by Akart, Bobby
As they walked back to the main house, Jimmy emerged from a trail leading through a variety of palms to the corrugated storage building where all the beach chairs, umbrellas, and kayaks were stored.
“I put everything away, Mr. Hank. What’s next?”
Before Hank could answer, his phone rang. It was Mike.
“Hey, I thought you guys were gonna bring over your stuff this morning,” Hank answered without so much as a hello.
Mike spoke loudly over the sounds of running car engines and the occasional horn blaring. “Yeah, that was the plan. Jessica’s truck is loaded with our gear. Just as we were about to come over, we both got called in. The overseas highway is one helluva hot mess.”
“People leaving?”
“By the thousands,” Mike replied. “Central tried to treat it like a hurricane evac, but that was an epic fail. Sure, there are a lot of people spooked by all this nuke shit. They checked out early, trying to get a head start home. Either they all had the same idea at the same time, or this is just the beginning.”
“Why don’t you guys send all lanes northbound?”
“Because there are still people who don’t care about the news. They’d rather waste away in Margaritaville than see the doom and gloom on the television.”
“Geez. You’ve got ’em comin’ and goin’.”
“That’s right, Mr. Innkeeper. Not all of these hotels down here are as conscientious as you are. All of these people should stay home.”
“Well, they don’t know what we know either. Maybe the people in Washington should get a clue? Just put it all out there, and let adults decide for themselves.”
Horns started screaming in a variety of pitches. Mike screamed in the phone. “Hey! Back off, asshole!” He returned to the call. “Hank, I gotta run. We’ll get there as soon as possible.”
“Good luck.”
“Oh, Hank? One more thing. Jess is gonna bring the rescue boat this afternoon. She’s not comfortable leaving it at our place if we’re not gonna be staying there.”
Hank looked over at Jimmy and then glanced down the dock at his Hatteras. “I’ll have Jimmy make room.”
The SAFE Boat, its trademark name, had been purchased with grant funds from the Department of Homeland Security. Built for speed and endurance and designed to handle both Atlantic and Gulf waters in all conditions, the thirty-one-foot boat, used in numerous patrols and emergencies, had been credited with saving the lives of many people in distress over the years.
The inboard diesel jet boat had a weatherproof cabin with an eighteen-person capacity. Its top speed was about fifty-five mph. It was built to withstand harsh conditions, designed to be unsinkable, and was equipped with advanced technology, including radar and digital performance data. Jessica, a PADI-certified rescue diver, kept her tanks and gear on board at all times.
The two brothers disconnected the call just as the men reached the main house. Once inside, they found Phoebe sitting at a table in the bar, going over her ledgers and watching the news. The split screen revealed a scientist on one hand and a raging wildfire in India shown from the perspective aboard the International Space Station.
The screen switched to a graphic showing the spread of soot and debris from the nuclear war between India and Pakistan. Deep purple on the graphic indicated extensive soot coverage. The lighter tones of red were found on the outskirts of the cloud that spread across the planet. It stretched from Japan in the Far East across the whole of Europe.
The scientist then explained what his modeling projected. The billions of tons of soot in the air from the nuclear explosions and resulting wildfires would almost completely circumnavigate the Earth in just a matter of days. When pressed by the news host as to when it would dissipate, he simply shook his head and replied, “Years, hopefully.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Wednesday, October 23
Islamorada
Florida Keys
“It’s gonna take years to clear this damn traffic out of here!” Mike shouted to one of his fellow detectives relegated to traffic duty in response to the mass exodus out of the Florida Keys. Both men would rather be finding the serial killer in their midst rather than waving their arms and chiding motorists for driving along the shoulder to get ahead of the rest of those hustling home.
Panic had spread amongst the visitors as the second nuclear exchange not only provided Americans a glimpse into the aftermath of an attack but speculation began to ramp up as to what might happen next.
On the one hand, many had been pressuring President Helton to take a stance and join in the defense of America’s allies Israel and India. Political pundits had gone so far as to lay blame on the president for the Pakistani strikes because he’d failed to stand by Israel.
On the other hand, there were those who argued battles abroad, whether nuclear or conventional, were none of Washington’s concern unless they directly affected American interests.
Regardless of which political position the experts took, all agreed that the world had become increasingly unstable, and the threat of North Korea, China, and Russia joining the fray had increased exponentially.
The night before, Mike, Jessica and Hank had had their own roundtable discussion on the beach with cocktails and cigars. None of them expected the Florida Keys to be the target of a nuclear strike. They presumed the highest-value targets for America’s enemies were political, populated, and nuclear related.
The discussion of EMP weapons came up. This concerned them as much as the nuclear strikes. While they wouldn’t be directly in the line of fire from the nuclear detonation, the electromagnetic pulse generated from the ground strikes could cause the nation’s power grid to collapse. The three agreed it would take years to repair, and they’d have to be prepared for this eventuality.
Today, all three of them were supposed to scour the Middle and Lower Keys for supplies that would keep them alive in the event something like that happened. Instead, Mike and Jessica were forced into traffic control.
Mike and his fellow detective were attempting to have this conversation at an intersection packed with motorists. They’d stopped both lanes to allow vehicles to exit the Publix shopping center and the residential areas behind it. Frustrated drivers slammed their steering wheels and dashboards over the one-minute delay.
At one point, Mike chuckled to himself, although his thought was not meant to be humorous. How are these people supposed to handle nukes landing on America if they can’t keep from losing their minds over a traffic delay?
“Is it true the people from Tallahassee are pulling out?” the detective asked, shouting his question to Mike.
“Yeah!” he replied in an equally loud voice. “They’ve got the jitters up there about what might happen. They watch the news like the rest of these folks.”
“Are we changing our schedules?”
“Not as far as I’m concerned. The killer doesn’t plan on changing his.”
“Good work on identifying the vics!” the detective yelled.
“The problem is there is no connection between the three whatsoever,” said Mike as traffic was cleared to move again. He lowered his voice as the two men joined each other on the side of the road. “Listen, here’s the thing. We need more evidence. A clue of some kind. Sadly, that means another body or even a foiled attempt by the killer.”
The detective waved his hand up and down the highway. “Maybe all of this will disrupt his habits? You know, take away his opportunities or at least make them more difficult.”
“Even better, wouldn’t it be nice if he was in one of these cars headed north?”
Seconds later, a black Lexus sedan drove by the two detectives. The darkened windows designed to block out the sun also served to deter prying eyes from seeing inside. Its tan interior had been scrubbed several times with bleaching agents, and every fiber of the sedan’s carpets had been vacuumed to perfection.
The driver, the branch manager of the Island State Bank, kept his face forward, bu
t his eyes moved to study the two men directing traffic. He recognized Mike Albright. Mr. Big Shot homicide detective. The man who didn’t have a clue as to who just drove past him.
It was lunchtime, and he was ravenous. Not just for the local fare from Bad Boy Burritos, aptly named for a man with a gruesome secret fetish. The fish tacos would provide him sustenance. However, they’d do nothing for his hunger.
Tonight, he’d hunt. Again.
The heavy traffic headed toward Key West didn’t aggravate him like the other drivers around him. They represented new opportunities. Fresh meat. Happy vacationers ready to release their inhibitions.
To take a walk on the wild side.
With Patricia.
Chapter Forty-Four
Wednesday, October 23
Hayward, California
Lacey and her family slept in after the harrowing events of the day before. They’d stayed up until near dawn rehashing the events and discussing their plans. The consensus was to wrap up all loose ends and prepare to travel into the mountains. None of them believed a nuclear strike was going to happen. They were not a family of alarmists. Nonetheless, their planned getaway seemed to fit nicely with leaving one of the top nuclear targets in America.
Lacey was the first to rise and immediately noticed the rain had stopped. It wouldn’t start again. For a long, long while.
Everyone was tasked with a variety of activities to prepare for their afternoon departure. After retrieving Lacey’s car, Owen spent an hour or so in the offices of Yahoo, ensuring his projects were able to move forward in his absence. He’d advised the team working on the transition he’d implemented to contact him through their North Lake Tahoe hotel, as they planned on camping most of the time and wouldn’t have cell phone service.
Lacey and Tucker went shopping for additional supplies that had come to mind following the disaster app’s false alarm. As saddened as they were about the loss of life, the family agreed the trial run was an eye-opener.
In the event of a real emergency, there would be no order. They couldn’t necessarily expect help from their fellow man, much less first responders, who’d be overwhelmed with calls. As Owen put it, it was incumbent upon them as responsible adults to be ready. To take care of themselves rather than be a burden on emergency services.
As late afternoon arrived, the sun was lowering on the horizon. Owen and Tucker had finished attaching the tow dolly to the Expedition. The Bronco was firmly secured, and both vehicles were packed with gear and supplies.
Lacey had chosen not to follow her father’s request to buy plane tickets for the three of them and flee to Driftwood Key. There was no guarantee that the media speculation would result in the U.S. becoming embroiled in a nuclear war. Even Peter had equivocated when his best advice was to prepare and know where to seek cover. He’d never advocated abandoning their home and racing to the Keys.
Not that Lacey could have anyway. Flights leaving the West Coast were completely full for days. Standby passengers slept on the floors of airports, hoping to get a seat. Families split up, using separate flights and destinations, all in an attempt to get to a safer location in the event war broke out.
Interstate highways leaving the major West Coast cities were jam-packed. Impatience resulted in accidents. Accidents resulted in more accidents.
It was five o’clock when they pulled out of the driveway. The normally orange sun was setting as always. Only, on this evening, it cast a different hue. Tucker called it a halo. Owen recalled a visit to Saudi Arabia when he’d observed the sun rise in the throes of a sandstorm. Lacey described it the most accurately. It was if the sun were in fact setting in the Pacific Ocean, and its heat was sending vapor clouds into the sky all around it.
The soot, black carbon remnants of the fires and debris from India and Pakistan, had begun to cross the Pacific Ocean. The sun fell over the horizon, as always, but it was obscured by the smoky film that began to cover the Earth.
As the family zigzagged through back roads toward Sacramento and North Lake Tahoe beyond the state’s capital, night set in, and their view to the west was darkened. Had they been at home the next morning, they would’ve been awakened by the smell of charred wood, and their eyes would’ve watered from the soot.
And there would’ve been a noticeable chill in the air.
Their drive would’ve normally taken three and a half hours on Interstate 80. They liked to travel at night to avoid the rush-hour madness in San Francisco and Sacramento. Based on traffic reports indicating a mass exodus from the Bay Area, they chose small highways and county roads to make their trip, adding an extra hour or so to the drive.
Because they all slept until late morning, they were rested and in good spirits. None of them wanted to discuss the threat of nuclear Armageddon. They recalled past trips camping in the Tahoe National Forest or snowboarding at the ski resorts around Lake Tahoe. Even though they checked into a relatively inexpensive, $99 hotel room at the Biltmore Lodge & Casino, they rarely stayed in the room. It was merely a base of operations, as Owen called it, in the event of bad weather or, heaven forbid, an injury. Hotel rooms filled up quickly around Lake Tahoe, so Owen always made sure they had a place to stay besides their tents.
The drive soon grew tiresome for Owen. The amount of traffic headed eastbound away from the coastal region astonished them all. Tucker checked his disaster app from time to time, wondering if something had happened they were unaware of. Eventually, they turned on their satellite radio and even scrolled through some of the local news-talk radio stations.
People were afraid. They were looking for a safe harbor from the coming storm. A haven where they could seek sanctuary in the event of the unthinkable—nuclear missiles flying toward them.
As midnight approached, it had taken them several hours longer than on any normal day to get to Sacramento. News reports equated Interstate 80 with a parking lot. Owen, with Tucker’s navigational assistance, made their way around the south side of the city, hoping to pick up the interstate on the mountainous east side of the city near Auburn. From there, they could pick up the Eisenhower Highway toward Colfax, through Donner Pass, and into Nevada.
Well, you know what they say about the best-laid plans.
They often go awry.
Chapter Forty-Five
Wednesday, October 23
The Pentagon
Peter roamed the Pentagon in search of anyone who’d speak to him about the North Korean threat. He was now intrigued about the special, albeit hidden relationship between the secretary of state and the president. He’d spent an hour at Foggy Bottom, scouring the State Department for leads, but nearly everyone of consequence had been instructed to shelter-in-place at home and work remotely on their laptops. He was finding the same type of skeleton crew working the Pentagon that afternoon.
He’d checked his watch continuously as he awaited Jenna’s exit from a meeting. She’d reported to him the night before that the vast majority of Pentagon top brass had been relocated to either Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado or to Raven Rock in Pennsylvania. Only a few members of the Joint Chiefs were traveling with the president to Mount Weather.
The meeting she was attending would be her last in the Pentagon until the crisis was over. She was being taken to the Raven Rock Mountain Complex, commonly known as Site R, although members of the media preferred calling it the Underground Pentagon.
Regardless of its moniker, the massive subterranean bunker was designed to be an alternate seat of government but later became dedicated to Pentagon operations. The multilevel, self-sufficient bunker had two underground water reservoirs, its own power plant, food reserves, and tunnels connecting the equivalent of several three-story freestanding buildings.
“Hey, Peter,” she greeted him from behind. He’d been deep in thought and was startled somewhat by her sudden appearance. He jumped slightly and then turned to meet her.
“Hey. How’d it go?”
Her response was simple. “Raven Rock.”
&nb
sp; In that moment, Peter realized why he was in a melancholy mood. He and Jenna had never taken their relationship to the next level, and now he was faced with the reality they might never have that chance. The two young and attractive people were dedicated to rising the ladder of success within the Beltway rather than looking for their soul mates. The dour moods they emitted was an indicator they both felt the same way.
“When?” he asked, hoping for one more night with his best friend with benefits.
“Sixteen hundred.” Jenna looked down at the polished tile floor nervously. She looked around the hallway to see if anyone was eavesdropping on their conversation. “Um, Peter, there’s something else.”
He stepped closer with a concerned look on his face. “What is it?” Peter studied her eyes.
She moved closer and gripped him by the arm. “You need to find a safe place. Away from DC. Far away.”
“It’s happening, isn’t it?”
She grimaced and looked away. “Let’s put it this way. We’re as close as we were during that October of ’62. Only, Khrushchev was sane and predictable compared to Kim Jong Un.”
“Do you think he’ll fire on us?”
“Not necessarily. The war planners feel he could take a shot at Seoul. If he does, we’ll have to defend South Korea. That will necessarily result in an escalation that might bring in …” Her voice trailed off, so Peter completed her sentence.
“China,” he said just above a whisper. “Jenna, this is crazy out of control. Can’t they find a way to tamp all of this down?”
“Maybe. The president is conferring with the secretary of state this afternoon. The United Nations is one option. Moscow is another, if you can believe that.”
“What? Seriously? Why would they step in?”