Bobby Akart - Devil Storm

“Let’s all go inside,” said Phoebe. “I know everyone is hungry, and I’m sure these two are tired of wearing the same clothes. Lacey, Tucker, I’ve had your rooms ready for you since this all started. And I can arrange for a hot shower for you. You have to make it quick, though.”

“Yeet!” shouted Tucker, one of the few times he’d been able to genuinely show his excitement. He rushed to his grandfather’s side, and the two of them walked with their arms wrapped around one another’s waist toward the main house. Tucker explained to Hank what he’d observed in the last hours of their trip home. The number of Coast Guard ships caught Hank’s attention, and he told Tucker to discuss this in more detail with Jessica.

Meanwhile, Jessica and Lacey tore themselves away from Mike and began marching toward the house arm in arm. “You’ve lost weight, girl,” said Jessica as she examined Lacey’s frame.

“Yeah, um, we didn’t always have much to eat. How are you guys doing? Can you still grow things in the greenhouses?”

“Yep. Hydroponics, too. Fish are still available although we have to go farther out. Jimmy knows all the best spots.”

“We gotta find him, Jess. I can see it in Phoebe’s eyes. She’s suppressing her feelings, and that’s not good.”

Jessica nodded. She leaned into Lacey and whispered, “Peter’s trying to remain positive, but I know those waters. It would be near impossible for him to tread water for this long. He’s a great swimmer, but I think we would’ve heard something by now. You know?”

Lacey sighed and rolled her neck around her shoulders. She was exhausted, but she didn’t want to be the reason the group didn’t start their search.

“Listen. A hot shower and some of Phoebe’s cooking and we’ll be good to go. But I guarantee we crash hard tonight.”

Jessica squeezed Lacey again. “I’m so glad you and Tucker made it. Owen is very proud of you. I promise.”

Lacey looked toward the sand and then up into the gray skies. “Yeah, I know.”

Saturday, November 9

Driftwood Key

An hour later, the group had gathered in the dining room, where the chairs around the table were full except for Jimmy’s to the left of Sonny, and Owen’s, which was symbolically placed between Lacey and Tucker. They said a prayer before devouring a large stockpot of conch chowder doused with Cholula hot sauce and sprinkled with crushed saltine crackers. The group chatted away, allowing Lacey and Peter to alternate telling the stories of what they’d experienced along the way.

To their credit, the brother and sister avoided the details of their brushes with death. Peter managed to make lighthearted jokes about the father and son who’d fleeced so many people to give them a ride to Florida. He never detailed how they died, simply saying Mr. Uber had been put out of business.

Lacey talked about the positive aspects of their time in Otero County, Colorado, where Owen had met his demise. They were so appreciative of how Sheriff Mobley, his deputies, and everyone at the hospital had treated them. The sheriff had been representative of the town as a whole, who came together to make Lacey and Tucker feel welcome.

Hank, Mike and Jessica expressed their concerns that Lindsey’s approach to governance was completely opposite that of Sheriff Mobley. Rather than helping strangers in their time of need, she elected to kick them while they were down. Hank justified closing the inn well in advance of the attacks based upon Peter’s hunch that trouble was brewing. At least, Hank said, his guests were able to get to their homes before the bombs dropped on American soil.

While the others talked among themselves, Hank’s mind wandered to the day Erin Bergmann had left. Of all the guests of the Driftwood Key Inn during that period of uncertainty, she was the one person Hank wished had remained behind.

His mind wandered to recall their time together. He’d enjoyed walking along the beach with her in the morning, something he’d never done with another woman besides his wife before she died. It had been their serious conversation sitting on the trunk of a palm tree about the prospects of nuclear war and the aftermath, nuclear winter, that had led Hank to the difficult decision to empty the rooms at the inn. It had also prodded him to take so many steps to prepare for the climate disaster that had been unfolding for weeks.

In many ways, Erin had had a profound impact on his life. He’d learned he could find love again and that there was a partner out there who could provide him the strength to survive.

Hank rolled a piece of conch around in his soup bowl as he thought about that last day together. The fishing trip that had almost landed a trophy fish that would provide a lifetime of stories. The sudden appearance of the Coast Guard boat that had whisked her away to Washington.

Hank caught himself as his daydream of Erin became a little too real. He thought he could hear the steady beating of helicopter rotors offshore. He hadn’t seen or heard any kind of aircraft since the bombs dropped. He assumed there must’ve been some type of no-fly order in place around the country.

He dropped his spoon and pushed away from the table, where the rest of his family continued to chat about the new arrivals’ experiences outside the Keys. He slowly walked toward the windows of the dining room, which overlooked the beach and the grassy lawn that was slowly turning brown.

“Everyone! There’s a chopper swooping toward the house.”

Jessica leapt out of her chair first and joined Hank’s side. She pressed her face against the glass and cupped her hands so she could see with less glare.

“Coast Guard.”

“Is it Jimmy?” asked a hopeful Phoebe.

“Maybe,” replied Hank.

“Tucker and I saw a whole fleet of Coast Guard ships heading down the Keys,” said Lacey.

“What do we do?” asked Tucker.

Jess turned to Mike. “Weapons?”

Mike grimaced and shook his head. “Jeez, we might win this battle but not the next one. We need to see what they want.”

“I’ll do it,” said Hank as he adjusted his clothes and stood a little taller. “Everyone, please stay inside.”

He walked with some hesitancy toward the front door and let himself out. He pulled the door shut behind him and walked onto the porch. He stood there for a moment with his hand shoved into his pants pockets not unlike any other day before the bombs dropped when he’d greeted arriving guests. Only this time, these guests were unwelcome and had arrived in a most unconventional way.

Hank remained on the porch as the chopper set down. The powerful rotors of the Airbus MH-65 whipped the grounds into a frenzy, sending fallen debris from the hurricane back in all directions while dislodging any palm fronds that had begun to die.

The side door of the helicopter opened, and nothing happened for nearly thirty seconds. Hank had seen too many movies, some of which had been shot on Seven Mile Bridge, like Mission Impossible III . He took a deep breath and steadied his nerves, fully expecting a gatling gun or a portable rocket launcher to emerge to put him out of business, using Peter’s way of describing the death of Mr. Uber.

Instead, a woman stepped out of the helicopter onto the sand with a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Seconds later, the door was pulled shut, and the pilot lifted the chopper into the air. It took off in a rush toward the Gulf, leaving the woman alone on the sand.

Hank glanced toward the dining room window, where several faces were pressed against the glass, watching the scene unfold. He made eye contact with Mike and shrugged. Confident the threat posed by the person on the beach was not as great as a rocket-propelled projectile fired at his chest, Hank went down the steps and began walking toward her.