Nuclear Winter Devil Storm by Bobby Akart (read 50 shades of grey .txt) 📕

to point in multiple directions. The frightened wave of refugees had turned around as the blast chased them off the end of the bridge and back toward the mainland.

Peter stood and called out his friend’s name. He repeated it over and over again until he was begging for Jimmy to answer.

Then he heard it. Faint, at first. Muted by the shouting of the refugees. A voice.

Peter dropped to his knees and carefully crawled to the edge of the bridge to look over. His chest was heaving from the anxiety of staring into the black space. He hollered again.

“Jimmy!”

“Down here! Peter, I don’t know if I can hold on!”

Peter remembered he had one of the tactical flashlights in his cargo pants pocket. He ripped open the Velcro flap and retrieved it. After nervously turning the flashlight in his hands so he could press the rear button, he illuminated it and began to scan the side of the bridge structure that had been left exposed by the blast.

The concrete box girders had crumbled apart, as the weight of the structure was too much once the foundation supports had been blown apart. With the highway’s load transferred to the girders, absent the concrete and steel foundation, gravity had pulled the structure into the creek.

The bridge’s deck, the roadway itself, had been ripped apart in a fairly straight line from one side to the other. Concrete and rebar were exposed in addition to parts of the girders. Peter hastily shined his light along the edge of the bridge in search of Jimmy. His eyes grew wide, and he gulped when he found him.

Jimmy was hanging on to a twisted piece of steel rebar that jutted out of the concrete roadbed, which continued to crumble. Bits of concrete were breaking off and falling sixty-five feet into the creek, a distance far enough away that the splash couldn’t be heard.

“I can’t do this much longer,” said Jimmy in a remarkably calm voice. “Can you see the water below? Can I drop?”

Peter shook his head rapidly from side to side, knowing full well Jimmy couldn’t see him. Not only could he not see the murky waters below, but it was also too dangerous to even consider. He had to bring Jimmy back up somehow.

His first inclination was to find help. He quickly glanced around and used his flashlight to search out anyone who could hold his legs while he reached down to grasp Jimmy’s hands. Everyone had fled in fear the bridge would collapse further.

It just might, Peter thought to himself, but he had to do something. He turned around and lay on his belly, inching over the edge more and more until he could see better. He continued to shine the light against the torn-open side of the bridge. Rebar was jutting out in a variety of twists and bends.

“Jimmy! Can you reach the curved piece of rebar to your right? Do you see it?”

Peter shined the light on a piece that been bent at an upward angle to create a hook. Jimmy continued to hold on with one arm. He was facing away from Peter toward the other side, making it difficult for him to see the ripped-apart side of the bridge.

“Hold on,” he said, using an ironic choice of words. Jimmy reached up with his other arm until he’d grasped the rebar. He slowly twisted his body until it was turned toward the right. “I see it.”

Peter held his breath as he watched Jimmy gently sway his body back and forth to create some momentum. With the last swing he removed his left hand and half-jumped to grasp the hook-shaped piece of rebar.

“You got it!” exclaimed Peter.

He studied Jimmy’s position. His arms were spread apart and stretched over his head. His left hand was closer to the edge of the bridge, but he also would have more rebar to use for his climb upward. He was about to give his friend his next set of instructions when the sound of truck horns and shouting filled the air.

Chapter Six

Wednesday, November 6

Overseas Highway at Jewfish Creek

Florida Keys

Peter turned briefly to see what was causing the commotion. Headlights could be seen in the distance, and the low rumble of diesel engines, not unlike the truck he’d taken from North Carolina to Homestead, could be heard. He returned his attention to Jimmy.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Better now that all the weight is off one arm. What’s next?”

Peter studied the rebar. “Hold tight with your left and bring your right to the same piece. Then pull yourself up slightly. There’s another straight piece just above it.” He leaned his body over the edge and directed the light to the piece he was referring to.

Jimmy took a deep breath and strengthened his grip on the hook-shaped rebar. He pulled himself up six inches and then reached upward, slapping the side of the bridge structure in search of the straight piece. Dust and debris fell on top of his head, causing him to lose focus. His body began to sway back and forth as his left arm quivered under the strain of his body weight dangling in the air. After blindly searching for the rebar, he found it and gripped it.

“There ya go, Jimmy. Good work!”

“This piece is kinda loose,” he responded.

Peter reached his arm down toward Jimmy’s hand. They were only inches away but not close enough to get a good grip on one another. Plus, even in a prone position, Peter wouldn’t be able to support the body weight of the heavier man. Jimmy would likely pull Peter over the side, leaving them both tumbling toward the water six stories below.

“Does it wiggle?” asked Peter.

“A little, but if I tug on it, it seems to hold.”

Peter took a deep breath. His palms were sweaty, so he could only imagine what Jimmy’s were like. He put the tactical flashlight in his mouth and leaned over the edge a little bit more. He grabbed the next piece of rebar and