Bunker: Road to Redemption (Mission Critical Series Book 6) by Jay J. Falconer & Jo Nash

Author:Jay J. Falconer & Jo Nash [Falconer, Jay J. & Nash, Jo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBreeze.com LLC
Published: 2020-11-16T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

The relentless bouncing of the mountain bike as it barreled down the rocky trail brought only one thought to Tess’s mind—if only she had taken some Advil while she was at the cabin. Assuming her uncle had a stash around there somewhere.

Her brain felt like mush and her back ached. Never mind the permanent bruise developing on her butt from the handlebars.

How the hell she and Ben did this all day long on these dirt roads when they were kids, she had no idea. But at least Wilma was keeping up, running alongside in that casual gallop that dogs seem to do with ease.

“Are we getting close?” she asked, seeing something in the road. “Hey, watch that rock!”

Ben swerved and missed the protrusion, but the sudden weight shift sent her sideways, almost flying off the handlebar. It was all she could do not to fall off, especially with the backpack strapped to her spine.

“Shit, hang on,” Ben said, the bike wobbling in a sudden zigzag pattern.

“I’m trying. Maybe slow down a bit?”

“Relax, I got it,” he said, finding a straight-line path once again. His peddling slowed.

She lessened the hydraulic grip of her fingers around the metal bar. “Jesus, that was close.”

“Thought I lost you there for a second.”

“Thanks for slowing down.”

“Yep, slow and smooth from here on out. Well, maybe not smooth,” he said into her ear using a light, flippant tone.

“I’m glad you think this is funny, but my ass is killing me.”

“Just a couple more miles. Then we’re there.”

A few minutes later, the density of the trees thinned as they neared the bottom of the path. That’s when she saw it—a stab of asphalt cutting at a perpendicular angle to their path.

“Is that it?”

“Yep, the main road,” Ben said.

“It’s about time.”

“How’s your ass doing? Do we need to take five?”

“I’m good. Keep going. It’ll be easier on the pavement.”

Tess tucked in her lip and took the pain until they made it to the dock, about two miles later.

“What the hell’s going on now?” Ben asked.

“What?”

Ben brought the bike to a halt, then pointed over her shoulder, past a line of cars, many of which sat with their hoods up and driver side door open. “By the ferry, where all those people are.”

They both got off and stood together with the dog, who was now panting like a freight train.

“She really needs some water,” Tess said, motioning to Wilma.

“Sit, girl,” Ben said to Wilma before putting the bike’s kickstand down and then digging his hand into the zipper pocket of the backpack.

When he pulled his fingers out, he was clutching Wilma’s leash. He clipped it to her harness, then found a water bottle inside the pack and poured some liquid into his hand. He held it under Wilma’s nose and let her lap it up.

“Let’s go,” he said after repeating that same process several times, aiming his feet toward the crowd across the way.

The closer they came to the group the louder the voices grew. People were yelling, even threatening the dock workers.

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