Bobby Akart - Desolation

Lacey wandered through the home’s entry gate onto the pothole-laden end of Avenue A. She stared down U.S. 1, looking for any signs of moving vehicles or police patrols. There were none.

“Hey, Mom,” said a sleepy-eyed Tucker, who walked across the crushed-shell driveway in his bare feet. The teen had adjusted to the time zone change, but he’d never been a morning person. He joined her side, lifting his foot once, complaining about a broken shell he’d stepped on. “Anything?”

“No, not yet,” she replied. “Do you feel like taking a walk down the highway to get a closer look?”

“Sure,” Tucker replied and began walking away from her.

“Hey, mister. Go get your shoes.”

Tucker rolled his eyes and shook his head. “This is how they do it in the islands, Mom.”

“That was before the hospitals and clinics disappeared. There’s broken glass everywhere.”

“Oh, yeah,” said the teen. “I’ll be right back.”

Tucker hustled back toward the boat, and Lacey yelled to him, “Weapons!”

“Check!”

A few minutes later, the two of them were walking along the shoulder of the road. Just a few blocks away, halfway between their boat and where the sheriff’s deputies had slept during the night, two businesses had been looted. A small takeout restaurant, the Island Deli, had been ransacked, as was the Forks & Stix restaurant a couple of blocks down.

“I wonder how long it will take for every business to be broken into?” asked Tucker. “People will break into that shoe store, hoping there’s a vending machine to clean out.”

“Sadly, you’re right,” his mother replied. “There’s not enough law enforcement personnel to investigate these crimes much less enforce laws.”

“Especially when they’re all doing one thing, which happens to be the same thing the looters are doing,” added an astute Tucker.

Lacey thought for a moment and shrugged. In a way, her son was right. Looters were breaking the law, but Lindsey and her cohorts thought they were within the law as they interpreted it. The result was the same.

Daylight allowed them to see a farther distance, and soon the bright yellow Penske rental trucks came into view. During the night, several had been removed from the chain-link fenced area and lined up along the shoulder of the highway. Lacey tapped Tucker on the shoulder and ran across the street to take cover behind an abandoned roadside taco stand.

They got settled in to watch for activity. It had been almost dark when they’d arrived back at their boat the night before, and Lacey, a relatively inexperienced boater, wasn’t comfortable making her way back to Driftwood Key. Besides, she wanted to monitor the convoy of SWAT team vehicles to give her family a heads-up when they mobilized for the day.

The two of them waited for more than an hour, making small talk and observing their surroundings. A few local residents ventured out onto the highway to gawk at the SWAT teams’ vehicles parked within the Penske compound. At one point, a pickup truck drove past them toward Seven Mile Bridge. About forty minutes later, it returned with a frustrated-looking driver behind the wheel. Lacey presumed Mike’s roadblock worked.

“Mom, listen,” said Tucker as he lifted himself off the folding chair behind the taco stand and slowly strolled into the parking lot. He held his rifle against his body and leg as he walked to keep from attracting anyone’s attention.

Lacey did the same as she moved briskly to catch up. “Do you know what that sounds like?”

“I bet it’s the two armored trucks that left yesterday with the other vans. They’ve come back.”

“Which means they’re about to get started on their day,” added Lacey, who looked around nervously. “Come on, let’s get a better look.”

She tapped Tucker on the elbow and took off for the Tom Thumb across the street from Penske. Like before, she took cover behind the gas pumps as the low rumble of the approaching tactical vehicles grew louder.

“They’re alone,” observed Tucker as the trucks came into view. “I guess they plan on using these Penske trucks instead of the ones filled with stuff from yesterday.”

“Most likely they were used as an armed escort. Let’s see what they do.”

They didn’t have to wait long for their answer. Rather than turn into the utility yard, they pulled past the entrance along the sidewalk that ran parallel to the highway. Seconds later, several members of the MCSO SWAT team piled out of the vehicles and milled about while another man with stripes on his shirt walked toward the entrance to Penske.

“Dammit, Tucker. How’re we gonna get back to the boat? We can’t walk down the street with these things in our hands.”

Tucker glanced around. There was a large, open area between their position and the taco stand where they had been hiding before. If they tried to run away, they could be seen within seconds once they broke cover. There was a crushed-shell driveway leading behind the Tom Thumb to where the dumpsters were located. Beyond that, he could see grass and then dense trees. It was their only chance.

“This way, Mom, before they wander farther away from their trucks.”

Tucker hustled toward the building and quickly turned the corner in the direction of the dumpsters. Lacey followed him, and neither slowed down until they found an overgrown trail leading to the sparsely populated neighborhood behind the store.

Through the woods, there was a clearing and a large sand pit operated by an excavation company. Still afraid they might’ve been observed by the deputies, Tucker sought out another trail created by the locals through the dense vegetation. He was putting his hiking and camping skills to good use as he kept his bearings and identified safe paths through the trees.

Finally, they came out of the woods and ran onto a sandy road. Although the road ended and took a sharp turn toward the beaches, a four-wheeler trail continued toward where their boat was docked.

“Thanks, son. I was freaking out a little bit.”

Tucker nodded but immediately turned his attention to the trail. “Mom, we’ve gotta get to the radio and warn Grandpa and Uncle Mike.”

Friday, November 15

Driftwood Key

“Okay, okay, Lacey, get back here ASAP. We’ll take it from here.” Mike shut down the transmission and turned to the group who’d gathered in the foyer of the inn. Anxious faces studied him as he issued his instructions. “It’s go-time.”

“So they’re coming,” said a concerned Hank. “I really hoped Lindsey would be satisfied with pillaging the Lower Keys.”

“Yeah. Apparently, they’ve doubled the number of box trucks they’re bringing and added a couple more patrol cars to their convoy. I’m thinking they wanna be prepared for a large show of force, kinda what we saw at Winn-Dixie.”

Erin set her jaw. “Why would they expect different results from what they caused in Key West? We need to get going.”

Hank nodded. “Agreed. It’s all hands on deck today.” He turned to Phoebe. “Can you and Jimmy handle patrols?”

“No problem, Mr. Hank,” she replied before adding, “Jimmy is feeling much better, and he’s not happy about being confined to Driftwood Key. Can you use him out there?”

Mike answered the question. “We can’t risk it, Phoebe. Just because we’re on a mission doesn’t mean bad people aren’t out there to take advantage of our absence. You guys have to protect Driftwood Key; otherwise, everything we’re doing out there will be for nothin’.”

She reluctantly agreed and turned to Sonny, who asked, “I’d like to help hand out flyers and talk to people. I think I can be convincing since I was sort of related to Lindsey.”