Bobby Akart - Devil Storm

Nonetheless, Peter’s biological alarm clock woke him with a start. He was disoriented and confused as he tried to make sense of why he was floating. His arms ached beyond belief, as he’d managed to stuff his hands and wrists through the handles located at the rear of the WaveRunner seats.

At first, the nerves had been pinched for so long that his arms wouldn’t respond to his commands. Unlike during the night he’d endured when the hurricane-force winds had tossed him atop the sound like a fishing bobber that had broken loose from a line, the water was now smooth with barely a ripple.

Peter’s mind forced him awake. Everything that had happened the night before flooded through his consciousness, especially his recollection of losing Jimmy. He forgot about the searing pain in his shoulders and let go of one of the WaveRunners. He kicked his legs and used all the diminished strength he could muster to climb onto the saddle of the WaveRunner.

He lowered his eyes and cupped his hands over them to adjust to the glare created by the grayish clouds that hovered over the Keys. Then he tried his voice.

All he could manage was a whisper. He recalled his efforts to yell for Jimmy until his vocal cords became severely damaged. Without any way to call for his friend, Peter fired up the WaveRunner. He was going to resume the search, but first, he tried to get his bearings.

He was astonished to see that he was only half a mile from shore. The waterfront homes at Stellrecht Point jutted out into the sound to his left. To his right, the mid-rise buildings of the Key Largo Bay Marriott marked the beginning of the hammocks that stretched around Blackwater Sound to his rear.

Remarkably, Peter started to laugh, hoarse as he was. They’d been so close when he’d lost track of his friend. Had Jimmy not fallen off his WaveRunner, within minutes, they would’ve been pulling onto the small beach at the Marriott or nearby at Rowell’s Waterfront Park, which was the favorite playground of dog owners in Key Largo.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t assume that Jimmy had swum to shore. Once again, he cupped his eyes and looked in all directions. There were no boats on the water, and the typical flotsam prevalent following a hurricane surrounded him.

Even under normal conditions in which residents and businesses had ample warning of a coming storm, invariably many failed to secure items that could be picked up by the wind. Patio furniture, canoes, surfboards, umbrellas, and portable signage was oftentimes found floating just offshore following a hurricane.

Peter cursed aloud as he tried to differentiate between an overturned canoe and a body floating in the water. But he had to check everything out in case Jimmy had latched onto a piece of debris to survive the night, much as he’d used the WaveRunners to keep him afloat.

So he took off to inspect the debris nearest to his position. Unlike during the night and the worst of the storm’s passing over him, he could now keep up with his position because visibility was somewhat better than what he remembered from the day before. It was if the hurricane and its strong winds had acted like a vacuum cleaner to suck up the sooty fallout and carry it northward as it terrorized the rest of Florida.

For more than an hour, as dawn turned to morning, Peter searched for Jimmy but was unsuccessful. Finally, he decided to go ashore and enlist help from the sheriff’s department. He hoped he could get in touch with his father or at least Mike and Jessica. He was certain they’d drop everything to help search for Jimmy.

The fire department had locations near the destroyed bridges and farther down U.S. 1 from Blackwater Sound. There wasn’t a police substation near his location that he could recall. His best option was the Marriott resort. They were the most prominent buildings that he could see from the middle of the sound, and he believed Jimmy would notice them first if he’d swum to shore.

As he entered the man-made inlet created in the middle of the resort to accommodate visiting yachts, he was able to observe the destruction wrought by the hurricane. Although the resort had been closed, anything not adequately secured had been blown around the property. Even some windows were broken out, which was an indicator of how strong this hurricane had been.

Most of the commercial buildings in the Keys had been retrofitted with windows to withstand a Category 5 hurricane. A Cat 5 would feature winds greater than 155 miles per hour and, depending on circumstances, could be accompanied by storm surge over eighteen feet. Peter saw evidence of this in the smaller buildings flanking the Marriott.

Roofs had blown off or collapsed. Many shrubs, trees, and signs were twisted, shredded relics of their former selves. Several small boats from the boat dealer across the highway from the Marriott had found their way into the parking lot. Even a red KIA had landed nose down in the middle of Breezer’s Tiki Bar, a place Peter had frequented often during his years of commuting to college.

Peter was relieved when he saw two uniformed private security guards rushing toward him as he rode under a covered walkway that stretched over the water. Not surprisingly, as had often been the case during his travels from Virginia, the men approached him with weapons drawn.

“Hey! This is private property. You need to turn it around.”

Peter was exhausted and in no mood for a fight. He needed to find Jimmy. Peter, whose throat was parched and still somewhat hoarse, tried to speak as loud as he could.

“I got stuck on the sound during the storm last night. My friend fell off his WaveRunner, and I can’t find him.”

“Well, he’s not here,” said the second man as they towered over Peter from the floating dock that lined the resort’s marina facilities.

“Do you know that for certain?” asked Peter sarcastically, gulping hard as he realized he’d tried to speak too loudly. He softened his tone. “His life may be in danger, and he needs help.”

“There are a lot of folks who need help after last night,” the first man shot back. He waved his arm around the hotel. “Look at this mess.”

Peter was incensed. He whispered loud enough for the security guards to pick up on his outrage. “I’m talking about a man’s life, not your precious palm trees and patio furniture!”

This angered both men, who raised their weapons at Peter. “That’s enough. You’ve been warned. Martial law has been declared, and we can shoot you if necessary.”

Peter stood on his WaveRunner. He wanted so badly to climb onto the dock and pummel these two rent-a-cops, but that wouldn’t help Jimmy. Without saying another word, he gunned the throttle and did a quick one-eighty to leave the Marriott’s territorial waters. As he straightened the handlebars to direct him toward the sound once again, he lifted his middle finger to the two security guards. It was a gesture that conveyed a clear and unequivocal message that didn’t require him to strain his voice.

He was going nearly forty miles per hour when he turned the WaveRunner to the right in search of a place to tie it off. The Caribbean Club, another of Key Largo’s favorite watering holes, was just ahead. They had a T-shaped dock protruding into the water as well as a boat ramp that he could beach the WaveRunner on if necessary. When he arrived there minutes later, he was relieved to see he wasn’t greeted by men with guns.

Which reminded him. He felt his holster and realized that his weapon was miraculously secured in its holster. Then he looked at the National Guard uniform he’d stolen at the speedway. He began to wonder if this might get him shot by some overzealous local who’d bought into the whole Conch Republic secession thing.

Peter pulled the WaveRunner up to the dock and quickly disembarked. He tied it to a cleat and didn’t bother with the bumpers. He wasn’t sure he’d ever use it again anyway. Then he took off his shirt, leaving nothing on but a green tee shirt and the light green digital camo pants that were still soaking wet. He ditched the holster and tucked the firearm into the waistband of his pants. Then he covered the handle with the tee shirt.