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

“Jeez, we might win this battle but not the next one. We need to see what they want.”

“I’ll do it,” said Hank as he adjusted his clothes and stood a little taller. “Everyone, please stay inside.”

He walked with some hesitancy toward the front door and let himself out. He pulled the door shut behind him and walked onto the porch. He stood there for a moment with his hand shoved into his pants pockets not unlike any other day before the bombs dropped when he’d greeted arriving guests. Only this time, these guests were unwelcome and had arrived in a most unconventional way.

Hank remained on the porch as the chopper set down. The powerful rotors of the Airbus MH-65 whipped the grounds into a frenzy, sending fallen debris from the hurricane back in all directions while dislodging any palm fronds that had begun to die.

The side door of the helicopter opened, and nothing happened for nearly thirty seconds. Hank had seen too many movies, some of which had been shot on Seven Mile Bridge, like Mission Impossible III. He took a deep breath and steadied his nerves, fully expecting a gatling gun or a portable rocket launcher to emerge to put him out of business, using Peter’s way of describing the death of Mr. Uber.

Instead, a woman stepped out of the helicopter onto the sand with a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Seconds later, the door was pulled shut, and the pilot lifted the chopper into the air. It took off in a rush toward the Gulf, leaving the woman alone on the sand.

Hank glanced toward the dining room window, where several faces were pressed against the glass, watching the scene unfold. He made eye contact with Mike and shrugged. Confident the threat posed by the person on the beach was not as great as a rocket-propelled projectile fired at his chest, Hank went down the steps and began walking toward her.

Then there was that moment of recognition not unlike the second he’d recognized Peter’s lifeless body lying on the bridge. There was a familiarity with the person who slowly walked toward him.

Hank began running toward her. She dropped her bag and trudged up the wet sand toward him. Hank and Erin Bergmann collided midway in the center of the lawn. The feelings they shared from their brief time together never waned. There was something between them. It was love they’d never expressed for one another. And now, the impossible seemed to have happened. The two found each other once again.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Saturday, November 9

1800 Atlantic Condominiums

Key West

Their bodies were tangled in the covers, intertwined as lovers sometimes end up. However, the release of tension was only temporary. It was time for a celebratory cigarette and another drink, the two habits that had returned to Mayor Lindsey Free’s daily routine of self-medication as a coping mechanism.

Smoking. Drinking. Sex. Rinse and repeat.

She crawled out of her bed and searched in the darkness for her pack of smokes. She flicked her Bic, instantly illuminating the room so she could see the carnage wrought by their tryst. She grabbed the candle off her nightstand and lit it, allowing the orange glow emanating from the flame to fill the room.

Lindsey was still getting used to her temporary home. Her house at the Key West Golf Club on Stock Island was too long a commute to the Monroe County Administration building. Prior to the collapse, such a statement would seem absurd, as it was only six miles to her office. However, with the late hours and unsavory characters who had begun to roam the streets of Key West, it was safer as well as more convenient for her to take one of the vacation rentals at 1800 Atlantic, an upscale condominium building overlooking the Edward B. Knight Pier and the ocean.

Take being the operative word. Lindsey had completely embraced the tone and tenor of the president’s martial law declaration. So much so that one of the first orders of business was to have her legal department draft a similar measure to be adopted via executive order and applied to Monroe County.

She saw the concept of martial law for what it was. The ability for the executive branch of any level of government to wield unbridled power over all aspects of its citizenry and businesses. If Lindsey wanted a penthouse suite atop 1800 Atlantic, she issued an executive order to seize it for the greater good of Monroe County. If a business had closed because it no longer wanted to sell its supply of a product she deemed of vital importance to the greater good of Monroe County, she sent in the sheriff’s department armed with an executive order and the firepower necessary to seize the business.

Nothing was off-limits. She could close churches as being a threat due to the fact it was a large gathering. She could order curfews. She could demand residents wear certain types of identifying clothing to delineate where they lived within the Keys. She could prohibit the use of automobiles and even instruct people to turn over their gasoline stored in containers. The carrying of identification cards confirming they were Florida Keys’ residents was already in place.

All for the greater good.

Lindsey believed in fairness. To her, it wasn’t fair that some households had sufficient food and supplies to last many months while others within the Keys were suffering from dehydration and starvation. Who could argue with her when she asked those who had the means to take their neighbors into their homes following the devastation wrought by the hurricane? Of course we should help one another. To do otherwise was selfish and inhuman.

And if people didn’t see it her way, the right way, then she would exercise the same powers afforded the President of the United States to bring them into the fold. By force if necessary. Share and share alike, she thought to herself as she downed the scotch. It’s the new American way.

Her lover stirred in