Bobby Akart - Desolation

Mrs. Morton shook her head from side to side as she spoke. “The problem you have is that both the president’s declaration of martial law and the mayor’s own executive orders have suspended the Bill of Rights, including access to the courts. The streets may be lawless right now, but the halls of justice reek of tyranny.”

“There has to be a way,” said Hank under his breath.

“The quickest and most expeditious method is to force her resignation,” said Mrs. Morton. “I can find nothing under state law or the governing documents of the Monroe County Board of County Commissioners that prevents the BOCC from calling a special meeting for this purpose. Her executive orders don’t override the functions of the BOCC, even under these disastrous circumstances.”

Marino perked up. “We could call an emergency meeting of the BOCC. The three of us could force her out and select a new mayor.”

“We could also select another mayor pro tem,” added one of the other commissioners.

“You’d have to show cause, in my humble opinion,” interjected Mrs. Morton. “State law may require it, and certainly the will of the people would have to support it. Otherwise, the change might be seen as illegitimate, and you’d face an angry mob on every street corner. In other words, you might make matters worse.”

“And we have the issue of Jock Daly,” added Marino. “He’s rumored to be more than a loyal servant of the mayor’s office. He’s much closer to Lindsey than we realize. We’d better have the people on our side, or we’ll see what martial law looks like.”

“All or nothing, right?” asked Hank.

“That’s correct,” replied Mrs. Morton.

Tuesday, November 12

Key West

Sergeant Rivera led the caravan of SWAT vehicles into Conch Plaza’s parking lot. A handful of stalled vehicles were scattered about. The Starbucks had been looted, and a tent city had been built in the tree-covered drive-through using tarps and four-by-eight sheets of corrugated steel that had been dislodged during the storm. As the assault vehicles entered the shopping center, out of curiosity the homeless residents followed them toward Gordon Food Service.

All of the other stores in the strip shopping center had been looted, including Bealls Outlet. The windows had been broken out, and the store appeared to have been ravaged. As Rivera’s vehicle slowly rolled past, he became puzzled as to how the clothing and home décor store could have been thoroughly looted, yet the adjacent grocery store had not.

Sergeant Rivera, whose mother lived nearby, had visited Gordon’s often to purchase groceries for his elderly mother. When the nation began to collapse following the nuclear attacks, he’d insisted his mother move into his home near the sheriff’s department. He’d packed her most beloved belongings and food the day of the move. He hadn’t returned since.

Gordon’s was boarded up, but something bothered him about its appearance. There was no evidence that anyone had tried to loot the business, a rarity in Key West. Virtually every storefront was scarred by some effort to enter it.

The store’s steel roll-up doors were one reason it hadn’t been breached. The other might have been the vehicles tightly parked together under the canopy covering the portico entrance. A desperate looter might’ve attempted to gain entry by driving their vehicle into the steel doors, but the cars were arranged in such a way to prevent it.

Sergeant Rivera shrugged and shook off the strange feeling that had overcome him. It had been a safe and successful day thus far. He was certain Sheriff Jock and the mayor would be patting him on the back when he made his report.

All the trucks parked, and their occupants spilled out onto the sidewalk that ran parallel to the portico-covered driveway. Sergeant Rivera began to bark out his instructions to team A as well as B and C, which had rejoined them for this target.

“All right. Firefighters, you’re up. Get us through these damn doors!”

The three men approached the easily identifiable roll-up doors. The interlocking galvanized steel slats rode upon heavy-gauge steel channel guides on both the inside and outside of the door frame. To gain access, they used a K-12 Fire Rescue Saw with a twelve-inch saw blade. The men traded turns to cut through the steel using several different angles and techniques. The high-torque engine squealed as it tore through the steel quickly.

After several minutes, an entry point the size of a small door frame had been opened up to allow the SWAT team members inside to clear the building, which was the size of a Trader Joe’s grocery store. The six deputies had been inside the building for nearly two minutes when shots rang out.

“Team A, report!” shouted Sergeant Rivera.

The deputies shouted over one another.

“We’re taking on fire!”

“They’re on the catwalk above the registers!”

“No, at the rear—arrrrggggh!”

Automatic gunfire continued to explode inside the enclosed building. Suddenly, the other two roll-up doors began to slowly open. They were being pulled upward manually by a chain just inside the door. Sergeant Rivera drew his service weapon and ordered the firefighter members of team A to grab rifles out of the assault vehicles.

Rivera shouted into his two-way radio, “Team B! Team C! Report to the front entrance. Now!”

The commotion was beginning to draw a crowd as over two dozen curious bystanders crowded around the assault vehicles to watch. They pushed forward until they were near the canopy and the parked cars. Sergeant Rivera, focused on his team trapped inside, didn’t notice the spectators behind him.

Two members of team A emerged from the side entries. As they walked backwards, they were firing wildly inside the dark store in an effort to provide cover for their SWAT team partners to escape.

“Deploying smoke!” a man shouted from inside the store.

“Roger that!” another shouted back.

The sounds of smoke canisters striking the polished concrete floor of Gordon’s could be heard. Smoke began to billow through the entrances.

Rivera shouted into his microphone, “Abort! Abort!”

More gunfire, this time sending bullets sailing through the smoke-filled entrance and striking eight people who’d pushed their way toward the front entrance to get a better view.

Rivera continued to call out to his team to abort the mission. He yelled at the bystanders to fall back. He tried to call to the members of teams B and C to stand down, who, in the chaos, began to open fire as well. Soon, bullets were flying in and out of the entrance to the grocery store with neither side capable of seeing their targets due to the smoky conditions.

Several members of Sergeant Rivera’s breach teams were wounded or killed. The same was true of more than a dozen civilians who got in the way of the barrage of bullets. Rivera called all of his breach teams to the scene. The rest hid behind their Level III bulletproof shields to move in formation as they reentered the building.

A gun battle raged for an hour or more as the sheriff’s deputies fought the owners of the business and their hired guards. When it was over, seven deputies had died and another five were wounded. All of the guards and owners of the business were killed. The civilians who’d exposed themselves to the carnage suffered as well. Eleven died and nine suffered life-threatening wounds.

Sergeant Rivera had secured the food and supplies, but they came with a high cost.

Tuesday, November 12

Driftwood Key

After Jessica got called away to help a wounded fisherman, Mike spent some time with Peter, Lacey, and Tucker with the newly acquired weapons he’d retrieved from the supply depot at the sheriff’s office. Only a couple were department issue. The rest were confiscations that wouldn’t be missed considering the state of confusion the department was operating under.