on fire starting and basic survival techniques, spread out over the course of a weekend. Clients drove in on Friday evenings and could be back in their lumbar-supporting office chairs early Monday morning. He taught them nothing they couldn’t learn in a Boy Scout handbook, but took out any of the details that required them to actually do anything physically demanding.
In order to maintain his own edge — and sanity — he created a few more courses for the clients who were actually interested in wilderness survival techniques. He had a shelter-building course, a mini-course on fire building, and a long-term Expedition Training Course that was his pride and joy. The course took twelve students on a two-week-long adventure into the rainforest, carrying nothing but a single backpack that held worst-case scenario gear like navigation equipment and fire-starter materials, a first aid kit, and MRE rations. He carried the pack himself, and slept near it, to ensure that none of the students snuck anything out of it in the middle of the night.
Reggie prided himself on the fact that none of his students had ever needed to use the backpack.
Still, he kept a few of the backpacks stocked and ready to go, in case he ever needed to “bug out” of his bunker.
It was these backpacks he was looking for. The hallway connecting the living room and bar area of his bunker to the two back bedrooms and kitchen had a centralized bathroom on one side, and a large, walk-in closet on the other. In the closet he kept a gun safe for his personal collection, some overstock products he sold at the range and for the classes, and the backpacks.
They were customized Kelty Falcon 4000 packs, each slightly reconfigured to match his body type. He preferred these models that had a smaller main compartment and extra additional pockets attached to the pack’s frame. Each of the three packs were stocked similarly, but one had an additional Stingray tent inside for traveling with a larger party. One of these packs was enough for one person to survive up to a month; with rationing, three people could survive for a few weeks, assuming they couldn’t find their own fresh water and food.
Since he would be traveling with the group, they wouldn’t even need a pack — he was more than capable of keeping them alive for some time, barring injuries. But Reggie had considered the circumstances and decided that taking the packs would offer extra protection, security, and support for whatever journey might lie ahead. Not knowing their exact destination already placed them at a disadvantage, and they were about to journey into one of the most dangerous types of wilderness climates. He didn’t want to doom them to failure before they even left the house.
He grabbed one of the packs and unzipped the top flap. He added the folded printouts of the image of the convergence of lines over the rainforest, the best version of a ‘map’ they’d get, and checked the rest of the contents and did a quick inventory. Deeming it ready for use, he repeated the process with other packs and walked over to the gun safe. Unlocking it using a fingerprint from his left index finger, he swung open the great door and selected some of the pieces inside.
Three Sig Sauer P226 9mm handguns and a rifle, a Henry-Arms AR-7. He was a fan of the rifle’s footprint — broken down it could fit inside his pack, and was a mere 3.5 pounds. The .22-caliber ammunition was a bit small for the ‘stopping power posse,’ the group of weapon-heads and survivalists who believed that larger ammunition — more ‘stopping power’ — was always better, but he’d used the AR-7 as a go-to weapon without a problem. He placed the pistols in the main compartment of the backpack and began lashing the rifle to the outside.
As he did, he felt a gentle rumbling beneath the bunker’s floor. The floor was nothing more than smoothed concrete, two feet thick, but he hadn’t placed anything over the bare surface in the closet. He looked down, waiting for the rumbling sound to end. It lasted a few seconds, drifting off into nothingness, then started again.
He felt a surge of adrenaline even before he fully understood what the sound meant. Slamming the gun safe’s door closed and waiting for the nearly inaudible click of the lock, he left the pack where it lay on the floor and ran back into the living room.
“We’re going to be attacked. Those are shells, and I need everyone here to remain calm and start heading up the stairs.”
The others around the room — his friend Paulinho, Dr. Amanda Meron, and Ben and Julie — still discussing the images on the projector screen, looked at him as if he was insane .
“Sorry,” he said. “Can’t really explain now, but there was a shaking sound. I recognized it, but you just need to trust me. Amanda, they found us. Somehow.”
At that, Amanda stood and stared at him, wide-eyed.
“It’s fine,” he said, hoping to reassure her. “They’re not here yet, but they know I’ve got an underground bunker. I built this place to be a home, not a fortress, so they’ll eventually get in. We need to be out of here well before that.”
She nodded, and Ben walked toward him. “What do you need me to do?”
Reggie paused a moment, taking in the large, well-built man in front of him. He’s starting to trust me. Good. “Thanks, Ben,” he said. “Grab the two backpacks in that closet, the ones up against the wall. I’ll get the one next to the gun safe, and then we’re out.”
He turned to the rest of the group as Ben slid by him and into the hallway. “Head up the stairs, but wait at the top until Ben and I are there. There’s a back door on the shack that’ll lead us out and over that hill. I expect to be well-hidden and almost into the trees by the time they start shelling the house.”
He didn’t wait for the rest to follow instructions. He turned and followed Ben into the closet to get the rest of the gear, only taking a moment to assess the group his fate was now tied with.
In all his years training and preparing survivalists, he knew only one characteristic that separated the ‘executives’ and ‘tourists’ from the real-deal, hardcore survivors.
Mindset.
He hoped that the group now following him into the most excruciating climate he’d ever known had the mindset of staying alive.
Chapter 15
The shells were working their way closer to the bunker. Ben saw dust and small rocks falling from the crevices between the slabs of concrete that made up the walls, and he winced every time one of them landed.
“They’re getting closer,” Ben said to Reggie as he swung the two packs over his shoulders.
“They’re not aiming for the shack. Not yet, anyway. They’re aiming for where they think the other bunkers are.”
“Other bunkers?”
Reggie grinned. “Come on, let’s get upstairs. Yeah, I submitted plans to the county when I had this place built. They’re pretty particular about excavating and digging around here, so close to the forest. The plans showed thirteen smaller bunkers, all spread around my land. Couple hundred acres.”
Ben had to laugh. “So you just submitted plans that would be in the public record, showing that you had a bunch of random bunkers around here.”
Reggie nodded once. “Yep. Nothing like fake plans for an extra layer of defense.”
Ben followed Reggie up the stairs, where the others were waiting. He noticed now, seeing the shack from the inside, that the walls were also concrete, the outside of the building obviously built with a facade.
Yet another layer of defense.
“Re
ggie, it seems like you’ve spent quite a bit of money protecting yourself down here,” Ben said. “Why all the security?”
Reggie just shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” He didn’t elaborate, instead changing the subject back to the situation at hand. “Come on, out the back door when I say ‘go.’ Run straight ahead, over that hill, and don’t stop running until you’re well into the woods. Ben, you take the lead. I’ll follow behind.”
Ben nodded, and stood by the closed door.
“Oh,” Reggie said, turning once again to face Ben. “Here, take this.” He handed Ben a handgun, pewter-colored and heavy. “Sig Sauer P226 9mm.”
Ben turned the weapon over in his hands a few times. He wasn’t a pro, but he’d handled a fair share of firearms as a park ranger and growing up hunting with his father and brother. He felt the gun’s weight, checked the magazine, and nodded at Reggie.
“Good deal,” Reggie said. “Oh, and do not let the Brazilian authorities catch you with that. They’re not too fond of locals or tourists carrying them around, and even if they don’t arrest you on the spot they’ll detain you longer than TSA when they find some tweezers.”
A shell landed right next to the shack, and Ben felt his insides vibrate with the explosion. The shack itself stood strong, but pieces of rock and ceiling material rained down around them. Amanda covered her ears.
“Go!” Reggie yelled. He pulled the door open and shoved Ben out. Ben started running, heading straight for the tall hill that stood behind the house. He pushed his legs as hard as he could, hoping the others would be able to catch up.
He rounded the top of the hill and continued down the other side, suddenly realizing he was about to walk into the densest forest he’d ever seen. Whereas the woods he was comfortable with back home were mostly large pines, spread evenly with branches that didn’t start until halfway up their trunks, the trees and bushes here were tangled together, gripping each other like twisted fingers, forming a tight web of foliage that seemed to be impenetrable.
He ran toward it. As he drew nearer, he saw a few spots wide enough to run into. He aimed for the closest of these, a break in the foliage he hoped would allow him to break through the wall of forest life he was heading towards.
He could hear the footsteps of the others close behind him now, the shells no longer drowning everything out. They were still attacking, but he hadn’t heard anything other than the steady barrage of explosions hitting the ground since they’d started running. He hoped they wouldn’t be able to see them out in the open. Even in the forest, he knew they’d be no match for the heavy artillery raining down hell on Reggie’s land behind them.
After he’d been running for another minute, dodging trees and bushes, and jumping over fallen logs and pieces of broken rock, he heard Reggie yell out from behind. He slowed, then stopped and turned around.
Julie was there, panting but otherwise doing well. Paulinho and Reggie showed no signs of exertion, but Dr. Amanda Meron had her hands on her knees, heaving gasps of air. Reggie came over and placed his hand on her back, then said something Ben couldn’t hear. She nodded, and Reggie walked up to Ben and the others.
“We need to keep moving forward,” he said. “They’ll get bored eventually, or they’ll find my bunker empty. Either way, they’re going to figure out where we’re headed soon enough.”
“Where are we headed?” Julie asked.
Reggie gave her one of his typical, cocky grins. “Straight through this stand is a stream. That stream picks up and heads west a bit more, then a mile later empties into a larger pond. I’ve got a buddy who lives there. Small cabin, usually only him and his wife. ”
“Why are we going there?” Paulinho asked. Reggie was now in front of Ben, walking deeper into the trees behind the hill. They followed closely, none of them wanting to fall too far behind in the dense, shadow-laden forest.
“He owns a plane, and maintains an airstrip he uses for regional flying. Supply drops, tourism, search and rescue, that type of stuff. He can fly us as far as Manaus, which should be just over five hours. Give us some shut-eye, which I know I’ll need.”
They walked along in silence until they came to the stream. Ben was still carrying the backpacks, but Paulinho walked over and offered to take one. They each strapped one to their backs while the others waited. When they finished, and Reggie approved, he turned and started following the stream without speaking a word.
Ben had long since stopped hearing the shells, and he wondered if they had already found the bunker, or if they were just out of range. He hoped it was the latter, and that whoever was trying to kill Amanda — and now them, as well — had decided to call off the search.
Julie walked up to Ben and found his hand. She grabbed it, interlocking her fingers with his. The stream they were following provided a narrow walkway next to it, and it was just wide enough to fit Julie and Ben side-by-side. The jungle was silent, likely due to the artillery shells scaring away any wildlife from the area. Ben enjoyed the quiet, and with the trickling light from the rising sun finding its way through the cracks of the forest canopy, the scene around them was growing more and more beautiful by the minute.
He squeezed her hand, and she looked over at him. It’s going to be fine , he thought. They didn’t speak, opting instead for the unusual silence of the jungle.
They reached a clearing, and Reggie held up a hand. He crouched down right at the edge, then slowly stood and stepped forward. Ben could see the pond in front of him, on their right, collecting the stream’s water and providing a natural lake for the animals and plants around them. The cabin Reggie had mentioned was straight ahead, marking the opposite edge of the clearing. A dirt road led away from the cabin and into the forest nearby, twisting around the larger trees. It was a picturesque scene, a greener and denser version of his own cabin at home.
“What’s wrong?” Ben asked, stepping closer to Reggie. Reggie had stopped again, still examining the cabin from a distance. Ben could see a car, a mid-sized SUV similar to Reggie’s own vehicle, parked outside the cabin. He assumed Reggie was being cautious, not wanting to scare whoever might be inside.
“Look at the window,” he replied, his eyes still glued straight ahead.
Ben squinted, not able to see at first what Reggie was referring to. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the growing morning light, he saw it.
The window was broken, a large round hole cracked away from the glass. The lower pane on that window had two smaller holes in it, barely visible from this distance. Bullet holes. The idea that whoever was following had beaten them here was more terrifying than the thought that they’d already killed whoever was inside the cabin.
Ben hoped to God the husband and wife — Reggie’s friends — hadn’t been inside when they’d come.
But he knew these people wouldn’t have wasted bullets just to shoot through windows. Something had happened here, and it had no doubt ended in bloodshed.
Reggie started walking toward the cabin, holding a pistol. Ben hadn’t seen him draw the gun, but it had appeared in the man’s hand somehow. Ben started forward, but Reggie turned and held up a hand.
“Stay there. All of you,” he said. “Let me check it out first.”
Ben stopped, and felt Julie’s hand grab the inside of his arm. He wanted to follow, wanted to see what had happened inside, and he wanted more than anything to help. If something happens to Reggie…
He didn’t allow himself to finish the thought.
Reggie reached the cabin and crouched below the window. He lifted the gun up, holding it near his face, and peered over the windowsill and into the house. Time stood still as Ben watched the man. Reggie didn’t move, holding steady at the window, taking it all in.
In a moment, everything changed.
Chapter 16
The window cracked, shattering outward in a tiny explosion, and Ben heard the sound of gunfire from inside the cabin. Reggie yelled something, stood up again and aimed his gun into the single-room cabin
.
Ben couldn’t take it any longer. He started running forward. He had a weapon but it felt useless now in his hands, nothing but dead weight. He hadn’t fired a gun nearly enough times in his life for the action to be natural, but he ran anyway. The man who’d saved their lives multiple times in less than a day was in danger, and he reacted the only way he knew how.
But before he could reach the window Reggie was still standing in front of, Reggie turned to Ben. “False alarm,” he said. “It’s a kid. Might need help. Says he fired at a shadow — must’ve seen me coming.”
Ben wasn’t convinced they were safe, but he followed Reggie to the front door of the cabin. Reggie turned the knob, swung the door open, and called out. “You in there?”
A muffled ‘yes’ reached Ben’s ears.
“Okay, kid,” Reggie replied, “we’re coming in. Don’t shoot, okay?”
Another muffled response, then Ben saw a gun slide across the wooden floor toward the threshold. Reggie stopped it with his foot and picked it up. He handed it to Ben, who held it gingerly with his fingers, as if it were police evidence he was afraid to tamper with.
“I’m sorry…” he heard a voice say. “I — I freaked out, and shot. I thought they came back.”
Reggie stepped inside and rushed over to the couch. Ben followed behind him, at once taking in the scene around him.
The cabin was small, and he could see the entirety of it from the doorway. The kitchen and fireplace sat at one side, a bed at the other, and a small couch faced the window at the back of the cabin. An outdated, round-faced television sat below the window on a stand.
