Bobby Akart - Desolation

Peter waited behind, as off in the distance, Sonny, Phoebe, and Jimmy were also walking briskly toward them. Peter shouted to his father to let him know the Frees were on their way as well.

Moments later, half a mile away from where the SWAT teams waited, all of the residents of Driftwood Key were huddled together in the middle of the highway, surrounded by disabled vehicles.

After everyone caught their breath, Peter began laughing as he studied the jet-black tactical vehicles. He’d seen the military equivalent before. In a way, the scene didn’t appear all that different than the war zones he’d reported from during his career.

“Guys? Are we nuts?”

His question lightened the mood somewhat. The group shared in his laughter, and several wrapped their arms around one another.

“That’s how we roll,” quipped Tucker, the youngest of the clan.

“You betcha!” said Phoebe, who hugged the teen.

“Let’s go see what we’re dealing with, shall we?” asked Erin. She took Hank by the arm, and the families made their way through the cars as if they were on a casual stroll to church on Sunday. It wasn’t until they reached the void between the vehicle blockade and the menacing SWAT teams that reality set in.

As soon as they stepped into the open and away from the protection of the two sedans parked bumper-to-bumper, Sergeant Rivera approached them. He was flanked on both sides by two members of team A, who pointed their weapons at everyone from Driftwood Key. Had they pulled their triggers, the Albrights and Frees would be dead within seconds.

“Who is Albright?” snarled Sergeant Rivera as he stomped toward them, emboldened by his armed deputies.

“I am,” Hank responded.

Sergeant Rivera scowled at Hank, and his deputies raised their rifle barrels menacingly.

Peter stepped forward. “I am.”

Lacey smiled and held Tucker’s hand. “We are, too.”

“Same here,” said Mike as he and Jessica joined Hank’s side.

Erin and the Frees also stepped forward to join the Albrights.

Their actions enraged Sergeant Rivera. “You’re a bunch of smart-asses. I’ve got the green light to arrest every last one of you.”

“Do it, Sergeant!” challenged Mike, the former detective.

“I know who you are, Albright,” Sergeant Rivera hissed. “They stripped you of your shield.”

“Wrong, Rivera. I couldn’t be a part of all of this.” He waved his arms at Rivera, his men, and the line of vehicles behind him.

Sergeant Rivera angrily stepped forward a few paces, and Mike slid his hands on top of his holstered weapon. Suddenly, all of the deputies’ guns were raised and pointed directly at Mike.

“Sergeant Rivera!” shouted his driver. “It’s the sheriff for you!”

He shot Mike a nasty look and stomped back to his truck. The members of team A lowered their weapons slightly when Mike removed his hand from his. He stepped backward to join the others.

“Mike, not a good idea,” cautioned Jessica, who rarely tried to tell her husband what to do. This time, he agreed with her and muttered that he was sorry.

“What’s happening?” asked Phoebe.

“My guess is that Sergeant Rivera is no longer running this show,” replied Erin. “It wouldn’t surprise me if we’re soon told—”

“Albright! The sheriff is going to deal with you himself. He told me to ask you this question.”

“What’s that, Sergeant?” asked Hank politely with a hint of sarcasm.

“Two things. One. Do you know what martial law means? Second. Do you know what lock ’em up and throw away the key means? Think on that until he arrives.”

With that, Rivera ordered the rest of his SWAT team members from their tactical vehicles. He waved them forward until there were sixteen men standing shoulder to shoulder, weapons ready, facing down Hank and the others.

Not that Hank wanted to, but he felt compelled to give his family an out. He spoke in a loud whisper so the SWAT team, who was less than fifty feet away, couldn’t hear him.

“We can back off and go home. There’s nothing wrong with living to fight another day.”

“No way, Grandpa!” said Tucker a little too loudly, drawing a tug on the arm from his mother. He lowered his voice as he continued. “They’ll just come to our home next. We have to take a stand. Out here. In the open.”

Hank wrapped his arm around his grandson’s shoulders and hugged him. Tucker, who had lost his father to the aftermath of nuclear war, was ready to take a stand even if meant dying in the process.

“Mr. Hank, what do you think?” asked Jimmy.

“Jimmy, you’re not truly free until you no longer live under someone’s thumb. Tyrants like Lindsey will never be satisfied until we comply with all of her crazy demands. I want to live but not as a prisoner of a despot like her.”

“Then we stay,” said Lacey.

“I agree,” added Peter. “Terrorists are everywhere, and they take many forms. I’ve seen them in action overseas and in Washington.”

Erin laughed. “I can vouch for that. Let me tell you about my boss.” She and Hank exchanged high fives before wrapping their arms through one another’s in a gesture of solidarity.

“Mike?” asked Hank.

“I’m still here, right?” he responded.

“Hey. Frees don’t know any other way except to be free.” Sonny’s family grasped each other’s hands and squeezed.

A long standoff began between the two sides. The SWAT team never blinked, nor did the Driftwood Key contingent. Then the vehicles ahead of them roared to life. All of them. At the same time. In the distance, they could hear a low rumble and the sound of tires squealing on the concrete pavement.

“Are they turning around?” asked Sonny.

“I don’t know,” replied Mike. “I can’t see around them.”

The SWAT team members held their positions and made no efforts to return to their vehicles. For nearly an hour, the standoff had kept both groups paralyzed, staring at one another. One side capable of causing the death of the other in mere seconds. The vulnerable side stood proud, prepared to die for what they believed in.

Friday, November 15

Seven Mile Bridge

The trucks and patrol cars jockeyed for position until they were parked along the concrete wall bordering the two-lane highway. The SWAT team never turned to observe their activity. The eyes of the men peered at their targets under the visors of their ballistic helmets. Like the parting of the sea in the biblical context, the vehicles made way for the new arrivals.

Approaching the front of the convoy were two front loaders utilized by the Monroe County Roads & Bridges department. The behemoths barely squeezed between the sheriff’s convoy of trucks and patrol cars until they reached the front. Then the two Caterpillar 988Ks designed to clear sand and debris caused by storm surge pulled beside each other. The operators stared at Hank and his family for a moment before dropping their buckets to the concrete pavement with a loud thud that shook the concrete roadway.

“Dad,” yelled Peter so he could be heard over the loud rumble of the 541-horsepower diesel engines, “those machines could pick up the cars and toss them over the rail. I don’t know if we should—”

“Hang tough, Peter,” Hank said reassuringly. “Stare back at them and don’t show any fear. We have to stay strong.”

Suddenly, the operators shut down their machines. The hissing and popping of the engines cooling off sounded like they were in the midst of a den of angry vipers.

The standoff continued for several minutes with neither side showing any signs of retreat. And then Mayor Lindsey Free emerged between the two enormous machines with Sheriff Jock Daly by her side.