by Bobby Akart
“Let’s hit it, but slow and easy this time!” Peter shouted. He barely heard Jimmy’s response over the howling wind.
While the Yamaha WaveRunner was capable of traveling nearly sixty-seven miles an hour depending on the model, Peter tried to ride at a speed that kept him in control of the watercraft rather than cede its maneuverability to the storm surge.
Fighting the waves, they bounced along, with Jimmy trailing Peter over his right shoulder. The two had maintained this separation to prevent running into one another if they were running parallel. They took off directly into the wind, braving the elements, in search of land. The guys had been cut off from their families and the Keys where they’d grown up. Neither was certain what the future held for them and their family, but without a doubt, they felt they could survive together as a group.
Peter remained focused on the task at hand. He constantly monitored his speed, trying his best to find that sweet spot, as he thought of it, that was not too fast and not too slow. Although it was a fruitless exercise, his eyes constantly scanned ahead in search of the shoreline. Even if the power was out, he hoped any harbor buoys operated by battery or solar power would provide him some kind of navigational beacon to guide him.
He imagined himself riding a horse around a ring. Rising in the saddle to prevent his nether regions from being pummeled, he was also able to take the jumps over the increasingly tall waves.
Naturally, Peter’s calculations as to time and distance couldn’t be precise. He couldn’t see his destination, and he was unaware of his starting point. From recollection, he suspected they had been a mile or so out when they began their push toward Key Largo. Even riding at low speeds, especially necessary at night to minimize contact with floating debris stirred up by the storm, he expected a fifteen-minute trip before making landfall.
It had been at least fifteen minutes, maybe more, when he began to question whether the winds had shifted, sending them in the wrong direction. Regardless, at some point, they had to hit the four-mile-long shoreline of Key Largo that stretched from Dusenbury Creek up to where the bridge had been destroyed at Jewfish Creek.
Peter was beginning to doubt himself. He was certain he was riding in the same direction, as the waves were breaking as he’d expected. Unless he’d miscalculated and took them farther away from Key Largo, toward the Boggies and hammocks bordering the north and west side of Blackwater Sound.
Perplexed and angry with himself, he decided to stop and get Jimmy’s advice. He slowed and then turned to look over his shoulder to get Jimmy’s attention.
However, Jimmy was gone.
Chapter Thirty
Friday, November 8
Driftwood Key
Trying to do anything outdoors in the throes of a hurricane was damned near impossible, especially at night. Even when the Keys experienced power outages, Driftwood Key had numerous generators and solar-powered security lighting to provide some form of illumination. At the very least, for someone like Hank, who’d spent virtually every moment of his life walking the island, a pathway light or the steady glow of the string lights near the bungalows would provide him some point of reference.
However, these conditions were like nothing he’d ever experienced before. It was pitch black. No ambient light whatsoever. The air was an odd mixture of salt and soot, as if the ocean had caught on fire.
Without warning, unseen gusts of wind swept over him as he fought his way through the vegetation lining the paths leading to his sustainable gardens and hydroponics operation. Thanks to Sonny’s diligent supervision, they’d been able to continue to grow their own food despite the minimal sunlight. The greenhouses might have been their single most important survival asset other than a roof over their head. Now a vicious hurricane threatened to destroy it.
“Help me, Sonny!”
It was Phoebe.
Hank furrowed his brow and pushed his way through the hammocks that writhed and turned under the constant stress applied by the winds.
With the assistance of a wind gust at his back, Hank raced into the clearing, where he found Sonny and Phoebe struggling to board up the greenhouses.
“Sonny! Hang on!” yelled Hank. Sonny was standing atop a ladder propped against the side of the tallest greenhouse. Phoebe was standing below him, trying to slide a precut sheet of plywood up the aluminum extension ladder.
Years ago, Hank and Sonny had purchased a hundred sheets of three-quarter-inch marine-grade plywood. They’d cut the pieces to fit the dimensions of each pane of the greenhouses. When a storm approached, they’d take the numbered pieces, secure them over the greenhouse panes, and remove them when the threat passed. They’d never attempted to do it in the midst of the storm. This storm, like nuclear winter, had come without warning.
Hank arrived by Phoebe’s side. He grabbed the bottom of the plywood and slid it up the ladder. He climbed up the first several rungs in order to prevent Sonny from reaching down.
“Hey!” shouted Sonny, who grasped the board and slid it up onto the roof. “Can you believe this crap?”
Hank and Phoebe exchanged hugs. He’d gotten close enough to her face the see the stress that consumed her. He immediately wondered if it was the storm or concern for Jimmy. Hank wished he had better news. Hell, any news would’ve been better than nothing.
“How much ya got left?”
Sonny gripped the ladder and the steel frame that made up the edge of the greenhouse roof. “One more on this side and then all of the back. We’ve got everything else covered.”
Hank spun around and rushed over to the covered shed the two of them had built to store the panels. Each one was numbered, and Sonny had taken the time to create a diagram inside the shed door, showing where the panels were placed.
Several battery-operated puck lights illuminated the interior of the storage shed when there was a power outage. Hank studied the diagram to select the right panel. He paused to remember all the times he’d worked with Sonny and Jimmy to board up the buildings around Driftwood Key. Their lives were intertwined, and now all of their children were missing.
“Hank!” Sonny hollered for him to snap him out of his trance.
“Comin’!”
As he arrived and began climbing the ladder to slide the panel to Sonny, Phoebe stood to the side so he could see her.
“Hank, what did you find out?”
He hurried down the ladder and held it firmly with both hands as Sonny secured the final panel. He turned his head to Phoebe although the two of them could barely see each other in the dark.
“I couldn’t get any answers, Phoebe. Lindsey ordered the bridges to be destroyed, and now they’re losing their minds over this storm.”
Hank could hear Phoebe break down in tears. As Sonny made his way down the ladder, Hank waited until he was on the ground to explain. When he was done, the grieving parents directed their ire at their former sister-in-law for her callous attitude toward their son, her nephew.
Suddenly, out of the darkness, Jessica appeared by their side. “The gate was secure. I thought you might still be here.” She and Phoebe exchanged hugs.
Over the next several minutes, the group worked together to place the last of the plywood panels on the greenhouse. After a quick check of the fuel levels in the generator operating the hydroponics facility, they made their way back to the main house.
Phoebe explained that she’d been locking the kitchen door since the night Patrick had attacked her. She also showed Hank and Jessica the paddle holster secured against her waist. She vowed to never be caught off guard like that again.
After a quick meal and a few stiff drinks, the group’s batteries were recharged as they prepared to ride out the storm.
Chapter Thirty-One
Friday, November 8
Blackwater Sound
Florida Bay
“Jimmy! Jimmy!” Peter shouted at the top of his lungs. He wrestled the handlebars around and began riding back in the direction he thought he’d come from. The wind wa
s at his back now, allowing him to travel a little smoother than previously.
Riding at just above idle speed, Peter shouted Jimmy’s name until he was nearly hoarse. There was no ambient light whatsoever, as the stars had been obliterated by the smoky, soot-filled skies of nuclear winter and, on this night, by the throes of a tropical cyclone that hovered over the heart of the Florida Keys.
He rode with the waves, certain he was backtracking along the route he’d been riding. Peter cursed himself for losing touch with his friend. He had been singularly focused on leading them to shore. The safety of the land. An ordinary task made complicated by the conditions, but in his mind, relatively safe compared to being shot at by men with automatic weapons.
“Jimmy! Come on, man. Where are you?”
Peter became emotional as reality set in. He’d lost Jimmy in the middle of Blackwater Sound. He tried to remain calm.
His dad used to say that panic was an energy thief. While you drag on your nerves with negative thoughts, meaningless regrets, and fatalistic thinking, you’re starving your body of the energy it needs to problem solve. Staying calm in a life-threatening situation might not guarantee your survival, but it will enhance your chances.
However, for all intents and purposes, he was blind. Think. Think. Think, he said to himself repeatedly in an effort to approach the dangerous situation logically. Do I continue to shore? Was I even going toward shore? Why was it taking so long to travel a mile or even a mile and a half?
“Jimmy!” he shouted again as he began to travel with the wind at his back again. He rode for several minutes, screaming his friend’s name until he thought he’d gone too far. Then he did a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn and rode into the wind once again.
“Dammit, Jimmy! Where are you?”
It happened in an instant.
Jimmy was riding to the back side of Peter’s WaveRunner. He’d focused on mimicking Peter’s speed and direction. For twenty minutes or so, the ride had become routine. Mundane. Tedious and tiresome.
The monotonous bouncing caused by the oncoming waves had taken a toll on his tired body, yet the splashing of the waves into his face coupled with wind-driven rain kept him alert despite his lack of sleep. Unlike Peter, who’d rested for more than a dozen hours before rescuing him from the Infield Care Center, Jimmy had been kept awake. His interrogators had used sleep deprivation in addition to the beatings in an effort to extract information out of their prisoner. Jimmy had held firm against the onslaught of the CIA’s best. However, the lack of sleep and physical exhaustion was catching up to him.
Accidents can occur in a blink of an eye. A car suddenly stops in front of you. Perhaps a child chases a ball into a street. A toddler is left unattended near something hot. Without warning, a lack of focus or attention can result in lasting and irreparable damage. Even death.
Jimmy’s mind began to wander as he followed Peter just outside the WaveRunner’s wake. He thought of his parents and his life on Driftwood Key. He had no regrets for the path he’d chosen. Mr. Hank had offered to pay his tuition to go to college as if Jimmy had been a member of the Albright family.
However, Jimmy had turned down the offer. He loved the life he’d grown up with. His passion was the outdoors, whether diving or fishing, camping or swimming. He was very much like Lacey in that respect. For Jimmy, it was not about how much money he made. It was the freedom he enjoyed, living and working on what amounted to an island paradise.
When he had been forced to join his aunt Lindsey’s team of militia guarding the roads leading onto the Florida Keys, he did so with great trepidation. He understood the need to secure their border, so to speak. The Florida Keys were not large enough to accommodate a massive influx of refugees who had nothing but the clothes on their backs.
When he first reported to duty, he’d carefully positioned himself to handle tasks that didn’t involve carrying a weapon or dealing directly with the refugees. While he didn’t want them flooding the Keys, he also lamented the suffering and angst they were subjected to.
The last straw was the day they’d looked for volunteers to conduct a diving exercise. He had no idea what the purpose was, but his gut told him not to volunteer even though he was one of the most-respected skin divers in the Keys. Very few people could hold their breath under water for ten minutes or more. Jimmy was one of the best at it.
While he had been manning the barricades and performing mainly menial tasks, his mind remained focused on the whereabouts of Peter and Lacey. He and Peter had been inseparable growing up. It had been difficult to stay behind on Driftwood Key while Peter went off to college. As for Lacey, while they were always friendly in a brother and sister sort of way, their age difference had prevented them from playing together growing up.
He had no doubt his close friends and quasi-siblings would survive what had happened to America. Lacey, like himself, could make the best of any situation posed by Mother Nature. Peter had an ability to read people that was unparalleled. He could talk his way out of anything and convince others to see it his way.
Wave after wave. Bounce after bounce. His WaveRunner kept pace with Peter’s. Jimmy, however, lost focus for just a split second. His hand slipped off the throttle, and he lost sight of Peter. He tried to maintain his positioning and adjusted the handlebars to point into the wind, as he had been during the first part of their ride.
Concerned he might not be able to catch up with Peter at the slow speed that was barely above an idle, Jimmy sped up. He gave it a little too much throttle. It didn’t take much, but when he did, the WaveRunner crashed hard into an oncoming swell, forcing the hull of the WaveRunner upward.
He gripped the handlebars and released the throttle to maintain control of the watercraft. Holding his breath, his body tensed as he attempted to rectify his mistake. He started again, certain he was traveling in the right direction toward Peter. Just like before, in an effort to catch up, he squeezed the throttle to gain speed.
The second attempt was less forgiving.
The additional speed forced him high into the air as the next wave rolled through. His left hand slipped off the handlebar, causing the machine to lurch to the right. As it did, Jimmy was thrown into the violent, murky water of Blackwater Sound while his WaveRunner drifted into the darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Friday, November 8
Blackwater Sound
Florida Bay
Peter was becoming agitated and panicked. He’d adopted a different way of searching and had produced nothing in the way of results. He began to take the WaveRunner in a series of concentric circles, starting at a point and gradually making the size of the circle wider and wider. He hoped to expand his search area without aimlessly wandering atop the water in the dark.
He had a plan. He thought it was well executed. He shouted for Jimmy periodically. Then he lost his voice completely.
The salty air and water he’d inhaled had entered his larynx. This, combined with his constant yelling for Jimmy, caused his vocal folds to hemorrhage. The tissue in his voice box had ruptured and filled with blood. In addition to not emitting any sounds, it became extremely painful to try.
Peter slammed his fist on the center post of the WaveRunner’s handlebars. He rubbed the rain mixed with salt water from his face again, although within seconds the moisture would return. He looked to the sky and prayed for it to end.
It didn’t, so he continued his quest. He rode for thirty more minutes in an effort to locate his friend, to no avail. He stopped to regroup; then he widened his arc. The minutes turned to hours, and Peter Albright began to cry in despair.
He couldn’t believe he’d allowed this to happen to Jimmy, who was like his brother. He was responsible for his safety, and Jimmy had trusted him to deliver him to shore. And during it all, he’d lost track of where he was. One minute he was just behind him. The next, he was gone.
Peter contemplated going to shore and coming back with a search team. He inwardly chastised himself for wa
iting so long to make this decision. Could Jimmy have been saved hours ago if he’d sought help? Maybe, but Peter still couldn’t see any part of the shoreline that enclosed Blackwater Sound, much less Key Largo. For all he knew, he could be riding the WaveRunner toward the hammocks or, worse, back toward the Overseas Highway and a contingent of guardsmen.
He decided he had no choice but to abandon his search and seek help. Even if he rode consistently in the wrong direction, he could at least find land and, along with it, his bearings. From there, he’d stick close to the shoreline, where his biggest concern would be running aground.
With a new sense of purpose, he set his jaw, strengthened his resolve, and raced into the darkness, focused on keeping a straight line as he traveled across the three-foot swells. He had barely traveled five minutes when he grazed the side of Jimmy’s WaveRunner, causing his to tilt on its side until he fell off.
Peter struggled to stay above water. He flailed for a bit, and then he began swimming in the direction his WaveRunner’s forward momentum would’ve taken it. With the aid of the waves, he crashed hard into the WaveRunner, cracking his forearm on the stern platform. Pain shot through his body, but he quickly shook it off. He was relieved that he had been able to find it so quickly, and was elated at locating Jimmy’s watercraft.
He fought the waves to climb back onto his WaveRunner. He slowly turned and steadily pushed the throttle to head back in the direction that he came. Excited that he’d made contact with Jimmy’s WaveRunner, albeit the hard way, Peter fought the elements to locate it. Minutes later, he came upon the WaveRunner rocking back and forth in the waves.