Bunkers

  BUNKERS

  BY

  NICHOLAS ANTINOZZI

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Nicholas Antinozzi

  Copyright © 2014 Nicholas Antinozzi

  All rights reserved

  Amazon Edition

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Chapter 1

  Five houses sat on the cul de sac at the end of Hemlock Road; four of these homes were modern and decidedly upscale, while the original homestead, a ramshackle farmhouse, stood out like a sore thumb. Nestled deep inside the Carl Johnson Wildlife Refuge, the forty acre homestead had been grandfathered in, while the new homeowners had bought their single acre plots courtesy of a loophole and a tax lien. The developer had assured the new people that it would only be a matter of months before the old home was bulldozed, but he had been wrong about that.

  For several years, the four newcomers kept to themselves. All they knew about the Native American family that lived in the old house was what they could decipher by watching them out of their windows. The man of the house, Mark SleepingBear, was an over the road trucker and only home on weekends. The SleepingBear family had never reached out to their new neighbors; they ignored them, perhaps out of shame or anger, or perhaps it was because they lived in a world their wealthy neighbors could not understand.

  The standoff continued until a brutal cold snap dipped down from the Arctic and robbed Mark SleepingBear of his family. Josie, Mark’s wife, and their three children, Jake, Jerry, and baby Madeline, fell victim to carbon monoxide poisoning. Mark had been out on the road and by the time he discovered the bodies, the coroner estimated they had been dead for three days.

  Again, the neighbors watched this tragedy play out from behind the safety of their own four walls. They watched as the first State Trooper arrived on the scene, watched as SleepingBear, carrying the lifeless body of his daughter, staggered out of his home and screamed at the heavens. They stared at the string of emergency vehicles that poured down their dead-end road, talking quietly to each other on their cell phones as several police officers restrained Mark from going back inside his home. SleepingBear was a big man and restraining him in a dignified manner proved to be difficult. And despite the distance and the thickness of their double-paned windows, they all heard the agony in SleepingBear’s tortured screams.

  The fact that this nightmare played out at two O’clock on a Saturday afternoon, ensured that all of the neighbors would be part of it. By design or coincidence, the residents of Hemlock Road would have this horror forever burned into their memories. Try as they might, they couldn’t pull themselves away from their vantage points. The January afternoon quickly passed, but the authorities remained at the scene well into the evening hours.

  Shortly after SleepingBear was coerced into the backseat of an unmarked police cruiser, the men gathered inside the attached garage of Bones Kibble. Kibble was a chiropractor with a small, but successful practice in Ham Lake. Bones and Dottie Kibble were the eldest of the neighbors. The fifty-something Kibble was tall and thin and bald-headed. He fixed strong drinks while flashing red lights flickered in through the garage windows. A fire burned in the woodstove and the insulated garage was toasty warm.

  “I guess the furnace gave out,” said Jumbo Lystrom, owner of Jumbo’s Used Cars. Jumbo was heavyset and wore a jogging suit. Blonde with blazing white teeth, Jumbo was in his mid-thirties and had a penchant for gold jewelry. Married to Tiffany, the Lystrom’s had four children. Jumbo had the largest house, prettiest wife, and drove the nicest cars, and considered himself the unofficial leader of the neighborhood.

  “I’m just sick about it,” said Larry Bell. Bell was tall and broad and had recently turned thirty-five. A cement contractor by trade, his hands were callused and cracked. Larry was married to Tina and had fathered two sons. With his Dirty Harry haircut and quiet mannerisms, the men occasionally called him Clint. He spent a majority of his free time with Jumbo. Over the years, the two had become inseparable.

  Jason Glick, known as Glick by his friends, walked over to Bell and patted him on the back. He and Larry had married sisters, but the two had never been particularly close. “There’s nothing we could have done about it,” he said. Glick worked in radio and stood just over five and a half feet tall. A marathon runner, Glick and his wife had four children. With his black hair and penetrating brown eyes, Glick resembled a young mobster.

  “What do we do now?” asked Bones. He had already drained his scotch and was fixing another. “We should do something for the poor bastard.”

  Larry Bell pointed at Bones and nodded his head. “You’re damn right,” he said. “SleepingBear is going to need money, we should start a fund. I’ve got ten grand to start it with.”

  Jumbo held up his gold accented hands. “Hold on, Larry, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t know anything about Mark SleepingBear. For all we know, he might want to pull up stakes and start over. I know I couldn’t live in the same house after something like that happened. Maybe we should offer to buy him out?”

  “Are you kidding me?” asked Glick, shaking his head. “We’ve had that offer on the table since day one. If Mark wants to sell, he’ll let us know. What Bones and Larry are talking about is helping Mark pay for the funeral expenses. Larry, I think that’s a great idea. I think I can scrape up five thousand bucks.”

  “I’ll go ten,” said Bones Kibble, sipping his drink. “What about you, Jumbo?”

  Jumbo slapped his forehead and let his hand fall over his face. “Fine,” he said, “I’ll have to talk this over with Tiff, but I’m sure we can come up with ten thousand. You guys are right. I don’t want you to think I saw this as some type of opportunity.”

  Larry stood up and walked to the garage window. He then set his drink down on the window ledge and put his large hands over his face. “That could have been any of us,” he stammered. “How in the hell do you go on after something like this happens?”

  “I don’t know,” said Glick. “I’d probably blow my brains out.”

  “And you’d go straight to hell,” said Bones. “And you’d never see your family again.”

  “Please,” said Jumbo, “let’s keep religion out of this, Bones. The SleepingBear’s weren’t even Christians. We have no idea what happens to their souls when they pass on.”

  “I feel bad that we never reached out to them,” said Larry. “Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if we had gotten to know them?”

  “Don’t,” said Glick. “Don’t ever go there, Larry. God has a plan for all of us and all we can do is accept that. He called the SleepingBear’s to be home with him.”

  “Hello?” asked Jumbo, “they weren’t Christians.”

  “Will you can it?” asked Larry. “Bones, turn on the television. It’s almost five O’clock. The local news should be on in a minute.”

  “Right,” said the chiropractor. He found the remote control and aimed at the flat screen mounted above the bar. He panned through the satellite channels until he found one of the local stations.

  “I’m going to reach out to him,” said Glick. “The next time I see him, I’m going to tell him how sorry I am for his loss.”

  “I think we should all do that,” said Bones, nodding his bald head. “I think it’s high time we let go of the past and let bygones be bygones.”

  “He never did anything to us,” said Larry. “We only live here because SleepingBear couldn’t pay his property taxes. You can’t blame him for being resentful about us invading his space. This property has been in his family for eighty years. How would you have felt?”

  “Whoa,” said Jumbo, holding up his drink. “Don’t go trying to make us feel guilty a
bout living out here. If we wouldn’t have bought these lots, someone else would have scooped them up. If Mark SleepingBear was behind on his bills, he should have found a different job. None of that is any of our business. Jason, you and Bones are right. I think we should all reach out to him. If anyone needs friends right now, it’s that poor schmuck.”

  Jumbo’s last comment hung in the air like a bad smell. “Here it is,” said Bones, pointing to his flat-screen television. “The news is on.”

  They all turned to face the television. The pretty young anchorwoman smiled and suddenly she was gone. The camera shot was now one of an empty presidential podium, flanked by an American flag. Special Report crawled along the bottom of the screen in blood-red letters.

  “What the hell is this?” asked Jumbo.

  “Who knows,” said Bones.

  They watched as President Delmont Crabtree stepped up to the podium. The two-term President was in the final year of his tenure and most had written him off as a lame duck. Dressed in a dark blue suit and a red tie, Crabtree’s face was solemn.

  “Spit it out, Crabby,” urged Jumbo. “God, he’s such a drama queen. Look at him.”

  “I’ll take another scotch and soda,” said Glick, taking Larry’s drink from him. “Better make that two.”

  Bones waved him over to the bar as he stared up at the television. “I don’t like this,” he said.

  “My fellow Americans,” began Crabtree.

  “I don’t like him,” said Jumbo, draining his drink and following Glick to the little bar. “But I do like these, buddy. Make mine a double.”

  “Nations with hostile intentions have threatened our security.”

  “Don’t be shy with that scotch,” said Jumbo. “Do you always have to be such a tight-ass?”

  “I’m a chiropractor, not a bartender,” replied Bones, just as he always did when Jumbo complained about the way he poured their drinks.

  “Just over an hour ago, a powerful chemical weapon was unleashed upon a small village in Siberia. We have been told there were no survivors. Sadly, Russian President Kagan seems to think that the United States was responsible for this cowardly attack.”

  Just then, the service door from the house opened up and the four wives stepped inside. They walked up to the bar with tear-streaked faces, where they were joined by their husbands. “Keep pouring,” said Tiffany Lystrom. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

  “That’s my girl,” said Jumbo, slinging an arm around his wife. “How are you, babe?”

  “I’m better, it’s just so sad.”

  “I know.”

  “The Selective Service System was created to ensure our military would have the manpower in times of need.”

  “I’ll take a beer,” said Tina.

  “A beer sounds good,” agreed Anita.

  “I have several varieties,” said Bones, “name your poison.”

  “Something light,” said Tina.

  “Yes, something light,” agreed Anita.

  “All men and women, between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, will be receiving notices from the Selective Services in the coming weeks. Again, this is a precaution.”

  “Those poor children,” said Tiffany, “do you think they suffered?”

  Jumbo shook his head. “No, they died in their sleep. We want to pool up some money to help SleepingBear with his funeral costs. I told them I’d talk to you, first.”

  Larry pointed up at the television. “Are any of you listening to this?” he asked.

  “Why would I?” asked Jumbo. “He’s an idiot and I don’t believe a word that comes out of his mouth.”

  Larry shook his head in disbelief. “Well, idiot or not, President Crabtree just reinstated the draft.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Anita.

  “I thought fantasy football was over,” said Tina.

  “Honey,” Larry said, taking his wife by the hand. “It’s not that kind of draft. President Crabtree is talking about a military draft, like the one we had during Vietnam.”

  “Well, that’s a bunch of bullshit,” spat Jumbo. “He can’t do that, can he?”

  “I think he just did,” said Glick.

  Chapter 2

  The SleepingBear tragedy was the top local news story for a couple of days and a memorial fund was established at the family’s bank. The neighbors used that channel to donate and it helped them feel better about what had happened. Over the next several months, Mark SleepingBear became a shadowy figure, coming and going at odd hours and rarely spending more than a single day at his home. This prevented Larry and the others from reaching out to the man, or so they told themselves.

  At the same time, the United States was busy building up the most powerful army in the nation’s history. By using the JFK method for conscription, where married men and women with children were placed at the bottom of the draft call-up list and married couples were placed just above them, the country saw an explosion in the sale of marriage licenses. So many were sold, that the federal government quickly drafted and passed the Marriage Stamp Act, where a fee of $500.00 was tacked onto every marriage license sold.

  The draft also caused an unprecedented surge in volunteers to enlist in the military services. By enlisting, a man or woman could choose which branch they wished to serve under and even have some say in what type of training they would receive. Those who waited to be called up were not given that option.

  To care for such a large army, in 1989 Congress passed the HCPDS. The Health Care Personnel Delivery System gave the military the ability to conscript healthcare workers between the ages of 20 and 54. Subsequently, many of the first Americans to be drafted into military service were healthcare workers.

  Spring arrived early to Hemlock Road. What little snow there had been had melted by early March; by the first of April, warm sunshine had greened the grasses and caused buds to form on the trees. The first Saturday in April, the temperature spiked up to 85 degrees. Flowers were planted and leaf-blowers and garden tractors were dusted off, as the residents of the cul de sac tended to their properties.

  There had been no sign of Mark SleepingBear for several weeks. Next to the freshly manicured lawns of the neighbor’s, the SleepingBear home looked sad and abandoned. Larry Bell, remembering how he had promised to reach out to his neighbor, was the first to trespass. He drove his John Deere into the SleepingBear yard and began to mow. Larry’s wife, Tina, carried over a tray of morning glories and within half an hour, each of the four couples were busy tending to their neighbor’s yard. They worked for nearly three hours, raking leaves and hauling brush out of the heavily wooded lot. Tears were shed for the departed, but after they finished their work, they all agreed that it was the best thing any of them had done in a long time. Jumbo and Tiffany opened up their garage and invited the others over for an afternoon barbeque.

  While the women prepared the food, the men stood in the hot sun on Jumbo’s driveway, admiring their work and drinking cold beer. “I wonder what he’ll say,” said Bones.

  “I don’t know,” said Larry. “I just know it was the right thing to do.”

  “I think he’s moving out,” said Jumbo. “I wouldn’t live there after what happened, no sir.”

  Glick shook his head. “That’s his business,” he said. “And damn it, Jumbo, if you ever say anything like that to Mark, I hope to hell he busts your nose for it.”

  Jumbo laughed. “Hey, I was just sayin’ what I’d do. Give me a break, buddy, I’d never say anything like that to the guy. I’m a people person, how do you think I sell so many cars? Do you know how many cars I sold in March? Almost two hundred, what do you think of that?”

  Nobody replied to that and they all watched as the mailman puttered up the washboard gravel road. They waved and the mailman waved back. Larry, Jumbo, and Glick, walked down to the group of mailboxes and retrieved their mail. Bones stayed where he was and sipped his beer. “Hey Bones,” called Jumbo, “want me to grab your mail?”

  Bones shook hi
s head. “No,” he said. “I’m not expecting anything good and I just want to enjoy the day. I’ll pick it up later.”

  For whatever reason, Jumbo ignored his friend and he opened up the Kibble mailbox and he removed the short stack of envelopes along with the Menard’s ad. “You’re a jerk,” hissed Larry. “He said he didn’t want his mail.”

  “Big deal,” whispered Jumbo.

  Glick said nothing as the three walked back to join their friend. He was used to Jumbo’s borderline obnoxious behavior. The man seemed to enjoy getting under your skin and Glick had learned that if he ignored it, Jumbo wasn’t such a bad guy. He was a braggart who loved telling off-color jokes, but he would also give you the shirt off of his back if the chips were down.

  “Here you go,” said Jumbo, smiling, handing Bones his mail.

  Bones glared at Jumbo. He crumpled up the Menard’s ad and tossed it onto Jumbo’s freshly cut lawn. “I told you I’d grab it later,” he growled. “Why do you always have to do shit like this? Now I’ve got to run this up to the house.”

  “I just thought I’d save you the trip. What’s the big deal, anyhow?”

  Bones leafed through his stack of bills and then he froze. He plucked an envelope from the stack and he slapped Jumbo across the shoulder with it. “Do you see this?” he asked, his voice growing angrier. “This is why I didn’t want to pick up my damn mail!”

  “Don’t have a cow, man,” said Jumbo, rubbing his shoulder. “What the hell is it?”

  “I don’t know what it is; I haven’t opened it, yet. But it’s from the Draft Board and I have a sneaking suspicion I know what it says.”

  Jumbo rolled his eyes and laughed. “Give me a break, will ya? You’re an old man, Bones. Do you really think our military is desperate enough to call you up to fight? Holy crap, that’d be the day.”

  “I’m a registered nurse, you moron.”

  “I thought you were a chiropractor?”