Chapter 12
Ivy clutched Bennett’s hand, the ocean mist cool on her face. They had left the inn and were walking on the beach where they’d each seen Vanz before, scanning the shoreline for any sign of him. They walked first in one direction toward the cove, then the other toward the village.
Ivy saw a few surfers in the water waiting for the last waves of the day, and other people strolled or walked a dog near the water’s edge, but no solitary teenager in a dark hoodie appeared. She’d had such high hopes for finding Vanz. He seemed like a lost kid everyone had turned their backs on.
They could help him, if he’d let them.
“He’s not here,” she said with a sinking feeling.
Bennett stroked his chin. “If we don’t find him, I need to tell Clark. A kid living in an unstable underground bunker isn’t safe.”
Ivy was torn between wanting to protect Vanz’s privacy and knowing Bennett was right. “But Clark will investigate, and Vanz might disappear if he hasn’t already.”
“We’d lose any chance of helping him,” Bennett added. “This might be Mitch’s son we’re talking about.”
“He could be in the bunker. I still have the shovels and toolbox in the trunk of my car.” Ivy told him how they climbed down.
“I hope so,” Bennett said. “This discovery is also historically significant for the town. I was unaware of it, although there had been some gossip. Old Charlie mentioned it once a long time ago, but I always thought that was just one of his stories. You know how Charlie is with his coffee cronies at Java Beach, each one topping another with a taller tale.”
“Apparently, this one was true.” Ivy thought about Charlie, the local small-time bookmaker, and wondered what he knew about this, if anything.
They walked back to the inn and took Ivy’s red Chevy convertible that had all their excavation equipment still in the back. Poppy’s flashlight and headlamp sat in the toolbox alongside the shovels. Bennett added a coil of rope from the garage.
“Safety precaution,” he said. “If those antiquated ladder rungs give out, I want a backup. I wish I had climbing gear, but this will work for now.”
“I think it’s fairly sturdy.” She appreciated Bennett’s foresight and caution.
On the vacant lot, Ivy led Bennett to the spot they’d marked, and together they cleared away the camouflage of dirt and leaves they’d scattered over the hatch that morning.
Bennett knelt beside it, running his hands over the metal surface. “This is substantial. Heavy-duty construction.” He found the recessed handle and pulled. The hatch lifted with the same protesting groan, revealing the dark shaft below.
Bennett called out into the dim recesses. “Hey, Vanz. Are you down there? We’re here to help you. No one wants to hurt you.”
They squatted by the edge, waiting, but there was only silence.
“Let’s go down,” Bennett said.
Ivy illuminated the ladder rungs with her flashlight. “It’s solid. We tested it thoroughly.”
“Let me go first.” Bennett glanced around and secured the rope to a nearby palm tree, then lowered the other end into the shaft. “Just in case a metal rung breaks under my weight. I’m heavier than you are.”
He descended carefully, testing each rung before putting his full weight on it. Ivy followed, her flashlight beam dancing across the concrete walls. When they reached the bottom, Bennett stood for a moment, taking in the space.
“This is incredible,” he said.
The bunker looked exactly as they’d left it. Bunk beds, desk, supplies, the pin-up poster still curling on the wall. Bennett moved to the desk, picking up one of the Life magazines with care.
“May of 1944,” he said, reading the cover.
“The Allies were planning the invasion of Normandy when this was published. But it would be more than a year before the Pacific conflict ended.” He set it down reverently and examined the binoculars and the viewing apparatus.
“Given the natural rise of the land, they would have had a clear view of the ocean. This was a real operation. Someone spent serious time here, scanning the ocean. Likely watching enemy ships on the horizon and then relaying that information.”
“Look at the logs.” Ivy showed him the notebooks, opening one to reveal the neat handwriting. “Whoever manned this post was meticulous.”
Bennett read a few entries, his expression growing more absorbed. “This is town history we never knew. The historical society doesn’t have any record of this bunker. Nothing in the official archives.”
“Maybe the Ericksons kept it secret.” Ivy moved to the shelves, examining the preserved supplies. “It might have also served as a private shelter in case of invasion or attack.”
“That makes sense given the era.” Bennett looked around the room with new appreciation.
“The fear was real. Japanese submarines cruised the California coast, sinking an oil tanker near Cambria and shelling Ellwood oil field near Santa Barbara. A submarine also landed covertly at Point Loma in San Diego. People genuinely believed an invasion was possible.”
Bennett took photos with his phone, documenting everything. When he reached the tunnel entrance in the second room, he stopped.
“Where does this go?”
“We saw it but didn’t explore. We thought the timbers might be unstable.” Ivy joined him, aiming her flashlight into the passage. “Looks like it was dug after the main bunker was built. You can see where the concrete ends and the hand excavation begins.”
“Escape route, maybe. Or they were trying to extend the shelter.” Bennett crouched, examining the entrance. “We’d need a structural engineer to assess if it’s safe to explore.”
“That’s for another day. We need to find Vanz.” Ivy turned, sweeping her flashlight across the bunks. Her heart dropped. “Oh, no. Everything was right here earlier.”
The sleeping bag and backpack were gone. The bunk sat empty, the thin mattress bare except for a wrinkled wool blanket full of dust.
“He must have come back,” Bennett said. “Either heard you or saw signs someone had discovered his hiding place.”
Ivy’s stomach sank. “I hope we haven’t driven him away.”
“It’s possible.”
Ivy checked the rest of the space. Nothing else seemed disturbed, except on the concrete floor, she saw a roll of breath mints, the kind Shelly liked. “I’ll bet these fell out of Shelly’s pocket, and he saw them. He probably grabbed his stuff and took off.”
They climbed back up the ladder in silence. At the surface, they lowered the hatch and stood looking at the lot.
“It would be a shame to build on top of this,” Bennett said. “To cover it up again when we’ve just rediscovered a part of the community’s history.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Ivy brushed dirt from her jeans. “Maybe Forrest could work with the architect to change the plans, or how the building is situated on the land. I thought we might incorporate the bunker into the existing design in some way.”
“Great idea,” Bennett said, looking at her with admiration.
“It would need to be inspected first to assess the structural integrity. But yes, I think it’s possible.
They might have to adjust the building footprint but having an actual World War II bunker as part of the library and museum?
That’s a selling point, not a liability. ”
“We still need to find Vanz,” Ivy said, glancing at the time on her phone.
“We do. And I think it’s time to call Clark.” Bennett started toward the car. “A teenager living in an unstable bunker is one thing. But a teen who knows we found him and might be desperate enough to make bad decisions is something we need to alert the police about.”
Ivy knew he was right, but it still felt like failure. They’d wanted to help Vanz, to reach him before fear drove him away. Now he was gone, and they had no idea where to look.
As they drove back to the inn, Ivy’s phone buzzed. A text from Shelly: Talked to Mitch. He’s shaken. Come over as soon as you can.
Ivy showed the message to Bennett.
“Good, we need to work together to figure out how to find his son, if that’s who Vanz really is, before this story ends badly for everyone.”
They parked in front of Mitch and Shelly’s bungalow as the sun neared the ocean’s horizon.
She thought about Vanz, wherever he was now. Running away with a sleeping bag and a backpack, still carrying whatever hardships had driven him to Summer Beach in the first place. Looking for a father who might not even know he existed.
What a tough situation for him, she thought, praying they find him before it was too late.
They just had to find Vanz first.