Bobby Akart - Devil Storm

With a deep breath and a quick look at his surroundings, he moseyed over to a boat that had been lifted ashore during the storm surge. Several bottles of water were strewn about the ground next to it. Without a second thought, Peter quickly gulped one down and then opened another, which he sipped. It provided him an instant lift and gave his throat some much-needed relief. Next, he made his way across the sandy parking lot of the Caribbean Club to the highway in search of anyone associated with law enforcement.

Saturday, November 9

Blackwater Sound

Near Key Largo

Peter walked south along the highway toward the more populated part of Key Largo. He was concerned that if he walked all the way to the fire station at Lake Surprise, he might be mistaken for a National Guardsman, a sworn enemy of the Keys, he presumed. He’d just have more guns pointed at him.

Two women rode past him on bicycles, so he waved his arms to flag them down. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Hey! I need a cop. Do they have a station up here?”

“Nah, man,” one of the women said as she barely slowed long enough to make eye contact with Peter. “They’s all up at the roadblock.”

“You mean where it once was,” said the other woman. “They blowed up the bridge.”

Peter smirked and shook his head. I know. I was there .

He had to shout his questions as the women kept riding down the highway. “They don’t have another station down here? Maybe a place where they gather?”

“Try the fire station. This way about four miles!”

Frustrated, Peter mustered the energy to jog down the highway on the wrong side of the road. He expected some kind of shift change if they were still maintaining a contingent of deputies near the destroyed bridge. He’d stop every car coming his way, using his gun, if necessary, until he found help.

He’d jogged a mile or so before an MCSO deputy sheriff’s car approached from the south. Peter stood in the middle of the road and began waving his arms overhead so they would stop. The deputy slowed and tried to pull around him, but Peter quickly moved in front of his bumper. After honking and failing to move Peter out of the way, the deputy pushed the driver’s side door open and stomped out of the car.

“Get the hell out of—!” the deputy began to yell before Peter cut him off.

“I’m Peter Albright. Mike’s nephew. I need help.”

“Detective Mike Albright?”

“Yes. My dad is Hank over at Driftwood Key.”

The deputy looked around and sighed. He walked toward Peter and pointed toward his chest. Before he was able to ask, Peter explained.

“I was trying to get home, and then they blew the bridge. My friend who works for my dad was working as a deputy at the checkpoint. He tried to help me, and we got stuck on the wrong side of the bridge. Anyway, we were arrested by the National Guard. They beat Jimmy and, um, well, we had to steal a guy’s uniform to get away. Listen, none of that matters. Jimmy and I got caught on WaveRunners last night on Blackwater Sound. He fell overboard, and I can’t find him. I need a team to help search for him.”

“Peter. Right?” asked the deputy.

“Yeah.”

“Listen, I’ve got some bad news about your uncle. He was attacked the other night by someone staying at the inn. He was stabbed and is in pretty rough shape.”

“What? You can’t be serious!”

“Afraid so. He’s at Lower Keys Medical in Key West. I heard he’s in stable condition, but I’m really not certain because—”

Peter slapped the sides of his head with both hands and grabbed fistfuls of hair. He wandered in circles, alternating looking back toward Blackwater Sound and then in the direction of Key West. Conflicted, he paced for several seconds before he made a decision. Mike had medical care. Jimmy didn’t.

He plead with the deputy. “Okay. Okay. I’ve gotta find Jimmy. He’s out there floating somewhere. Can we get the WET team on the water to search for him?”

The deputy chuckled although it was more of a reaction to the request rather an attempt at being disrespectful. “Here’s the thing. Nobody knew about this hurricane coming. Sure, some of the old-timers who had those weather-glass things on their kitchen table might’ve called it. However, the rest of us were blindsided, as I gather you were. It’s all hands on deck right now to stop looters and rescue people.”

“Jimmy needs to be rescued,” said Peter dryly. “Can you call my aunt, Jessica Albright. She’s on the WET team.”

“Yeah, I know her. Gimme a sec.”

The deputy returned to his patrol car and slid into the front seat. He spent more than a minute on the radio, trying to raise Jessica on her two-way. Their coverage area had been greatly diminished following the collapse of the grid, and the repeater towers weren’t always functioning.

Peter approached the driver’s side door. “What did you find out?”

“Deputy Albright didn’t respond to my call on the open frequencies. I contacted dispatch, and she hasn’t reported in since leaving the hospital yesterday.”

“What about a search party?” asked Peter.

“I’m gonna be honest. We’re disorganized as hell. The mayor had us focused on kicking people off the Keys, and then she shifted gears to blowing up the bridges. Now, with the storm, I don’t think I could organize a one-man fishing tournament much less send a flotilla out to find your friend.”

“I’ve gotta do something,” lamented Peter.

The deputy furrowed his brow and looked up the highway. “Blackwater Sound, you say?”

“Yeah. I think we were close to the Marriott, but it was so dark, and the wind was howling…” Peter’s voice trailed off as he became emotional.

The deputy noticed his change in demeanor. “You know what? Get in. I have an idea. No promises, though.”

Peter nodded and turned away to wipe a few tears from his cheeks. He hustled around the back of the car and jumped into the passenger’s seat after the deputy set aside his rain gear.

“Thanks for helping,” began Peter as he settled into the seat. The deputy immediately turned on his emergency lights and roared up the road, drawing the attention of several residents who were cleaning up debris.

“No promises, remember. I have some folks at Captain Jax who owe me a favor. They’re not much, but they have boats, and I think I can get ’em to give you an hour or two.”

Peter sighed. He’d take anything at this point. A minute later, the deputy slowed at the entrance to Captain Jax Mobile Home Park. He stopped short of the open entry gates, not because they were guarded but because a travel trailer had been picked up and dropped on its side just beyond the entry.

“Jesus,” muttered the deputy. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “It’s like this all up and down the Keys. Nobody’s been spared.”

Peter grew frustrated again. “This is a waste of time. These people will be digging out for days.”

“Maybe. Do you wanna give it a try? I’ll make the introductions, but dispatch needs me at the bridge.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Peter exited the patrol car. His tee shirt rose on his back, revealing the pistol grip protruding above his waistband.

“You armed?” asked the deputy.

Peter’s face turned pale, and he closed his eyes momentarily. He’d completely forgotten about the weapon. “Yes. I should’ve told you. I’m so preoccupied with finding Jimmy that I—”

“Don’t sweat it, bud. Let’s go.”

The deputy led Peter through the debris. Several of the mobile homes had been tipped over while others had been torn open like a sardine can. Many of the owners were wandering around aimlessly, some of whom were bloodied and injured.