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

Peter used the opening to catch up to his friend before they lowered their heads to enter another stretch of mangroves. He was gasping for air as he tried to speak to Jimmy.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m trying to get us to the end of the street where the houses are,” said Jimmy, who showed no signs of slowing despite his injuries.

“Why don’t we try to find a boat?”

“You can’t see it from here, but they’re all out in the open. If those guys have flashlights or lights mounted on their trucks, they’ll find us. Plus, that was your first thought. It’s probably theirs, too.”

Peter was impressed with Jimmy’s logic. He wasn’t a worldly guy, having spent his entire life on Driftwood Key. In fact, Peter wasn’t sure if Jimmy had ever been farther north than Miami. Regardless, he had common-sense street smarts, and thus far, his plan was working.

The two men were heaving for air as they rounded the bend and came to the first of several homes built on pilings at the end of the road. Homes in the Keys as well in most of Florida’s coastal communities were built on steel-reinforced concrete pilings to lift them above sea level. Along the water’s edge, it wasn’t unusual for structures to be sixteen feet off the ground to allow storm surge during hurricanes to flow underneath.

Residents used the space under their homes to park cars and boats, as well as other things, much like anyone would use a garage space. Access to the homes might be via an elevator that opened into the ground floor or by steps leading onto decks.

They backed off their frenetic pace to a brisk walk as they entered Hazel Street, where the houses were located. Peter was by Jimmy’s side now.

“Did you notice the squatters hanging around?” Peter asked in a loud whisper so he could be heard over the storm.

“Yeah. Apparently we’re not the only ones looking for a place to hide away. Different reasons, of course.”

Peter pointed to their left. “Those facing the bay are easily two million plus.”

“Yeah, and that’s where they’ll look for us. We need something busted up. Um, like this one.”

Immediately across the street from a gorgeous three-story home overlooking Manatee Bay was an unremarkable, rectangular home built on stilts. It resembled a Jim Walter modular home placed on pilings. Its aluminum windows and lack of landscaping made it unattractive to the refugees, who were looking for a luxurious place to ride out the storm in comparison to the simple homes on the other side of the street.

Suddenly, the headlights of an approaching Humvee caught their attention. The guys darted down the crushed-shell driveway toward an entry door leading to the carport under the house. There was a single car parked underneath, something they couldn’t see from the road.

“They’re going house to house,” said Peter, who glanced over his shoulder to follow the slow-moving Humvee.

“Hurry,” said Jimmy loudly as he raced ahead toward the entry door. His face was beginning to ooze blood as a result of his overexertion and being slapped with palmetto tree fronds as they’d run away from the entrance to the community.

Peter pushed past him and arrived at the door first. He grabbed the doorknob.

“It’s locked.”

He looked around, as did Jimmy. The Humvee had stopped in the center of the road several houses down. Shouts could be heard as they barked orders to anyone they encountered.

The guys moved underneath the building in the direction of the water and the home’s dock. A Jeep Wrangler sat underneath the house, with a cab cover stretched over it. They made their way around the back of the house to the deck stairs leading up to the main level. Soaked with salty rainwater, the guys slowly made their way up the slippery stairs.

Peter reached the wraparound deck first, where it was the hand of God that saved his life.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Thursday, November 7

Manatee Bay Club

Overseas Highway

Key Largo

BOOM!

The shotgun blast flew over Peter’s head. Had he not lost his balance on the rain-soaked steps and fallen to his knees, he would’ve been decapitated by the pellets.

Peter had been through this before. He didn’t bother pleading with the shooter. He rolled over and slid down the steps on his backside until Jimmy grabbed him by the arms and pulled him up.

BOOM!

Peter felt the air displaced by the pellets as they soared over their heads and ripped through the fronds of a solitary date palm tree that had grown to the height of the house. The orange-colored, edible fruit mixed with the blowing rain peppered the guys’ heads below it.

Headlights suddenly appeared, washing over the driveway and then finding the side of the house. Jimmy slapped Peter’s chest and began running toward the water. They gathered steam as they made their way down a slight incline to the floating dock at the side of the home.

Without regard to his injuries, Jimmy flung his body into the water. With his arms outstretched over his head, the splash was barely heard over the howling winds. Peter mimicked his friend, although he wasn’t quite as graceful. The slight belly flop almost knocked the wind out of him and made a noticeable splash compared to Jimmy’s effort.

Nonetheless, within seconds, they were halfway across the canals that separated the properties and their boats, without being noticed by their pursuers. Jimmy, a much faster swimmer, arrived at the dock on the other side of the water first. He located a wooden ladder that stretched into the water and climbed up a couple of rungs to get Peter’s attention.

Once Peter arrived, Jimmy tried to listen to the conversations at the house where they had almost been shot. The soldiers were questioning the homeowner, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. The three uniformed guardsmen walked to the water’s edge behind the house and began looking along the dock. They illuminated the flashlights on their rifles and began to slowly