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

Lacey pushed away from the table and walked to the front windows of the home. The house was lit up with candles. That, coupled with the heat emanating from the wood-burning stove in the kitchen, had caused her to sweat somewhat. Or perhaps it was perspiration generated as she considered the prospects of sailing into a storm.

Chapter Twenty-One

Thursday, November 7

National Guard Encampment

Homestead-Miami Speedway

Homestead, Florida

Peter wanted to take a lap around the speedway. He really, really wanted to. With the storm approaching, he doubted anyone would’ve noticed. But if they had, the two of them would be back in the substation, answering questions and facing assault charges. Instead, he followed the access through the underground tunnel at the start of Turn Three and emerged on the other side.

He slowly approached the tangerine-colored guard shack that ordinarily stopped recreational vehicles and racecar transports before allowing them into the infield. Instead of uniformed track personnel manning the exit, armed guardsmen stood in the road, dressed in rain gear, with their automatic weapons raised to low ready as Peter approached.

“Jimmy, I don’t know if I can fake this.”

Jimmy offered some words of encouragement, and then he sent a shock wave through Peter’s body. “You’ll be fine. But, um, what’s your name?”

Peter subconsciously gripped the steering wheel with both hands and let off the gas. “What?”

“Your name. The name of the soldier.”

“Shit!” Peter slowed to a stop short of the gate. It was pitch dark outside except for temporary lighting illuminating the entrance and exit on both sides of the guard shack. He pulled the fatigues away from his chest and dropped his chin to get a better angle to read it. “I don’t know! I don’t freakin’ know!”

Jimmy leaned forward in the back seat. “Peter, you gotta wing it. They’re getting antsy.”

Peter noticed the guards were looking at one another and slowly approaching the vehicle. A third guard had exited the guard shack and was resting his right hand on his holstered weapon.

Panicked, Peter began to roll forward toward the approaching guards a little faster than he, and they, expected. This set into a motion a series of events that almost resulted in them getting killed.

The guardsmen raised their rifles and pointed them directly at Peter’s side of the windshield. “Stop! Do not move forward another inch!”

Peter obliged and quickly rolled down the window. “Sorry, fellas, I had to finish up a phone call.”

He’d said the words before he realized how absurd they were.

“What?” yelled the guard approaching the driver’s side window.

“Um, I mean, sorry, I was on the, um, walkie-talkie.” Peter was failing miserably at impersonating a National Guardsman. None of the guards bought it, either.

“Out of the truck. Now!” shouted the man who’d emerged from the guard shack. He’d pulled his weapon and was walking briskly toward the driver’s side.

“Dammit! Get down!” Peter shouted to Jimmy.

He mashed the gas pedal down to the floorboard, causing the heavy Humvee to lurch forward. His tires spun slightly on the wet pavement, which startled the soldiers. It was that split second of confusion that allowed Peter to roar through the lowered gate arm, tearing it from its post.

The guardsmen opened fire, stitching the back of the enclosed Humvee while one shot obliterated the rear window. Peter never slowed down as he roared past the NASCAR credential’s trailer and whipped the steering wheel to the left to avoid crashing into a chain-link fence. He fishtailed as his two right tires found the soggy turf and then grabbed the pavement again.

“Which way?” Jimmy shouted his question as he leaned up in the back seat to rest his arms on the passenger’s seat.

Peter’s mind raced as he tried to recall anything he could about the speedway. He hadn’t tried to look through the small air vent of the animal control truck when they had been brought in the day before. However, he did know they were at the back side of the track.

“Right,” he responded as he whipped the steering wheel to the right, causing the back of the truck to swerve again. He floored the gas and took off down Palm Drive, which was bordered by the speedway on the right and parking lots on the left.

Peter blew through a stop sign, driving on the wrong side of the road to avoid a triangular medium. He finally exhaled after holding his breath for half a mile. Then he glanced in his rearview mirror. Two sets of headlights pulled out of the speedway exit behind him.

“We’re gonna have company.”

“Yeah, from the right, too,” added Jimmy.

Peter glanced over his right shoulder to see another set of headlights with grille-mounted red and blue lights flashing on and off. He shook his head in disbelief.

This was how it ends.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Thursday, November 7

Homestead, Florida

Peter’s eyes spent as much time looking forward as they did in the rearview mirror. The headlights of the trio of military police vehicles chasing them seemed to grow larger with each quarter mile they traveled south down the Overseas Highway.

Jimmy climbed across the console between the bucket-style seats to join Peter in the front. He immediately began to remove the gauze bandages that were wrapped around his face. He’d been scratching at his face since he’d woken up from the last beating he’d sustained during an over-the-top interrogation session conducted by a mad-at-the-world CIA agent.

He’d refused to tell the agent anything. He’d been threatened with waterboarding. At first, he’d been slapped across the face. Then he’d made the mistake of grinning at the demented agent. That had been when slaps turned to punches. The result was open cuts across his cheeks and jawline. A swollen lower lip and a bloodied nose were the least painful of the injuries.

As he gingerly removed the bandages, he asked, “Do you have a plan?”

“We gotta get to the Keys somehow. What’s your face like? Could you swim up Jewfish Creek to Largo Point?”

Jimmy laughed. “And then what? Stroll through the swamps at Crocodile Lake? I’d