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

“There’s something else …” His voice trailed off, giving Mike time to anticipate what Hank was going to bring up.

“I heard they blew the bridges. A few of the guys came by to check on me when the word got out. I understand it’s a pretty contentious subject between the commissioners and Lindsey.”

“Yeah, I heard, too. I hope to corner Lindsey after I leave the hospital. But that’s not what I was referring to.”

“Did something happen at Driftwood Key? I told Jess to go home and that I was in good hands.”

Hank glanced into the hallway and then explained, “As you know, Jimmy has been assigned to man the checkpoint at Gilbert’s Resort. His shift was supposed to end yesterday morning.” Hank gulped.

“What is it?” asked Mike, wincing as he pushed himself up in bed.

“He’s twenty-four hours past due for coming home. Sonny and Phoebe are freaking out, and frankly, so am I.”

“None of the detectives have said anything about Jimmy although most of them aren’t assigned to the sheriff’s border detail,” he said. He shook his head. “This had to be Lindsey’s idea to blow up the bridges. Now she can be Queen of the Keys.”

“Well, I promised to get some answers. I think I’ll start with the sheriff.”

Mike chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Good luck with that. The guys tell me he stays holed up in his office. He meets with his undersheriff and his aide. That’s about it. He won’t even sit down with our two majors or the chief. It’s really bizarre.”

“I have to try,” said Hank.

Mike agreed but had a suggestion. “You might have better luck with Lindsey.”

“Why?”

“We have something she wants access to—food production.”

“I’m not giving it up, Mike. And I’m damn sure not offering up the bungalows for people to sleep in. Been there, done that.”

Mike felt compelled to caution his brother, who was in a difficult emotional place. “Tread lightly with Lindsey. She’s on a helluva power trip right now and couldn’t care less about what we’ve been through or where Jimmy is.”

Chapter Fourteen

Thursday, November 7

U.S. Army War College

Carlisle Barracks

Carlisle, Pennsylvania

Despite the fact the five-hundred-acre campus of the U.S. Army War College was nowhere near completion to house all of the major departments required to run the government, President Carter Helton insisted upon his administration making the transition above ground, as he liked to put it. Operating within the confines of the bunker at Mount Weather had been taxing on the president’s emotional state. He was ready for a fresh start and eager to tackle the nationwide recovery effort.

For days, the Army had diverted considerable resources to securing Carlisle Barracks and the entire campus. The roads and highways leading into the small town of twenty thousand had been cordoned off during the preparations.

At first, their activities were shrouded in mystery, especially to those who resided in nearby Harrisburg, Pennsylvania’s state capital. Many presumed, rightfully so, that the native Pennsylvanian would choose Philadelphia as the nation’s capital following the devastating war. Even if on a temporary basis. The activity at Carlisle Barracks surprised everyone.

In the predawn hours that morning, the president had surreptitiously departed Mount Weather and was whisked away by Marine One to the temporary White House. By the time he was given a tour of his new offices and touched base with the members of his cabinet and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Chief of Staff Harrison Chandler was alerted by FEMA that a massive hurricane had formed in the Caribbean Sea off the coast of Venezuela. He would be briefed on its path within the hour.

President Helton spoke with his military advisors regarding the actions of the Florida Keys officials who’d ordered the destruction of the bridges. There had to be repercussions, but he was advised the only way to remove the government officials responsible for the destruction was to initiate some form of air and sea assault. Even as angry as the president was, he couldn’t imagine bringing the might of the United States military against the insubordinate inhabitants of the Florida Keys.

He settled into a classroom within the complex that had been assigned to FEMA because its walls were completely covered in whiteboards. One of them provided data on the coming storm he’d been told about.

HURRICANE MOVING NORTHWESTERLY AND ACCELERATING.

DEVELOPING AND STRENGHTENING. WINDS SUSTAINED 55 KNOTS.

SEAS 12 TO 22 FEET WITHIN 300 NAUTICAL MILES.

982 MILLIBARS.

The president furrowed his brow, and he read through it twice. He imagined it was the type of weather forecast no fisherman wanted to hear. An aide to the NOAA representative distributed printed reports detailing the storm. The president studied the satellite imagery.

This monster appeared as a huge swirl stretching from Caracas on the northern coast of Venezuela to just below Guantanamo Bay in Cuba. A second page provided a computer model of the storm’s track and intensity. Under the circumstances, the National Hurricane Center did not have the multiple assets available to them to chart the hurricane’s path. Ordinarily, as many as forty computer models would be at their disposal to advise the president. Today, there was only one.

“Mr. President, all we can say is this hurricane is a scientific anomaly that defies explanation. Its characteristics certainly have all the earmarks of a hurricane, such as the fact that it’s a strengthening low-pressure system with its signature tight cyclonic spin. Like others that form in the Caribbean region, they can gain in strength when fueled by warm surface waters.

“That’s where the anomaly comes in. To create and sustain a hurricane, you need warm water of at least eighty degrees. The second ingredient is moist air. Finally, you need the right combination of converging winds to create the cyclonic activity.

“When the surface water is warm, even this late in the typical hurricane season, the counterclockwise rotation sucks up heat energy from the water very much like the way a straw sucks up liquid out of a glass.

“This heat energy is the fuel of the storm.