Bobby Akart - Devil Storm

“Mom, do you think it’s over?”

Lacey closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the sun to allow her skin to soak in its muted radiance. It was warmer than normal, a welcome change from the conditions brought on by nuclear winter.

“I don’t know, son. It may just be temporary.”

“’Cause of the hurricane?”

“That was one heckuva storm,” she replied. “I’ve been through some bad ones before but never, of course, on the water. That storm was powerful, though. It could be that whatever this crap is that’s mixed into the atmosphere got pulled up the coast with the hurricane.”

Tucker’s shoulders drooped. His body language immediately reflected the conclusion he’d reached. “It’s just gonna come back.”

Lacey grimaced and wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulder. “Yeah, probably. But it does prove this smog isn’t invincible. Eventually, it seems like hurricanes and upper-level winds will cause it to dissipate.”

Tucker shielded his eyes and took in the moment before the opportunity was lost. “Who knows how long it will take. Eventually, there’ll be enough hurricanes and storms to push the bad air off to wherever pollution goes, right?”

Lacey could only guess what the answer was, but she had no problem giving her son some semblance of hope. “Right, skipper!” she said as she hugged her son.

At this moment, they were alive, and nothing stood in the way of their trip home. Riding out the storm had resulted in them being pushed way off course. She’d already done some mental calculations and determined they had just enough fuel to make it to the Keys. She understood how race teams felt when they did their calculations. Many pit bosses were gamblers by nature and would rather go for the win than refuel only to finish a couple of laps down. The closest point of land to their position was to backtrack toward Everglades City or even Naples. As far as she was concerned, that wasn’t an option.

She turned the helm over to Tucker with instructions to sail directly toward Driftwood Key. She was gonna go below, redress her bandages from the beating she’d taken when she flew overboard, and fix them something to eat. They would calculate their fuel levels in an hour and adjust their course for a closer point in the Keys if necessary.

As far as Lacey was concerned, if the Cymopoleia quit on them near the finish line, they’d gladly swim to shore. It was a gamble worth taking.

Saturday, November 9

Key West

“Mike Albright, come over here,” the sheriff instructed as Mike approached. “You need to be congratulated for a couple of reasons.”

Mike was surprised by the sheriff’s friendliness. His tone of voice was far from what Mike had expected considering the chaotic nature of the meeting with his staff. He was also confused as to why he’d made reference to a couple of reasons .

“Just doin’ my job, Sheriff,” he said, a phrase he’d repeated many times since he’d killed the two gunmen.

Sheriff Jock leaned onto his desk and extended his right hand to Mike, who gladly took it. The handshake seemed heartfelt.

“Detective, you saved a lot of lives in that hospital. Those drug runners have a rap sheet a mile long and were on the FBI’s most wanted. Apparently, they’d been holing up in a vacation rental house near Hemingway’s. The homeowner had returned from Georgia and confronted the three. There was a shoot-out resulting in the owner’s death. The leader of the trio, the guy on the table full of holes, decided it was a good idea to storm the hospital to get treatment. You showed him otherwise. Well done.”

An aide had entered the sheriff’s office and handed him a clipboard full of documents. He signed multiple pages without reading them. Apparently, despite the collapse of normalcy, the government hadn’t lost its love of a paper trail. This might make his job more complicated.

“Thanks, Sheriff. Um, I take it the ringleader of the bunch survived.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s the downside. I don’t want the scumbag in my jail. Hopefully, he won’t need any medical attention while he’s locked up. I’m sure the hospital will be a little slow to respond, if you know what I mean.”

Mike glanced around the room at the disinterested aides. None of them had left, so he assumed his time with the sheriff was drawing short.

“Well, there is something I’d like to—”

The sheriff cut him off. “Also, Detective, there’s something that just came in that only a handful of detectives are privy to. The guy who stabbed you, Patrick Hollister, is your serial killer.”

“What did you learn?”

“I picked a couple of guys who were available to toss his home and the bank branches where he worked. You have no idea what we found at their location on Simonton. He’s a demented jackass who needed to fry in Old Sparky at Starke.”

For seventy-five years, the electric chair had been the sole means of execution in Florida until the Florida State Legislature signed lethal injection into law. After 2000, prisoners awaiting execution had the choice of lethal injection or the electric chair. None of them had chosen Old Sparky, the nickname for the device located at the Florida State Prison outside Starke in Northeast Florida.

“I saved the state a lot of money,” quipped Mike.

“And burial expense,” added the sheriff. “I understand your family threw him into the water. The nasty SOB is fish chum. It’s better than he deserves.”

Mike saw an opening. “Sheriff, we have the potential for more of this type of lawlessness. All of a sudden, the Florida Keys looks very long and spread out. Whadya think about letting me set up a substation of sorts in Marathon? Jessica and I could cover everything from the Seven Mile Bridge up to Lower Matecumbe Key. That would free up your deputies to focus on high-population areas like Key West and Key Largo.”

The sheriff thought for a moment and then turned to his undersheriff. “You and I have talked about something similar. Until we can get the roads cleared of stranded vehicles, first responders can’t make it past Big Pine Key without delays. We could do something similar in Islamorada. Right?”

“Absolutely, Sheriff,” he replied. “We don’t have a facility up that way, but I understand the mayor has plans to confis—”

The sheriff quickly cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “All of that’s on hold for now and can be discussed later.” He turned to Mike, who quickly offered a solution.

“Sheriff, Jess and I could work out of Driftwood Key and respond to calls. There’s no need to create some formal substation. We only need to gear up so we can have the tools necessary to respond.”

“What would you do with anyone you arrest?” asked the undersheriff.

Mike shrugged. “Tie ’em to a tree, I guess.” His quip caused the people in the office to roar with laughter, especially the sheriff. It helped seal the deal.

Sheriff Jock raised his right hand and pointed at one of his aides. “Take Detective Albright to get whatever he needs. This man is one of our finest, and I have no doubt he can handle Marathon and the surrounding Keys.”

“Yes, Sheriff,” the aide responded. “Detective, if you’ll follow me…” Her voice trailed off, as she was uncertain whether the meeting was over.

“Okay, Mike. Well done on all counts. And you’re right. It’s gonna get worse around here before it gets better. It’ll take some time, but we’ll shepherd Monroe County through this storm.”

Mike said his goodbyes and hustled out of the office before anyone could change their minds. He followed the woman to her office, where she started rummaging through her desk in search of requisition forms.