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

his brow and pushed his way through the hammocks that writhed and turned under the constant stress applied by the winds.

With the assistance of a wind gust at his back, Hank raced into the clearing, where he found Sonny and Phoebe struggling to board up the greenhouses.

“Sonny! Hang on!” yelled Hank. Sonny was standing atop a ladder propped against the side of the tallest greenhouse. Phoebe was standing below him, trying to slide a precut sheet of plywood up the aluminum extension ladder.

Years ago, Hank and Sonny had purchased a hundred sheets of three-quarter-inch marine-grade plywood. They’d cut the pieces to fit the dimensions of each pane of the greenhouses. When a storm approached, they’d take the numbered pieces, secure them over the greenhouse panes, and remove them when the threat passed. They’d never attempted to do it in the midst of the storm. This storm, like nuclear winter, had come without warning.

Hank arrived by Phoebe’s side. He grabbed the bottom of the plywood and slid it up the ladder. He climbed up the first several rungs in order to prevent Sonny from reaching down.

“Hey!” shouted Sonny, who grasped the board and slid it up onto the roof. “Can you believe this crap?”

Hank and Phoebe exchanged hugs. He’d gotten close enough to her face the see the stress that consumed her. He immediately wondered if it was the storm or concern for Jimmy. Hank wished he had better news. Hell, any news would’ve been better than nothing.

“How much ya got left?”

Sonny gripped the ladder and the steel frame that made up the edge of the greenhouse roof. “One more on this side and then all of the back. We’ve got everything else covered.”

Hank spun around and rushed over to the covered shed the two of them had built to store the panels. Each one was numbered, and Sonny had taken the time to create a diagram inside the shed door, showing where the panels were placed.

Several battery-operated puck lights illuminated the interior of the storage shed when there was a power outage. Hank studied the diagram to select the right panel. He paused to remember all the times he’d worked with Sonny and Jimmy to board up the buildings around Driftwood Key. Their lives were intertwined, and now all of their children were missing.

“Hank!” Sonny hollered for him to snap him out of his trance.

“Comin’!”

As he arrived and began climbing the ladder to slide the panel to Sonny, Phoebe stood to the side so he could see her.

“Hank, what did you find out?”

He hurried down the ladder and held it firmly with both hands as Sonny secured the final panel. He turned his head to Phoebe although the two of them could barely see each other in the dark.

“I couldn’t get any answers, Phoebe. Lindsey ordered the bridges to be destroyed, and now they’re losing their minds over this storm.”

Hank could hear Phoebe break down in tears. As Sonny made his way down the ladder, Hank waited until he was on the ground to explain. When he was done, the grieving parents directed their ire at their former sister-in-law for her callous attitude toward their son, her nephew.

Suddenly, out of the darkness, Jessica appeared by their side. “The gate was secure. I thought you might still be here.” She and Phoebe exchanged hugs.

Over the next several minutes, the group worked together to place the last of the plywood panels on the greenhouse. After a quick check of the fuel levels in the generator operating the hydroponics facility, they made their way back to the main house.

Phoebe explained that she’d been locking the kitchen door since the night Patrick had attacked her. She also showed Hank and Jessica the paddle holster secured against her waist. She vowed to never be caught off guard like that again.

After a quick meal and a few stiff drinks, the group’s batteries were recharged as they prepared to ride out the storm.

Chapter Thirty-One

Friday, November 8

Blackwater Sound

Florida Bay

“Jimmy! Jimmy!” Peter shouted at the top of his lungs. He wrestled the handlebars around and began riding back in the direction he thought he’d come from. The wind was at his back now, allowing him to travel a little smoother than previously.

Riding at just above idle speed, Peter shouted Jimmy’s name until he was nearly hoarse. There was no ambient light whatsoever, as the stars had been obliterated by the smoky, soot-filled skies of nuclear winter and, on this night, by the throes of a tropical cyclone that hovered over the heart of the Florida Keys.

He rode with the waves, certain he was backtracking along the route he’d been riding. Peter cursed himself for losing touch with his friend. He had been singularly focused on leading them to shore. The safety of the land. An ordinary task made complicated by the conditions, but in his mind, relatively safe compared to being shot at by men with automatic weapons.

“Jimmy! Come on, man. Where are you?”

Peter became emotional as reality set in. He’d lost Jimmy in the middle of Blackwater Sound. He tried to remain calm.

His dad used to say that panic was an energy thief. While you drag on your nerves with negative thoughts, meaningless regrets, and fatalistic thinking, you’re starving your body of the energy it needs to problem solve. Staying calm in a life-threatening situation might not guarantee your survival, but it will enhance your chances.

However, for all intents and purposes, he was blind. Think. Think. Think, he said to himself repeatedly in an effort to approach the dangerous situation logically. Do I continue to shore? Was I even going toward shore? Why was it taking so long to travel a mile or even a mile and a half?

“Jimmy!” he shouted again as he began to travel with the wind at his back again. He rode for several minutes, screaming his friend’s name until he thought he’d gone too far. Then he did a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn and rode into the wind once again.

“Dammit, Jimmy! Where are