Bobby Akart - Devil Storm

“Thanks,” mumbled Peter.

The guard wasn’t interested in Peter’s appreciation. “Sit. Fill this out. Truthfully! Knock on the door when you’re done.”

Peter sat back down at the table and turned the clipboard around so he could look at the document in front of him. He picked up the pencil and fiddled with it as he read.

It was a prepared affidavit that the government wanted him to sign under penalty of perjury. It required him to list all of his addresses and contact information. Peter chuckled at the requirement that he list all available telephone numbers. This didn’t appear to be a standard form, as it contained statements he was required to affirm that dealt specifically with Jimmy and the Monroe County government officials’ alleged actions regarding the bridges.

When it came to the address field, he hesitated. He didn’t want to list Driftwood Key, so he used an old girlfriend’s apartment address at Sunset Marina. By simply writing down 5555 College Road, Key West, without an apartment number, they’d never be able to confirm it one way or the other. It was a risk worth taking.

However, it wasn’t the only half-truth he told. He had to confirm, under perjury, that he didn’t know Jimmy. Once again, to his relief, he noticed Jimmy’s last name wasn’t used. It gave him comfort in knowing the ruse had worked. As for the perjury part, the president had thrown the rule of law out the window with his martial law declaration. What difference would a perjury charge make when the government could detain him for no reason anyway?

He completed the form and gently knocked on the door. The guard, who was sitting at a desk, thumbing through a stack of papers, made him wait for a couple of minutes before responding. Eventually, he let Peter out and reviewed his statement. After another minute, he turned to Peter.

“Raise your right hand,” he said finally. After Peter did, the guard recited the affirmation of truth and veracity used so often in a court of law. “Do you swear that what you have provided us is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“Yes.”

The guard tucked the clipboard under his armpit and tossed the pencil on his desk. He opened the door and yelled for another guard to come to the door. The two men whispered to one another, and then the clipboard was taken away. The guard turned his attention back to Peter.

“Okay. Back in your cell. You’ve earned the privilege of remaining uncuffed. Don’t do anything that would cause the loss of that privilege and get shot as a result. Are we clear?”

Peter nodded. “Yes.”

A minute later, he was returned to his cell and given a paper bag with a bottle of water and some kind of freeze-dried trail mix. Peter was weak from physical and emotional exhaustion, as well as hunger. However, all he could think about was Jimmy’s fate. As soon as the guard locked the door separating the cells from the substation’s offices, he called out for his friend.

In a loud whisper, he asked, “Jimmy, are you here?” Peter had to be careful. He couldn’t be certain whether his captors could hear him. He and Jimmy had been disciplined in not speaking to one another when they were initially locked up. Peter thought he’d successfully passed Lieutenant Robinson’s test and didn’t want to jeopardize his opportunity to be freed.

Jimmy didn’t respond, so Peter tried a little louder this time. “Jimmy.”

Still nothing.

“Shit!” he said in frustration. He began to wander through his cell, wondering if he’d just hanged himself for treason by signing the perjured statement.

He flopped on the concrete slab designed to be a bunk and buried his face in his hands. He needed sleep if he was going to be of any help to Jimmy when the time came to escape. At this point, there was nothing he could do but rest and imagine what his options were. It would be nearly fourteen hours before he got his chance, and the turn of events weren’t like anything he’d envisioned.

Thursday, November 7

Driftwood Key

Hank missed his just-after-dawn, early morning walks along the beach. He tried to force himself multiple times to stroll along the calm shore as he mentally prepared for his day. Since the nuclear wars broke out, the inn’s guests were gone. The sun stopped gracing Driftwood Key, or any other place, with its presence. Everything around him seemed—dead.

He stood at the water’s edge, mindlessly staring off into the distance, trying to determine where the gray skies ended and the water began. So many thoughts filled his mind. Mike’s recovery was at the forefront, but now he was concerned about Jimmy as well.

When he’d arrived back at Driftwood Key late last night after securing a ride with an ambulance that was responding to a call in Marathon, his first sign of trouble was that nobody was manning the gate. After what he’d encountered on patrol one night and with Patrick’s rampage fresh on his mind, Hank broke out into a run to get to the house.

Out of breath as he reached the stairs to the front porch of the main house, he immediately noticed shadows traversing the dining room and the main foyer. He rushed inside, where he found Sonny and Phoebe, who were still awake, pacing the floor. The dimly lit rooms were illuminated by candles and kerosene lanterns.

As he entered, their worried faces touched his heart. After what they’d all been through, he tried not to assume the worst. However, the fact Jimmy wasn’t there took his mind to a dark place he didn’t want to be.

They talked it through, and Hank promised to look into where Jimmy was assigned. He’d learned while at the hospital and through additional conversation with the ambulance driver on the way home that the decision had been made to blow up the bridges coming into the Florida Keys. He’d also learned from the ambulance driver, who regularly serviced medical care centers from Key Largo to Key West, that the president had ordered the military to cross into the Keys to restore order, as the driver put it.

Hank was puzzled by the choice of words. Granted, he’d been spending all of his time on Driftwood Key, and his only information regarding what might be happening elsewhere came from Mike, Jessica, and Jimmy. However, none of them had mentioned rioting. Looting, yes. However, nothing that would warrant an incursion by the National Guard to restore order.

He stepped onto the front lawn to think. As he was recalling the evening’s events, the wind picked up at his back. It was more than the winds that normally started to blow as the sun rose over the Atlantic as cooler surface air was greeted by the warmer air above it. This wind was sustained, not gusty. And then, as quickly as it had arrived, it stopped again. Hank had seen it before but was shocked at what it portended, especially under these atmospheric conditions.

He put the thought out of his mind and returned to the house. After a quick bite to eat, he was gonna pack a change of clothing for Jessica and Mike along with toiletries. He wasn’t sure what Jessica’s plans were, but he suspected she’d want to stay with Mike during his recovery.

His other reason to travel back to Key West was to question Mayor Lindsey Free, Sonny’s former sister-in-law. Hank would have to find a way to be diplomatic as he opened the conversation. Somehow, leading with the question what the hell are you thinking? wouldn’t be such a good idea.

Sonny helped him pack the Wellcraft runabout and top off its fuel tanks. He hadn’t driven the boat since Mike had confiscated it the night the fuel thieves mistakenly messed with the wrong family. He didn’t want to take his Hatteras out with all the uncertainty around the Keys. If something were to happen, any would-be pirates could have the runabout.