Bobby Akart - Devil Storm

Using a fishing gaff, Jimmy pulled the Yamaha WaveRunner over toward the platform. He slowly slid his body off the wooden dock until both of his feet were securely in place on the WaveRunner.

“We’re in business!” he shouted a little too loudly.

Whether it was his excited tone of voice or the fact that the military dog felt he was closing on his prey, the dog began barking rapidly. “I’ve got the remote transmitter.”

Some PWC models didn’t use keys in the traditional sense. A few had alternative security measures like a push-button keypad, while others, like these particular WaveRunners, utilized an electronic key fob similar to the kind used for cars. Jimmy found the key fob attached to a floating keyring that was slung over the grip of the handlebars.

The sound of the dog barking was closer, panicking Peter. He whipped the crank around and around until his WaveRunner fell into the water with a loud splash. The wake it created caused Jimmy to rock back and forth. The momentum of the other WaveRunner carried across the water until their bumpers were crashing into each other.

Jimmy held the second watercraft in place until Peter lowered himself into the water and boarded it from the rear. He raised his hand and exchanged high fives with his best friend. The two riding WaveRunners together was reminiscent of their days growing up after school. It had been their preferred method of transportation when traveling around the Keys.

WOOF! WOOF, WOOF!

The dog was at the door, and the soldiers were yelling to one another.

“Cover the back!”

“Yes, sir!”

“You! Inside. Open up and come out with your hands raised high. This will not end well if you don’t!”

Jimmy and Peter exchanged glances. There was no doubt what they intended to do. With the flip of a switch and the press of a button, the Yamahas fired up. Jimmy didn’t hesitate. He gave his machine its full throttle, and he jumped forward through the end of the boathouse.

Peter was close behind, following in Jimmy’s wake. Jimmy made a wide, sweeping left turn just as bullets splashed in the water all around them. The lack of light and the adverse conditions made it impossible for the National Guardsmen to take an accurate shot. They fired hoping to get lucky, and the dog roared his disapproval at the fleeing prey.

In less than a minute, Peter and Jimmy were crashing through the waves created by the hurricane that was pummeling the Florida Keys. And, at the time, they were in the relatively safe waters of the hurricane hole located at Manatee Bay. By the time they entered Barnes Sound, their visibility was reduced to near zero, and the blowing rain stung so hard that Jimmy’s somewhat healed wounds began to bleed.

Using their knowledge of the shorelines from one end of the Keys to the other, the guys located the entrance to Jewfish Creek. They slowed as they approached where the bridge had once carried tens of thousands of cars and trucks daily. Now it had disappeared beneath the water’s surface, leaving a mangled opening that Jimmy was all too familiar with.

Several bodies floated in the middle of the creek while others were seen tangled in the razor wire at the shoreline. The metallic smell of blood mixed with the brackish water forced both men to cover their mouths and noses with their shirtsleeves.

At Gilbert’s Resort on the right, refugees yelled at Peter and Jimmy as they slowly drove past. Several National Guard vehicles could be seen parked at the hotel and restaurant. At that point, the guardsmen were unaware that the guys were fugitives escaping their comrades’ pursuit.

Once they cleared Gilbert’s Resort, they accelerated slightly into Blackwater Sound, where the eye wall of the hurricane would soon greet them.

Thursday, November 7

Key West

Hank had no allies to call upon for a ride back to the hospital. The streets were packed with locals commiserating about the coming hurricane while frantically boarding up windows, as they’d done so many times in the past. Only, the storm was upon them, and the winds weren’t cooperating.

To clear his head and process what he’d learned, Hank chose to jog the four miles back to the Lower Keys Medical Center. After a mile, he became winded and blamed his lack of energy on the fact he hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. Of course, being out of shape had nothing to do with it. After that first mile or so, he alternated between a brisk walk and a jog. During the forty-minute jaunt through the increasingly rain-covered streets of Key West, his thoughts alternated between the conversation he’d had with Lindsey and the one he dreaded having with Jimmy’s parents.

He needed help to organize a search party for Jimmy. It would have to wait until after the storm passed. He passed a group of people huddled in the portico entry of a closed hotel. They were holding one another to keep warm as the wind-driven rain pelted them.

Hank tried to put their plight out of his mind and returned to his thoughts. Something had struck Hank as odd from his encounter with Lindsey. He hadn’t seen any computer-generated satellite imagery in the documents she had been studying. In fact, unless something had changed, he didn’t believe Monroe County’s government had internet access due to the collapse of the power grid.

They had been studying maps and fishing charts. The government personnel were resorting to handwritten notes. How could they even know what the track or the intensity of the storm was? Unless, of course, they’d learned about it like they did in the old days via word-of-mouth. Hank began to understand how people in the Midwest felt about tornadoes. The vicious, deadly wind events often came without warning. Meteorological advances provided the ability to issue warnings, but tornadoes were the most unpredictable weather threat man faced.

Hurricanes were different. NOAA and the National Hurricane Center had an abundance of resources at their disposal. For days if not weeks, people knew when they were in the path of a deadly storm. Whether they chose to get out of the way was up to them.

What was apparently happening now was more akin to a tornado. In the middle of the night, without warning, a hurricane had drawn a bead on the Florida Keys, and people would be caught unaware. Hank had no way of notifying Sonny and Phoebe other than to race back to Driftwood Key before it hit.

He picked up the pace and began to run toward the hospital. He’d have to convince Jessica to leave Mike’s bedside and return to Driftwood Key. If the frantic scene at the county administration building was any indication, they might not have much time.

He slowed his pace and caught his breath as he entered the emergency room waiting area. Without checking in, he walked briskly down the hall to the room where Mike had been kept as he recovered. Mike was gone, and another patient now occupied the room.

Hank swirled around and approached the nurses’ station. “Where’s Mike Albright? He was there when I left earlier.” Hank gestured toward the trauma wing.

“And you are?” the nurse asked, looking over her reading glasses.

“Hank, his brother.”

She thumbed through a large three-ring binder. Apparently, the hospital was minimizing the amount of electricity used as their generators worked overtime, and chose not to bother with computers.

“Through those doors is the north wing, or trauma recovery. Rooms are to your right, and the nurses’ station will be on your left.”

Hank thanked her for her help and hustled down the corridor in search of the nurses’ station. He was almost upon it when Jessica emerged from one of the recovery rooms.

“Hank, in here. Quickly.”