by Bobby Akart
“Sure,” Tucker replied and began walking away from her.
“Hey, mister. Go get your shoes.”
Tucker rolled his eyes and shook his head. “This is how they do it in the islands, Mom.”
“That was before the hospitals and clinics disappeared. There’s broken glass everywhere.”
“Oh, yeah,” said the teen. “I’ll be right back.”
Tucker hustled back toward the boat, and Lacey yelled to him, “Weapons!”
“Check!”
A few minutes later, the two of them were walking along the shoulder of the road. Just a few blocks away, halfway between their boat and where the sheriff’s deputies had slept during the night, two businesses had been looted. A small takeout restaurant, the Island Deli, had been ransacked, as was the Forks & Stix restaurant a couple of blocks down.
“I wonder how long it will take for every business to be broken into?” asked Tucker. “People will break into that shoe store, hoping there’s a vending machine to clean out.”
“Sadly, you’re right,” his mother replied. “There’s not enough law enforcement personnel to investigate these crimes much less enforce laws.”
“Especially when they’re all doing one thing, which happens to be the same thing the looters are doing,” added an astute Tucker.
Lacey thought for a moment and shrugged. In a way, her son was right. Looters were breaking the law, but Lindsey and her cohorts thought they were within the law as they interpreted it. The result was the same.
Daylight allowed them to see a farther distance, and soon the bright yellow Penske rental trucks came into view. During the night, several had been removed from the chain-link fenced area and lined up along the shoulder of the highway. Lacey tapped Tucker on the shoulder and ran across the street to take cover behind an abandoned roadside taco stand.
They got settled in to watch for activity. It had been almost dark when they’d arrived back at their boat the night before, and Lacey, a relatively inexperienced boater, wasn’t comfortable making her way back to Driftwood Key. Besides, she wanted to monitor the convoy of SWAT team vehicles to give her family a heads-up when they mobilized for the day.
The two of them waited for more than an hour, making small talk and observing their surroundings. A few local residents ventured out onto the highway to gawk at the SWAT teams’ vehicles parked within the Penske compound. At one point, a pickup truck drove past them toward Seven Mile Bridge. About forty minutes later, it returned with a frustrated-looking driver behind the wheel. Lacey presumed Mike’s roadblock worked.
“Mom, listen,” said Tucker as he lifted himself off the folding chair behind the taco stand and slowly strolled into the parking lot. He held his rifle against his body and leg as he walked to keep from attracting anyone’s attention.
Lacey did the same as she moved briskly to catch up. “Do you know what that sounds like?”
“I bet it’s the two armored trucks that left yesterday with the other vans. They’ve come back.”
“Which means they’re about to get started on their day,” added Lacey, who looked around nervously. “Come on, let’s get a better look.”
She tapped Tucker on the elbow and took off for the Tom Thumb across the street from Penske. Like before, she took cover behind the gas pumps as the low rumble of the approaching tactical vehicles grew louder.
“They’re alone,” observed Tucker as the trucks came into view. “I guess they plan on using these Penske trucks instead of the ones filled with stuff from yesterday.”
“Most likely they were used as an armed escort. Let’s see what they do.”
They didn’t have to wait long for their answer. Rather than turn into the utility yard, they pulled past the entrance along the sidewalk that ran parallel to the highway. Seconds later, several members of the MCSO SWAT team piled out of the vehicles and milled about while another man with stripes on his shirt walked toward the entrance to Penske.
“Dammit, Tucker. How’re we gonna get back to the boat? We can’t walk down the street with these things in our hands.”
Tucker glanced around. There was a large, open area between their position and the taco stand where they had been hiding before. If they tried to run away, they could be seen within seconds once they broke cover. There was a crushed-shell driveway leading behind the Tom Thumb to where the dumpsters were located. Beyond that, he could see grass and then dense trees. It was their only chance.
“This way, Mom, before they wander farther away from their trucks.”
Tucker hustled toward the building and quickly turned the corner in the direction of the dumpsters. Lacey followed him, and neither slowed down until they found an overgrown trail leading to the sparsely populated neighborhood behind the store.
Through the woods, there was a clearing and a large sand pit operated by an excavation company. Still afraid they might’ve been observed by the deputies, Tucker sought out another trail created by the locals through the dense vegetation. He was putting his hiking and camping skills to good use as he kept his bearings and identified safe paths through the trees.
Finally, they came out of the woods and ran onto a sandy road. Although the road ended and took a sharp turn toward the beaches, a four-wheeler trail continued toward where their boat was docked.
“Thanks, son. I was freaking out a little bit.”
Tucker nodded but immediately turned his attention to the trail. “Mom, we’ve gotta get to the radio and warn Grandpa and Uncle Mike.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Friday, November 15
Driftwood Key
“Okay, okay, Lacey, get back here ASAP. We’ll take it from here.” Mike shut down the transmission and turned to the group who’d gathered in the foyer of the inn. Anxious faces studied him as he issued his instructions. “It’s go-time.”
“So they’re coming,” said a concerned Hank. “I really hoped Lindsey would be satisfied with pillaging the Lower Keys.”
“Yeah. Apparently, they’ve doubled the number of box trucks they’re bringing and added a couple more patrol cars to their convoy. I’m thinking they wanna be prepared for a large show of force, kinda what we saw at Winn-Dixie.”
Erin set her jaw. “Why would they expect different results from what they caused in Key West? We need to get going.”
Hank nodded. “Agreed. It’s all hands on deck today.” He turned to Phoebe. “Can you and Jimmy handle patrols?”
“No problem, Mr. Hank,” she replied before adding, “Jimmy is feeling much better, and he’s not happy about being confined to Driftwood Key. Can you use him out there?”
Mike answered the question. “We can’t risk it, Phoebe. Just because we’re on a mission doesn’t mean bad people aren’t out there to take advantage of our absence. You guys have to protect Driftwood Key; otherwise, everything we’re doing out there will be for nothin’.”
She reluctantly agreed and turned to Sonny, who asked, “I’d like to help hand out flyers and talk to people. I think I can be convincing since I was sort of related to Lindsey.”
“We really could use him, Hank,” said Erin as she lifted up the stack of flyers. Hank assured her that he had plenty of toner and copy paper to last for years. While everyone geared up, they produced another three hundred flyers, and Sonny retrieved two Bostitch staple guns from the toolshed to secure them.
“Okay,” said Hank, who assumed his role as the field general. “Mike, Jessica, round up your people and head for the bridge. Look for more ways to aggravate the confiscation teams as they approach.”
“I have a few ideas. Hey, can we have Peter?” Mike asked.
“Sure. Grab him on your way out,” replied Hank. “Erin, Sonny and I will be meeting up with Mayor Ramirez. He has some local business leaders lined up to help.”
“Reverend Deb sent one of her parishioners to the gate last night,” began Mike. “I was returning home when I saw the man walking alone toward our bridge. I scared the crap out of him when I came
out of my truck with a shotgun pointed at him.”
“Poor guy,” said Hank. “What did he say?”
“Reverend Deb was busy yesterday. She managed to locate and speak with most of the clergy in town. They’re one hundred percent on board with us.”
Hank glanced at his watch. It was approaching eight o’clock, when he wanted to be at the mayor’s office. “Guys, I love you all. Please be careful today. No matter what happens, our safety is most important. We can always get more stuff if it comes to that.”
That morning, Sonny had run the generator for an extra hour to ensure the batteries on their two-way radios were fully charged. Mike reviewed their choices of weapons and helped them load extra magazines in case they needed them. He really didn’t want the family to get into a gunfight, but their experience in Key West told him to expect anything.
Hank and Erin hoped their diplomatic approach would avoid violence. The more the group discussed the personalities involved, they became convinced Lindsey had used this catastrophic event to seize power and control. Having Sheriff Jock do her bidding made her even more power hungry. Now it was up to the people of Marathon to take a stand.
While Mike, Jessica, and Peter prepared the bridge for the approach of the tactical vehicles, Hank, Erin and Sonny drove to the mayor’s office. When they arrived, the parking lot was full of vehicles with an equal number of bicycles propped against the wall near the entrance to Marathon City Hall.
The Albright contingent was the last to arrive in the city council’s meeting room, which was packed to a standing-room-only crowd. Multiple battery-operated lanterns were scattered throughout the space so everyone could see. Mayor Ramirez stood behind the lectern and was addressing the group when he noticed Hank enter the room.
“Hank! Everyone, most of you know Hank Albright, who owns the Driftwood Key Inn. His family is some of the original conchs.”
Several familiar faces were in the crowd, and many stretched their arms out to shake Hank’s hand as he approached the lectern. Erin and Sonny followed close behind. A couple of people even recognized Erin and called her by name.
Hank reached the mayor’s side, and Erin handed him the pile of six hundred flyers. “Everyone, I’m going to be brief because we don’t have much time. I know that Juan has called you here to help, and I imagine he’s explained what’s about to happen.”
“Are you sure, Hank?” asked a woman near the front, whom he recognized as being a local attorney. “I know Lindsey can be overbearing, but this is a little hard to believe.”
“Have you seen the video?” Hank asked, and then he turned to the crowd. “Has everyone seen the video?”
Many said no, and several replied that they’d only seen the photographs.
Juan stepped forward with a laptop. “Everyone, if you haven’t seen the video, please step forward. I’m going to forewarn you. This is graphic.”
The crowd shuffled around to allow those who wanted to watch get closer to the front. By the time Juan finished playing the video, the attendees regretted watching, and their anger had built to a fever pitch.
“What are we gonna do about this?”
“They should be arrested!”
“By who? Themselves?”
Hank retook the floor. “Okay, everyone. We share the same feelings. Trust me. This was just a part of the video we took. It was much worse, and let me add, it wasn’t the first incident like this. Lindsey and Jock are running roughshod over the citizens and businesses of Key West. They aim to take their pillaging roadshow all the way to Key Largo if we don’t take a stand.”
“What can we do?” asked the female attorney near the front of the crowd.
Erin held some of the flyers over her head. “We know they’re on their way. Our surveillance team watched them empty the Winn-Dixie on Big Pine Key. Their staging right now at the Penske Truck Rental, where they commandeered ten more box trucks.” She was embellishing somewhat, but she felt it was necessary to keep this new batch of volunteers at a fever pitch.
“We’re ready to help!”
“Yeah!”
Hank raised some flyers high in the air for everyone to see. “We need everyone to take some of these flyers. Go to your neighborhoods and spread the word. Knock on doors. Post these in prominent places. We’ll do the same. We need all of Marathon to understand that their homes and belongings are at risk if we don’t try to stop them.”
“I’ll take some.”
“Me too.”
“I have a generator and a copy machine. I’ll make some more copies and have my entire family spreading the word.”
Hank shouted over the enthusiastic crowd. “Wait. Wait. We need one more thing. If you haven’t been down to the bridge, you may not be aware that we’ve blocked the road to prevent them from gaining access. That may not be enough. If you own businesses on the highway, you might want to make sure they’re boarded up. Kinda like a storm is coming. Well, in a way, one is.”
The group all made their way to the front and grabbed flyers. It was getting warm and stuffy in the city council’s meeting room, so people were anxious to get going.
“Whadya think, Juan?” asked Hank after the two men stood to the side to allow Sonny, Erin and Juan’s wife, Lisa, to pass out the flyers and offer suggestions.
“I went down to the bridge early this morning. It’s a mess and definitely impassable.”
“Good,” added Hank. “I haven’t had time to see for myself. I wanted to get the town behind it first.”
The Marathon mayor agreed. “I think this has been a great start. Let’s see how we’re doing in a few hours when the convoy arrives. But I have to remind you that the county has plenty of road equipment capable of clearing this traffic jam your brother created. If they’re determined, we won’t be able to hold them off forever.”
Hank grimaced and nodded his head as Juan voiced the same concerns he had. “I have an idea. Do you guys have enough gas to drive up to Islamorada and back?”
“I think so. Why?”
Hank whispered to Mayor Ramirez, who eagerly took in his instructions. He kept glancing at his watch as Hank spoke but seemed ready to take on the task.
“Now, I take it?” the mayor asked as Hank finished.
“Yes, and you’ll need to hurry.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Friday, November 15
Seven Mile Bridge
Sergeant Jorge Rivera was exhausted. He’d spearheaded this operation on behalf of the mayor and his boss, Sheriff Jock Daly, from the beginning. He was known to be a micromanager. As a result, he insisted upon his tactical vehicle accompanying every major raid, and then, once the box trucks were loaded for delivery to the warehouses in Key West, he led the way back. He’d been operating on minimal sleep since the raids began, and his nerves had worn thin as the crowds surrounding the grocery stores became increasingly hostile.
It certainly didn’t help his already surly attitude for the sheriff to dress him down the night before because of the continued loss of life during the raids. He tried to convince the sheriff that he didn’t like his deputies being attacked and shot at either. However, since the beginning of the confiscation raids, word spread rapidly throughout the Lower Keys, and opposition was growing.
During their heated argument at the warehouse the evening before, Sergeant Rivera made the mistake of questioning the operation altogether. To make matters worse, he complained that Mayor Lindsey should have laid some groundwork prior to the raids so that the people knew their operation was designed to help them.
The sheriff hurled all kinds of vulgarities and threats at Sergeant Rivera. The tongue-lashing was the worst he’d ever witnessed, much less received. After he left the sheriff’s office to get a few hours of sleep, he wondered who was under more pressure. The sheriff or him.
The convoy got a slow start leaving Big Pine Key that morning. One of the Penske trucks stalled barely a quarter mile over the water on the way to West Summerland Key. It took a dozen men and th
e front bumper of another truck to move the twenty-six-footer out of the way before they could proceed.
Then on the next island, Bahia Honda Key, the sand that had washed ashore from the hurricane slowed their convoy as it became difficult for the box trucks to discern where the road ended and the soft, sandy shoulder began. One of the trucks dropped its right-side wheels into the sand and became stuck. Sergeant Rivera could ill afford to lose another box truck, as there were no other rental locations until they reached Islamorada, and he had not yet sent an advance team in that direction to determine if the trucks could be seized.
After another lengthy delay to free the truck from the soft sand, the convoy of tactical vehicles, patrol cars, and box trucks was under way. They rumbled along past the Sunshine Key RV Resort, drawing dozens of people out of their motor homes and trailers to view the spectacle.
Interestingly, unlike what they’d experienced the last several days, this group stood on the sidewalk between the chain-link fence and the highway, cheering them on. It was as if they were being treated to a parade. Sergeant Rivera’s spirits lifted when one of the armored tactical vehicles sounded their siren, causing the onlookers to jump up and down while exchanging high fives.
Feeling better, he radioed the sheriff’s department dispatch to advise them that his convoy had entered Seven Mile Bridge at Little Duck Key. He expected to arrive in Marathon in ten minutes.
He was wrong.
Throughout yesterday and today as they’d traveled up U.S. 1, they rarely met any kind of operating vehicles. Stalled vehicles were everywhere, but most had been pulled to the side of the road. When he first began to encounter the abandoned cars and trucks on Seven Mile Bridge, he wasn’t all that surprised.
Just like a traveler on a long stretch of interstate between exits, motorists often miscalculate the amount of fuel left in their vehicle and run out of gas. People don’t intend to run out of gas. It just happens when they push their luck. Sergeant Rivera believed every driver pushed their luck in the apocalypse.