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

residents of the Keys. As it turned out, Monroe County deputies patrolling the northernmost part of the county on the mainland had observed the National Guard coming across Alligator Alley. When the convoy headed toward Homestead, she ordered the bridges destroyed. It was a challenge to find sufficient TNT to bring the two structures down. Drafting volunteers to strategically place the explosives on the bridge supports required promises of expensive homes to live in and food rations on par with her executive team. The latter was a promise she’d most likely break.

Food in the Keys was a real issue. Many residents had rushed out and emptied the shelves at the first hint of a nationwide shortage. Restaurant owners had emptied their storerooms and hid food in their homes to prevent it from being stolen.

During those early days as the onset of nuclear winter took its toll, Lindsey had been constantly calculating and analyzing how she could take care of the most people with the limited resources the county had. She quickly determined there would have to be some kind of shared sacrifice in order for everyone to have a chance to survive.

After the bridges were destroyed, her goal was to turn her attention to creating food banks up and down the Keys, using county rations together with food from businessowners who had hoarded it for themselves. Both the president’s declaration of martial law and her own executive orders gave her administration carte blanche to confiscate everything.

Food. Beverages. Medical supplies. Vehicles. Boats. The work product of any business. Land. You name it. If it was an asset, it could become the property of Monroe County.

She and the sheriff agreed to take the next day to regroup before formulating a framework for identifying items to confiscate and to be warehoused for subsequent distribution. It had been a long twenty-four-hour workday, and she was ready to go home.

In fact, she was on her way out the door when a courier delivered a letter ostensibly from the President of the United States. She had no idea how it had managed to make its way through her checkpoints or onto the Keys following the destruction of the bridges. Nonetheless, it had reached her hands, so she felt compelled to read it.

On the one hand, she thought it was humorous. She really couldn’t understand why her tiny county was of such great concern to a president who should really have his hands full dealing with the big picture. For some reason, the president had taken her stubborn and obstinate position regarding the roadblocks personally. The animosity between the two only became worse when she destroyed sections of a federal highway.

The words scribbled on the handwritten note could’ve been a forgery, but the more she thought about them, the more she believed the letter to be genuine. It simply read—This isn’t over, followed by the letters POTUS.

Chapter Eleven

Wednesday, November 6

Gulf of Mexico

Near Dauphin Island, Alabama

After everyone enjoyed a meal of smoked fish, canned sardines and crackers, the women found a comfortable spot in the crew’s quarters to sleep. Lacey told Andino she was most comfortable navigating during the daylight although their visibility would be greatly reduced due to the ever-present sooty atmosphere.

Andino gave Tucker a crash course in boating mixed with a number of fishing stories from the present and the past. Despite their weariness, the two were alert and attentive to the perils of traveling in the dark waters off the coast. Once they entered Alabama and cleared Dauphin Island, Andino included Tucker in assessing whether they should set their course directly across the open waters of the Gulf or continue to navigate using the shoreline as their guide.

“Under these circumstances, the main benefit of following the coastline is we can summon help if the engines fail or something else happens,” began Andino. “The downside is that, believe it or not, we add a couple of hundred miles to the trip. That’s a lot of fuel consumed that I believe you and your mom will need to get to Marathon, where your grandfather’s place is.”

“Can we make it to the Keys if we hug the coast?”

Andino furrowed his brow. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Can we refuel or top off the tanks in Tarpon Springs?”

The experienced sailor ran his fingers through his hair. He knew everyone in the tiny fishing town, and they were all good people. But things had changed since the nuclear war came to America. He was sure Bay St. Louis had been full of nice people, too. That was no longer the case.

“You can’t count on that,” he replied after some sober thinking.

“The worst case is we get stuck out in the open, obviously,” said Tucker as he processed the options in his mind. “But if we did, all of us would be together to help get through it.”

“True,” Andino added. Then he unselfishly added, “It’s riskier, and we’re putting a lot of trust in this vessel, but it will shave a day off the trip and give you a better chance of making it all the way.”

It would have been safer for Andino and his family to follow the coastline. There was sufficient fuel to make it to Tarpon Springs even with the increased time and longer route. He was appreciative of the risks Lacey and Tucker had taken to get them to this point. It was the least he could do to return the favor in his own way.

Tucker turned toward the bow and slapped the teak trim that wrapped its way around the boat’s console. He adopted a cartoon pirate’s voice and pointed ahead. “Chart our course, Captain. Across the Gulf we shall sail!”

Andino laughed and then gently pulled Tucker’s arm toward the right. “This way, actually. Maybe we should talk about the use of the compass and nautical charts now.”

Chapter Twelve

Wednesday, November 6

National Guard Encampment

Homestead-Miami Speedway

Homestead, Florida

Peter woke up with a start as a door slammed in the outer offices of the police