by Bobby Akart
Their reactions were not unexpected. Juan’s face grew red with anger, although once he closed his eyes for a long moment in an effort to unsee what he’d seen. Lisa’s mouth fell open, and she unconsciously covered it. Her eyes began to well up in tears as the visuals of people being beaten and shot by sheriff’s deputies filled the phone’s screen. When the video was finished, Erin offered to show them the photographs she’d taken, but both said they’d seen enough.
Juan was the first to speak. “This happened yesterday?”
“Yes, at the Winn-Dixie,” Hank answered. “The day before that, something similar happened at Gordon’s Food Service down the street. Juan, Lindsey has instructed Jock to take whatever steps are necessary to strip businesses of their assets. Food, water and gasoline are high on their priority lists, but we’ve been told they are taking everything of value.”
“For what purpose?” Juan asked.
“Using Lindsey’s words,” Hank began to reply, “the greater good.”
Juan began shaking his head before leaning back in his chair to stare at the ceiling. He was genuinely angry. “This doesn’t surprise me about Lindsey. She’s always been someone who felt she could tell you how to run your life or business because she thought she knew better. However, Jock …” His voice trailed off.
Erin spoke up. “I’m an outsider, so my opinion should not carry the same weight as the three of you. It seems that the sheriff has been placed in an untenable position. Perhaps he agrees with Lindsey’s plans and therefore devised a mechanism to carry them out. I think he underestimated the desperation of the people. Business owners are not going to stand idly by while their businesses are raided.”
Lisa bowed up in her chair. “This one certainly isn’t.”
“Our philosophies have always differed from Lindsey’s,” added Juan. “She believes in giving a man a fish. I believe in teaching him to fish.” He was referring to the quote from Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu, which translated as give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach him how to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.
“We agree one hundred percent,” said Hank. “And we have an idea that you can help us implement. But first, we have to protect ourselves, Juan. Lindsey and Jock’s people are coming for us. By us, I mean your business and my business, and everyone else in Marathon who has anything she might want.”
“What are you suggesting?” asked Juan.
Hank took a deep breath and exhaled. “We need to circle the wagons and then rally the community to help one another.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Thursday, November 14
Marathon
As predicted, the deputies under Mike’s command in Marathon knew nothing of his resignation. They also had no idea how violent some of the confiscation raids had become. When he met with them that morning at the offices they’d assumed in the county clerk’s annex, he considered delaying the revelation that he was no longer their boss. Instead, he chose to be completely transparent and forthcoming. It was a decision that earned him even more respect from the small detail assigned to protect Marathon and Lower Matecumbe Key. Now he had to convince them of the larger role he needed them to play.
“I am not going to ask you to violate the oath you took when you became a deputy. Nor am I going to ask you to break any laws, although which laws are enforceable and which aren’t at this point is hard to determine. I might ask, however, for you to remain focused on Marathon, where you and your families live.
“You all grew up here. This is where your kids went to school. You have to understand, for the foreseeable future, this is our world. These Keys, strung together, are going to have to sustain us for many years. In order for that to happen, the people who survive have to know they can count on you to protect them and, most importantly, do the right thing by them. That means opposing Lindsey’s plans for Monroe County. Unfortunately, that also means standing up to our boss. Or, in my case, former boss. You guys need to pick a side.”
“What do you need us to do?” asked Deputy Sanchez, who’d gained tremendous respect for Mike during the high school break-in.
“Protect and serve.”
“That’s a given,” said Sanchez. “I mean, how can we protect our people?”
“Initially two things. Please give me the courtesy of a heads-up if you hear something from the sheriff or if you no longer think I’m doing the right thing for our neighbors and families.”
“Agreed,” said two of the deputies in unison.
“Second, I’m not asking you to participate in what I’m going to do this afternoon.”
“What is it?” asked Sanchez.
Mike took a deep breath. If he was going to alienate the deputies, it would happen at this point. He chose to remind him of the video and images he’d shown him at the start of their meeting. He showed them the screen again where the video had paused. One of the deputies in riot gear was beating a man cowered on the ground.
“I refuse to allow what happened in Key West in the last few days to occur in Marathon. I’m going to stop them from coming across Seven Mile Bridge.”
“How?”
“Create the traffic jam from hell.”
Mike went from referencing hell to visiting a woman who led lost souls to Heaven. He arrived at St. Columba Episcopal Church and was surprised at the number of people who were amassed outside its doors. Despite the fact that he was no longer a deputy, Mike pulled on the lightweight jacket bearing the sheriff’s department logo. The jacket, combined with his appearance as somebody associated with the authorities, enabled him to gently push his way through the crowd to enter the church. He was amazed at what he’d discovered.
Once inside the narthex, he found tables lined up with church elders handing out bagged meals and bottled water. He searched out Reverend Messina, who was affectionately known as Reverend Deb in the community. She wasn’t among the church elders, so he moved through the narthex.
The sanctuary had been turned into a massive refuge for those who’d lost everything. Every pew was full of blankets, pillows, and a person’s belongings. Some people slept while others read books, including the Bible. Many were deep in thought and prayer. Mike shook his head in disbelief at the number of people who’d been packed into the church. They were in generally good spirits, but the look of despair on their faces wasn’t lost on him.
He set his jaw and stood a little taller, resolved to continue his family’s efforts to help as many people as they could. He spotted Reverend Messina leaning with one arm on the pulpit. She was casually dressed in jeans together with a light blue shirt and her white collar.
“Reverend Deb, I don’t know if you—” began Mike before she recognized him and politely interrupted.
“Of course I do, Detective. It’s so good to see that you’re well. I hope your family is, too.”
Mike nodded, and then his mind wandered to Owen. He genuinely liked Lacey’s husband and really hadn’t had the time to process what his death meant to the Albright family. He wondered if the passage of time might prevent them from properly mourning his loss.
“My niece, Lacey, lost her husband as she and Tucker traveled home. It was tragic, but they’re doing okay.”
“I’m so sorry, Mike. Please convey my heartfelt condolences. His name was Owen, am I correct?”
Mike was surprised that Reverend Messina remembered. He wasn’t even sure they had met. “Yes, it is, um, was.”
She reached out and patted Mike on the shoulder. “Please, let’s talk for a moment. I could use a respite.” She directed Mike’s attention to the carpeted steps leading behind the pulpit. She sat first.
“Thanks for taking the time for me when you have so much going on,” said Mike as he joined her.
“God’s work, Mike,” she said as she tugged at her clerical collar. She noticed Mike watching her, so she explained. “Habit, of course. You know, there’s an old joke among us clergy types that a curate wears a collar at all times, even a shower. Most, lik
e me, wear them at all times, although not in the shower. Even during this devilish disaster, I find it to be a comfort to my parishioners and, honestly, to myself. God has placed us in quite a test, don’t you think?”
Mike nodded and glanced throughout the church. There were at least a hundred people residing in the small sanctuary.
“I do, and that’s why I’m here,” he replied. “Reverend Deb, the other day a group of men broke into the food-storage warehouse at the high school. We were successful in stopping them. However, they breached the building in such a way that the supplies could easily be stolen.”
“I heard the shooting. One of the residents is a church elder. I didn’t know that involved you since, you know, you’re a detective.”
Mike gulped. He hadn’t lied to his deputies, so he’d darn well better not lie to Reverend Messina. He explained the circumstances regarding his resignation and offered to show her the pictures from Key West. She respectfully declined and assured him she would trust his judgment.
They spoke for a moment about the logistics of what he wanted to accomplish. The reverend promised to help by sending out her two most trusted aides to recruit other churches in Marathon to assist in the humanitarian project. With his approval and the deputies’ supervision, they’d handle the removal of the supplies from the high school.
In the past, Reverend Messina had helped many people in crisis, especially during hurricanes. She’d established a program known as the Five-Dollar Bag Sale. Members of her congregation would donate clothes, toys, tools and other household items to be included in simple, brown grocery bags. For a five-dollar donation to the Hammock House, a local charity, purchasers could receive a wide variety of useful things for their homes.
“We are a close-knit group of clergy across all denominations,” she explained. “Our parish strives to be a strong partner in the community, which is why I’ve been involved in so many charitable endeavors. Other churches in Marathon also offer consistent and tangible ways to help people in need. I have no doubt everyone will pitch in.”
Mike smiled and thanked her for her assistance. In addition to making an important partner to help people survive nuclear winter, his day was now freed up to systematically create the mother of all bottlenecks on Seven Mile Bridge.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Thursday, November 14
Near Big Pine Key
Lacey and Tucker volunteered to conduct surveillance along the Lower Keys to monitor the sheriff’s department confiscation teams. There was too much ground to cover between Big Pine Key and Key West, so they opted to use the boat given to Peter by Captain Jax in order to search for Jimmy.
The nondescript center-console fishing boat was like thousands of others found through the Keys. It was stripped down and devoid of the modern accoutrements found on most boats capable of fishing on the ocean and gulf waters. Nonetheless, it served their purpose.
Peter had left it adrift in Little Basin near Islamorada when it ran out of fuel that day. He’d tried in vain to locate Jimmy and simply ran the vessel for as long as he could. They’d retrieved it on the way back from Florida Bay after Jimmy had been found and taken to the hospital aboard Jessica’s boat.
The fishing boat was one of several new acquisitions that had been added to the Driftwood Key fleet. Because there were too many to tie off to the dock, the fishing boat was moored just off the beach. Of all the boats in their possession, this particular boat was considered a throwaway. In other words, if it was lost, damaged or stolen, there was no great loss.
Lacey’s memory of the waters surrounding the Keys had returned. Like her brother and Jimmy, she enjoyed the turquoise blue waters. She’d frequently traveled to visit friends in the Lower Keys by water, avoiding the often-congested traffic on A1A.
At Jessica’s suggestion, she crossed into the Atlantic through Knight Key at the start of the Seven Mile Bridge. This would enable them to closely monitor the highway from a safe distance as it hopscotched from key to key between Key West and Marathon.
Sonny and Phoebe packed up food and water for the two of them to stay away several days if necessary. They would try to stay in communication via their marine radios and the two-way radios Mike had taken from the MCSO supply depot. If they observed a potential threat headed their way, they could quickly make their way back to Driftwood Key by water.
Before they left, the group had gathered in the war room in the main house to brief Lacey and Tucker on where to focus their attention. Based upon the first few days of the sheriff’s raids, it appeared grocery stores and wholesale food warehouses were the primary targets.
They discussed each of the keys in between Stock Island near the sheriff’s department and Marathon. Most of the islands were small and primarily residential. The three most likely to garner Sheriff Jock’s attention would be Big Coppitt, the closest to Key West, followed by Cudjoe Key and then Big Pine Key, where Seven Mile Bridge terminated in the Lower Keys.
“This is Shark Channel,” said Lacey as she slowed down in the shallow waters just off Big Coppitt Key. “Uncle Mike thinks the sheriff may bypass Big Coppitt altogether. Let’s hang out here for a while and see if anything develops.”
Tucker had grabbed the high-powered binoculars off Hank’s Hatteras before they left. He handed them to his mom so she could focus on the stretch of highway running through the center of the Key. Tucker would scan the highway that crossed the channel and watch for any boats that might approach them.
After an hour or so during which time they made small talk, Tucker brought up Owen. “I think about Dad every day. I really feel guilty because, um, it’s like I can’t really remember everything. There’s no reminders of him anywhere, you know?”
Lacey, who was wearing dark, polarized sunglasses, nodded. The sunglasses helped her hide the tears welling up in her eyes. “That’s understandable, son. I miss your Dad more than anyone can imagine. It’s just, well, since he died, you and I have been forced to survive alone for most of the time. After we survived the hurricane, my thoughts were focused on our safety. There will come a time when we can sit down and reminisce about your dad. We’ll be able to laugh as we recall our good times together. The memories may have faded for now, but they’re not forgotten or abandoned.”
Tucker fell silent as he absorbed her words. He turned his attention away from the highway and studied the activity, or lack thereof, at Naval Air Station Key West. He couldn’t see any military aircraft. There was a single Coast Guard helicopter near an administration building, but it had been covered to protect it from the hurricane. It was as if the military airport had been abandoned by the government, along with the rest of the Keys.
“I’ve got something, Mom,” announced Tucker suddenly. “Use your binoculars to look across the runways toward the highway. Doesn’t that look like a convoy of trucks. I mean, those first four are like those MRAPs they used in Oakland to deal with the riots.” MRAP was a military term for mine-resistant ambush protected tactical vehicle. They were similar in style to the SWAT vehicles deployed by the sheriff’s department for their tactical raids.
“I see them!” she said excitedly. “There are several patrol cars behind them, followed by at least six box trucks. You know, like U-Hauls and Budget trucks.”
“Are they slowing down?” asked Tucker.
Lacey didn’t immediately respond as she followed the convoy until they disappeared from sight for a moment.
Then Tucker answered his own question. “Here they come! They’re crossing the bridge to …” His voice trailed off, as he didn’t know the name of the small island that was next in the chain.
Lacey quickly lowered her glasses. “They’re headed for Sugarloaf. Hold on!”
She handed Tucker the binoculars and quickly slid behind the center console. She fired up the engines and took off toward the ocean, winding their way past Pelican Key at full throttle. As soon as she cleared the shallow reefs, she veered to the left and gripped the wheel. The fishing boat refuse
d to plane out, so their ride was bumpy as she sped along the desolate beaches of Saddlebunch Keys. She was finally able to suppress her adrenaline and trimmed the engine so the boat was riding over the water to encounter less wave resistance.
“Where are we going?” asked Tucker, who continued to grip the handles of the center console.
“I’m gonna take us deep into Cudjoe Bay so we can get a good look at them as they go by. Uncle Mike wanted us to get vehicle and personnel counts. We’ll want to be settled in as they go past our position. I don’t wanna draw any attention.”
“Gotcha,” said Tucker, who pulled out several sheets of copy paper that had been stapled together. It was a list of grocery stores and markets located on each of the major keys they were tasked with surveilling.
“Mom, there really aren’t any places for them to raid on Cudjoe Key, according to this list. There’s a little seafood store and a couple of restaurants. The next store is on Summerland Key called Murray’s Market. I can’t imagine it’s big enough for all those guys to bother with.”
Lacey slowed her pace as she turned the boat toward Cudjoe Bay. She glanced toward the list, so Tucker folded the pages to make them easier for her to read while she navigated closer to U.S. 1. As she entered the center of the small bay, she throttled back and studied the list.
Darkness was approaching, although the perpetually hazy skies didn’t give them much warning of the lateness of the day.
“You’re right. I wonder …” Lacey paused, her voice trailing off as she kept her thought to herself.
“What is it, Mom?”
She pointed toward the binoculars that Tucker had set into a pouch on the port side of the boat. He retrieved them, and she got her bearings straight.