AT THE BUNKER'S MOUTH

When Kevin brought the van to a stop after thirty minutes of driving, it was still early in the morning, the sun only hot enough to warm up Middlestown's emptiness.

Max looked around in amazement, wondering where the bunker was. All along he had come expecting to see some tall, secure building, and not an old well with a wide area of damp sand around it sitting pretty while trees and shrubs stood around the edge, seemingly threatening.

“Where is it?” He asked Kevin, who took out a pack of cigarettes for a smoke while sitting behind the steering wheel. “All I can see here is a well.”

“There is no well.”

“That thing there is Middlestown’s bunker?”

“Yes. It is the bunker, and it is under the ground. I did tell you that it was an underground bunker, and you don't think that the people fighting the second world war would build anything that would stand high and welcoming if they wanted to escape fighter jets, don't you, Soldier?”

“I get it now, Kev. I understand what you meant.”

Kevin smil