Bobby Akart - First Strike

The hour was fast approaching. He, like Julius Caesar, stood on the precipice of greatness or an abyss that would resemble Hell on Earth.

Wednesday, October 23

Driftwood Key

Hank Albright wasn’t a very good liar. In fact, he was terrible at it. That, coupled with the look of genuine guilt on his face, made many of the guests he was evicting from the hotel question his reasoning. They most likely understood his motives.

All of them had spent much of their vacation time monitoring the news in one way or another. In society, it was not unusual to observe any given public setting and see eyes focused on smartphones, perusing news or entertainment websites. Walking down the sidewalk of a busy city street, heads were bowed to read the screens. Sitting in the stadium of sporting events, fans alternated their attention between the actual game and the replays shown on streaming television via an app. A couple sitting at dinner in a restaurant or at home shoveled food in their mouth with one hand while scrolling through their media source of choice with the other. Rarely would they speak to one another except to point out a perceived newsworthy item.

Those outside habits and influences had found their way into the Driftwood Key Inn. So that morning, when guests woke up to no water in their bathrooms and a gentle knocking at the door with a letter containing the bad news about the water main break, many were not surprised. Some actually welcomed it. The directive to leave the inn made the decision for those who were on the fence of whether they should stay or go home.

By noon, all the guests had hurriedly left. The reservations for the rest of the month had been rescheduled. The housekeeping staff and bartenders had been instructed to button up their various areas of responsibilities as if a hurricane were coming.

Once the final guest had departed, Hank and Sonny closed the iron gates leading across the private bridge connecting the two keys. Only Mike and Jessica had keys to unlock the dual padlocks holding the thick steel chain wrapped through the doors.

Hank stood there for a moment. His hands were thrust into his pockets as he stared off into the mature groupings of mangroves that lined the bridge on the other side. Their exposed roots clung to the fine sandy soil surrounded by brackish water. He wondered how many mangrove snappers were feeding just below the surface. The thought reminded him of a gift he’d purchased himself, as well as one for Jimmy—a gutting and cleaning knife with a spoon attached to the handle, made by Morakniv.

He turned to Sonny. “What do you have Jimmy doin’ this morning?”

“Same as the others, really. Hurricane preparations. You know, putting away anything that’s not tied down. I don’t know what’s gonna happen, Mr. Hank, but your idea to treat it like a hurricane made perfect sense.”

“Did he fish this morning?” asked Hank.

Sonny gave him a puzzled look and then made a joke. “Ain’t nobody got time for fishin’ in the apocalypse.”

Hank laughed. At least that particular morning, anyway. Once the key was secured, they’d have to continue their daily routine, and fishing was a big part of it. The catch of the day, whether reeled in by Hank or Jimmy, fed the guests and those who resided on Driftwood Key. They’d need to continue that practice to avoid eating the foods stored by Phoebe. Besides, for Hank, it was therapeutic.

As they walked back to the main house, Jimmy emerged from a trail leading through a variety of palms to the corrugated storage building where all the beach chairs, umbrellas, and kayaks were stored.

“I put everything away, Mr. Hank. What’s next?”

Before Hank could answer, his phone rang. It was Mike.

“Hey, I thought you guys were gonna bring over your stuff this morning,” Hank answered without so much as a hello.

Mike spoke loudly over the sounds of running car engines and the occasional horn blaring. “Yeah, that was the plan. Jessica’s truck is loaded with our gear. Just as we were about to come over, we both got called in. The overseas highway is one helluva hot mess.”

“People leaving?”

“By the thousands,” Mike replied. “Central tried to treat it like a hurricane evac, but that was an epic fail. Sure, there are a lot of people spooked by all this nuke shit. They checked out early, trying to get a head start home. Either they all had the same idea at the same time, or this is just the beginning.”

“Why don’t you guys send all lanes northbound?”

“Because there are still people who don’t care about the news. They’d rather waste away in Margaritaville than see the doom and gloom on the television.”

“Geez. You’ve got ’em comin’ and goin’.”

“That’s right, Mr. Innkeeper. Not all of these hotels down here are as conscientious as you are. All of these people should stay home.”

“Well, they don’t know what we know either. Maybe the people in Washington should get a clue? Just put it all out there, and let adults decide for themselves.”

Horns started screaming in a variety of pitches. Mike screamed in the phone. “Hey! Back off, asshole!” He returned to the call. “Hank, I gotta run. We’ll get there as soon as possible.”

“Good luck.”

“Oh, Hank? One more thing. Jess is gonna bring the rescue boat this afternoon. She’s not comfortable leaving it at our place if we’re not gonna be staying there.”

Hank looked over at Jimmy and then glanced down the dock at his Hatteras. “I’ll have Jimmy make room.”

The SAFE Boat, its trademark name, had been purchased with grant funds from the Department of Homeland Security. Built for speed and endurance and designed to handle both Atlantic and Gulf waters in all conditions, the thirty-one-foot boat, used in numerous patrols and emergencies, had been credited with saving the lives of many people in distress over the years.

The inboard diesel jet boat had a weatherproof cabin with an eighteen-person capacity. Its top speed was about fifty-five mph. It was built to withstand harsh conditions, designed to be unsinkable, and was equipped with advanced technology, including radar and digital performance data. Jessica, a PADI-certified rescue diver, kept her tanks and gear on board at all times.

The two brothers disconnected the call just as the men reached the main house. Once inside, they found Phoebe sitting at a table in the bar, going over her ledgers and watching the news. The split screen revealed a scientist on one hand and a raging wildfire in India shown from the perspective aboard the International Space Station.

The screen switched to a graphic showing the spread of soot and debris from the nuclear war between India and Pakistan. Deep purple on the graphic indicated extensive soot coverage. The lighter tones of red were found on the outskirts of the cloud that spread across the planet. It stretched from Japan in the Far East across the whole of Europe.

The scientist then explained what his modeling projected. The billions of tons of soot in the air from the nuclear explosions and resulting wildfires would almost completely circumnavigate the Earth in just a matter of days. When pressed by the news host as to when it would dissipate, he simply shook his head and replied, “Years, hopefully.”

Wednesday, October 23

Islamorada

Florida Keys