by Bobby Akart
He took a deep breath and raced past the MUSCO controls that managed the lighting system around the racetrack. As he crossed the open pavement, he caught a glimpse of a light going off in the trailer. Peter skidded to a stop and dropped to a knee to look around. Another light turned off in the trailer. They were closing down. He didn’t have time to make it to the row of shrubs, so he scrambled to hide behind a large ice machine like the kind you’d find outside any convenience store. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his nerves. He’d only have one shot at this, and he had to be stealthy about it.
The white door to the trailer flung open and crashed hard against the exterior wall of the building. The wind had picked up to a steady gale. That was when he caught his first glimpse of Jimmy. His arms were pulled behind him, and he appeared to be handcuffed. A soldier stood behind him and half shoved him onto the platform sitting outside the elevated trailer.
Jimmy leaned against the steel railing while the guard struggled to close the door. Suddenly, the wind had become Peter’s ally. Without thinking of the consequences, he rushed from behind the ice box, bounded up the three steps leading to the platform, and crashed hard into the guardsman by driving the crown of his head into the man’s ribs.
The force of Peter’s tackling maneuver slammed the guard’s head into the doorjamb, knocking him out instantly. Peter fell to his knees, slightly dazed from the impact. Jimmy knelt down next to him.
“Are you crazy?” he whispered, looking around the parking lot to determine if they’d been seen.
“Sort of,” replied Peter with a chuckle. “What did they do to you?”
“It wasn’t waterboarding, but it was close. The CIA sucks, man.”
Jimmy didn’t have to say another word. Peter had covered the State Department and the Department of Defense. He’d heard more than rumors. He’d seen firsthand what agency operatives were capable of doing to extract information.
“You didn’t give ’em anything, did you?” asked Peter.
With his face partially covered in bandages, Peter couldn’t see Jimmy wince in pain as he smiled. “Hell nah.”
Peter slapped his friend on the shoulder, drawing another wince, not that Jimmy complained. Both men looked down to the unconscious soldier.
Peter took charge. “Let me drag him inside, and then I’ll get you out of those cuffs.”
Once they were inside, Peter located some surgical scissors and cut through the flex-cuffs binding Jimmy’s wrists. He immediately massaged his arms to alleviate some pain. Then he found a switch to the undercounter lighting at a row of cabinets. This provided sufficient lighting to see without drawing attention from anyone outside.
Jimmy walked to a wall mirror and began to remove his bandages.
Peter abruptly stopped him. “Wait. Not yet.”
“Why? I wanna see what they did to me.”
“I have an idea,” replied Peter. He pointed down to the unconscious soldier. “I’m about the same size as this guy. Let me put on his uniform. I’ll use his identification to get us out of here.”
“What about me?”
“You’ll be in the back seat, pretending to be in cuffs. If they ask, I’ll tell them you’re being evacuated.”
Jimmy looked from Peter to the soldier sprawled out on the vinyl tile floor and back to the mirror. “I think it’ll work. Let’s do it.”
It took several minutes to transform Peter from mild-mannered reporter to National Guardsman with an infirm prisoner. After the man was stripped to his skivvies, they dragged his body to a back office and cuffed him to a bed. It was a disrespectful move, but it provided Jimmy some semblance of revenge for the beating he’d endured.
The guys were ready. Peter took the guard’s sidearm, and Jimmy grabbed a rucksack that he filled with medical supplies to treat his wounds as well as injuries at Driftwood Key. Everything was a valuable resource now.
After they rushed through the blowing rain and got settled in the Humvee, Peter started the motor. The roar of the six-point-two-liter V8 could barely be heard over the howl of the wind. He turned slightly in his seat and looked Jimmy in the face.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Green. Green. Green. As they say.”
Peter became serious. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Jimmy, I’ve had to shoot people. Kill them, too.”
Jimmy stared at his friend, who’d never shown a violent streak in all the years they’d known one another. He sat up in his seat and pulled his arms behind his back to feign being handcuffed. Then he offered words of support.
“Things have changed, and there don’t appear to be rules anymore. It’s dog eat dog, you know? Survival of the fittest and all that.”
Peter nodded and slowly unclasped the weapon in his newly acquired utility belt. He understood where Jimmy was coming from and appreciated the words of support. He’d made the statement for another reason, however. He wanted to provide Jimmy advance warning.
They might have to shoot their way out.
Chapter Eighteen
Thursday, November 7
Key West
After Hank visited with Mike, he had a conversation with Jessica in the hallway. He explained to her the concerns he had about Jimmy. He laid out his plans for the afternoon, and she gave him the names of a couple of deputies who would know the most about the newly deputized private citizens brought on board for checkpoint duty. She’d heard a rumor that the new people were going to be released from their commitment to the Monroe County Sheriff’s Office, but then, later in the night, she had been told that the mayor was building a militia of some sort.
Also, it was Jessica who acknowledged that she needed to get back to Driftwood Key to help protect their home. Mike was well taken care of, and if she knew her husband, he’d begin to insist that he be released. In fact, she said, it wouldn’t surprise her if he simply dressed and moseyed out the door without so much as a wave goodbye.
Hank agreed to touch base with her before he left Key West, but at the same time, he couldn’t make any promises as to when that might be. He’d been warned by Mike that the sheriff was elusive, and Hank believed Lindsey was in way over her head in her effort to take on the federal government.
His first stop after leaving the hospital was to return the golf cart to Sunset Marina. He asked if he could continue to dock the Wellcraft there and if someone would assist him in bringing Jessica’s WET team boat over as well. Afterwards, he walked across the street to the MCSO.
Sheriff Jock Daly, who was named in part after his father’s favorite television character, Jock Ewing of the old television show Dallas, had also been a star athlete in high school. He went on to play football at Florida State before graduating with a criminal justice degree. He had been trained at the FBI National Academy and considered a position as a special agent but chose to return home. His résumé included stints with the fire department and as a detective investigating drug cases alongside the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.
He was not known to be overly friendly, and most described him as serious. As a public servant, he was required to run for office. He wasn’t a campaigner and preferred to allow his record as a law enforcement officer to speak for itself. For the most part, the community was pleased with the job he’d done over the years, as he’d won reelection twice.
Despite the fact that he wasn’t amiable, he’d never been known as a shy or introverted person. Nor had he ever been accused of hiding from controversial subjects. Hank had met the man on several occasions over the years and generally had a decent rapport with him. He’d never had a reason to have a sit-down, face-to-face conversation with Sheriff Jock, as most residents of the Keys called him. Until now.
Hank’s reason for meeting with the sheriff was mostly personal and partly to satisfy his curiosity. He felt responsible for what, if anything, might have happened to Jimmy. The mayor had forced his hand, which had resulted in Jimmy being deputized by Sheriff Jock or his subordinates. Jimmy had no business wearing an
MCSO uniform even though it consisted of nothing more than a pair of khaki pants and the signature green tee shirt with MCSO emblazoned across the back in gold lettering.
Hank was mad at himself for not standing up to Lindsey, and he intended to let her know how he felt as soon as he learned of Jimmy’s whereabouts. Then, in the course of conversation, he wanted to know why they thought it was a good idea to blow up the bridges entering the Keys. Hank also thought he should let Lindsey know how the decision might impact Peter’s and Lacey’s ability to return home.
Unfortunately, Sheriff Jock refused to see Hank. He waited and waited, periodically getting up from the chairs outside the sheriff’s office suite to look for some of the personnel on Jessica’s list. He learned more about the bridges being taken down and the aftermath. He was told how the National Guard had staged in Homestead and were en route to the Keys. It was presumed, based upon the president’s statements, that the Guard intended to replace the sheriff and the mayor with U.S. military officers pursuant to the martial law declaration.
While he waited, Hank also obtained a copy of the president’s martial law declaration and read it several times while he waited for the sheriff to emerge from his office. Finally, as the day grew long, he became concerned Lindsey might leave her office. Having given up on an audience with the sheriff, he hitched a five-minute ride to a location near the Monroe County Administration building.
He briskly walked the final two blocks to the center of Monroe County’s government, half-expecting the place to be empty already. He was wrong.
He’d never seen it bustling with so much activity. The parking lot was full of vehicles bearing the county’s yellow license plates. The portico entrance to the two-story, white building was packed with county personnel talking. Their conversations were animated and excited. Something big was happening, and Hank wanted to know what it was.
He didn’t waste any time and marched directly up the stairs to Lindsey’s office. Unlike Sheriff Jock’s office suite that was on lockdown thanks to his ornery secretary and an armed deputy, the double doors entering the administration suite were wide open. Within the suite that included the office of the mayor, formerly known as the county administrator, and her staff, there was also space for the county business manager, a legislative affairs director, and the assistant county administrator.
Hank stopped for a moment to take it all in. This wasn’t the way this place had looked before the nuclear war started. There was something up. He walked deeper into the office suite toward Lindsey’s office. The director of Disaster Recovery, a casual acquaintance of Hank’s from years ago, pushed through the crowd until the two men bumped shoulders.
Hank made eye contact with the frenzied man, who waved his arm as a form of apology. Although the two men knew one another, in his frantic state of mind, Ken Waller almost didn’t recognized Hank.
“Ken!” Hank raised his voice to be heard over the noisy county personnel. “Hey, what’s goin’ on?” He expected to hear that the National Guard was about to invade the shores of the Florida Keys with tanks and armored personnel carriers.
“Oh. Sorry, um, Hank. Gotta go.” He immediately spun around and headed toward the hallway.
“Ken, what is it?” Hank hollered after him.
“Storm’s comin’,” replied Waller as he waved his arm over his head.
Chapter Nineteen
Thursday, November 7
Monroe County Administration Offices
Key West
Hank had to know what was going on. Was the man referring to a storm in the literal or figurative sense? It wasn’t too late in the season for a hurricane, but the incredibly cool temperatures due to the onset of nuclear winter would prevent one from forming. Hank had to assume the military planned on retaliating against the Keys for their harebrained idea to blow up two bridges.
In the chaotic outer office, people rushed back and forth. Voices were raised in order to be heard. Arguments ensued over who was responsible for performing a certain task. There was no leadership or direction.
He marched past the mayor’s secretary and pushed his way around an armed deputy who was preventing a distraught woman from entering Lindsey’s office. Two uniformed members of the county’s emergency management team were standing near her desk, reviewing a map book.
Hank wasted no time in addressing the mayor. “Lindsey, what’s going on?”
She was hunched over her desk, studying a larger map of the Middle Keys. She scowled at the interruption. “Hank, what are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you about—” Hank replied sheepishly before getting cut off.
Lindsey raised her hand like a New York City traffic cop might do to demand an oncoming car to stop. “Now’s not the time, Hank. As you can see, we’re a little busy.”
She turned back to the maps and pulled out a black Sharpie. She began circling certain roads and marking other areas with Xs and Os. Hank leaned forward to make sense of it all. She looked like a general planning a battle who didn’t have a clue as to how to fight the enemy.
“Lindsey, I came down here to find out what happened to Jimmy.”
She dropped her head and allowed the marker to roll out of her hands. She locked eyes with Hank. “Who?”
“Jimmy. Remember? Your nephew? You made me send him into your new deputy program, and now he’s gone missing.”
“Oh, right. Ask the sheriff.” She rubbed her temples and returned her attention to the map. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the Sharpie again to start drawing lines and circles on the map.
Hank was insistent. “I tried, and he wouldn’t meet with me.”
Without looking up, she said sarcastically, “It’s like I said, we’re all a little busy right now.”
Hank was tired of being ignored and Jimmy’s well-being marginalized. He slammed the palm of his right hand on the desk, smacking the top with a loud thud that caused the occupants of the room to stop talking.
“Dammit, Lindsey! Your nephew has disappeared after your foolish idea to blow up the bridges. Now, obviously, you’re in a load of shit with the government, but that’s not my problem. That young man’s life may be at risk, and you should bear some responsibility for that.” Hank had thrown down the gauntlet to get her attention.
With the room deathly quiet, Lindsey calmly stood upright and capped the Sharpie. She feigned laughter and shook her head from side to side as she looked toward the ceiling. Then she pointed the Sharpie at Hank.
“The damn military’s not the problem, Hank. And the decision to blow those bridges was a good one for the protection of everyone in the Keys.”
“Then what’s all of this?” asked Hank as he waved his right arm around the room.
“There’s a hella-big hurricane bearing down on us, and if you don’t hustle your ass out of my office, you might not make it back to your precious inn before it hits.”
Hank was perplexed. There had been late season storms before, but they usually came during a year of unusually warm weather. The effects of nuclear winter were anything but warm, although certainly unusual.
“I didn’t know …” he said, his voice trailing off. He was sorry for the interruption, but he still wanted to know about Jimmy’s whereabouts. “Who can help me with Jimmy?”
“Help yourselves, Hank. Aren’t you people all about self-reliance? The whole we-got-ours while the rest of us fend for ourselves mindset?”
Hank could feel all the eyes in the office staring at his back. “It’s not like that.”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” Lindsey snarled. “And that will be addressed when this is all over. For now, I’ve got the business of the Keys to attend to, so it’s time for you to go.”
“But—” Hank began to argue before the mayor shouted over him.
“Deputy! Mr. Albright needs an escort out of the building!”
Hank swung around to a dozen faces glaring at him. Hateful eyes. Full of contempt. Strangers who made assumptions about him based up
on his brief interaction with Lindsey, their fearless leader. Suddenly, he felt vulnerable. Outnumbered. Despised.
A storm was indeed coming. Perhaps more than one.
Chapter Twenty
Thursday, November 7
Tarpon Springs
Despite the dire circumstances brought on them by nuclear winter, the Andino family pulled out all the stops that evening to welcome the travelers. Delicacies like spinach pie, grilled calamari, beef-filled gyros, and of course, for dessert, a tray of baklava, the Greek pastry made of layers of chopped nuts, flaky crust, and honey.
The Greeks who inhabited Tarpon Springs, especially those who’d remained true to their heritage, had a knack for preparing for catastrophic events. The shoreline from Anclote Key around the Big Bend just south of Tallahassee all the way to Apalachicola was frequently visited by hurricanes every season. As a result, regardless of the time of year, they prepared and stored food in anticipation of a long-term power outage.
The Andinos were willing to share their food and drink, their homes, and their knowledge of sailing under dangerous conditions. After dinner they shared a toast with their guests by filling shot glasses with ouzo, a licorice-tasting spirit enjoyed by Greeks around the world. Andino explained to his guests the importance of ouzo to Greek culture as being akin to wine to the French, vodka to Russians, and tequila to Mexicans.
Even Tucker tried a sip. As it burned going down his throat, he swore he’d never touch a drop of alcohol for the rest of his life. Lacey smiled and thanked her hosts for discouraging her teenage son from partaking in the future.
After the table was cleared, the shot glasses were filled with another round, and each of the men lit up a Marlboro, an American cigarette that was wildly popular in Greece. Because the families had such strong ties to the country of their ancestors, they were hugely influenced by Greek pop culture right down to their smoke and drink of choice.