Bobby Akart - Devil Storm

After a quick meal and a few stiff drinks, the group’s batteries were recharged as they prepared to ride out the storm.

Friday, November 8

Blackwater Sound

Florida Bay

“Jimmy! Jimmy!” Peter shouted at the top of his lungs. He wrestled the handlebars around and began riding back in the direction he thought he’d come from. The wind was at his back now, allowing him to travel a little smoother than previously.

Riding at just above idle speed, Peter shouted Jimmy’s name until he was nearly hoarse. There was no ambient light whatsoever, as the stars had been obliterated by the smoky, soot-filled skies of nuclear winter and, on this night, by the throes of a tropical cyclone that hovered over the heart of the Florida Keys.

He rode with the waves, certain he was backtracking along the route he’d been riding. Peter cursed himself for losing touch with his friend. He had been singularly focused on leading them to shore. The safety of the land. An ordinary task made complicated by the conditions, but in his mind, relatively safe compared to being shot at by men with automatic weapons.

“Jimmy! Come on, man. Where are you?”

Peter became emotional as reality set in. He’d lost Jimmy in the middle of Blackwater Sound. He tried to remain calm.

His dad used to say that panic was an energy thief. While you drag on your nerves with negative thoughts, meaningless regrets, and fatalistic thinking, you’re starving your body of the energy it needs to problem solve. Staying calm in a life-threatening situation might not guarantee your survival, but it will enhance your chances.

However, for all intents and purposes, he was blind. Think. Think. Think , he said to himself repeatedly in an effort to approach the dangerous situation logically. Do I continue to shore? Was I even going toward shore? Why was it taking so long to travel a mile or even a mile and a half?

“Jimmy!” he shouted again as he began to travel with the wind at his back again. He rode for several minutes, screaming his friend’s name until he thought he’d gone too far. Then he did a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn and rode into the wind once again.

“Dammit, Jimmy! Where are you?”

It happened in an instant.

Jimmy was riding to the back side of Peter’s WaveRunner. He’d focused on mimicking Peter’s speed and direction. For twenty minutes or so, the ride had become routine. Mundane. Tedious and tiresome.

The monotonous bouncing caused by the oncoming waves had taken a toll on his tired body, yet the splashing of the waves into his face coupled with wind-driven rain kept him alert despite his lack of sleep. Unlike Peter, who’d rested for more than a dozen hours before rescuing him from the Infield Care Center, Jimmy had been kept awake. His interrogators had used sleep deprivation in addition to the beatings in an effort to extract information out of their prisoner. Jimmy had held firm against the onslaught of the CIA’s best. However, the lack of sleep and physical exhaustion was catching up to him.

Accidents can occur in a blink of an eye. A car suddenly stops in front of you. Perhaps a child chases a ball into a street. A toddler is left unattended near something hot. Without warning, a lack of focus or attention can result in lasting and irreparable damage. Even death.

Jimmy’s mind began to wander as he followed Peter just outside the WaveRunner’s wake. He thought of his parents and his life on Driftwood Key. He had no regrets for the path he’d chosen. Mr. Hank had offered to pay his tuition to go to college as if Jimmy had been a member of the Albright family.

However, Jimmy had turned down the offer. He loved the life he’d grown up with. His passion was the outdoors, whether diving or fishing, camping or swimming. He was very much like Lacey in that respect. For Jimmy, it was not about how much money he made. It was the freedom he enjoyed, living and working on what amounted to an island paradise.

When he had been forced to join his aunt Lindsey’s team of militia guarding the roads leading onto the Florida Keys, he did so with great trepidation. He understood the need to secure their border, so to speak. The Florida Keys were not large enough to accommodate a massive influx of refugees who had nothing but the clothes on their backs.

When he first reported to duty, he’d carefully positioned himself to handle tasks that didn’t involve carrying a weapon or dealing directly with the refugees. While he didn’t want them flooding the Keys, he also lamented the suffering and angst they were subjected to.

The last straw was the day they’d looked for volunteers to conduct a diving exercise. He had no idea what the purpose was, but his gut told him not to volunteer even though he was one of the most-respected skin divers in the Keys. Very few people could hold their breath under water for ten minutes or more. Jimmy was one of the best at it.

While he had been manning the barricades and performing mainly menial tasks, his mind remained focused on the whereabouts of Peter and Lacey. He and Peter had been inseparable growing up. It had been difficult to stay behind on Driftwood Key while Peter went off to college. As for Lacey, while they were always friendly in a brother and sister sort of way, their age difference had prevented them from playing together growing up.

He had no doubt his close friends and quasi-siblings would survive what had happened to America. Lacey, like himself, could make the best of any situation posed by Mother Nature. Peter had an ability to read people that was unparalleled. He could talk his way out of anything and convince others to see it his way.

Wave after wave. Bounce after bounce. His WaveRunner kept pace with Peter’s. Jimmy, however, lost focus for just a split second. His hand slipped off the throttle, and he lost sight of Peter. He tried to maintain his positioning and adjusted the handlebars to point into the wind, as he had been during the first part of their ride.

Concerned he might not be able to catch up with Peter at the slow speed that was barely above an idle, Jimmy sped up. He gave it a little too much throttle. It didn’t take much, but when he did, the WaveRunner crashed hard into an oncoming swell, forcing the hull of the WaveRunner upward.

He gripped the handlebars and released the throttle to maintain control of the watercraft. Holding his breath, his body tensed as he attempted to rectify his mistake. He started again, certain he was traveling in the right direction toward Peter. Just like before, in an effort to catch up, he squeezed the throttle to gain speed.

The second attempt was less forgiving.

The additional speed forced him high into the air as the next wave rolled through. His left hand slipped off the handlebar, causing the machine to lurch to the right. As it did, Jimmy was thrown into the violent, murky water of Blackwater Sound while his WaveRunner drifted into the darkness.

Friday, November 8

Blackwater Sound

Florida Bay

Peter was becoming agitated and panicked. He’d adopted a different way of searching and had produced nothing in the way of results. He began to take the WaveRunner in a series of concentric circles, starting at a point and gradually making the size of the circle wider and wider. He hoped to expand his search area without aimlessly wandering atop the water in the dark.

He had a plan. He thought it was well executed. He shouted for Jimmy periodically. Then he lost his voice completely.