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

then in the direction of Key West. Conflicted, he paced for several seconds before he made a decision. Mike had medical care. Jimmy didn’t.

He plead with the deputy. “Okay. Okay. I’ve gotta find Jimmy. He’s out there floating somewhere. Can we get the WET team on the water to search for him?”

The deputy chuckled although it was more of a reaction to the request rather an attempt at being disrespectful. “Here’s the thing. Nobody knew about this hurricane coming. Sure, some of the old-timers who had those weather-glass things on their kitchen table might’ve called it. However, the rest of us were blindsided, as I gather you were. It’s all hands on deck right now to stop looters and rescue people.”

“Jimmy needs to be rescued,” said Peter dryly. “Can you call my aunt, Jessica Albright. She’s on the WET team.”

“Yeah, I know her. Gimme a sec.”

The deputy returned to his patrol car and slid into the front seat. He spent more than a minute on the radio, trying to raise Jessica on her two-way. Their coverage area had been greatly diminished following the collapse of the grid, and the repeater towers weren’t always functioning.

Peter approached the driver’s side door. “What did you find out?”

“Deputy Albright didn’t respond to my call on the open frequencies. I contacted dispatch, and she hasn’t reported in since leaving the hospital yesterday.”

“What about a search party?” asked Peter.

“I’m gonna be honest. We’re disorganized as hell. The mayor had us focused on kicking people off the Keys, and then she shifted gears to blowing up the bridges. Now, with the storm, I don’t think I could organize a one-man fishing tournament much less send a flotilla out to find your friend.”

“I’ve gotta do something,” lamented Peter.

The deputy furrowed his brow and looked up the highway. “Blackwater Sound, you say?”

“Yeah. I think we were close to the Marriott, but it was so dark, and the wind was howling …” Peter’s voice trailed off as he became emotional.

The deputy noticed his change in demeanor. “You know what? Get in. I have an idea. No promises, though.”

Peter nodded and turned away to wipe a few tears from his cheeks. He hustled around the back of the car and jumped into the passenger’s seat after the deputy set aside his rain gear.

“Thanks for helping,” began Peter as he settled into the seat. The deputy immediately turned on his emergency lights and roared up the road, drawing the attention of several residents who were cleaning up debris.

“No promises, remember. I have some folks at Captain Jax who owe me a favor. They’re not much, but they have boats, and I think I can get ’em to give you an hour or two.”

Peter sighed. He’d take anything at this point. A minute later, the deputy slowed at the entrance to Captain Jax Mobile Home Park. He stopped short of the open entry gates, not because they were guarded but because a travel trailer had been picked up and dropped on its side just beyond the entry.

“Jesus,” muttered the deputy. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “It’s like this all up and down the Keys. Nobody’s been spared.”

Peter grew frustrated again. “This is a waste of time. These people will be digging out for days.”

“Maybe. Do you wanna give it a try? I’ll make the introductions, but dispatch needs me at the bridge.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Peter exited the patrol car. His tee shirt rose on his back, revealing the pistol grip protruding above his waistband.

“You armed?” asked the deputy.

Peter’s face turned pale, and he closed his eyes momentarily. He’d completely forgotten about the weapon. “Yes. I should’ve told you. I’m so preoccupied with finding Jimmy that I—”

“Don’t sweat it, bud. Let’s go.”

The deputy led Peter through the debris. Several of the mobile homes had been tipped over while others had been torn open like a sardine can. Many of the owners were wandering around aimlessly, some of whom were bloodied and injured.

The deputy confronted a group of residents. “Hey! Where’s Jax?”

They all pointed toward the office adjacent to the boat slips.

The two men stepped over a fallen power pole. Its transformers lay partially covered in a heap of sand while the power lines were twisted on the ground at its base. The irony wasn’t lost on Peter. The evidence of America’s beating electrical heart was just as dead as it had been before the hurricane. At least now it could be given a proper burial.

“Wait here,” instructed the deputy. “He owes me the mother of all favors. I’ll call in the chit just to get you some help.”

Peter grimaced and nodded. After several minutes, the deputy returned with Captain Jax and a handful of others.

“Okay, Peter. Here’s what you’ve got. Jax and these folks can give you a couple of hours. They’re gonna need to be reimbursed for their fuel. Do you think your dad’s willing to do that?”

Peter scowled. He was grateful for the help and not all that surprised they’d requested their tanks to be refilled.

“Deal.”

“And they said you can have a boat for yourself,” the deputy continued as he threw Peter a key attached to an orange floating key ring. He fumbled the catch, and the keys hit the sand. He knelt down to grab it and nodded his appreciation to the deputy at the same time.

Captain Jax addressed Peter. “You can have the boat. The owner died last night, and we got more boats around here than you can shake a stick at. Besides, it’s full of empty fuel cans. Fill them up when you get back to your place and return ’em full. Are we straight?”

“Yep. Thanks for helping.”

“All right, let’s get to it. Two hours. That’s it. Understand?”

Peter nodded again and followed Captain Jax with his rescue contingent to the marina, where the first order of business was to clear a path to get the boats out.

Chapter Forty-Four

Saturday, November 9

Blackwater Sound

Near Key Largo, Florida

Peter and the other boaters spent more than two hours looking for