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

rather take my chances with those guys.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward the pursuing guardsmen.

“How about the other direction? There’s a boat ramp near Snake Point. I doubt they stretched wire that far.”

“Probably right, but here’s the thing,” began Jimmy in response. “We’ll never make it to where the bridge was blown. Even in this crap weather, you can see there are people still walking back and forth on the side of the road. There’ll be more of them the closer we get.”

Peter glanced in the mirror for what seemed like the thousandth time. “I was thinking we could blend in with them to hide from those guys.”

Jimmy turned sideways in his seat and noticed they’d gained ground since he’d moved to the front. He had a thought.

“The Southern Glades Trail is up ahead. You could kill your lights and take the off-ramp. Instead of going under the bridge along the creek, hang a right and double back. We can hide until they give up.”

Peter grimaced and shook his head. “I thought about that, but with this rain coming down, that sandy road will become a real problem. We could get stuck. If we’re gonna bail off the highway, there’s another option we could try.”

“What?”

“The Manatee Bay Club.”

The Manatee Bay Club was a private community that offered dock and boat slip rentals. Along with the SeaHunter Marina, the small key at Manatee Bay had nearly two hundred boats docked there. In addition to the marina, there were nine slivers of fingerlike land protruding into the bay that had as many as twenty boat slips. There were also half a dozen private residences with their own docks.

“Steal a boat?”

“Yeah, or even just find a place to hide. Think about it. Their orders are to bug out of Homestead. I’m sure these guys will look for a while, but they’re not gonna go slip to slip or boat to boat.”

Jimmy laughed and then winced. Certain facial movements hurt worse than others. “Yeah, if we can hide from my old man on Driftwood Key, we can hide from a bunch of soldiers who are just gonna give it a half effort.”

“Okay,” said Peter, satisfied they had a plan, at least for now. “This is gonna be tricky, but it might throw them off and buy us some time.”

“What’re ya thinkin’?”

“Help me navigate. I’m about to kill the lights.”

Jimmy reached for the grab handle on the door and leaned forward to brace himself against the dashboard. Just as Peter arrived at the exit ramp to the Southern Glades Trail, he turned off the headlights.

They were suddenly surrounded by darkness, and as if to exacerbate their task, Mother Nature threw a feeder band across the highway as they eased over the creek. Instinctively, Peter slowed down to be more careful. He also focused a little too much on the rearview mirror to determine if his ploy worked.

“Peter! Look out!”

Peter jammed on the brakes as they reached the entrance to the sailboat and kayak rental business at South Dade Marina. A group of people had gathered at the gated entry, waiting for others who were trying to break in. They were seeking any kind of refuge from the storm. Several were milling about in the road and didn’t see Peter’s approach, nor did he see them.

The Humvee skidded to a stop on the wet pavement, and Peter inadvertently slammed on the horn to warn those in the road to move. The refugees immediately began to curse him and started toward the truck. His stealth maneuver had failed, so he turned his headlights back on and started south again, this time on the wrong side of the road.

“They’re almost up our ass,” complained Peter as he slapped the steering wheel. “Can’t this tank go any faster?” He moved up and back, rocking in his seat as if to urge the Humvee along. His foot had pressed the gas pedal to the floorboard, but the heavy vehicle needed time to get back up to speed.

“Less than a mile, Peter. Listen, I know this place. As soon as you pull in, take a hard right and crash into the gate. Then stop right away. Let’s lead them in the wrong direction to buy some time.”

“Are you sure?”

Jimmy set his jaw, and a look of intensity washed over his battered face. “Yeah, I’ve got this. Trust me.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Thursday, November 7

Manatee Bay Club

Overseas Highway

Key Largo

Peter turned off the lights again as he approached the entrance to the small marina and boating community. Without trying, his adrenaline-fueled mind caused him to overshoot the entrance slightly. He was forced to whip the steering wheel to the left to avoid crashing into the guardrail. The Humvee was in a hopping slide on the wet pavement when it struck the white, steel entry gate to the first of the fingers of sand holding boat slips.

The impact with the gate threw Jimmy hard against the passenger door, but he managed to hold his neck firm to prevent his head from smacking the glass. After the abrupt stop, he didn’t hesitate to exit the vehicle and provide Peter instructions.

“Follow me through these trees. Stay low.”

Peter pulled the keys out of the ignition and flung them into a stand of palmetto trees after he jumped out of the truck.

Jimmy had always been quicker than Peter when running on uneven surfaces or through wooded areas. He was gone in an instant, his body disappearing among the mangrove trees that separated the main entrance from the water.

The wind was howling at this point, and the trees were blowing unpredictably as Peter rushed to keep up. They’d made their way a hundred yards from where they’d abandoned the Humvee when the sounds of sirens and skidding tires indicated the three pursuing trucks had arrived.

Jimmy didn’t hesitate as he led the way. There was a section of clearing that he ran across without looking back toward the entrance to the marina. They had to keep going to