Page 90 of Bunker Down, Baby

I watch them for a beat longer.

The men. The room. This weird-ass domestic war camp she built out of concrete and charisma.

I didn’t plan to stay.

Thought maybe I’d fuck her, get my bearings, and slip out while the rest of them were still flexing at each other over chicken feed and cock size.

But I felt the shift in the air, that low electrical hum of the world unraveling just a little faster than before.

And now I’m looking around, cataloging everything. Not just the exits, not just the blind spots. But the men. Who’d take a bullet. Who’d hesitate. Who’d charge into a burning room without asking why.

We’re five strong. Which means we’re vulnerable in five directions.

I sigh. Because they’re idiots. But they’re her idiots. And now they’re mine too. If this is gonna work, someone needs to tighten the screws.

“Look,” I say, setting the plate down and leaning against the edge of the table. “We’ve got one of the best stockpiles I’ve ever seen. Defensible positions. Redundant power. Food. Water. And the only woman in a hundred miles with a plan that isn’t just ‘cry and hope the CDC shows up.’”

Dean raises his hand. “Don’t forget the weapons and the endless sex.”

I stare at him.

“What? Balance is important,” he says.

“Jesus Christ,” Brock mutters.

I push off the table and fold my arms. “We’re not running a fantasy camp. This shit outside? It’s escalating. Fast.”

“I heard,” Wade says, quieter now. “Radio said another safe zone failed. National Guard pulled back from three cities.”

“Shelter-in-place is now indefinite,” Evan mutters, grabbing a drink. “Hospitals are closing their doors. No one’s getting treated anymore. We’re on our own.”

“Which means this place, her bunker, our bunker, has to hold,” I say. “And we need to act like it. If someone comes knocking, we don’t want them finding the front door. I’m setting up false entries. Dead-end trails. If they want in, they’ll get lost in a loop before they even find the bunker mouth.”

“Love that for us,” Wade murmurs.

“We should rotate patrols,” Brock adds. “Two outside, two on gear and systems. Rotate daily.”

“And medical drills,” Evan says. “Supplies inventory. Isolation protocol if anyone shows symptoms.”

I look around the room, and it hits me. Not a single one of them is pushing back. They’re listening. They’re here. They’ve all made the same decision I did.

“Rotations,” I nod. “Schedules. Surveillance review. Secure the perimeter. Start assigning skill sets to zones.”

Brock pushes off the wall, rolling his shoulders. “And we test every man here. Prove you can shoot, fight, reinforce a breach. No dead weight.”

Dean whistles. “I knew Daddy Holden would bring the discipline.”

“Is that really gonna be a thing now?” I ask, flat.

“Yes,” Wade, Evan, and Dean say in unison.

Brock shakes his head. “God help us.”

But I see it. In the way Evan’s already calculating. In the way Wade’s nodding to himself, probably planning meals for when things get rough. In the way Dean’s suddenly pulling out a notebook and jotting down gear checklists like he’s not a mechanic but a fucking supply sergeant with boundary issues.

They’re all in. And so am I. I didn’t ask for this. Didn’t want it. But now that I’ve got it, I’ll kill to keep it.

We’ve got five men. One woman. A fortress disguised as a bunker. And a world outside the door that wants to burn.

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