Bobby Akart - Desolation

“Was it the president?” asked Mike.

Erin returned the satphone to the charger that sat atop the reception desk along with several other devices, including Mike’s police-issued two-way radio. She glanced around the rooms leading into the spacious foyer.

In a whisper, she replied, “Let’s talk in the car.”

Hank nodded and grabbed his shotgun from behind the door. All of them carried handguns and rifles whenever they left Driftwood Key. For most, a sidearm was strapped to their waist during every waking moment. It had become the new normal.

Mike checked with Sonny and Phoebe in the kitchen before the trio left. Hank took Erin by the arm and led her onto the front porch, where they slipped on their surgical masks. As they did, he leaned into her.

“Problems?”

Erin grimaced. “I’d call it more of an ultimatum. A deadline.”

“Or what?” asked Hank, but before she could answer, Mike joined them.

That morning, they’d decided to try a direct approach by appealing to Lindsey in her office. They hoped to stave off an inevitable confrontation with the woman who was once Sonny and Phoebe’s sister-in-law. While Hank and Erin tried to meet with her, Mike would spend his time at the sheriff’s department to learn what he could about the raids.

After they were secured inside Mike’s truck, they removed their masks. The air quality was slowly deteriorating, and the group considered themselves to be fortunate to have a large supply of medical masks from the hospital. After they spoke to Peter and Tucker at the gate, they slowly made their way toward U.S. 1.

Erin explained what she meant by an ultimatum. “Here’s what’s disconcerting. That was the nicest that Harrison Chandler has been since the day I was sworn in as Secretary of Agriculture. Our relationship has gone south ever since. His sudden change of attitude makes me think he’s up to something.”

Hank was confused. “But you said he gave you an ultimatum. A deadline. That doesn’t sound pleasant to me.”

“Oh, make no mistake, Mr. Chandler was all peaches and cream until he whipped out the knives and said we only have days, not weeks, to get Lindsey removed from office.”

Mike shook his head in disbelief as he wheeled his truck onto the highway. As he spoke, he maneuvered around a number of stalled cars and entered the Seven Mile Bridge.

“What does he expect us to do? Storm the palace?”

Erin shrugged. “That’s the thing. It was an ultimatum, sort of, but he didn’t actually tell me what the consequences are. I could read between the lines as to where he’s coming from. The president is overwhelmed.”

“Not that anyone could blame him,” interjected Hank.

Mike disagreed. “Hey, he wasn’t drafted for the job. He actually fought tooth and nail to get it.”

“According to Chandler, the president is most concerned with the nation not sticking together in the crisis. Sure, there are parts of the country that are on fire, literally and figuratively. Chandler alluded to some tough decisions the president would be making soon, but he didn’t elaborate. Anyway, apparently Texas and other parts of the country continue to separate themselves from the rest of the nation. Communities are becoming increasingly territorial. The president feels he needs to put a stop to it before this independent-minded thinking takes hold.”

Hank turned in his seat to look at Erin as he spoke. “Is he blaming the Keys for this? I mean, we have no idea what’s happening in Texas, and I seriously doubt they know what we’re up to.”

“I agree with you, Hank,” she replied. “This president ain’t no Harry Truman. The buck doesn’t stop with him. It’s always someone else’s fault.”

“Just like Lindsey,” Mike quipped.

“In more than one respect, Mike,” added Erin. “Both of them believe they should confiscate property, whether real estate or personal belongings, to be redistributed to those in need. Your mayor is doing it on the localized level, and it’s likely the president will institute similar actions on the national level. That’s why his martial law declaration was so strongly worded.”

Mike had to frequently slow down as they drove along the bridge. The roadway had become clogged with more stalled cars since he’d returned from Key West the other day.

“Where exactly did these people think they were going?” he asked angrily. “The grass isn’t greener on our side of the bridge.”

“Some of these cars are loaded down with clothing and personal effects,” Erin noticed. “Is it possible they’re unaware of the bridges being destroyed?”

Hank leaned forward to rest his forearms on the dashboard. “It’s possible. Or they thought it was an insane rumor and decided to leave anyway. Regardless, if this continues, Seven Mile may be blocked by the time we return this afternoon.”

Mike pointed his thumb toward the rear deck lid covering his pickup’s truck bed. “I have empty gas cans to fill up at the depot while I’m down here. Hopefully, if that happens, enough people left their keys in the ignition for us to move them.”

“Plus, there’s the winch,” added Hank. Mike’s police truck also had a built-in winch. Capable of pulling ten thousand pounds, he could maneuver stalled vehicles out of the way if necessary. Then Hank had another thought. “I don’t wanna get off topic because I hope we’re successful in our diplomatic mission, if you wanna call it that. But if Lindsey refuses to cooperate, we have to prepare for her bringing her band of merry men toward Marathon in a day or so. We could use these stalled cars to stop or slow their progress.”

“A traffic jam of dead cars,” said Mike jokingly.

“Exactly.” Hank chuckled and then turned back to Erin. “Based on your phone call, what kind of timetable are we talking about?”

“The man said days not weeks.”

“No pressure,” interjected Mike.

Hank was dismayed. “Don’t they realize this kind of thing takes time? Lindsey’s not gonna quit, which means we have to follow the legal route that Mrs. Morton suggested.”

Mike slowed once again as the end of the bridge entered Big Pine Key. The road was still washed out due to the hurricane, and he was forced to drive over the sandy shoulder next to the hammocks bordering Spanish Harbor.

“I guess all the road crews quit,” he grumbled aloud as he drove around a fallen palm tree.

“Consider this, Mike,” began Erin. “What you’re seeing here is a microcosm of what’s happened around the country. Infrastructure, from electricity to roadways, is unable to be repaired. Seriously, the bridges destroyed by the mayor are likely to remain that way for many years. Electricity will require the same length of time to be reinstated because the government has to rely upon foreign nations to provide us replacement components to the grid. As time passes, the Florida Keys will start to revert to the way it looked when your family first settled here.”

“That sounds drastic,” Mike said.

“Yes, but that’s also very possible. What happens in the next few days will dictate whether we can help your neighbors survive or they will face the type of mayhem taking place in large population centers around the country.”

Hank took a deep breath. “Lindsey thinks she can prevent that from happening by making sure everyone gets an equal share of what’s available.”

“It never works that way with dictatorial governments, Hank. They will keep the largest portion of any assets they confiscate and distribute it among their cronies. The rest will suffer that much quicker.”

“Days?” asked Mike.

“That’s what Chandler said, but he didn’t provide an or else .”

Hank sighed. “I’m starting to feel squeezed. How about you guys?”