Bobby Akart - Devil Storm

“Let’s hit it, but slow and easy this time!” Peter shouted. He barely heard Jimmy’s response over the howling wind.

While the Yamaha WaveRunner was capable of traveling nearly sixty-seven miles an hour depending on the model, Peter tried to ride at a speed that kept him in control of the watercraft rather than cede its maneuverability to the storm surge.

Fighting the waves, they bounced along, with Jimmy trailing Peter over his right shoulder. The two had maintained this separation to prevent running into one another if they were running parallel. They took off directly into the wind, braving the elements, in search of land. The guys had been cut off from their families and the Keys where they’d grown up. Neither was certain what the future held for them and their family, but without a doubt, they felt they could survive together as a group.

Peter remained focused on the task at hand. He constantly monitored his speed, trying his best to find that sweet spot, as he thought of it, that was not too fast and not too slow. Although it was a fruitless exercise, his eyes constantly scanned ahead in search of the shoreline. Even if the power was out, he hoped any harbor buoys operated by battery or solar power would provide him some kind of navigational beacon to guide him.

He imagined himself riding a horse around a ring. Rising in the saddle to prevent his nether regions from being pummeled, he was also able to take the jumps over the increasingly tall waves.

Naturally, Peter’s calculations as to time and distance couldn’t be precise. He couldn’t see his destination, and he was unaware of his starting point. From recollection, he suspected they had been a mile or so out when they began their push toward Key Largo. Even riding at low speeds, especially necessary at night to minimize contact with floating debris stirred up by the storm, he expected a fifteen-minute trip before making landfall.

It had been at least fifteen minutes, maybe more, when he began to question whether the winds had shifted, sending them in the wrong direction. Regardless, at some point, they had to hit the four-mile-long shoreline of Key Largo that stretched from Dusenbury Creek up to where the bridge had been destroyed at Jewfish Creek.

Peter was beginning to doubt himself. He was certain he was riding in the same direction, as the waves were breaking as he’d expected. Unless he’d miscalculated and took them farther away from Key Largo, toward the Boggies and hammocks bordering the north and west side of Blackwater Sound.

Perplexed and angry with himself, he decided to stop and get Jimmy’s advice. He slowed and then turned to look over his shoulder to get Jimmy’s attention.

However, Jimmy was gone.

Friday, November 8

Driftwood Key

Trying to do anything outdoors in the throes of a hurricane was damned near impossible, especially at night. Even when the Keys experienced power outages, Driftwood Key had numerous generators and solar-powered security lighting to provide some form of illumination. At the very least, for someone like Hank, who’d spent virtually every moment of his life walking the island, a pathway light or the steady glow of the string lights near the bungalows would provide him some point of reference.

However, these conditions were like nothing he’d ever experienced before. It was pitch black. No ambient light whatsoever. The air was an odd mixture of salt and soot, as if the ocean had caught on fire.

Without warning, unseen gusts of wind swept over him as he fought his way through the vegetation lining the paths leading to his sustainable gardens and hydroponics operation. Thanks to Sonny’s diligent supervision, they’d been able to continue to grow their own food despite the minimal sunlight. The greenhouses might have been their single most important survival asset other than a roof over their head. Now a vicious hurricane threatened to destroy it.

“Help me, Sonny!”

It was Phoebe.

Hank furrowed his brow and pushed his way through the hammocks that writhed and turned under the constant stress applied by the winds.

With the assistance of a wind gust at his back, Hank raced into the clearing, where he found Sonny and Phoebe struggling to board up the greenhouses.

“Sonny! Hang on!” yelled Hank. Sonny was standing atop a ladder propped against the side of the tallest greenhouse. Phoebe was standing below him, trying to slide a precut sheet of plywood up the aluminum extension ladder.

Years ago, Hank and Sonny had purchased a hundred sheets of three-quarter-inch marine-grade plywood. They’d cut the pieces to fit the dimensions of each pane of the greenhouses. When a storm approached, they’d take the numbered pieces, secure them over the greenhouse panes, and remove them when the threat passed. They’d never attempted to do it in the midst of the storm. This storm, like nuclear winter, had come without warning.

Hank arrived by Phoebe’s side. He grabbed the bottom of the plywood and slid it up the ladder. He climbed up the first several rungs in order to prevent Sonny from reaching down.

“Hey!” shouted Sonny, who grasped the board and slid it up onto the roof. “Can you believe this crap?”

Hank and Phoebe exchanged hugs. He’d gotten close enough to her face the see the stress that consumed her. He immediately wondered if it was the storm or concern for Jimmy. Hank wished he had better news. Hell, any news would’ve been better than nothing.

“How much ya got left?”

Sonny gripped the ladder and the steel frame that made up the edge of the greenhouse roof. “One more on this side and then all of the back. We’ve got everything else covered.”

Hank spun around and rushed over to the covered shed the two of them had built to store the panels. Each one was numbered, and Sonny had taken the time to create a diagram inside the shed door, showing where the panels were placed.

Several battery-operated puck lights illuminated the interior of the storage shed when there was a power outage. Hank studied the diagram to select the right panel. He paused to remember all the times he’d worked with Sonny and Jimmy to board up the buildings around Driftwood Key. Their lives were intertwined, and now all of their children were missing.

“Hank!” Sonny hollered for him to snap him out of his trance.

“Comin’!”

As he arrived and began climbing the ladder to slide the panel to Sonny, Phoebe stood to the side so he could see her.

“Hank, what did you find out?”

He hurried down the ladder and held it firmly with both hands as Sonny secured the final panel. He turned his head to Phoebe although the two of them could barely see each other in the dark.

“I couldn’t get any answers, Phoebe. Lindsey ordered the bridges to be destroyed, and now they’re losing their minds over this storm.”

Hank could hear Phoebe break down in tears. As Sonny made his way down the ladder, Hank waited until he was on the ground to explain. When he was done, the grieving parents directed their ire at their former sister-in-law for her callous attitude toward their son, her nephew.

Suddenly, out of the darkness, Jessica appeared by their side. “The gate was secure. I thought you might still be here.” She and Phoebe exchanged hugs.

Over the next several minutes, the group worked together to place the last of the plywood panels on the greenhouse. After a quick check of the fuel levels in the generator operating the hydroponics facility, they made their way back to the main house.

Phoebe explained that she’d been locking the kitchen door since the night Patrick had attacked her. She also showed Hank and Jessica the paddle holster secured against her waist. She vowed to never be caught off guard like that again.