Page 15 of Bunker Down, Baby

Evan

As soon as her call comes in, Dean’s already starting the car like we’ve trained for this moment.

And apparently, we have. Because suddenly we’re not just two guys living in a bunker with a hot lunatic, we’re a full-blown apocalypse farm-moving crew.

Because, sure, why not. Milk and eggs don’t exactly grow on trees, and food runs are getting more dangerous by the day. And rabid, squirrel-like people apparently beat the hell out of you if you try to take their powdered creamer.

So yeah. It matters.

I spot a trailer as we pull down the dirt road and breathe out a little. “That’s a relief,” I mutter, already doing the math in my head. “Because moving a dairy cow on top of this sedan? Wasn’t gonna happen.”

Dean, without missing a beat, taps the windshield with two fingers like he’s blessing the farm. “We can latch that bastard to the tractor.” He nods toward a smaller one. “I’ll hitch that to the car. Chickens and supplies ride there.”

I scan the driveway, spot a truck already hitched to a third trailer. “He’s got a rig ready to go,” I say. “We take all three. One trip.”

Dean whistles low. “It’s gonna be like playing drunk apocalypse Tetris, but yeah. One trip’s better than five.”

“It’s an all-day job either way,” I mutter, already picturing the manual labor. “We’re not just kidnapping a man, we’re stealing his entire livelihood. Goats, chickens, hay bales, a cow…”

Dean grins. “You ever wrangle farm animals, Doc?”

I turn and give him a look. “No, Dean. Shocking, I know, but the ER doesn’t get a lot of chickens. You get many needing oil changes?”

Dean just cracks his knuckles like he’s been waiting for this exact challenge his whole life. “Eh, Maple figured everything else out. She’ll figure this out too.”

And that’s the part that gets me.

Because she will.

Somehow, this woman, this completely unqualified, unhinged, deeply inappropriate woman, is building something that actually works. One hostage at a time.

“She’ll probably want Wade in the car with her,” I say, watching the porch. “Let him wake up comfy.”

It’s insane. All of it.

I used to do chest compressions and gunshot trauma and keep people alive long enough for a surgeon to swoop in. Now I’m helping steal a tractor and relocate livestock before some feral post-vaccine meth head stabs a dairy cow that now belongs to us.

And somehow… somehow that all makes sense.

That’s the real crazy part.

Then she steps onto the porch, and there she is. All sunshine and sin and chaos in combat boots. Grinning like this is her wedding day and Wade is the groom she roofied for his own good.

And suddenly?

It all makes more sense.

Because that’s my girl.

A goddamn lunatic.

And I think I’m falling for her.

Hard.

Dean lets out a low whistle as she waves, holding up a bucket like she’s presenting a prize goat at the fair. “She got him and milk.”

“Of course she did,” I say. “She probably made him pack snacks for the ride too.”

Dean climbs out and heads toward the truck. “Bet he smiled the whole time.”

I stay in my seat for a second, just watching her. She’s radiant. Disheveled, insane, gleeful, and completely unstoppable. My entire life I’ve been patching up broken things, trying to hold people together long enough to survive the next emergency.

She’s out here building a future out of duct tape, pancakes, and personality disorders.

And hell if I don’t want to help her do it.

She passes Dean on her way to the back seat and stops to kiss him like she’s just getting home from work and not in the middle of a tactical farm heist. The man melts under it. I swear if she told him to pull out one of his teeth, he’d ask which one.

Then she grabs the duffle bags and heads toward the house like she owns it. Which, in her mind, she probably does.

I get out and shut the car door behind me.

Dean’s already heading toward the barn. “We’ll start on the equipment,” he says, but not before throwing a jab over his shoulder. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you packing personal shit for Wade, too. So I’m the only one who didn’t get two duffle bags of his own crap?”

She stops and smiles at him, walking back to him and tilting her head in that sweet way that makes people forget she’s a menace to society. She puts a hand on his jaw like she’s about to whisper a bedtime story. “You’re the only one who got every single thing replaced, baby. Top of the line. Don’t tell the others. I wouldn’t want them knowing I play favorites.”

Dean grins like a kid who just got the best cookie.

I snort. I don’t even try to stop it.

And just like that, she vanishes, inside the house again, condensing Wade’s entire life into carry-on luggage. She’s clearly been watching him the same way she watched us, knows what he likes, what he needs, probably what kind of damn socks he prefers. No doubt his room back at the bunker already smells like fresh hay and looks like an Etsy vision board for rugged farm life.

Dean pats my shoulder, his voice all warm pride. “She’s amazing.”

“She’s something,” I say. “That much I’m sure of.”

The equipment’s easy. Dean’s built like a wrecking ball, and I can hold my own. We knock out the big stuff fast, load the tractor trailer, tie down supplies. Smooth, efficient, almost boring, until I remember we’re doing all this while Wade is unconscious in his own living room.

Inside, it’s more of the same. She points, we carry. Food. Guns. A ridiculous stash of canned peaches. Ammo. A hand-stitched quilt she says is his favorite, like this is a summer camp and not a hostage situation.

I glance at Wade as we pass through with boxes. He’s on the couch now, knocked out cold but looking surprisingly peaceful for a guy being stolen. Dean moved him, probably tucked him in. Man’s a softie where it counts.

By the time we’ve loaded the last of it, my shirt’s clinging to me and my back is starting to ache. Which is when she says, completely serious, “Let’s take a break. We’ll have lunch.”

Because why not?

We’ve already committed to robbery, drugging, and relocation without consent. May as well eat the man’s cheese, too.

We gather around his kitchen table, as if we’re old friends helping him move and not the world’s most cheerful criminal syndicate. She slices tomatoes like she owns the knife, the house, and the man it came with. Dean steals a cucumber slice and pops it in his mouth like this is a cookout.

I pour water. Because hydration, apparently, still matters in crime.

She leans against the counter, beaming. “He was so sweet, you guys. He gave me water, didn’t even ask questions. Just invited me in, sat me down, total gentleman. For a minute, I actually considered just asking him to come.”

Dean laughs like that’s the punchline.

I blink. “That would’ve been far too sane an approach.”

She winks at me. “I know. Gross, right? Don’t worry. I came to my senses.”

Dean leans back in his chair. “So you drugged him.”

“Of course I did,” she says, completely unfazed. “Did you see him?”

She’s glowing now. Like a woman who just found the last working espresso machine on Earth and married it.

Dean grins at her like he’s watching her juggle fire. I look between them and shake my head, because there is no world where this should be working.

And yet it is.

Somehow, we are the new normal.

And I’m still not sure if that’s horrifying… or kind of perfect.

“We still need to round up the livestock,” Dean says, stretching his arms like he’s warming up for the Olympic farm games. “Wade gonna be good a few more hours?”

She glances wistfully toward the couch, like she already misses him, which, honestly, she probably does. “Yeah. I can give him more if he starts to come to. It’s very mild. Perfectly safe.”

Because drugging a grown man and robbing him blind is totally fine, as long as the dosage is gentle.

Dean and I head out, apparently now in charge of livestock logistics.

Step one: the cow.

The cow, massive, indifferent, and clearly smarter than both of us, blinks at us like she’s unimpressed by our existence.

Dean crouches a little, puts his hands on his knees like he’s approaching a toddler. “Hey, girl. You wanna come with us? We’ve got a nice trailer, fresh hay. Premium kidnapping experience.”

I’m ready to laugh until the damn cow follows him. Just… clomp, clomp, up the ramp like she’s done this before and has no notes on our operation.

Dean turns around and grins. “Told you. I’m the bovine whisperer.”

I stare. “I hate how proud you are right now.”

Next up: goats.

There are six of them. They’re smallish, chaotic, and give exactly zero fucks. I crouch and make kissy sounds because why not? Two of them trot right up to me. I pet them. They let me. One tries to eat my sleeve, but it’s still affection-adjacent, so I’ll take it.

I scoop one under each arm like goat luggage. “Look at this. King of goats.”

Dean snorts. “You’re peaking, man. This is your final form.”

The others are a little trickier, but they follow their buddies with minimal resistance. Goats, apparently, are all about peer pressure and snacks. I’m genuinely starting to feel good about myself.

Then come the chickens.

Chickens are assholes.

I don’t know who designed them this way, but they are vengeful little dinosaurs with feathers and no regard for human dignity. The second we open the coop, it’s pure bedlam. They scatter like we’ve just announced chicken tax season.

Dean dives for one and gets pecked for his efforts. “Little bastard bit me!”

“Technically, that’s a peck,” I say, swatting at a blur of feathers that may or may not be a hen possessed by Satan.

We spend the next twenty minutes chasing them around like idiots, two grown men, sweating and swearing, trying to outmaneuver birds the size of soccer balls. One flies at my face. Another one shits on the ramp we just cleaned.

Dean finally catches one by basically tackling it to the ground.

I end up holding two under my arms while another flaps against the top of my head, screaming chicken obscenities.

By the time we get the last one loaded, I’m covered in feathers, dirt, and existential regret.

Dean leans on the side of the trailer, breathing hard. “You still want eggs after this?”

“I want an omelet,” I say. “To reassert dominance.”

We stand there for a second, covered in sweat and bird fluff, victorious in the dumbest way possible. The cow’s chewing hay like she’s seen worse. The goats are already trying to chew on the tarp. The chickens glare at us from their crate, plotting their next uprising.

And yet, somehow, this all feels… normal.

Which is maybe the most insane part of all.