Desolation

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Friday, November 15

Driftwood Key

Erin was the first to rise that day. She verily believed all women had a perception, a sixth sense, that was much more developed than a man’s. Perhaps it had become a part of the female DNA over the millennia, inserted into the female genetic code as a protective measure. To Erin, it was almost supernatural. Over the course of her life, she’d discovered her brain could play tricks on her. Oftentimes, her heart made her blind. However, without a doubt, she could always trust her gut.

She tossed and turned all night, recalling the conversation she’d had with Hank on the beach more than a month ago. They’d just met and developed a mutual attraction for one another. At their age, mature singles were looking for a partner based upon more than looks. They wanted to laugh together. When seriousness was required, an intelligent conversation without rancor was a must. Moreover, they were looking for a best friend.

She and Hank had all of those things. However, it was the serious discussion they’d had on the beach regarding nuclear war and the aftermath that stuck in her head. She’d never admitted this to Hank, but the day she was whisked away by the Secret Service, Erin wasn’t surprised.

Her gut had told her that nuclear war would come to America. It was inevitable.

For a hundred years, as the U.S. became the dominant superpower around the world and the largest economic power, it had become a symbol of freedom and success that most nations should strive to emulate.

Yet, jealousy was a sickness, whether between individuals or nation-states. It’s a form of hatred built upon insecurity and inferiority. As a result, the U.S. created a lot of enemies, even among her allies. Even within her own borders. Because, make no mistake, geopolitics are often born out of emotions. Those who resented America’s success wanted desperately for the nation, and her people, to be knocked down a peg or two by whatever means available.

The evening the missiles had been launched from North Korea toward the U.S. mainland, Erin sensed they were coming. For a moment, she was thankful to be a member of the president’s cabinet. An elite member of the government who’d be protected from the onslaught.

Then she thought about the people she loved. Friends. Family. Hank. Would they survive the nuclear detonations? What would happen to them when nuclear winter encircled the Earth?

To be sure, much of what she’d learned over the years about the prospects of nuclear winter was theoretical. At the time, a nuclear exchange had never taken place. During the conversations they shared, she said the aftermath of what happened during a nuclear war would bring a plague on the planet—nuclear winter. A climate catastrophe equivalent to a nuclear El Niño. An unrelenting winter that would poison the planet’s atmosphere and threaten the world’s food production.

Now her gut told her they were running out of time in dealing with this tyrannical mayor who ran Monroe County. Her attempts to thwart Lindsey’s confiscation plan was as much out of self-preservation as it was to protect Hank and his family. The mayor’s Robin Hood approach was untenable, and despite the fact it would fail, Hank and his family were destined to be prime targets during the implementation. By association, Erin would be imperiled as well.

Erin’s thoughts had kept her up most of the night, and she constantly checked her watch, waiting for 5:00 a.m. when Sonny turned on the main house generator for an hour. She planned on transferring the photographs she’d taken to Hank’s computer. Then she wanted to create flyers to be handed out to the residents of Marathon and posted on every street. They needed to rally the troops to take a stand against Lindsey. She knew, however, the Albright family couldn’t do it alone.

At a few minutes before five, she got dressed for the day and made her way to the kitchen. She prepared the coffee, ready to press the on button the moment the generator started. Unknowingly, Sonny tortured her, as he was several minutes late. Normally punctual, he’d been up late patrolling the grounds with Jimmy before relinquishing the duties back to Peter.

Erin was wide awake and didn’t need the caffeine coursing through her veins to hit the ground running. Within a second of the generator-supplied power turning on, she started the coffeemaker, flipped on the light over the kitchen sink, and rushed into Hank’s office, phone in hand.

She was proficient on the computer and capable of using Microsoft Word to create most kinds of documents. Once she settled on the verbiage designed to evoke the emotions of shock and fear in anyone who read it, she printed six different flyers, each with a unique image of the Winn-Dixie carnage. By the time they were printed, she was ready to run them through the copier. At first, unsure of Hank’s supply of paper and toner, she printed a limited quantity of three hundred She made a mental note to look up Marathon’s mayor, Juan Ramirez, to see if he had a means to print additional copies for distribution.

“You’re up and at ’em,” said Hank after he took a sip of his coffee. He glanced at his desk and noticed she didn’t have any. “Can I get you coffee?”

Erin turned and reached for his mug. “Just a sip of yours,” she replied. Then she smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. The two hadn’t slept together. They’d been affectionate and related to one another as a couple. Somehow, taking their relationship to that next level hadn’t come to fruition. They’d been a little busy, after all.

“What are you working on?” he asked as she handed the coffee back to him. Erin organized the six sets of flyers in neat stacks and used binder clips to keep them separated.

With her back to him, Erin caught her breath after a night of her brain working overtime and a frenzied morning preparing for the day. She slowly turned to Hank. “It’s gonna come to a head today, Hank. I feel it in my gut.”

Hank furrowed his brow. “I don’t know, Erin. Mike and his buddies worked until well after midnight. They double stacked vehicles all the way down the bridge to Fred the Tree.”

“Where?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s a locals’ thing. About halfway down Seven Mile Bridge, on the old road, there’s an Australian pine tree growing out of a small patch of soil. It became a symbol of hope to locals following Hurricane Irma tearing through the Keys in 2017. Despite its shallow root system and a vicious storm trying to rip it apart, it survived. Fred the Tree, like the people of the Keys, was stronger than Irma’s brutal winds.”

The story caused some of the tension to ease for Erin. Maybe it was the anecdotal story about the Florida Keys or it was Hank’s presence. She approached him and gave him a long hug. Then she whispered into his ear, “Today, you’ve got to be Fred the Tree. The people of the Keys need someone like you, Hank.”

“Today?” he asked.

“I think so. It’s time to get ready to take the lead.”

“I don’t think we’re ready to face off with Lindsey.”

“You have to be,” she responded, patting him gently on the heart. “They need a leader, Hank. Not necessarily someone who does the greatest thing. They need someone who inspires them to do great things alongside you.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Friday, November 15

Big Pine Key

The dim light of dawn woke Lacey up first. She and Tucker had decided to sleep on the boat and wait to see what the sheriff’s confiscation teams’ next move was. Overnight temperatures in the Keys dipped down into the low fifties, twenty degrees below normal. It was the first night that Lacey had slept outside since that fateful evening that Owen died. This was nothing compared to the bitter cold they’d endured. In fact, the temperatures in the Keys were similar to those in San Francisco at this time of year.

She stretched and then made her way down the dock to a concealed spot behind a stand of mangrove trees to relieve herself. As she peed, she listened for activity on Big Pine Key.

The Florida Keys were notoriously laid-back and not beset by the hustle and bustle of city life. Generally, the only noise an early riser might hear was the fishing boats going out for the day. On an island like Big Pine Key, there was no commuter traffic. Many people walked to their jobs or rode bicycles. Unless the weather was bad-tempered, most vehicles remained parked.

Lacey wandered through the home’s entry gate onto the pothole-laden end of Avenue A. She stared down U.S. 1, looking for any signs of moving vehicles or police patrols. There were none.

“Hey, Mom,” said a sleepy-eyed Tucker, who walked across the crushed-shell driveway in his bare feet. The teen had adjusted to the time zone change, but he’d never been a morning person. He joined her side, lifting his foot once, complaining about a broken shell he’d stepped on. “Anything?”

“No, not yet,” she replied. “Do you feel like taking a walk down the highway to get a closer look?”

“Sure,” Tucker replied and began walking away from her.

“Hey, mister. Go get your shoes.”

Tucker rolled his eyes and shook his head. “This is how they do it in the islands, Mom.”

“That was before the hospitals and clinics disappeared. There’s broken glass everywhere.”

“Oh, yeah,” said the teen. “I’ll be right back.”

Tucker hustled back toward the boat, and Lacey yelled to him, “Weapons!”

“Check!”

A few minutes later, the two of them were walking along the shoulder of the road. Just a few blocks away, halfway between their boat and where the sheriff’s deputies had slept during the night, two businesses had been looted. A small takeout restaurant, the Island Deli, had been ransacked, as was the Forks & Stix restaurant a couple of blocks down.

“I wonder how long it will take for every business to be broken into?” asked Tucker. “People will break into that shoe store, hoping there’s a vending machine to clean out.”

“Sadly, you’re right,” his mother replied. “There’s not enough law enforcement personnel to investigate these crimes much less enforce laws.”

“Especially when they’re all doing one thing, which happens to be the same thing the looters are doing,” added an astute Tucker.

Lacey thought for a moment and shrugged. In a way, her son was right. Looters were breaking the law, but Lindsey and her cohorts thought they were within the law as they interpreted it. The result was the same.

Daylight allowed them to see a farther distance, and soon the bright yellow Penske rental trucks came into view. During the night, several had been removed from the chain-link fenced area and lined up along the shoulder of the highway. Lacey tapped Tucker on the shoulder and ran across the street to take cover behind an abandoned roadside taco stand.

They got settled in to watch for activity. It had been almost dark when they’d arrived back at their boat the night before, and Lacey, a relatively inexperienced boater, wasn’t comfortable making her way back to Driftwood Key. Besides, she wanted to monitor the convoy of SWAT team vehicles to give her family a heads-up when they mobilized for the day.

The two of them waited for more than an hour, making small talk and observing their surroundings. A few local residents ventured out onto the highway to gawk at the SWAT teams’ vehicles parked within the Penske compound. At one point, a pickup truck drove past them toward Seven Mile Bridge. About forty minutes later, it returned with a frustrated-looking driver behind the wheel. Lacey presumed Mike’s roadblock worked.

“Mom, listen,” said Tucker as he lifted himself off the folding chair behind the taco stand and slowly strolled into the parking lot. He held his rifle against his body and leg as he walked to keep from attracting anyone’s attention.

Lacey did the same as she moved briskly to catch up. “Do you know what that sounds like?”

“I bet it’s the two armored trucks that left yesterday with the other vans. They’ve come back.”

“Which means they’re about to get started on their day,” added Lacey, who looked around nervously. “Come on, let’s get a better look.”

She tapped Tucker on the elbow and took off for the Tom Thumb across the street from Penske. Like before, she took cover behind the gas pumps as the low rumble of the approaching tactical vehicles grew louder.

“They’re alone,” observed Tucker as the trucks came into view. “I guess they plan on using these Penske trucks instead of the ones filled with stuff from yesterday.”

“Most likely they were used as an armed escort. Let’s see what they do.”

They didn’t have to wait long for their answer. Rather than turn into the utility yard, they pulled past the entrance along the sidewalk that ran parallel to the highway. Seconds later, several members of the MCSO SWAT team piled out of the vehicles and milled about while another man with stripes on his shirt walked toward the entrance to Penske.

“Dammit, Tucker. How’re we gonna get back to the boat? We can’t walk down the street with these things in our hands.”

Tucker glanced around. There was a large, open area between their position and the taco stand where they had been hiding before. If they tried to run away, they could be seen within seconds once they broke cover. There was a crushed-shell driveway leading behind the Tom Thumb to where the dumpsters were located. Beyond that, he could see grass and then dense trees. It was their only chance.

“This way, Mom, before they wander farther away from their trucks.”

Tucker hustled toward the building and quickly turned the corner in the direction of the dumpsters. Lacey followed him, and neither slowed down until they found an overgrown trail leading to the sparsely populated neighborhood behind the store.

Through the woods, there was a clearing and a large sand pit operated by an excavation company. Still afraid they might’ve been observed by the deputies, Tucker sought out another trail created by the locals through the dense vegetation. He was putting his hiking and camping skills to good use as he kept his bearings and identified safe paths through the trees.

Finally, they came out of the woods and ran onto a sandy road. Although the road ended and took a sharp turn toward the beaches, a four-wheeler trail continued toward where their boat was docked.

“Thanks, son. I was freaking out a little bit.”

Tucker nodded but immediately turned his attention to the trail. “Mom, we’ve gotta get to the radio and warn Grandpa and Uncle Mike.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Friday, November 15

Driftwood Key

“Okay, okay, Lacey, get back here ASAP. We’ll take it from here.” Mike shut down the transmission and turned to the group who’d gathered in the foyer of the inn. Anxious faces studied him as he issued his instructions. “It’s go-time.”

“So they’re coming,” said a concerned Hank. “I really hoped Lindsey would be satisfied with pillaging the Lower Keys.”

“Yeah. Apparently, they’ve doubled the number of box trucks they’re bringing and added a couple more patrol cars to their convoy. I’m thinking they wanna be prepared for a large show of force, kinda what we saw at Winn-Dixie.”

Erin set her jaw. “Why would they expect different results from what they caused in Key West? We need to get going.”

Hank nodded. “Agreed. It’s all hands on deck today.” He turned to Phoebe. “Can you and Jimmy handle patrols?”

“No problem, Mr. Hank,” she replied before adding, “Jimmy is feeling much better, and he’s not happy about being confined to Driftwood Key. Can you use him out there?”

Mike answered the question. “We can’t risk it, Phoebe. Just because we’re on a mission doesn’t mean bad people aren’t out there to take advantage of our absence. You guys have to protect Driftwood Key; otherwise, everything we’re doing out there will be for nothin’.”

She reluctantly agreed and turned to Sonny, who asked, “I’d like to help hand out flyers and talk to people. I think I can be convincing since I was sort of related to Lindsey.”

“We really could use him, Hank,” said Erin as she lifted up the stack of flyers. Hank assured her that he had plenty of toner and copy paper to last for years. While everyone geared up, they produced another three hundred flyers, and Sonny retrieved two Bostitch staple guns from the toolshed to secure them.

“Okay,” said Hank, who assumed his role as the field general. “Mike, Jessica, round up your people and head for the bridge. Look for more ways to aggravate the confiscation teams as they approach.”

“I have a few ideas. Hey, can we have Peter?” Mike asked.

“Sure. Grab him on your way out,” replied Hank. “Erin, Sonny and I will be meeting up with Mayor Ramirez. He has some local business leaders lined up to help.”

“Reverend Deb sent one of her parishioners to the gate last night,” began Mike. “I was returning home when I saw the man walking alone toward our bridge. I scared the crap out of him when I came out of my truck with a shotgun pointed at him.”

“Poor guy,” said Hank. “What did he say?”

“Reverend Deb was busy yesterday. She managed to locate and speak with most of the clergy in town. They’re one hundred percent on board with us.”

Hank glanced at his watch. It was approaching eight o’clock, when he wanted to be at the mayor’s office. “Guys, I love you all. Please be careful today. No matter what happens, our safety is most important. We can always get more stuff if it comes to that.”

That morning, Sonny had run the generator for an extra hour to ensure the batteries on their two-way radios were fully charged. Mike reviewed their choices of weapons and helped them load extra magazines in case they needed them. He really didn’t want the family to get into a gunfight, but their experience in Key West told him to expect anything.

Hank and Erin hoped their diplomatic approach would avoid violence. The more the group discussed the personalities involved, they became convinced Lindsey had used this catastrophic event to seize power and control. Having Sheriff Jock do her bidding made her even more power hungry. Now it was up to the people of Marathon to take a stand.

While Mike, Jessica, and Peter prepared the bridge for the approach of the tactical vehicles, Hank, Erin and Sonny drove to the mayor’s office. When they arrived, the parking lot was full of vehicles with an equal number of bicycles propped against the wall near the entrance to Marathon City Hall.

The Albright contingent was the last to arrive in the city council’s meeting room, which was packed to a standing-room-only crowd. Multiple battery-operated lanterns were scattered throughout the space so everyone could see. Mayor Ramirez stood behind the lectern and was addressing the group when he noticed Hank enter the room.

“Hank! Everyone, most of you know Hank Albright, who owns the Driftwood Key Inn. His family is some of the original conchs.”

Several familiar faces were in the crowd, and many stretched their arms out to shake Hank’s hand as he approached the lectern. Erin and Sonny followed close behind. A couple of people even recognized Erin and called her by name.

Hank reached the mayor’s side, and Erin handed him the pile of six hundred flyers. “Everyone, I’m going to be brief because we don’t have much time. I know that Juan has called you here to help, and I imagine he’s explained what’s about to happen.”

“Are you sure, Hank?” asked a woman near the front, whom he recognized as being a local attorney. “I know Lindsey can be overbearing, but this is a little hard to believe.”

“Have you seen the video?” Hank asked, and then he turned to the crowd. “Has everyone seen the video?”

Many said no, and several replied that they’d only seen the photographs.

Juan stepped forward with a laptop. “Everyone, if you haven’t seen the video, please step forward. I’m going to forewarn you. This is graphic.”

The crowd shuffled around to allow those who wanted to watch get closer to the front. By the time Juan finished playing the video, the attendees regretted watching, and their anger had built to a fever pitch.

“What are we gonna do about this?”

“They should be arrested!”

“By who? Themselves?”

Hank retook the floor. “Okay, everyone. We share the same feelings. Trust me. This was just a part of the video we took. It was much worse, and let me add, it wasn’t the first incident like this. Lindsey and Jock are running roughshod over the citizens and businesses of Key West. They aim to take their pillaging roadshow all the way to Key Largo if we don’t take a stand.”

“What can we do?” asked the female attorney near the front of the crowd.

Erin held some of the flyers over her head. “We know they’re on their way. Our surveillance team watched them empty the Winn-Dixie on Big Pine Key. Their staging right now at the Penske Truck Rental, where they commandeered ten more box trucks.” She was embellishing somewhat, but she felt it was necessary to keep this new batch of volunteers at a fever pitch.

“We’re ready to help!”

“Yeah!”

Hank raised some flyers high in the air for everyone to see. “We need everyone to take some of these flyers. Go to your neighborhoods and spread the word. Knock on doors. Post these in prominent places. We’ll do the same. We need all of Marathon to understand that their homes and belongings are at risk if we don’t try to stop them.”

“I’ll take some.”

“Me too.”

“I have a generator and a copy machine. I’ll make some more copies and have my entire family spreading the word.”

Hank shouted over the enthusiastic crowd. “Wait. Wait. We need one more thing. If you haven’t been down to the bridge, you may not be aware that we’ve blocked the road to prevent them from gaining access. That may not be enough. If you own businesses on the highway, you might want to make sure they’re boarded up. Kinda like a storm is coming. Well, in a way, one is.”

The group all made their way to the front and grabbed flyers. It was getting warm and stuffy in the city council’s meeting room, so people were anxious to get going.

“Whadya think, Juan?” asked Hank after the two men stood to the side to allow Sonny, Erin and Juan’s wife, Lisa, to pass out the flyers and offer suggestions.

“I went down to the bridge early this morning. It’s a mess and definitely impassable.”

“Good,” added Hank. “I haven’t had time to see for myself. I wanted to get the town behind it first.”

The Marathon mayor agreed. “I think this has been a great start. Let’s see how we’re doing in a few hours when the convoy arrives. But I have to remind you that the county has plenty of road equipment capable of clearing this traffic jam your brother created. If they’re determined, we won’t be able to hold them off forever.”

Hank grimaced and nodded his head as Juan voiced the same concerns he had. “I have an idea. Do you guys have enough gas to drive up to Islamorada and back?”

“I think so. Why?”

Hank whispered to Mayor Ramirez, who eagerly took in his instructions. He kept glancing at his watch as Hank spoke but seemed ready to take on the task.

“Now, I take it?” the mayor asked as Hank finished.

“Yes, and you’ll need to hurry.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Friday, November 15

Seven Mile Bridge

Sergeant Jorge Rivera was exhausted. He’d spearheaded this operation on behalf of the mayor and his boss, Sheriff Jock Daly, from the beginning. He was known to be a micromanager. As a result, he insisted upon his tactical vehicle accompanying every major raid, and then, once the box trucks were loaded for delivery to the warehouses in Key West, he led the way back. He’d been operating on minimal sleep since the raids began, and his nerves had worn thin as the crowds surrounding the grocery stores became increasingly hostile.

It certainly didn’t help his already surly attitude for the sheriff to dress him down the night before because of the continued loss of life during the raids. He tried to convince the sheriff that he didn’t like his deputies being attacked and shot at either. However, since the beginning of the confiscation raids, word spread rapidly throughout the Lower Keys, and opposition was growing.

During their heated argument at the warehouse the evening before, Sergeant Rivera made the mistake of questioning the operation altogether. To make matters worse, he complained that Mayor Lindsey should have laid some groundwork prior to the raids so that the people knew their operation was designed to help them.

The sheriff hurled all kinds of vulgarities and threats at Sergeant Rivera. The tongue-lashing was the worst he’d ever witnessed, much less received. After he left the sheriff’s office to get a few hours of sleep, he wondered who was under more pressure. The sheriff or him.

The convoy got a slow start leaving Big Pine Key that morning. One of the Penske trucks stalled barely a quarter mile over the water on the way to West Summerland Key. It took a dozen men and the front bumper of another truck to move the twenty-six-footer out of the way before they could proceed.

Then on the next island, Bahia Honda Key, the sand that had washed ashore from the hurricane slowed their convoy as it became difficult for the box trucks to discern where the road ended and the soft, sandy shoulder began. One of the trucks dropped its right-side wheels into the sand and became stuck. Sergeant Rivera could ill afford to lose another box truck, as there were no other rental locations until they reached Islamorada, and he had not yet sent an advance team in that direction to determine if the trucks could be seized.

After another lengthy delay to free the truck from the soft sand, the convoy of tactical vehicles, patrol cars, and box trucks was under way. They rumbled along past the Sunshine Key RV Resort, drawing dozens of people out of their motor homes and trailers to view the spectacle.

Interestingly, unlike what they’d experienced the last several days, this group stood on the sidewalk between the chain-link fence and the highway, cheering them on. It was as if they were being treated to a parade. Sergeant Rivera’s spirits lifted when one of the armored tactical vehicles sounded their siren, causing the onlookers to jump up and down while exchanging high fives.

Feeling better, he radioed the sheriff’s department dispatch to advise them that his convoy had entered Seven Mile Bridge at Little Duck Key. He expected to arrive in Marathon in ten minutes.

He was wrong.

Throughout yesterday and today as they’d traveled up U.S. 1, they rarely met any kind of operating vehicles. Stalled vehicles were everywhere, but most had been pulled to the side of the road. When he first began to encounter the abandoned cars and trucks on Seven Mile Bridge, he wasn’t all that surprised.

Just like a traveler on a long stretch of interstate between exits, motorists often miscalculate the amount of fuel left in their vehicle and run out of gas. People don’t intend to run out of gas. It just happens when they push their luck. Sergeant Rivera believed every driver pushed their luck in the apocalypse.

They slowed their pace so all of the convoy could stay together in case of a breakdown. Backing up and turning around wasn’t an option on the two-lane bridge cluttered with broken-down vehicles.

Riding in the lead vehicle, he ordered his driver to slowly wind through the debris field of inoperable vehicles. His focus remained on each car in their path rather than what lay ahead. That was why it came as a shock to him when the convoy was forced to come to a complete stop halfway across the bridge.

“What the hell is this?” he asked of no one in particular. There were four deputies in the tactical vehicle with him, but none of them had an answer other than stating the obvious—a traffic jam.

Sergeant Rivera bounded out of the truck and held his right fist in the air, indicating all vehicles should stop. The three deputies in the back seat piled out, and the driver remained in his seat as he’d been instructed. Rivera turned to the second tactical vehicle and used hand signals to those members of the SWAT team to disembark. These two lead trucks had remained with him throughout the raids. They were his best people—team A.

He glanced in all directions, pausing briefly at the sight of Fred the Tree, which he’d never given a second thought to when he’d passed it before the collapse. He thought for a moment and issued his orders.

“You three, make your way up the highway and see how far this goes. Do you see these skid marks? Somebody went through a lot of effort to block this highway. I wanna know how far it stretches. Go!”

The men immediately took off in a steady jog, looking for gaps between the parked vehicles and maintaining their weapons at low ready in the event of an ambush. When they were out of sight, Sergeant Rivera retrieved field glasses out of his vehicle and climbed onto the hood.

After getting his balance, he focused on the men as they made their way up the road. Then he adjusted his vision and looked toward Marathon. He shook his head in disbelief. He pulled the binoculars away from his face and rubbed his eyes. He looked again and dropped several F-bombs.

“I don’t need to wait for those guys to return. Get me the sheriff on the radio!”

“Yes, sir!” his driver shouted back.

It took several minutes for Sheriff Jock to respond to the radio call. By the time Sergeant Rivera had explained what he’d observed, the three members of team A had already returned. Their chests were heaving for air after jogging in the dense, sooty air. Sergeant Rivera asked the sheriff to stand by while he got the report from his men.

He retook his seat in the tactical vehicle and closed the door behind him. Then he instructed his driver to get out. After taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he reached out to Sheriff Jock again.

“Sheriff, these cars are blocking the road all the way to Marathon. My men tell me there are hundreds of vehicles parked bumper to bumper, sideways across the road. It’s impossible for us to pass.”

“Who the hell did this?” the sheriff screamed through the radio.

“Sir, as my men reached the other end of the bridge, several people met them part of the way. The guy in front said his name was Hank Albright. I think he’s the owner—”

“I know who he is!” the sheriff screamed, cutting off his sergeant.

Sergeant Rivera tried to ask the sheriff what he should do, but the communication had been terminated. He angrily threw the microphone against the dashboard and slammed the back of his head against the seat out of frustration. This isn’t worth the aggravation, he thought to himself.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Friday, November 15

Seven Mile Bridge

After the confrontation with the three members of the sheriff’s SWAT team, Hank was filled with anxiety. He began to question whether they were doing the right thing by confronting the deputies. They were dressed in full body armor and helmets. They carried automatic weapons compared to the variety of guns available to the Albrights.

Hank was about to broach the subject of abandoning this whole crazy notion of staring down Lindsey’s standing army of sheriff’s deputies when he heard a voice in the distance. He turned to see who it was.

A half mile back, Lacey and Tucker were racing between the cars, waving their arms.

“Dad! Dad! We’re here!”

“We’re coming, Grandpa! Wait for us!”

Hank and Erin turned around. Mike and Jessica, who were walking alongside them, paused as well but kept their attention forward toward the looming standoff. Peter rushed back to greet his sister and nephew. They half-hugged and slapped each other on the back as the two of them continued toward Hank.

Peter waited behind, as off in the distance, Sonny, Phoebe, and Jimmy were also walking briskly toward them. Peter shouted to his father to let him know the Frees were on their way as well.

Moments later, half a mile away from where the SWAT teams waited, all of the residents of Driftwood Key were huddled together in the middle of the highway, surrounded by disabled vehicles.

After everyone caught their breath, Peter began laughing as he studied the jet-black tactical vehicles. He’d seen the military equivalent before. In a way, the scene didn’t appear all that different than the war zones he’d reported from during his career.

“Guys? Are we nuts?”

His question lightened the mood somewhat. The group shared in his laughter, and several wrapped their arms around one another.

“That’s how we roll,” quipped Tucker, the youngest of the clan.

“You betcha!” said Phoebe, who hugged the teen.

“Let’s go see what we’re dealing with, shall we?” asked Erin. She took Hank by the arm, and the families made their way through the cars as if they were on a casual stroll to church on Sunday. It wasn’t until they reached the void between the vehicle blockade and the menacing SWAT teams that reality set in.

As soon as they stepped into the open and away from the protection of the two sedans parked bumper-to-bumper, Sergeant Rivera approached them. He was flanked on both sides by two members of team A, who pointed their weapons at everyone from Driftwood Key. Had they pulled their triggers, the Albrights and Frees would be dead within seconds.

“Who is Albright?” snarled Sergeant Rivera as he stomped toward them, emboldened by his armed deputies.

“I am,” Hank responded.

Sergeant Rivera scowled at Hank, and his deputies raised their rifle barrels menacingly.

Peter stepped forward. “I am.”

Lacey smiled and held Tucker’s hand. “We are, too.”

“Same here,” said Mike as he and Jessica joined Hank’s side.

Erin and the Frees also stepped forward to join the Albrights.

Their actions enraged Sergeant Rivera. “You’re a bunch of smart-asses. I’ve got the green light to arrest every last one of you.”

“Do it, Sergeant!” challenged Mike, the former detective.

“I know who you are, Albright,” Sergeant Rivera hissed. “They stripped you of your shield.”

“Wrong, Rivera. I couldn’t be a part of all of this.” He waved his arms at Rivera, his men, and the line of vehicles behind him.

Sergeant Rivera angrily stepped forward a few paces, and Mike slid his hands on top of his holstered weapon. Suddenly, all of the deputies’ guns were raised and pointed directly at Mike.

“Sergeant Rivera!” shouted his driver. “It’s the sheriff for you!”

He shot Mike a nasty look and stomped back to his truck. The members of team A lowered their weapons slightly when Mike removed his hand from his. He stepped backward to join the others.

“Mike, not a good idea,” cautioned Jessica, who rarely tried to tell her husband what to do. This time, he agreed with her and muttered that he was sorry.

“What’s happening?” asked Phoebe.

“My guess is that Sergeant Rivera is no longer running this show,” replied Erin. “It wouldn’t surprise me if we’re soon told—”

“Albright! The sheriff is going to deal with you himself. He told me to ask you this question.”

“What’s that, Sergeant?” asked Hank politely with a hint of sarcasm.

“Two things. One. Do you know what martial law means? Second. Do you know what lock ’em up and throw away the key means? Think on that until he arrives.”

With that, Rivera ordered the rest of his SWAT team members from their tactical vehicles. He waved them forward until there were sixteen men standing shoulder to shoulder, weapons ready, facing down Hank and the others.

Not that Hank wanted to, but he felt compelled to give his family an out. He spoke in a loud whisper so the SWAT team, who was less than fifty feet away, couldn’t hear him.

“We can back off and go home. There’s nothing wrong with living to fight another day.”

“No way, Grandpa!” said Tucker a little too loudly, drawing a tug on the arm from his mother. He lowered his voice as he continued. “They’ll just come to our home next. We have to take a stand. Out here. In the open.”

Hank wrapped his arm around his grandson’s shoulders and hugged him. Tucker, who had lost his father to the aftermath of nuclear war, was ready to take a stand even if meant dying in the process.

“Mr. Hank, what do you think?” asked Jimmy.

“Jimmy, you’re not truly free until you no longer live under someone’s thumb. Tyrants like Lindsey will never be satisfied until we comply with all of her crazy demands. I want to live but not as a prisoner of a despot like her.”

“Then we stay,” said Lacey.

“I agree,” added Peter. “Terrorists are everywhere, and they take many forms. I’ve seen them in action overseas and in Washington.”

Erin laughed. “I can vouch for that. Let me tell you about my boss.” She and Hank exchanged high fives before wrapping their arms through one another’s in a gesture of solidarity.

“Mike?” asked Hank.

“I’m still here, right?” he responded.

“Hey. Frees don’t know any other way except to be free.” Sonny’s family grasped each other’s hands and squeezed.

A long standoff began between the two sides. The SWAT team never blinked, nor did the Driftwood Key contingent. Then the vehicles ahead of them roared to life. All of them. At the same time. In the distance, they could hear a low rumble and the sound of tires squealing on the concrete pavement.

“Are they turning around?” asked Sonny.

“I don’t know,” replied Mike. “I can’t see around them.”

The SWAT team members held their positions and made no efforts to return to their vehicles. For nearly an hour, the standoff had kept both groups paralyzed, staring at one another. One side capable of causing the death of the other in mere seconds. The vulnerable side stood proud, prepared to die for what they believed in.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Friday, November 15

Seven Mile Bridge

The trucks and patrol cars jockeyed for position until they were parked along the concrete wall bordering the two-lane highway. The SWAT team never turned to observe their activity. The eyes of the men peered at their targets under the visors of their ballistic helmets. Like the parting of the sea in the biblical context, the vehicles made way for the new arrivals.

Approaching the front of the convoy were two front loaders utilized by the Monroe County Roads & Bridges department. The behemoths barely squeezed between the sheriff’s convoy of trucks and patrol cars until they reached the front. Then the two Caterpillar 988Ks designed to clear sand and debris caused by storm surge pulled beside each other. The operators stared at Hank and his family for a moment before dropping their buckets to the concrete pavement with a loud thud that shook the concrete roadway.

“Dad,” yelled Peter so he could be heard over the loud rumble of the 541-horsepower diesel engines, “those machines could pick up the cars and toss them over the rail. I don’t know if we should—”

“Hang tough, Peter,” Hank said reassuringly. “Stare back at them and don’t show any fear. We have to stay strong.”

Suddenly, the operators shut down their machines. The hissing and popping of the engines cooling off sounded like they were in the midst of a den of angry vipers.

The standoff continued for several minutes with neither side showing any signs of retreat. And then Mayor Lindsey Free emerged between the two enormous machines with Sheriff Jock Daly by her side.

Her face was red with rage, yet her voice was eerily calm. She wasted no time in addressing her nemesis.

“Hank, just who do you think you are?” she asked as she walked closer to him.

The SWAT team moved slightly to let Lindsey and Jock through. Sergeant Rivera moved along the side of the road so that he could provide visual instructions to his personnel if needed.

As Lindsey and Jock approached, Rivera motioned for the deputies to move closer as well. The gap was being closed between the two groups, which meant the Albright group was in even greater peril. There would be no time to run and take cover.

“I should ask you the same question, Lindsey,” Hank shot back without a hint of trepidation in his voice. “I’m not going to make this personal. You have history with some members of my family. However, that’s not what this is all about. This is about the Florida Keys and its people. It’s about what the role of government is during a crisis. It’s about maintaining the rights and freedoms we enjoy as Americans.”

“Lofty words, but that’s not reality, Hank. You have no idea what I have on my platter. You live in a fancy place on a beautiful little private island, insulated from the despair of your neighbors.”

“That’s not true!” Hank shouted back at her. “We’ve suffered, too. My daughter lost her husband. The father to my grandson. My son, Peter, came close to death countless times, especially when he was only a dozen miles from ground zero in Washington. My brother, Mike, a decorated and highly respected detective for you, Jock, was almost murdered at the hands of a homicidal maniac.” Hank paused and moved next to Jimmy, who was standing alongside his parents.

He continued. “And how about your nephew, Jimmy. Remember him? Your irresponsible actions in blowing up the bridges almost killed him. But for the grace of God, he would’ve died because he was forced to volunteer for your crazy scheme.”

“You volunteered him!” Lindsey’s calm demeanor had been whisked away as Hank continued to stand up to her.

“Don’t be coy with me, Lindsey. Your message to me on the front porch that day was loud and clear. Offer up a member of my family or you’d bring your wrath upon me.”

“Whatever, Hank. Enough of this. It’s time for you people to get out of the way. We’ve got work to do.”

Hank looked down and then glanced at Fred the Tree. Like so many others in the Keys, Driftwood Key had survived the onslaught of Hurricane Irma that year. His family, the Frees, and all of the people of the Keys had stood strong as the storm pummeled their homes.

He stood a little taller and stuck out his jaw slightly. “No, Lindsey, you don’t. You’ve already crossed the line from governing to tyranny. You don’t have the authority—”

“What? Are you kidding me?” Lindsey was incredulous. “We’re trying to find a way to help people survive the most devastating catastrophic event that’s ever hit our country, much less the Florida Keys. The only way to keep order and prevent people from dying is for somebody like me to take control.”

“It’s not the only way,” Hank argued as he took a couple of steps closer to Lindsey and the menacing gunmen. “You have to appeal to the residents and business owners of the Keys. You have to lay out a plan that incorporates our churches and communities to help one another. Bringing in the goon squad to steal from businesses in the name of the greater good only fosters resentment, and it gets people killed in the process.”

“You’re out of line, Albright!” yelled Sergeant Rivera, who took Hank’s statement personally.

“When you’re the mayor, you can do it your way!” shouted Lindsey. Her attitude was obvious. She was no longer interested in talk. She turned angrily toward Jock. “Are you gonna move these people out of our way, or do I have to do it?”

Hank tried to appeal to Jock’s sense of decency. He was a law enforcement officer and had trained with the finest in the nation. Hank hoped Jock was growing weary of Lindsey’s tyrannical demands.

“Jock, this isn’t your idea, is it? Maybe you don’t know that there’s a better option, but I believe there can be if we bring people together instead of dividing them.”

“I’m just doin’ my job, Hank,” he replied unenthusiastically.

Mike stepped forward to address his former boss. “We swore an oath, Jock. We promised the people of the Keys we’d never betray the public trust. We assured them we’d maintain the highest ethical standards, and this is important. We made a solemn vow to uphold the values of our community. How do these raids uphold the standards you and I both swore we’d adhere to?”

Jock grew quiet and avoided eye contact with Mike. Hank noticed some of the fight drain out of his body. Lindsey did as well.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Friday, November 15

Seven Mile Bridge

In every potentially violent confrontation, there was a point of no return. It was that precise moment during which the two opposing combatants either decided the fight wasn’t worth the trouble, or, in the case of a highly charged, emotional showdown, a mistake was made that resulted in blood pouring onto the streets.

Lindsey became more agitated and animated as she turned on her sheriff and lover. “Dammit, Jock! I’m ordering you to arrest these people. Take them down and move them out of the way.”

Jock stared back at her, his body frozen from indecision. Or perhaps he refused to comply with her demands because he disagreed with her. Regardless of his thoughts in the moment, the impulsive mayor was prepared to act on her own.

She shoved Jock forcefully in the chest, causing him to lose his balance. He stepped back a couple of steps until he was near his line of armed SWAT team members. With fire in her eyes, Lindsey followed him, her finger pointing toward his chest as if she were prepared to shove him again. Instead, she caught everyone off guard.

Lindsey abruptly turned and reached for the barrel of one of the deputy’s rifles. He deftly pulled it away, but she wasn’t deterred. She grabbed for another. And another. All of the men were protecting their weapons as the wild-eyed Lindsey tried desperately to grab a rifle. Then all at once, the SWAT team and Sheriff Jock turned their attention back toward the Albrights and Frees.

Less than a quarter mile away, the sound of shuffling feet approached. Then muffled voices filled the deathly silence that had come over the Seven Mile Bridge. Everyone turned to focus their attention on the heads and shoulders that rose above the hoods and trunks of the cars blocking their advance. People turned sideways to slide by. Others used the bumpers to climb up and over the obstacles.

Hank Albright began to cry. Erin hugged him, and then the rest of his family gathered around. Tears flowed. Nervous laughter poured out of their mouths, stifled by some as they clamped their hands over grinning lips. Smiles and hugs were generously shared.

For as far as the eye could see, the people of the Middle and Upper Keys were coming. Hundreds of them. More likely, thousands. Some looked disheveled. Others appeared injured in some way. A few needed the assistance of a friend or family member to join the rest.

They were coming to stand up to Lindsey and the sheriff. They were holding their heads high with confidence and pride to support Hank and his family. Those who could manage a smile did. Those who still had tears to shed let them come out without any misgivings.

This was their fight, too.

In the middle of the pack, County Commissioner Bud Marino walked alongside the other two commissioners who would oppose Lindsey. They were accompanied by the attorney Mrs. Morton, who would provide them the legal means to oust the tyrannical mayor.

Near them were members of the clergy led by Reverend Deb. They were from all denominations, creeds and colors. They were calm, carrying the power of God in their hearts.

Mayor Juan Ramirez, his wife, Lisa, and the mayors of Islamorada and Key Largo were next. They smiled and nodded at Hank, giving him a thumbs-up and fist pumps.

The emotional scene swept over the residents of Driftwood Key. Weeks of trial and tribulation had come to a head. They’d set out to confront Lindsey, fully expecting that this might be a fight they couldn’t win. They’d expected Jock’s deputies to raise their weapons and even kill them on her orders.

However, today was not their day to die. It was their day to start a new life. As the new arrivals surrounded the Albrights and Frees, the power of their spirit and energy engulfed Hank. He accepted their gracious show of support.

He set his jaw, took a deep breath, and turned to Lindsey. He was about to speak when something remarkable happened.

Sheriff Jock Daly walked away from Lindsey and joined Hank by his side. He adjusted his uniform and confidently turned to face his soon to be former lover.

“Enough is enough, Lindsey. No more.”

Next, Sergeant Rivera crossed the imaginary line in the sand that stretched from one side of U.S. 1 to the other, pointing directly at Fred the Tree, the symbol of the Florida Keys’ resiliency. He was followed by the entirety of his elite SWAT team who’d carried out Lindsey’s demands.

With a defeated look on her face, yet still unabashedly proud enough to hold her head high in utter defeat, Lindsey spun on a dime and marched away between the massive blades of the front loaders designed to clear a path for her. Now, the only path she could follow was back to Key West, where she would resign in disgrace.

As soon as she got in her car and drove off, the tensions eased, and everyone, all thousand-plus, cheered. They cried. They celebrated. And for an afternoon, they forgot they were in the midst of the apocalypse.

They were Conchs once again.