Desolation

CHAPTER THIRTY

Wednesday, November 13

U. S. Army War College

Carlisle Barracks

Carlisle, Pennsylvania

Following the morning briefing, President Helton and Chief of Staff Chandler returned to the presidential office suite to discuss the reports they’d received. In just three weeks, there had been twelve million deaths resulting directly from the nuclear detonations. Another thirty-five million had died indirectly from starvation, lack of clean water, and societal collapse. That number was rising exponentially by the day, with his FEMA administrator estimating that at least two-thirds of the U.S. population would be dead within a year.

“Mr. President, I appreciate FEMA providing us these estimates,” said Chandler as he closed the door to the president’s office behind them. “However, I think he’s overly pessimistic. I believe the American people will come together to help one another.”

“I don’t know, Harrison. Our power grid is the beating heart of this nation. Our near-total reliance on electricity and what happens when that heart stops beating is beginning to show.”

Chandler sighed. “I have to admit the report from Director McClain was dire. As much money as we spend, we couldn’t manage to carve out a billion here and a billion there to harden our grid.”

Tom McClain was the director of FERC, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission’s Office of Energy Infrastructure Security. During the briefing, he’d accused prior administrations of adopting the proverbial ostrich-head-in-the-sand approach. The consequences of a complete loss of the electrical grid were too terrible to think about; therefore, political leaders didn’t. The Helton administration was equally culpable.

President Helton agreed, expanding on his chief of staff’s point. “All it would take was to add those neutral current-blocking devices between our major transmission systems. McClain said protecting two hundred of these critical transformers would’ve prevented the cascading failure we experienced.”

“A twenty-million-dollar investment would’ve prevented this,” lamented Chandler.

The two men grew quiet for a moment as they contemplated Chandler’s words. Now they faced a monumental task of replacing hundreds of transformers around the country. It wasn’t just the cost of replacing them that was daunting. It was the production process. It would take many years for foreign manufacturers to build the transformers to meet America’s specifications. Not to mention the single biggest producer of power equipment was China, America’s biggest economic and geopolitical rival.

The president was anxious to change the subject, although there wasn’t much of anything to lighten the mood. “The Pentagon seems to think they’ll have troops and National Guardsmen in a position to take control of the major cities soon.”

“That’s where the greatest loss of life has occurred,” said Chandler with a nod. “The battle for resources, namely food and water, has resulted in anarchy. The problem, however, is that FEMA doesn’t have enough supplies stored to last these high-population areas more than a week or so. They may be successful in restoring order, although it won’t last as our food and water resources dwindle.”

The president spun in his office chair to study a large wall map of the United States. Pushpins and markers identified certain cities as being priorities. Boundaries were drawn around areas that were considered hotspots to be avoided by the military. In other words, hopeless. Examples were the major cities hit by the nuclear bombs and large population areas that were completely lawless.

“Harrison, we have to play god. I can’t believe that we’re in this situation. But, honestly, the only way to move forward is to decide who to save and leave the rest of the nation to fend for themselves. We simply cannot save everybody.”

“I’ve thought about this as well, Mr. President, but I wouldn’t dare bring it up during our briefings. I will say that it’s likely on the minds of your closest advisors.”

“Has anyone said anything?”

“No, but I’ve studied them since we began making your cabinet choices. Other than Erin, I’ve had a pretty good read on them. At some point when you’re ready to broach the subject of rebuilding certain parts of the nation first to the detriment of other parts, I believe they’ll be receptive.”

The president stood to take a closer look at the map. “Do we focus on saving the most? You know, focus on our large regional cities like New York, Chicago, and Philly, of course.”

Chandler had given this some thought. “In the short term, seven to ten years, as nuclear winter continues to plague us, I think we should consider midsize cities in the Sunbelt. Their level of societal collapse is less than in the Northeast and the West Coast. Besides, people are already migrating to typically warmer climates.”

The president ran his fingers through his thinning hair and sighed. “We’ve got to resolve this Texas situation. That state could support many refugees in a climate that could still support agriculture. Florida, too.”

Chandler brought up Erin. “Bergmann hasn’t checked in with me since her arrival in the Keys. I need to touch base with her.”

The president turned to his chief of staff. “We have a lot on our platter, but insurrection doesn’t need to be one of them. Whether it’s small uprisings like what we’ve experienced in the Mountain West, the UP, and the Keys, or those damn Texans, this has to be dealt with. I don’t know who is a bigger threat to our nation. The looters in the major cities or the people who think they can spit on the Constitution.”

His chief of staff and longtime friend agreed. “If we don’t nip it in the bud, then others will follow their lead.”

“What if we make an example of one of these wild-card communities? Obviously, Texas is a whole nother matter. The groups in Idaho are too small and the state is too remote for word to spread of the military successfully tamping down the uprisings. The Upper Peninsula of Michigan is similar.”

“The Florida Keys are different,” interjected Carter. “Unlike the other regions where armed militia created barricades and warned off federal government personnel, the locals down there destroyed bridges that likely won’t be rebuilt until the nation has power. And even then there are other more pressing projects to address.”

“So you consider their actions the worst offender?” asked the president.

“Well, Texans are the worst, but to make an example of them would require something akin to a war. The Keys are different. Our Coast Guard vessels with a couple of Marine platoons would bring it to an end.”

President Helton tried to imagine the Marines storming the beaches of the Florida Keys. Would they face opposition? How ugly might it be? He took a deep breath and turned to Chandler.

“Reach out to Erin. Tell her the clock’s ticking. She’s got days, not weeks, to give me what I sent her there to do.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Wednesday, November 13

Driftwood Key

“Well, that was interesting,” said Erin as she reentered the main house. Hank and Mike stood in the foyer, awaiting her return from the unexpected phone call. She’d kept the satellite phone charged intermittently when Sonny ran the generator to maintain the temperature in the refrigerator. During that quick one-hour time period, everyone in the main house scrambled to undertake chores or charge devices, from cell phones to flashlight batteries.

“Was it the president?” asked Mike.

Erin returned the satphone to the charger that sat atop the reception desk along with several other devices, including Mike’s police-issued two-way radio. She glanced around the rooms leading into the spacious foyer.

In a whisper, she replied, “Let’s talk in the car.”

Hank nodded and grabbed his shotgun from behind the door. All of them carried handguns and rifles whenever they left Driftwood Key. For most, a sidearm was strapped to their waist during every waking moment. It had become the new normal.

Mike checked with Sonny and Phoebe in the kitchen before the trio left. Hank took Erin by the arm and led her onto the front porch, where they slipped on their surgical masks. As they did, he leaned into her.

“Problems?”

Erin grimaced. “I’d call it more of an ultimatum. A deadline.”

“Or what?” asked Hank, but before she could answer, Mike joined them.

That morning, they’d decided to try a direct approach by appealing to Lindsey in her office. They hoped to stave off an inevitable confrontation with the woman who was once Sonny and Phoebe’s sister-in-law. While Hank and Erin tried to meet with her, Mike would spend his time at the sheriff’s department to learn what he could about the raids.

After they were secured inside Mike’s truck, they removed their masks. The air quality was slowly deteriorating, and the group considered themselves to be fortunate to have a large supply of medical masks from the hospital. After they spoke to Peter and Tucker at the gate, they slowly made their way toward U.S. 1.

Erin explained what she meant by an ultimatum. “Here’s what’s disconcerting. That was the nicest that Harrison Chandler has been since the day I was sworn in as Secretary of Agriculture. Our relationship has gone south ever since. His sudden change of attitude makes me think he’s up to something.”

Hank was confused. “But you said he gave you an ultimatum. A deadline. That doesn’t sound pleasant to me.”

“Oh, make no mistake, Mr. Chandler was all peaches and cream until he whipped out the knives and said we only have days, not weeks, to get Lindsey removed from office.”

Mike shook his head in disbelief as he wheeled his truck onto the highway. As he spoke, he maneuvered around a number of stalled cars and entered the Seven Mile Bridge.

“What does he expect us to do? Storm the palace?”

Erin shrugged. “That’s the thing. It was an ultimatum, sort of, but he didn’t actually tell me what the consequences are. I could read between the lines as to where he’s coming from. The president is overwhelmed.”

“Not that anyone could blame him,” interjected Hank.

Mike disagreed. “Hey, he wasn’t drafted for the job. He actually fought tooth and nail to get it.”

“According to Chandler, the president is most concerned with the nation not sticking together in the crisis. Sure, there are parts of the country that are on fire, literally and figuratively. Chandler alluded to some tough decisions the president would be making soon, but he didn’t elaborate. Anyway, apparently Texas and other parts of the country continue to separate themselves from the rest of the nation. Communities are becoming increasingly territorial. The president feels he needs to put a stop to it before this independent-minded thinking takes hold.”

Hank turned in his seat to look at Erin as he spoke. “Is he blaming the Keys for this? I mean, we have no idea what’s happening in Texas, and I seriously doubt they know what we’re up to.”

“I agree with you, Hank,” she replied. “This president ain’t no Harry Truman. The buck doesn’t stop with him. It’s always someone else’s fault.”

“Just like Lindsey,” Mike quipped.

“In more than one respect, Mike,” added Erin. “Both of them believe they should confiscate property, whether real estate or personal belongings, to be redistributed to those in need. Your mayor is doing it on the localized level, and it’s likely the president will institute similar actions on the national level. That’s why his martial law declaration was so strongly worded.”

Mike had to frequently slow down as they drove along the bridge. The roadway had become clogged with more stalled cars since he’d returned from Key West the other day.

“Where exactly did these people think they were going?” he asked angrily. “The grass isn’t greener on our side of the bridge.”

“Some of these cars are loaded down with clothing and personal effects,” Erin noticed. “Is it possible they’re unaware of the bridges being destroyed?”

Hank leaned forward to rest his forearms on the dashboard. “It’s possible. Or they thought it was an insane rumor and decided to leave anyway. Regardless, if this continues, Seven Mile may be blocked by the time we return this afternoon.”

Mike pointed his thumb toward the rear deck lid covering his pickup’s truck bed. “I have empty gas cans to fill up at the depot while I’m down here. Hopefully, if that happens, enough people left their keys in the ignition for us to move them.”

“Plus, there’s the winch,” added Hank. Mike’s police truck also had a built-in winch. Capable of pulling ten thousand pounds, he could maneuver stalled vehicles out of the way if necessary. Then Hank had another thought. “I don’t wanna get off topic because I hope we’re successful in our diplomatic mission, if you wanna call it that. But if Lindsey refuses to cooperate, we have to prepare for her bringing her band of merry men toward Marathon in a day or so. We could use these stalled cars to stop or slow their progress.”

“A traffic jam of dead cars,” said Mike jokingly.

“Exactly.” Hank chuckled and then turned back to Erin. “Based on your phone call, what kind of timetable are we talking about?”

“The man said days not weeks.”

“No pressure,” interjected Mike.

Hank was dismayed. “Don’t they realize this kind of thing takes time? Lindsey’s not gonna quit, which means we have to follow the legal route that Mrs. Morton suggested.”

Mike slowed once again as the end of the bridge entered Big Pine Key. The road was still washed out due to the hurricane, and he was forced to drive over the sandy shoulder next to the hammocks bordering Spanish Harbor.

“I guess all the road crews quit,” he grumbled aloud as he drove around a fallen palm tree.

“Consider this, Mike,” began Erin. “What you’re seeing here is a microcosm of what’s happened around the country. Infrastructure, from electricity to roadways, is unable to be repaired. Seriously, the bridges destroyed by the mayor are likely to remain that way for many years. Electricity will require the same length of time to be reinstated because the government has to rely upon foreign nations to provide us replacement components to the grid. As time passes, the Florida Keys will start to revert to the way it looked when your family first settled here.”

“That sounds drastic,” Mike said.

“Yes, but that’s also very possible. What happens in the next few days will dictate whether we can help your neighbors survive or they will face the type of mayhem taking place in large population centers around the country.”

Hank took a deep breath. “Lindsey thinks she can prevent that from happening by making sure everyone gets an equal share of what’s available.”

“It never works that way with dictatorial governments, Hank. They will keep the largest portion of any assets they confiscate and distribute it among their cronies. The rest will suffer that much quicker.”

“Days?” asked Mike.

“That’s what Chandler said, but he didn’t provide an or else.”

Hank sighed. “I’m starting to feel squeezed. How about you guys?”

Neither Erin nor Mike answered as they both fell deep in thought.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Wednesday, November 13

Key West

Mike dropped Hank and Erin off a couple of blocks away from the administration building. Hank thought it was best to keep some semblance of separation between him and Mike, especially when his brother was on official business. As they walked along Whitehead Street, they discussed their approach to dealing with Lindsey. Hank reminded Erin that they most likely wouldn’t be welcomed after the harsh words he and Lindsey had exchanged following the hurricane.

“It seems Lindsey takes issue with her constituents showing up unannounced,” he opined. “It’s not like I can pick up the phone and schedule an appointment.”

“Are you sure bringing me into her office is a good idea?” asked Erin.

“Can I answer that after we see her?”

“No, you coward,” Erin replied before giving Hank a playful shove.

“Well, okay, but you might not like the answer.”

“Try me.”

“I think Lindsey would probably blow me off like she tried to do after the storm. However, the fact you’re with me will pique her curiosity.”

Erin shoved him again. “I see how it is. I’m not arm candy. I’m more like a ticket to get in the door.”

“Right! Makes sense, doesn’t it? Lindsey is a selfish person, and unless I can be of use to her, she’ll ignore me. However, we both know she’s had a run-in with the president, or at least his staff. The fact a member of his cabinet is at her office door will make her intrigued or worried. Either way, she’ll let us in.”

Erin grabbed his arm and stopped them just short of the entrance. “Oh, about that. I’m no longer Secretary of Agriculture. I’ve been removed from the cabinet. However, I am still a special assistant to the president.”

Hank thought for a moment. “You and Lindsey have met, right?”

“Yes, years ago at a fundraiser for the governor. I’m not sure she’ll remember me.”

Hank placed his hand on Erin’s back and urged her ahead of him as they approached the entry. “She’ll remember. I won’t lie and say you’re still the Ag Secretary.”

Erin interrupted him. “Just say I’m in the Helton administration. It’s the truth.”

Hank nodded. “Got it. Here we go.”

He opened the heavy entrance door, and the two of them entered the stuffy building. They removed their surgical masks and shoved them into their pockets. Like before, the building was bustling with activity, but the first thing Hank noticed was the increased police presence. With the power outage, the metal detectors were not operable. However, they were still being used to funnel people into the building. Hank and Erin had both left their guns in Mike’s truck, as they anticipated Lindsey might confiscate them.

The two of them made their way to Lindsey’s office suite without difficulty. A few people recognized Hank, and he took the time to speak with them at length. Visiting Lindsey was only one of their goals in coming to Key West. Hank wanted to get a feel for how her government operations were holding up and to touch base with as many acquaintances as he could. He might need a friend in the building at some point.

Hank knew Lindsey’s secretary, and the two made small talk. As discussed, he introduced Erin as being with President Helton’s administration. Hank and Erin had barely settled into the seats in Lindsey’s outer office when her doors flew open. The secretary exited, leaving Lindsey standing alone in front of her desk to greet her visitors. Like Chandler’s uncharacteristic friendly attitude during his conversation with Erin on the satellite phone, Lindsey acted genuinely appreciative of Hank stopping by with his friend to meet her.

“Come on in, Hank. I won’t bite, I promise.”

Hank gestured for Erin to enter first, and Lindsey stepped forward with a toothy grin to shake hands. “Well, Madam Secretary, this is quite an honor.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mayor. But, please, call me Erin.”

“Lindsey for me.” She backed away without shaking Hank’s hand and motioned for the two of them to take a seat in front of her desk. Lindsey resumed her customary position of power, separating those beneath her by sitting behind the mayoral desk. Her desk acted like a shield against anyone who would do her harm. It gave her a sense of comfort when dealing with adversaries, and she was certain Hank and Erin were. “What in the world would bring you to the Florida Keys during such a period of turmoil?”

“You may not be aware of this, but the administration has established a temporary seat of government at the U.S. Army War College in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. That’s in fairly close proximity to Philadelphia, where the government will reestablish itself until a decision can be made about DC.”

“Surely, the president plans on rebuilding Washington, right?” asked Lindsey.

Erin knew the small-talk game. It was a way to both size up and disarm an adversary. She was not much of a politician, but she was certainly capable of mental chess.

“There’s a lot of work to be done around the country in order to save lives first and restore our critical infrastructure second. This process will take many years. One thing is certain. The president is laser focused on doing whatever is necessary to make that happen.”

Lindsey feigned an itch to her nose so she could mentally wipe the smile off her face. She knew this wasn’t a social call. “That’s good to hear. Like him, I’m interested in the health, safety and welfare of the citizens of Monroe County. He may not believe that, but it’s true.”

Hank sat back and watched the two women joust with one another. He wondered if Erin was going to continue to dance with Lindsey or bring out the big guns. He didn’t have to wait long to get his answer.

“I know you’re aware of how he felt about the roadblocks,” began Erin. “The decision to destroy the bridges, one of which happened to be a federal highway, was probably not a good one. The roadblocks might’ve been the functional equivalent of a gnat in the president’s ear. Blowing up the bridges was more like murder hornets coming for the jugular.”

Lindsey stood firm. “I did what I thought was best for the Keys. As it turned out, I was right. He sent the National Guard, from out of state I might add, to Homestead. If it weren’t for the hurricane that his administration failed to warn us about, they would’ve taken over the Keys for lord knows what. Was my decision rash? Yes. Do I stand by it? Absolutely!”

If Hank didn’t dislike Lindsey so much, he would’ve been impressed by her strong will in the face of a purported representative of the president.

Erin continued with the full-court press. “Are you aware that the Coast Guard has been sent to cordon off any boat traffic in and out of the Keys?”

“I’ve heard about that.”

“And you do know that the next logical step is to send in a couple of Marine battalions to finish what the National Guard was authorized to do, right?”

Lindsey leaned back in her chair and clasped her fingers together in front of her. “I suppose he could do that, but the world wouldn’t stand for it. He’d generate a political firestorm and an unparalleled boondoggle in modern American history.”

Erin glanced at Hank, who remained stoic. He was aware of the time constraints placed upon Erin to act on behalf of the president. Accordingly, she had to play hardball.

“Do you think he’s bluffing? I would not underestimate him. He sees your actions as fostering discontent in other parts of the country. He might just make an example of you.”

Lindsey laughed. If she was threatened by Erin’s straight talk, she didn’t show it. She abruptly stood, catching Hank and Erin off guard. “Well, I’ve got a county to run, and this conversation isn’t very productive for me to continue. I get the sense the president is taking my actions to protect Monroe County’s citizens a little too personally. When you speak to him, may I suggest he focus on his own shit?”

And with that, the conversation was over, and the two of them were summarily dismissed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Wednesday, November 13

Key West

They had barely left the administration building when Erin issued her opinion of Mayor Lindsey Free. “She certainly chose the right career. That woman is a vulture who belongs in the halls of Congress.”

Hank let out a nervous laugh. He was not a confrontational person by nature, so the toe-to-toe exchange between the two politicians had made him somewhat uneasy.

“She’s always been stubborn and righteous, too. There’s no way she’ll leave office willingly. We’ve got a helluva fight on our hands.”

“Sadly, you’re right. If anything, she’ll set her sights on us as soon as she can.”

Hank glanced at his watch. He hadn’t worn it in the nearly four weeks since the nuclear missiles began flying. There were no appointments to be kept or places to be. Today, however, Mike had given them a precise time when he planned to return to the administration building to pick them up. It was more than two and a half hours from now, which gave them plenty of time to start walking along Truman Avenue toward the sheriff’s department.

“Are you up for a walk?” asked Hank.

“Yeah. I’d like to see more of Key West.”

Hank broached the subject carefully without doing anything to offend Erin for the approach she’d taken with Lindsey. There was no good way to talk to the mayor, so he couldn’t fault Erin for trying to make her points.

“Is there a chance the president is bluffing? I mean, would he really send in the Marines?”

She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. After rolling her head around her neck to relieve some tension, she replied, “I could answer that question better if I’d been in the room with the president when he issued his instructions to Chandler. I don’t trust Chandler, and the subtle threat may have been his own doing. That said, the president can be flighty. Oftentimes making decisions ruled by his emotional state at the time. Even if he didn’t say it, Chandler spoke for him, so I have to assume it to be his directive.”

“Would we have better luck by staying out of everybody’s way and allowing the military the opportunity to take care of Lindsey?” he asked.

“If it goes that far, the president will want to install one of his political cronies. Most likely someone who’d receive the blessing of the governor. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t. Especially when you consider the law enforcement duties could be taken over by the U.S. military instead of your sheriff and those serving beneath him.”

Hank grimaced. Lindsey had put them all in an untenable situation, and now they had to move quickly before the president lost patience or confidence in Erin’s ability to deliver a peaceful resolution.

As they walked up Truman Avenue to the point where it became Roosevelt Avenue, they both pointed out the looted buildings and the number of people who were sleeping in makeshift tents. Several businesses had been burned out, and most had their windows broken. The town looked like a war zone, and it was just a matter of time before every business was stripped of anything of value.

Even the car dealerships across from the marina weren’t spared. People desperate for gasoline had attempted to siphon what little fuel the dealership’s vehicles had in them. A row of three Jeep Rubicons had caught on fire, likely because someone had attempted to drill a hole in the underside of a gas tank, creating sparks that ignited the fuel.

Up the street, the scooter rental store was being pillaged as they walked by. Hank quickly pulled Erin with him to cross the street so they didn’t come into contact with the looters. The scooters weren’t the target of the thieves. They wanted the bicycles that had been shackled together in front of the store. One man tried to hold a bike on his back as he pedaled away on another one he’d stolen. He could barely control the handlebars as he pedaled.

“It will go on like this, Hank, until somebody steps in and stops it,” said Erin. “Every retail store followed by residences of all types will be looted.”

They walked another ten minutes, pointing out damage to property and the occasional dead body that had been covered with palm fronds. It was a disturbing and depressing scene that started to weigh heavily on Hank.

Then they came upon the Gordon’s Food Service location. The aftermath of the sheriff’s office raid and the ensuing gun battle shocked them both. Bloodstains filled the parking lot. Torn sheets and bedding were used to cover the dead, held in place by small coquina boulders. People were still filing in and out of the building, desperate to find any morsel of food to sustain them for another day. While Hank and Erin paused to take in the scene, a man approached them.

“Say, do you have anything to eat that you can spare?”

“No, sir, we don’t,” replied Hank. “I’m sorry. Can you tell me what happened here?”

“Sheriff’s department came in like stormtroopers. The store had been boarded up, and all of us who live around here knew it was being guarded. That’s why we never messed with ’em.”

“Who?” asked Erin.

“Hired guns,” he replied. “Some were ex-military. Others were just tough guys who were good with a weapon. Anyway, the SWAT team showed up in their military trucks and began to peel off the plywood. That’s when the bullets started flyin’.”

Hank pointed at the dead bodies and the pools of blood that had soaked into the asphalt. “The SWAT team was all the way out here?”

“No, sir. That’s what I’m sayin’. The bullets were flyin’. Most of these dead people are my neighbors. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You know what I mean?”

Hank closed his eyes and shook his head. Erin reached over and squeezed his hand.

She looked to the old man. “Did you hear the sheriff’s deputies say anything about what they were doing?”

“I didn’t, but my buddy over there did,” he replied and pointed toward the shaded areas in front of Centennial Bank, where several newly homeless people gathered around. “He said the mayor ordered these raids to feed everyone. When we asked for food, they said we had to wait for the distributions in a week or so.”

“I’m sorry this happened to your friends,” she said sincerely.

“Yep, me too. It didn’t stop the sheriff, though. They’re just up the street at Publix and Winn-Dixie doing the same thing. You can keep walking that way, but I’d keep my distance if I were you.”

The man wandered off, and Erin grasped Hank’s hand to draw his attention from the carnage. “Listen, there’s nothing we can do about this. I do want to see their tactics. How far is it to these two grocery stores?”

“Winn-Dixie is right around the corner, and Publix is up the street from there.”

“Come on,” said Erin, who tugged at Hank’s hand and began to walk briskly up North Roosevelt Boulevard. The shopping district that was once filled with tourists and locals alike loading up on staples was in shambles. It had only been a few weeks since the attacks. Erin began to wonder what their surroundings would look like a few weeks from now.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Wednesday, November 13

Key West

A deputy sheriff was yelling through a bullhorn at the crowd gathered in the parking lot in front of the Winn-Dixie grocery store on North Roosevelt Boulevard. Just an hour before, they’d hit the Publix around the corner with a force twice as large as they’d used to raid the Gordon’s location the day before.

Sergeant Jorge Rivera had met with the sheriff after the boondoggle that resulted in the deaths of several members of his team. He and the sheriff agreed that a repeat of the event would turn the locals against the sheriff’s department more than they already were.

Since the start of the collapse, the mayor had made several difficult decisions that she considered to be in the best interest of her constituents while consolidating power within her inner circle.

Evicting nonresidents was considered harsh but necessary by those who were permanent residents. Even closing the bridges was praised as a way to prevent outsiders with no place to stay or no means to sustain themselves from invading the Keys. The sheriff’s plan to keep the checkpoint open for returning residents was applauded, and although it was chaotic at times, the border worked.

It was Lindsey’s paranoia over the National Guard staging in Homestead that had forced the decision to destroy the only two bridges leading onto the Keys. Her approval rating, if one had been polled, sank precipitously thereafter. Locals who prayed for their traveling family members to return to them were distraught. Those who had properties in other parts of the country, where they believed they had a better chance of survival, considered themselves prisoners with no means of leaving the Keys.

The confiscation effort, something Lindsey thought would be appreciated by starving or homeless residents, was off to a rocky start. They didn’t need another black eye, so the sheriff and Sergeant Rivera agreed to slow down the pace of their raids. Instead of trying to cover many locations quickly, they brought a larger force to overpower any resistance and to maintain crowd control.

Nearly a hundred people had gathered in front of Winn-Dixie after word of the Publix raid spread through the adjoining neighborhoods. Some came for the spectacle while others hoped a crumb would be left behind.

Dressed in full riot gear, Sergeant Rivera’s deputies formed a line to block the residents from interfering. Unlike Gordon’s, which was a locally owned and operated business, Winn-Dixie was a national concern. There weren’t any armed guards holed up inside the store, awaiting looters.

It had been a smooth operation for Sergeant Rivera’s teams thus far. Both grocery stores yielded several truckloads of household supplies and sundries, but very little food, as the corporate giants had remained open for as long as there was communication between them and the mainland. Once the power was lost and the bulk of the food products sold, the managers closed the stores and shuttered the glass storefronts to prevent looting.

Hank and Erin were about to step into the parking lot when they noticed Mike’s pickup truck approaching. It was pure chance that they were able to flag him down. He was an hour ahead of schedule, and had he passed thirty seconds later, they would’ve missed each other.

Erin moseyed into the parking lot past the Ross Dress for Less store while Hank waved Mike over. She was mesmerized by the scene, taken in by the police presence and the disheveled appearance of the onlookers. Granted, the deputies were dressed in uniforms and riot gear that obscured their features. Overall, they appeared healthy, clean shaven, and well fed.

By contrast, the locals who’d gathered to watch the raid were thin, gaunt, and unkempt. Their hair was long. Their bodies were thin. And their clothes hung on them like they were several sizes too large.

Her mind instantly went to some of the television programs she watched from time to time that were set in medieval times or even fantasy pieces like Game of Thrones. The elite and powerful stood out among their subjects. The contrast was noticeable in those fictional depictions portraying the haves and have-nots. Erin wasn’t watching a movie today. She was observing the natural consequences of economic and societal collapse in which those in power thrived while the rest of society fought over crumbs.

Mike and Hank pulled up next to Erin, who continued to walk toward the police line that formed a semicircle around the trucks being loaded by MCSO personnel. The bullhorn had fallen silent as the crowd around the deputies grew larger.

“Erin, we need to go!” Hank shouted through the window as Mike eased forward through a couple of stalled cars.

Erin ignored him as she approached a woman who was standing alone sobbing in the middle of the parking lot. Tears had soaked her face and two layers of tee shirts. She’d wrapped her arms tightly around her withering body as she stared at the deputies.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” Erin asked. Despite her soft tone of voice, the woman was startled by Erin’s sudden appearance behind her.

She turned to respond. She was emaciated. Her once tanned skin had turned wrinkly and crepey. Erin had thought the woman was in her seventies, yet her features indicated she was much younger.

“I’ve lost everything,” she said as she continued to bawl. She pointed her arm over her shoulder and waved toward the Winn-Dixie.

Erin, who thought she was referring to the grocery store raid, was genuinely confused. “Um, did you work at Winn-Dixie?”

It was difficult to make out her words as she blubbered uncontrollably. “No. They broke into my deli. It was all I had left after our house burned and my husband …”

Erin slowly approached her and held out her arms. The poor woman needed a hug; however, Erin didn’t want to frighten her unnecessarily. The two made eye contact, and the woman stepped forward to allow Erin to embrace her. Both women were crying now as they held each other for a long moment without speaking.

Hank exited the pickup while Mike turned off the engine. The men kept their distance but were vigilant as they surveilled their surroundings. The crowd continued to build, and they wanted to keep their distance from the center of activity.

Erin pulled away, extended the sleeve of her sweatshirt over her hand, and gently wiped away the tears mixed with mucus that covered the woman’s face.

“Honey, do you wanna tell me what happened?” she asked the woman, who’d calmed down somewhat following their hug.

She began to slowly shake her head from side to side as she relayed what had happened to her in the last week. “My husband and I lived a few blocks away on Seidenberg. He was a boat captain, and I ran the deli down the street. We were so happy.”

She began crying again and buried her face in her hands. Crying was personal, exposing someone’s inner emotions at a time when they were most vulnerable. Covering her face gave her a sense of privacy and a chance to maintain her dignity as the emotional pain tore through her body.

Erin had suffered loss and understood. She gently rubbed the woman’s hands and whispered to her, “You don’t have to talk about it if you—”

“No, I need to. I don’t have anyone or, um, anything, now.”

“Okay. I’m listening.” Erin continued to speak softly, but the crowd was beginning to get stirred up. The line of deputies started to move toward the crowd with their ballistic shields to force them away from the trucks being loaded. The man with the bullhorn began yelling again.

The woman, distracted by the noise, turned for a second. The activity seemed to shake her out of her devastated frame of mind. She took a deep breath and poured out her heart.

She and her husband had been planning how they could survive the collapse. He had calculated the amount of fuel he had in his truck. They had friends who lived in Central Florida near Lake Okeechobee. He thought he could load up everything of value that would enable them to fish and hunt. If they showed up at their friends’ remote home, they wanted to be useful.

After word of the bridges being destroyed reached their neighborhood, they became angry but began to focus on another option. His fishing boat was fully fueled, so he began to calculate the distance if they left Key West to Lake Okeechobee via the waterway connecting the lake to the Gulf. They could just make it and were set to leave the following day.

That night, a fire broke out in the adjacent home. The property had been broken into by transients, and in an effort to stay warm, they built a fire in the fireplace. The transients passed out drunk and left the fire unattended. A spark ignited a blanket, and soon the place was engulfed in flames.

Her husband had grabbed a fire extinguisher and raced over to the neighbor’s property to douse the flames. He was overwhelmed with smoke and was forced to crawl back outside. In the meantime, the fire jumped to their own home. The woman was outside trying to help her husband when he suddenly recovered and raced inside to retrieve the boat keys as well as the family’s photo albums. He never came out.

With all of her belongings destroyed and no way to access their boat, her only option was to move into her nearby deli a couple of doors down from the Winn-Dixie in the shopping center. She and her husband had already secured the plate-glass windows at the front. She was able to come and go through the rear door using a push-button, manual door lock. She was safe and had access to food while she grieved the loss of her husband.

“Earlier, while they were busy raiding Publix, a group of men took advantage of them being preoccupied. I could hear them trying to break into Winn-Dixie. When they couldn’t get inside, they moved on. They looted GNC and the AutoZone. Then …”

Her voice trailed off once again. She began to cry, and Erin did what she could to calm her down. The woman simply shook her head and steeled her nerves to continue relaying what had happened to her.

“They broke into my deli. It was all I had left in the world. They knocked me down and kicked me.” She raised her shirt to show Erin her bruised ribs before continuing. “I ran out of the store, looking for someone to help me. The police were driving into the parking lot to set up in front of Winn-Dixie. I ran toward their trucks and tried to get their help. Instead, they almost ran over me. When I finally got one of them out of the truck, he shoved me to the side and told me I was interfering with sheriff’s department business.”

Hank had inched toward Erin’s side now and was listening intently to the woman’s heartbreaking story. He was about to introduce himself when several gunshots echoed off the stucco façade of the grocery store.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Wednesday, November 13

Key West

Hank had never seen an actual powder keg explode, but he certainly was witnessing what the saying was intended to describe. Afterwards, none of them were able to identify where the initial shots came from. Regardless, as the crowd built and began to push forward against the line of deputies, shoving and vulgarities began to create a tense situation. A fuse was burning, and the single gunshot reverberating off the stucco walls of the shopping center resulted in mayhem.

Still on edge following the gun battle the day before at Gordon’s, Sergeant Rivera was determined to protect his deputies and the firefighters who helped break into the grocery store. He grabbed the bullhorn from the deputy’s hands and started screaming.

“Back off! Now! We will shoot to kill!”

It was those last three words that were misconstrued by one newly deputized recruit who’d been used by Sheriff Jock and Lindsey to bolster their ranks at the bridge checkpoints. He was on the front line, face-to-face with the angry mob. He gripped his shield in his left hand and spontaneously pulled his service weapon from its holster with his right. Afraid for his life, he fired wildly into the crowd.

Three shots. Three bodies dropped to the asphalt.

Rather than retreat, the crowd turned on the deputies and rushed them despite the line of ballistic shields they faced. Within seconds, the deputies were overrun, and the crowd was beating them while attempting to take their weapons. Others ran past the scrum and raced toward the entrance of Winn-Dixie.

More shots rang out, this time from automatic weapons issued to team A under Sergeant Rivera’s command. The civilians at the front of the crazed mob were torn to ribbons. Blood flew into the air, and screams of agony permeated the shopping center.

Hank and Erin stood frozen for a moment as they witnessed the carnage. The woman they’d been talking to ran away, disappearing with the rest of the crowd, who fled toward Kennedy Drive.

Mike jumped out of the truck and yelled, “Come on, Hank! We gotta go!”

“Hey! He’s a cop!” screamed a young man from fifty feet away.

Another one turned his attention to Mike. He shouted his question. “What kinda shit is this, asshole?”

“Yeah!”

“Let’s teach this one a lesson!”

Hank and Erin began running back toward the truck. Mike took a shooter’s stance and drew his sidearm. He flipped on his red-dot laser sight and lit up the chest of the man in the front of the pack that approached him.

Mike angrily warned them. “Stay back! Stop where you are!”

“You can’t shoot us all!”

The mob slowed their pace, but they continued marching toward him.

Hank drew his weapon, and Erin did as well. Hank quickly moved between Mike’s truck and the threatening mob.

“Yes, we can and will if you don’t stand down! Stop!”

Erin moved alongside Hank and pointed her weapon at several of the people standing just behind the most vocal members of the mob.

The group slowed as the men leading the charge began to reassess. Their eyes darted from Mike to Hank and Erin until they eventually stopped. They mouthed off again, but they’d lost their will to fight. When another burst of automatic gunfire was heard from the storefront, they turned and disappeared into the fleeing crowd.

Mike didn’t have to ask his partners again. Hank and Erin rushed toward the truck and were sliding into their seats just as Mike started the truck. He threw the gearshift into reverse and spun the tires on the thin layer of sand that had accumulated on the asphalt parking lot. He was almost on the road when Erin shouted for him to stop.

She flung the door open and jumped out of the back seat. She began running toward the mayhem. However, instead of drawing her weapon, she pulled another weapon equally as effective—her iPhone.

Cell phones were no longer capable of making calls or sending texts. However, they still functioned. She started filming the battle between the civilians and police. She switched to her photo function and began to take pictures in rapid succession. She wouldn’t know how devastating they appeared until later that evening when she sat down to view them. Somehow, she knew they’d become a powerful weapon in their fight against Lindsey and the sheriff.

Mike sped forward to pull alongside her as Hank rolled down the window, imploring Erin to get back in the truck. Seconds later, Mike was once again spinning the truck’s tires as he backed out of the parking lot. He almost ran over three women racing up North Roosevelt on bicycles stolen from the scooter store earlier. Mike jammed on the brakes, cursed the women, and then spun the tires again as he headed up the highway to leave Key West.

Hank was still agitated over the entire ordeal. He misguidedly focused his ire in his brother’s direction. “What the hell, Mike? Is this some kind of gestapo operation your boss is running?”

“Hold on, Hank. I don’t condone any of this shit, and besides, he’s not my boss. I threw my badge on his desk a little while ago.”

Erin tried to calm the brothers down, who appeared to direct their anger and frustrations at one another. “Guys, come on. Let’s catch our breath and talk about what just happened.”

Both guys were still cross when Mike drove onto the divided highway just past the Marriott resort. He sped up, and the mere act of driving onto the bridge from Stock Island to Boca Chica seemed to relieve tensions in the cab of the truck.

Erin looked around the back seat and found stacks of handguns in their hard cases together with military ammo cans that must’ve weighed fifty pounds each. She also noticed for the first time that Mike’s truck bed lid was propped up several inches and tied down with ratchet straps.

She’d learned in her brief time around the Albrights that Mike was the more emotional of the two men and oftentimes expressed his emotions through anger. Hank tended to suppress his emotions and rarely got agitated. As a result, Mike was made out to be the bad guy when in reality, he simply let it out whereas Hank boxed it in. Erin wasn’t sure which was worse.

She tried to change the subject by asking what had happened to Mike. “I gather you resigned.”

He managed a slight laugh. “Let’s call it a mutually acceptable separation. He was peppering me with questions about you and what you were doing in his islands.” Mike emphasized the words his islands as he spoke.

“Lindsey must’ve contacted him after we met with her,” interjected Hank.

“Maybe,” said Mike. “Although our conversation got pretty heated, and he never mentioned it. He was already in a foul mood after what happened at Gordon’s yesterday.”

“We heard,” said Erin. “I think what we just witnessed was worse.”

“Well, all I know is that there were deputies lost in the gunfight yesterday, including a guy I know. He had a family, you know, with young kids.”

“Tragic,” said Hank. “So he was still upset over that, yet he quizzed you about Erin?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how he knew Erin was with us. Maybe Lindsey did contact him. All of this went down about thirty to forty minutes ago.”

“Timing would be about right,” Erin added.

“In any event, we got into it, and things were said. Maybe I should’ve bit my tongue, but I called him a sellout for raiding these businesses. I said he needed to focus on protecting our residents and not doing Lindsey’s bidding.”

Hank laughed. “Dang, brother. I thought Erin was tough on Lindsey. You shoved it right up Jock’s—”

“You got into it with Lindsey?” asked Mike, cutting off Hank’s sentence. He glanced into his rearview mirror to study her face.

“Pretty much. Let’s just say she doesn’t take kindly to threats, nor does she seem to worry about them.”

Mike nodded and glanced at Erin again. “That’s because she’s got big cajones. She uses Jock as a shield and a protector. She’d never do this unless he was in bed with—”

“Wait!” shouted Hank. “What if that’s it? What if …? They’re sleeping together!”

Erin wasn’t so sure. “C’mon, Hank. That’s a little soap-operaish, don’t you think?”

Mike sighed. “You have to know her history, Erin. Lindsey chews men up and spits them out if the taste isn’t good anymore. If there was a better option than Jock, she’d jump on it.”

“Literally,” said Hank, causing the group to break out laughing.

With the tensions eased between the brothers, they settled down and talked about what they’d observed at Winn-Dixie. Erin couldn’t get the conversation she’d had with the distraught woman out of her mind. She desperately wanted to hug her and bring her back to Driftwood Key. Unfortunately, a single crazed serial killer had ruined that for everyone.

She sat in silence as Mike and Hank spoke back and forth about the additional supplies he’d taken from the sheriff’s office before quitting. She tried to process all of the relationships between the people she’d come in contact with on the Keys. She came to the realization that the usual method of attacking a snake by cutting off its head might not apply here. Perhaps they should attack the body, one rattle at a time.