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

team back toward the nurse’s head, Mike squeezed the trigger. The report of the rifle frightened everyone in the confined space, causing them to scream and duck for cover. Only one body remained upright, albeit for a brief moment.

The now-headless gunman.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Friday, November 8

Gulf of Mexico

1013 millibars.

“We’re really on a roll, Mom!” exclaimed Tucker as Lacey emerged from taking a nap. Her poor night of sleeping had eventually caught up with her. That, plus the steady drone of the diesel engine and the gentle rocking of the Gulf waters, had resulted in her eyes drooping until she was almost asleep standing up.

Earlier that morning, as soon as the sun rose enough to create a brighter shade of gray across the horizon than the early-dawn level of lightness, Lacey and Tucker had prepared to leave Tarpon Springs.

Andino and his brother had given them a refresher course on the use of their barometer and also performed some fuel calculations for them. Unless something happened out of the ordinary, they would have sufficient diesel to make it all the way to Key West if they chose to go that far. Otherwise, they were facing a four-hundred-mile journey down the west coast of Florida until they reached the Everglades. From there, they could easily make their way to Marathon and Driftwood Key.

As they’d entered the Gulf, they’d set a course using the GPS that took them outside the range where most of the fishing boats were operating. They’d manned the helm together to grow accustomed to the boat’s navigational panel as well as how it reacted to certain wind and wave conditions. During their trip from Bay St. Louis to Tarpon Springs, they’d relied upon the expertise of Andino to operate a fishing vessel of this type. Lacey had only marginally paid attention to the intricacies of this boat. When she was in the wheelhouse, she compared it to her dad’s Hatteras, which Lacey was familiar with.

As they sailed due south, they’d both kept a wary eye on the boat’s barometer. Registering in millibars, the digital device fluctuated only slightly as they reached the open water and set their course. The normal barometric pressure at sea level was 1013 millibars. That had risen slightly, according to Sandros, because of the consistently low ceiling caused by nuclear winter. He’d cautioned them to monitor the barometer to determine if it was falling into the nine hundreds, an indicator a weather system was approaching.

Andino said one of the ways they could determine if there was a change in the barometric pressure was to notice the onset of a headache. The closer the pressure dropped to 1003 millibars, the more likely people susceptible to migraines or headaches would take notice.

While Lacey napped, Tucker had been diligent about monitoring the boat’s digital readouts, including the barometer. Every time he looked, the reading was similar, so he eventually grew tired of the exercise.

“Wow, I feel so much better,” his mom responded to his greeting. “There’s nothing better than sleeping on a boat.”

“It’s easy because it’s so low-key,” said Tucker. “I’m ready to get there.”

“Me too, son. Me too.”

“I’m gonna hit the head,” he said with a smile.

Lacey laughed. “Spoken like a true sailor. Say, do you wanna get some sleep now? I was gonna talk to you about riding through the night until we get there.”

Tucker stopped midway down the steps into the galley. He turned slightly as he spoke. “I just assumed we were going all the way. We have GPS, so it doesn’t really matter if we can see, right?”

Lacey gave him a disapproving glance. There were a lot of factors to be considered when driving a boat on the open seas. One of them was seeing if anything was in your way. Inexperienced boaters at night created a recipe for disaster.

“It’s not quite that easy, son. Go hit the head, and we’ll talk when you come back.”

1008 millibars.

While Tucker was away, Lacey got her bearings. They were approximately fifty-five miles off the coast of Sarasota. She couldn’t see the barrier islands of Longboat Key or Siesta Key as they motored past. The ever-present haze of soot seemed to blend in with the water, resulting in a feeling that they were completely alone in a sea of fog.

Tucker returned with a sixteen-ounce can of Monster energy drink. The fact that he was guzzling it down told Lacey all she needed about her son’s plans for the rest of the trip. He was going to remain jacked up on B vitamins and caffeine until he crashed on the dock below the Conch Republic flag at Driftwood Key.

They talked for a while, alternating between reminiscing about boat trips she and Owen had taken Tucker on when he was young and speculation about how the Keys had fared following the nuclear attacks.

They shared their recollection of how Hank operated the Driftwood Key Inn and the role everyone played. The McDowells were healthy eaters, so they were looking forward to eating the organic-grown vegetables from Sonny’s greenhouses and eating the fresh fish that Jimmy was so adept at catching.

The conversation turned to Mike and Jessica. Lacey and Mike were always close. He was more of a big brother to her than an uncle. When he married Jessica, who was slightly younger than he, Lacey had immediately found a sister to commiserate with following the death of Lacey’s mom. The trio had become tight, and Lacey looked forward to seeing them both.

1001 millibars.

Their conversation bounced around as they continued heading south-southeast along the coast. Their course took them along Captiva and Sanibel Islands off the coast of Fort Myers. After they’d gotten married, Lacey and Owen had honeymooned by going camping in several of Florida’s state parks, including Cayo Costa, a sand-filled barrier island accessible by a small boat or kayak. It was one of the largest barrier islands and had afforded the newlyweds plenty of privacy.

As daylight turned to dusk, Lacey began to develop a slight headache. She asked Tucker