Bunkers Read online

  “Believe it or not, I’m both.”

  “Oh shit, I’m sorry, man.”

  “You’re such a jerk,” said Larry.

  “Hey,” said Glick, “we don’t even know what it says. Bones, open the damn thing tomorrow. Forget about it. Besides, it’s probably nothing. You’re too old to be drafted.”

  “I’m fifty-one years old and let me assure you, they can draft me. Over the past few weeks, several of my colleagues have been called into service. I knew it was only a matter of time before they’d come after me.”

  “Don’t open it,” said Larry. “Glick is right, let it wait until tomorrow.”

  “Open it,” said Jumbo. “I want to see what it says.”

  Larry balled up his fist and cocked it behind his ear. “You’re an asshole, Jumbo.”

  “Settle down, Larry,” said Jumbo, chuckling. “I was only kidding. Gee, you guys are so touchy, you remind me of my wife. At least Tiff is only like that once a month.”

  “This is for you,” said Bones, as he tore open the envelope. He removed the single sheet of paper and unfolded it. He then held it at arm’s length and read it. As the men watched, Bones dropped the letter and sighed heavily. Wordlessly, he turned and began walking home.

  “Bad news, huh?” asked Jumbo.

  Bones said nothing and the men watched as he walked up his driveway and into his open garage. A moment later, the big overhead door slowly began to close. “You’re a real piece of work,” Larry said, narrowing his eyes at Jumbo.

  Jumbo hung his head and then bent down to retrieve the letter. He looked it over before handing it to the others. “I’m sorry, guys,” he said. “How the hell was I supposed to know? Jesus, poor Bones, they only gave him a week to get ready. That did it; I’m switching over to cocktails. You guys want one?”

  Glick thought about that and nodded his head. While it was true that Jumbo should have kept his hands out of the Kibble mailbox, he had no way of knowing the bad news he had helped to deliver. Bones would have only been putting off the inevitable. He did want a drink; a strong one. Reluctantly, Larry followed and they entered Jumbo’s man-cave. Jumbo was the only one of the group to call it that, but it was undeniably the most luxurious of the neighborhood garage rec rooms. Jumbo, being the wealthiest and flashiest of the group, had spared no expense when it came to his garage retreat.

  “I’m doing a shot,” said Jumbo from behind his mahogany bar. “Name your poison.”

  “Jack,” said Larry.

  “I’ll take a shot of tequila,” said Glick.

  “Training wheels?” asked Jumbo.

  “Do I ever drink it without them?”

  “Not at my house,” replied Jumbo. With a bartender’s flourish, he quickly poured their drinks and he set them in front of his friends. “To Bones,” he said, raising his tiny glass.

  “To Bones,” said Larry and Glick. They clinked glasses and downed their shots. Then, through the open garage door, they watched in silence as Mark SleepingBear slowly drove past them in his old Ford pickup.

  “Oh crap,” said Jumbo. “What do we do?”

  “We man up,” said Larry. “That’s what we do. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  Glick still had his lemon wedge in his mouth, but he managed to nod his head. Jumbo poured himself another shot of Crown and he quickly downed it. He pointed at the empty glasses on the bar and both Larry and Glick shook their heads. Jumbo turned and opened the sliding door to his glass cooler and removed three bottles of Heineken. He opened them up and handed them out. “Lead the way,” he said.

  SleepingBear had already stepped out of his truck and was standing in his yard when the three arrived. He wore a long-sleeved white shirt over blue jeans, his long black ponytail hung down almost to his belt. He stood with his back to the driveway and he turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. There were tears in his eyes.

  “Hey Mark,” said Larry. “How are you?”

  Angrily, Mark SleepingBear raised a finger at them and opened his mouth, but whatever he had been about to say escaped him. He fell to his knees and covered his face. The three men stood helplessly and watched as the large man wept. Awkwardly, Larry stepped over and kneeled down next to the man. “Do not touch me,” sobbed SleepingBear. “Please, just go.”

  “We’re really sorry,” said Jumbo.

  “Just go!”

  Larry stood up and with tears in his eyes, he pointed back to Jumbo’s garage. Slowly, the three men walked up the driveway and out onto the gravel cul de sac. By this time, Bones and Dottie were standing out in their yard. They walked over and met them outside of Jumbo’s garage. “That didn’t go well,” said Glick.

  “We saw that,” said Bones. “I guess it really put things in perspective for me. I have so much to be thankful for. I’m sorry, Jumbo, if I took things out on you. I knew that letter was coming.”

  “He’s been worried about it all week,” added Dottie. She put her arm around her husband and kissed his cheek.

  “I’m sorry,” said Jumbo. “I didn’t even know they could draft old coots like you.”

  Bones made a fist and held it under Jumbo’s nose. “I’ll old coot you,” he said, smiling. He then turned to face Mark SleepingBear’s house. Mark had gone inside and the screen door hung open. “That poor man,” he said. “I’m glad we did what we did and I don’t care if he’s pissed off about it. We did the right thing.”

  “We sure did,” agreed Larry. “I just wish I had known what to say to the guy, ya know? I’ve never been any good with words.”

  “I said we were sorry,” said Jumbo. “What more is there to say?”

  A warm breeze drifted in through the open door as they stared at the old house. The garage smelled of fresh cut grass and the sound of crickets carried on the wind. The conversation shifted between the draft notice and the SleepingBear tragedy as Jumbo fired up his grill. Tina and Anita arrived together, carrying side dishes, and Tiffany joined the group out in the garage. Jumbo played classic rock on his Bose sound system and Larry and Glick shot a game of pool as T-bone steaks sizzled on the grill.

  And then Mark SleepingBear appeared in the open door.

  He looked like a beaten man, his cheeks were puffy and his eyes were red, but he managed a smile. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved,” he whispered. “I want to thank you for looking after my home.”

  Larry dropped his pool cue onto the table and he walked over to SleepingBear, arms open wide. Mark stepped into the hug and the two men embraced. Both men began to sob. Then, one at a time, each of them took turns hugging Mark until all of their tears had been cried out. Tiffany tossed another steak on the grill and Jumbo offered Mark a beer, which he gratefully accepted.

  Slowly, their invisible elephant wandered out of the garage and it disappeared, forever.

  Chapter 3

  While the neighbors were busy burying the hatchet, President Crabtree ordered that one hundred thousand troops be sent over to war-ravaged Syria, as military advisors. The Iranian government was outraged by this, and threatened to declare war on the United States. President Crabtree was unfazed by the threat and he continued to rally his troops. By Sunday morning, Iran had formally declared war upon the United States of America.

  While the Kibble, Bell, and Glick families attended church, Jumbo and Tiffany Lystrom sat in the garage drinking mimosas. The morning was already warm and temperatures were expected to top ninety degrees. Jumbo opened the door and they watched the events unfold on television, quietly wondering how it would affect them. “Don’t worry,” said Jumbo, “people are always going to need used cars. We’ll be fine, Tiff. I’m a little worried about Bones, though. I hope he doesn’t get caught up in this mess.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about,” said Tiffany, who was dressed in a kimono robe and nothing else, her bleach-blonde hair still frizzy from a morning of hot passion. She sipped her drink and shook her head. “Poor Dottie, I wonder what she’s going to live on?”

  Jumbo laug
hed. “Are you kidding me? That tight-ass still hasn’t spent his confirmation money. She’ll be fine.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she said with a sigh. They watched another few minutes of Fox News and Tiffany shivered. “Where do you think this is heading?” she asked. “Could this be another world war?”

  “Not a chance. Crabby is a lame duck president and neither side is going to back him, not in an election year. I don’t like the idea of sending troops over to that shithole, Syria, but somebody had to do something.”

  “What about the Iranians?”

  “Those crazy bastards had better watch themselves. We could hit a switch and turn that whole country into glass. They know that. No, I think they’re just sending us a warning, that’s all.”

  “Good morning,” said Mark SleepingBear from the open garage door.

  “Good morning,” replied Jumbo, “come on in!”

  Mark stepped inside and then he stopped. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were still in your pajamas.”

  Jumbo and Tiffany laughed. “Don’t worry about her,” he said. “Go ahead and look, everyone else does. Tiff’s got a great rack, cost me a lot of money, and she ain’t afraid of showing it off.”

  “I’ll come back later, after you put some clothes on,” said Mark, turning to go.

  Jumbo gave Tiffany a little shove and pointed to the service door. She giggled, slurped down her drink and got up from her chair, letting her robe fall open. Mark had already turned around to face the open door and Jumbo shrugged his shoulders. “Go on,” he said, “put some clothes on. Hey Mark, want something to drink?”

  “I might have a diet soda, if you have it.”

  “Oh, I’ve got it.”

  Mark waited until the door was closed before he turned around. He accepted the can of soda and he opened it and drank. He then gave Jumbo a hard look. “I am not interested in seeing Tiffany’s rack, or any of her other private parts. I am in mourning, but even if I were not, I would not wish to see them. I hope you can respect that.”

  Jumbo laughed as he poured some champagne into his glass. “I can dig it,” he said. “Sorry about that, Tiff and I like to let it all hang out.”

  “Well, I’d appreciate it if you put it away when I’m around.”

  “We can do that. So, what’s on your mind?”

  “Oh, I was just watching the news and I wanted to talk to someone about it. How do you feel about the United States going to war with Iran?”

  “We’re not going to war with Iran.”

  “I think we are.”

  “And what if we are? There’s nothing I can do about it. Besides, we could turn that whole country into glass.”

  Mark shook his head. “That won’t happen,” he said. “President Crabtree will not risk an all-out nuclear war. He is smarter than that. I don’t like us sending troops into Syria. Russia and China don’t like it, either. We must be careful not to spread our army too thin.”

  “Sounds like you’re some kind of expert.”

  Mark shook his head. “I am no expert, but I did spend eight years in the Marine Corp. I served in the Gulf War.”

  “Really,” said Jumbo, studying SleepingBear’s face. “You don’t look that old.”

  Mark smiled. “Thank you,” he said, “but I am nearly fifty years old.”

  “I never would have guessed it. You Indians age pretty gracefully. I used to know an Indian dude. He was seventy and didn’t look a day over fifty. Injun Joe, at least that’s what we called him, never knew his real name.”

  “Native American,” corrected Mark. “Indian people come from India.”

  “Okay,” said Jumbo, raising his glass. “I feel ya. A toast to our Native Americans,” he added, touching his champagne glass to Mark’s soda can.

  “Right,” said Mark. “Hey, I just remembered something I have to take care of. I just wanted to thank you for the wonderful meal and for helping me tend my property. That was awful nice of you folks. Give my best to Tiffany.”

  Jumbo got to his feet as Mark stood to go. The two men shook hands and Jumbo watched as Mark walked away. The service door opened and Tiffany, dressed in shorts and a tank top, stepped back into the garage. “Did you scare him away?” she asked.

  Jumbo laughed. “No, everything is great, just great. Mark had some things he wanted to do. I’m thinking about fixing a bloody, care to join me?”

  “That sounds good, babe.”

  Mark SleepingBear returned home and sat down at his kitchen table. At this time yesterday, he had been ready to pack his things and move up to the reservation. But that was before he had turned into his driveway and discovered his neighbors were actually decent, caring people. Now, after spending only a few minutes with Jumbo and Tiffany, Mark wondered if he had been hasty in making that judgment. Mark sighed and then he laughed as he thought back on his morning visit. What the Lystrom’s needed was a truckload of modesty, but that was a commodity that could not be bought.

  Mark picked up his bank ledger and whistled. The furnace that had failed had been new and properly installed. Because of what had happened, the manufacturer had recalled the model. A lawyer representing the furnace manufacturer had contacted Mark with a generous offer to settle any future wrongful death lawsuits. Mark despised lawyers and had no plans on filing any such lawsuit. Lawyers could not bring the dead back to life; and all the money in the world could not replace what had been taken from him. Still, Mark was no fool and he pretended he was still considering a lawsuit. The very next day, Mark received another call from the same attorney, doubling his previous offer. Mark thought he could hear the finality in the man’s voice and he accepted the settlement. After signing the papers, Mark drove to his neighborhood bank and deposited the five million dollar check.

  That had been a month ago, and Mark had yet to spend a penny of that money. The settlement had been blood money and part of Mark felt shame for accepting it. Originally, he had thought about donating the money to a charity, but with the world in such a chaotic state, Mark had decided to hold off on making any rash decisions. Blood money or not, he took comfort in knowing that it was there.

  Like the restless spirit he was, Mark began wandering around inside his empty house. After the tragedy, Mark had donated many of his family’s belongings to a local shelter for abused women. That had been painful, but Mark was no stranger to death; an only child, he had lost his parents during a two week span while he was still in his twenties. He had learned a great deal from that bitter experience. He held his departed family in his heart, not inside his rooms and closets. Now that he had decided to stay, he was going to have to do something with the empty rooms.

  Wandered out, Mark found himself flipping through the channels on the television. He stopped to watch CNN and quickly regretted it. The world seemed to be spiraling out of control. North Korea had amassed its army at the DMZ and once again, it was threatening to reclaim the South. Over the past hour, both the UK and Israel had declared war upon Iran. Civil wars were raging inside Syria and a host of other countries. The news anchors seemed to be nearly giddy with these new developments. Capitalizing on the mounting crisis, the station was playing five minutes of commercials for every two minutes of reporting. Mark hated himself for not shutting it off.

  Mark listened to the analysts as they tried to outdo themselves. Some were convinced that the planet was on the brink of another world war, while others disagreed and labeled the growing rhetoric as sabre rattling. The station took yet another break and the sponsor was a cruise line. Mark could only shake his head and laugh. The world was going to hell in a handbag; he could not fathom anyone being foolish enough to try and avoid that reality by hopping aboard a cruise ship.

  After a string of soap, food, and car commercials, the anchors returned to discuss something called the Neighborhood Patrol System. As if things weren’t bad enough, the government was now urging citizens to spy on their neighbors. There was no disagreement with the talking heads on this topic, Mu
ch to Mark’s dismay, the analysts all seemed to be on board. “Personally, I don’t trust anyone outside my immediate family,” said the beautiful blonde anchorwoman. “Not even me?” asked her GQ co-anchor. “Especially not you,” purred the blonde. The two on-air personalities both laughed at their little exchange and it sent a chill down Mark’s spine. He found the remote and hit the kill button.

  Mark walked into laundry room and found his mud boots. He took them to the back door before putting them on and stepping outside. The warm sunshine felt good on his skin and the air still held the fragrance of fresh-cut grass. Mark walked past the shed, across the muddy field and into the woods. He stopped there; the memory of the Neighborhood Patrol System was still clawing at his brain. Mark wanted to be sure that Jumbo and Tiffany weren’t following him. He watched and waited a full minute before continuing. The trail was gone, but that hardly mattered. Mark knew the way to his family’s secret retreat like the back of his own hand. Two hundred yards into the thick oaks, Mark unearthed the rotting sheet of plywood that hid the locked doorway, which led into his grandfather’s fallout shelter.

  Again, he looked around to make sure he hadn’t been followed. With Josie gone, he was now the only person alive who knew of the shelter’s existence. Mark fished his key-ring from his pocket and found the little gold key. He inserted it into the lock and stubbornly, it popped open. He then opened the trapdoor and stared down at the mossy concrete stairs, wishing he had remembered a flashlight. He hadn’t taken those stairs in nearly a decade and God only knew what was living down there.

  The concrete bunker was buried under twenty feet of earth. The shelter had three rooms, each roughly the size of his own bedroom. The shelter sat on top of its own private well; an old fashioned hand pump delivered the water, while the waste drained into a septic tank. The hideaway boasted both a flushing toilet and a claw-footed tub, things his grandfather had been very proud of. Fresh air was supplied by a series of pipes, which may or may not be plugged. With this thought on his mind, Mark closed the door and reattached the padlock. He then covered the door with the plywood and he covered that with oak leaves and brush. Satisfied, he retraced his footsteps through the woods.