Desolation

CHAPTER ONE

Sunday, November 10

Florida Bay

Florida Keys, USA

Morning came and turned into day, such that it was during nuclear winter. Then another night swept over the Florida Keys, followed by another day of the grayish haze that blanketed the planet. The tumultuous waves and the torrential rains had ceased, bringing an eerie calm over the water. When it was over, Jimmy Free thought he’d died.

It’s not uncommon for the living who discover an unconscious body to act with trepidation. They might kick it to see if it stirs. Others might slap the person’s face, trying to evoke a reaction. Or, as Sonny Free suggested when Peter’s lifeless body was found in a heap on the bridge leading to Driftwood Key, one could simply shoot the poor soul and see if he responded.

It was a surface-feeding fish nibbling at Jimmy’s toes that reminded him he was alive. But just barely.

Dehydrated, exhausted, and disoriented, Jimmy had wrapped his arms around a palm tree log. He tried without success to determine his location. From recollection, he thought he was within the confines of Blackwater Sound. He vividly remembered the pounding waves and the hurricane-force winds that had battered him relentlessly for hours.

Once he lost control of his WaveRunner and began to tread water, he was certain Peter would find him. If not immediately, when daylight came. For hours, he was pushed farther and farther west as the storm raged on. One wave after another generated momentum, forcing his body, along with the other flotsam, to move away from Key Largo and toward the western side of Blackwater Sound.

It was a stroke of bad luck that sent Jimmy floating helplessly through the Boggies, a narrow channel that split the mangroves and entered Florida Bay. Thirty feet to either the left or the right would’ve landed him against the mangrove trees jutting through the water. He would’ve held on through the hurricane, and when the devilish storm passed, he could’ve used the mangroves to pull himself back to Key Largo. At worst, he would’ve been found by Peter or the other boaters during their search the next day.

However, fate brought him into the open waters of Florida Bay, where he drifted with the waves generated by the hurricane. A palm tree’s trunk had rammed into him as he floated along. It was his only option to be used as a floatation device. Despite the heavy nature of the waterlogged tree trunk, it kept him afloat and alive throughout the tempest.

When the log crashed into a beach, Jimmy inwardly rejoiced. He was going to live. He convinced himself he was within Blackwater Sound. He was wrong.

Exhausted from the ride through the storm, he lay flat on his back on the sandy shore and passed out. Then he slept for fourteen hours. When he awakened, he unknowingly found himself on Derelict Key, a tiny island disconnected from the mainland, which was approximately four miles from the Boggies.

The storm had passed, allowing him to take in his immediate surroundings, but the hazy nature of nuclear winter had reduced his visibility to only a couple of miles. For as far as his eyes could see, there was only grayish water and the similarly colored skies above.

Other than the salt-filled rainwater he’d lapped up off his skin during the storm, Jimmy hadn’t had anything to drink since he had been held at the Infield Care Center at the speedway. It had now been more than forty-eight hours, and his body was feeling the effects of dehydration.

Between the onset of dehydration and the battle he’d fought during the hurricane, Jimmy was extremely fatigued. He was starting to feel dizzy and unable to pee. As he sat on the beach, staring across the water, he cupped his hand and held it to his mouth. His breath was horrible. He started to laugh hysterically as he debated what luxury item he’d enjoy more, a swig of Scope mouthwash or a cherry Popsicle.

It’s been said that the grandest of adventures were often imagined on an uncharted island. From visions of pirate’s booty to giant apes, the mysterious nature of a tiny speck of land peeking up through a vast ocean has captivated the imagination of children and adults who seek solace from the so-called rat race.

The Florida Keys were able to fulfill some of these visions. Since they were discovered by Ponce de Leon in 1513, legions of ships caught the trade winds along the Florida Straits to explore the Americas. Pirates sailed the waters, stalking the Spanish treasure fleets. British warships tracked the illegal slave ships. Hidden coral reefs held their bony hands near the surface, causing many of the boats to wreck.

Derelict Key was too small for pirate treasure or giant apes. The foot-shaped island was less than a mile from ankle to toe. Jimmy wandered the entire perimeter of the island, assessing his options. He knew there was another island or land mass nearby, as evidenced by the iguanas that inhabited Derelict Key.

The iguanas weren’t dangerous or aggressive. Nicknamed the chicken of the trees by the locals, they were considered tasty when cooked as well as a high source of protein. But Jimmy didn’t have the strength or the inclination to kill the creatures, nor did he have a means to cook them. Somehow, as desperate as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to eat the iguanas raw.

Jimmy made his way to the north end of Derelict Key. The sky had opened slightly, allowing a little more sunlight to shine through. He squinted his eyes and focused on what appeared to be a stand of mangrove trees a thousand feet from the island. Feeling he had nothing to lose, Jimmy decided to swim to the other island.

The decision almost got him killed.

CHAPTER TWO

Sunday, November 10

Driftwood Key

The night before, Hank Albright had introduced Erin Bergmann to Lacey and Peter. Erin also got reacquainted with Mike and Jessica and the Frees. It had been a long day for everyone, as the weary travelers were exhausted, and Mike continued to recover from the attack courtesy of the serial killer Patrick Hollister. It was agreed everyone would get a good night’s rest, and they’d take the boats out early Sunday morning to begin an all-day search for Jimmy.

The residents of Driftwood Key, new and old, were desperate to share information with one another. It took a lot of discipline and Hank’s putting his foot down to prevent the group from staying up until the wee hours of the morning talking. He offered a sobering reminder that Jimmy was still missing. It was time to bring Sonny and Phoebe’s son home.

In the predawn hours, Phoebe began cooking breakfast for the search party. Hank and Erin would take the Hatteras. They’d bring along six five-gallon containers of diesel for the fishing boat that Peter had been forced to abandon in Little Basin at Upper Matecumbe Key. Once they retrieved the boat, Sonny and Peter would fill up its fuel tank and undertake another search of Blackwater Sound. Jessica and Tucker would join Hank in Florida Bay. The large fuel cells would enable them to cover a much larger search area.

Sunrise produced just enough light to provide the boaters a clear line of sight as they made their way north toward Florida Bay. It took nearly an hour to arrive at Blackwater Sound. Peter and Sonny waved goodbye and peeled off through the Boggies, slowing down considerably to search the mangroves.

Jessica took her Monroe County sheriff’s department WET boat northward toward the mainland. She would concentrate her efforts along the barrier islands protecting Long Sound and in the area around Trout Cove. Hank and Erin turned due west with the goal of searching each of the miniscule islands that dotted Florida Bay before they reached the southern tip of the mainland. It was agreed that Jimmy could’ve floated many miles during the storm. If they exhausted the outer perimeter of the bay, then they’d work their way inward to look at every key no matter how small.

Hank drove the Hatteras from the flybridge while Erin used the marine binoculars to scan both the water and shoreline. Like Jessica, Hank used the boat’s external speakers in conjunction with the horn to call out Jimmy’s name.

They’d just begun their search by circling the Nest Key, a mostly sandy island in the shape of a three-legged starfish. The two of them were all business as they focused on the task at hand. Hank had a million questions for Erin, and she was anxious to relay the purpose of her trip. However, Jimmy’s disappearance had gone on for too long, and everyone agreed to table any other topics until he was found.

Having no luck, they moved to the west. Tiny islands named Lake Key, Tern Key, and Pass Key yielded nothing. Larger islands like Palm Key and Fan Palm Hammock provided no evidence of Jimmy or anything else other than the normal debris that floats ashore. After many hours of searching, Hank’s westward route and Jessica’s northern search pattern resulted in the two boats meeting one another at Alligator Bay, the southernmost tip of the Everglades.

“I just spoke to Peter,” Hank yelled to Jessica. “He hasn’t seen any sign of Jimmy, and he’s running low on fuel. He’s got just enough to get back to Driftwood Key.”

“What’s he gonna do?” she asked.

“He doesn’t want to quit, but he feels obligated to Captain Jax to bring him the diesel fuel he promised.”

“What about the boat?”

Hank shouted across the water to her, “It was a gift, so he can ditch it. I told him we would make good on the diesel later. Can you head over toward the Boggies to pick them up?”

“Yeah,” Jessica replied. “We’ll start searching the inner islands now, but, Hank, it’s getting dark.”

Hank sighed and paused as he studied Erin’s face. She was detached and unemotional about the search, as she’d only met Jimmy and his family briefly. She was prepared to look for as long as Hank wanted to, but she feared the worst.

“We have to try,” she said to Hank, noticing his eyes revealed how he felt.

“Erin, he’s like a son to me. His father and I are like brothers.”

She smiled and patted Hank on the back. She glanced at the laminated nautical charts that were rolled out on the seat next to her. She’d been learning her way around while searching at the same time. Erin stood and leaned over the rail.

“Okay, Jessica. We’ll get started on this upper half of the bay, running an east-west search pattern. You start at the southern end near Whaleback Key. We’ll meet in the middle like before.”

“Roger!” Jessica shouted and gunned the engine as she swung around and headed toward the Boggies. Hank and Erin could hear her conversation with Peter over the marine radio.

“Thank you,” Hank said softly. His shoulders drooped, and the tension was released from his body. It was as if they could speak freely now that they were alone.

“Hey, there’s nothing to thank me for,” she responded, rubbing the top of his shoulders and his neck. “Why don’t you let me drive for a while? I’m no expert, but we’re going slow enough that I don’t think I can get us into trouble. Maybe a trained set of eyes might be able to scan the water better than I can?”

Hank squeezed her hand and relinquished the helm. He retrieved two bottles of water out of a tote bag and handed one to Erin. Refreshed, Hank took a deep breath and exhaled. He looked all around them and identified a point to their east for Erin to head towards. Once they crossed the bay, they’d make a sweeping U-turn and head back across toward the west. Each of the tiny stands of mangroves atop sand bars would get searched before moving on to the next one. It was a daunting, time-consuming task.

Erin got them started, and Hank began to scan the water, both of them realizing that any hope of finding Jimmy alive was diminishing with each passing hour.

CHAPTER THREE

Sunday, November 10

Stump Pass at Derelict Key

Florida Bay

Under normal circumstances, Jimmy Free could swim several hundred yards in just minutes, whether above water or below the surface. When he dove into Stump Pass, a tiny opening of Florida Bay between Derelict Key and the island just to the north, his mind told him the quick swim would be an easy one.

Halfway across the pass, his body told him otherwise. Jimmy didn’t know if it was possible for the body to use up its adrenaline, but it apparently failed to produce enough to carry him the few hundred yards necessary to reach the next key.

He began to tire and suddenly found himself struggling, frantically treading water. Then he floated on his back to catch his breath and regain his strength, but his inability to concentrate resulted in his face frequently falling beneath the surface. The young man who was once capable of holding his breath underwater for more than ten minutes found himself choking for air after a few seconds.

Jimmy furiously began to tread water again, barely ten feet above a sandbar beneath his feet that would appear at low tide hours later. He rolled onto his back and gently kicked his legs to propel himself toward the next island.

Gaining confidence, he kicked a little harder after turning his head and shoulders to gauge his direction. He kept a steady pace over the next two hundred feet. That was when his head was bumped by something floating on top of the water. He quickly turned his body around to see what he’d encountered.

The beady eyes of two water snakes stared at him. In his exhausted, disoriented state, Jimmy panicked. He quickly turned and began swimming in the other direction. Had he been coherent and healthy, he would know that water snakes are nonvenomous in the Keys. The two solid-black salt marsh water snakes were simply foraging for tadpoles in the brackish water. However, his mind refused to allow him to apply logic to the startling confrontation.

Instead of swimming back toward Derelict Key, he took off into the middle of Florida Bay. Within a minute, fear fueled his adrenal glands, and he found the ability to swim again, albeit in the wrong direction. He looked back to see how much distance he’d put between himself and the snakes. He couldn’t see them or Derelict Key.

Once again, Jimmy floated on his back to regain his strength. He closed his eyes to force his body and mind to relax.

Focus, Jimmy. Focus.

He began to control his breathing. His mind blocked out the fear and the formidable task of survival. He allowed his mind to float away, imagining being lost at sea with land nowhere in sight. He was similarly situated because of the poor visibility caused by nuclear winter. Although he was near land to his immediate north and west, he couldn’t see it and had no way of gaining his bearings.

Jimmy began to tread water in an effort to determine where the sun was in the sky. He had no idea what time of day it was. From morning to night, the gray skies became lighter and then darker. It was impossible to determine if it was eight in the morning or five in the afternoon.

Whether it was exhaustion or the ingestion of saltwater or the dehydration, Jimmy was becoming incoherent. He was having trouble determining where he was and how he’d gotten there. He thought he’d been swimming against the current, back toward Key Largo. However, he became confused. Was he swimming in the direction the hurricane had traveled? Or was he going with the current to the closest stretch of sandbar?

He chose a course and began swimming again. He’d been in the water for what seemed like an hour, but it could’ve been two hours or twenty minutes. His mind refused to allow him any form of coherent, conscious thought.

He developed a pattern of swimming for ten minutes followed by treading water or simply floating on his back, giving his shoulders and legs a chance to rejuvenate or, at least, to find the stamina to start again.

His mind and body began to recover. He chastised himself for getting spooked by the harmless snakes. He continued swimming toward what he was certain to be east. The sky appeared to be a darker shade of gray than what was behind him. He stopped again, allowing his legs to drop beneath his body as he swung his arms to release the tension. He couldn’t see land, but he was certain he knew where it was.

“That way,” he muttered as he pointed toward the east. He was partly right. He continued to swim, hoping land would materialize on the horizon. He focused on keeping the lighter shade of sky behind him. His eyes felt scarred from the sea spray the night of the hurricane. He was unable to produce tears to wash them and to help correct the burning sensation.

His legs felt like lead, and his thigh muscles twitched and convulsed. Jimmy was beginning to lose the adrenaline rush, and doubt crept into his mind. The logical part of his brain, the frontal lobe that reasoned, screamed at him to keep going or he’d drown.

Jimmy began to frog-kick and used a breaststroke to propel his body ahead. The change of swimming technique seemed to rejuvenate him. He was making some progress, and then his heart leapt as mangroves appeared in the distance.

He ignored the small, gray-green waves that hit his face each time he thrust his arms outward and pushed the water to swim. He was doing his best to avoid ingesting it, but there was little he could do to keep it out of his eyes.

His muscles screamed in agony, but he continued. Jimmy knew there were many ways to die while stranded in the water. Hypothermia, especially in these atmospheric conditions, was one of them. The reduced temperatures had lowered the water temperature substantially. His core was reaching a temperature that was on the verge of being hypothermic.

Jimmy continued to swim, turning his head as another small wave rolled under his body. His mind began to wander to his parents. Were they worried about him? Were they looking for him? Did Peter make it to safety? If he did, why didn’t he bring a search party?

Jimmy had always been attuned to his surroundings, especially on the water. He could recall sounds and smells and tastes regarding the ocean so vividly that they became real even though he might be lying in bed at night. He was using this same application of sensory memory to force his mind to focus on his mother and father. He could smell and taste Phoebe’s cooking as if he were sitting alongside her at the kitchen table. He could hear Sonny teaching him about the greenhouse or hydroponics or whatever wisdom a father found necessary to impart upon his son.

He tried not to think about the dire situation he was in. He tried to push out of his mind the requirement to tread water in order to stay alive. He forced himself to remember bright moments in his life with his parents as well as with his extended family, the Albrights.

He started with ordinary activities like fishing or scuba diving, but then he drilled down to the minutiae, every meaningless detail of diving at John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park. He knew every square inch of those reefs. He recalled the ones he could reach without the aid of scuba gear. He thought about the girls he’d met at the inn, who begged him to take them diving.

This exercise kept him alert and reminded him of how great his life had been. It took his mind off his body and the pain it was enduring to keep him afloat. It took him out of Florida Bay for a moment to a more pleasant place where he wasn’t shivering or fearful of losing his life.

The intensity with which Jimmy wanted to see his parents became more than he could handle. Emotion swept over him, and he began to sob. His uncontrolled crying resulted in him taking deeper breaths coupled with more salt water.

Jimmy began to cough up phlegm and the salty fluids. His stomach seized. A massive grip squeezed his insides, forcing bile into his throat. This triggered nausea, and while he was trying to tread water, he began to vomit.

He retched over and over again until the bile once stored in his gallbladder found its way to his throat. Jimmy desperately wanted to crawl onto his hands and knees to let it all out. Empty the contents of his stomach and start over. However, he couldn’t.

Jimmy gargled with sea water to clear the nasty taste out of his mouth. He tried to produce saliva and swallowed. He discovered he didn’t have enough saliva to soothe his raw throat. He fought the pain and the nausea as he floated on his back. The exertion, salt water and stress were dehydrating him at a rapid rate now. He took a deep breath and slid beneath the surface of the water.

That was when he heard the low rumble of a boat motor in the distance.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sunday, November 10

Florida Bay

Hank focused his attention on the tiny island sitting equidistant between the Boggies and Derelict Key, which he identified on the nautical chart. The key was not identified on the charts, and by Hank’s estimation, it barely measured three hundred feet across. It was not the island itself that caught his eye. Something was bobbing in the water, up and down, yet remaining in the same location despite the gently rolling waves that would carry the debris closer to the island.

Hank pointed to the south after tapping Erin on the shoulder. “Slowly make your way toward that island. We can pick up the search again in a moment.”

Erin followed his instruction and turned the Hatteras to port. While she did, Hank picked up the handset to the marine radio and reached out to his sister-in-law.

“Jessica, do you copy?”

“Go ahead, Hank.”

“We’re working our way due west of Buttonwood Sound. Nothing so far.”

“Roger,” she replied.

Hank slowly pressed the transmit button. “Stand by.”

With his other hand, he pulled the binoculars back up to his face and focused on the bobbing debris near the small island of mangrove trees. He leaned forward as if those extra few inches would close the gap and allow him to get a better fix on the object that had grabbed his attention.

Hank’s voice became excited. “There, Erin! Do you see it? Just west of the island.”

“Okay, barely,” she replied as she brought her hand above her eyes to reduce the glare.

Hank fumbled with the charts and tried to get his bearings. He keyed the mic again. “Jessica! Twenty-five degrees, ten minutes, north longitude. Eighty degrees, twenty-nine minutes, west latitude. I’ve got something. Definitely a body!”

“I see it, Hank! A guy. He’s treading water!”

Erin immediately turned in that direction and gave the Hatteras full throttle, forcing the bow upward. From the flybridge, Hank was still able to keep his eyes affixed on the body.

Hank raised Jessica on the radio again. “Almost there. We have somebody in the water alive. West side of the island. Hurry!”

In the distance, the sound of the powerful outboard engines on the back of Jessica’s boat coming to life could be heard across the serene waters of Florida Bay. Hank glanced at the depth finder mounted on the helm of the flybridge, carefully monitoring their distance to the sandy bottom as they approached the small island. The draft on his Hatteras was about four feet, making it susceptible to dragging along a sand bar.

“He’s waving, Hank! He’s waving!”

Hank grabbed his binoculars and focused on the bobbing head. He saw the arm for a moment before it fell below the water’s surface along with the man’s head. For several seconds, the man’s arm from the elbow up was able to wave.

And then it disappeared.

Jimmy had slipped below the surface. He’d summoned every fiber of his being to help him stay alive. He’d heard the boat in the distance and tried to tread water to get its attention. He followed it in the distance as it traversed the bay, clearly searching for something.

His eyes betrayed him at first, partly due to the damage caused by the salt water and partly because of his dehydration. Jimmy thought it was a Coast Guard vessel. He suddenly wondered if the National Guard had enlisted the assistance of the Coast Guard to locate their escaped prisoner. Afraid of being captured and beaten again, he considered hiding under water to avoid detection. He glanced toward the small stand of mangroves that seemed to be a good place to hide, as well as hang on to until his body could recover.

Only, he didn’t have the strength to get there. Jimmy accepted his fate, assuming that he’d be caught and imprisoned. At least he’d be alive. He made his way closer to the trees until his feet were able to touch bottom. Standing on his toes, his head and upper shoulders protruded above the surface. He tried to shout, but his swollen throat betrayed him. He began waving, but as he did, he lost his balance and slipped underwater.

Jimmy inched closer to the mangroves, hoping to reach higher ground yet still be visible to the passing boat. He was able to get better footing and waved with both arms when he noticed the boat turning toward him. To his rear, he heard another boat approach rapidly from the other direction.

They’d seen him. He was going to be rescued. He began jumping up and down to elevate himself above the surface, waving his arms to grab their attention while suffering the stinging pain of trying to yell.

Up and down, bounding along the sandy surface, unknowingly moving away from the small mangrove-covered sandbar. And then, as is often the case in the ocean, the currents had created a trough along the sandy bottom that dropped off six feet or so. Jimmy lost his footing and immediately slid down the trough until he was more than ten feet underwater.

Jimmy felt something bump his legs. It was large, solid, cold. He frantically twisted his body to avoid the underwater creature. His heart raced, and his face seemed to tingle.

He felt the movement of the current that had created the trough in the sandy floor. It pulled at his legs, tugging him deeper below the water. The sea creature, a large fish of some kind, bumped into him again. Its skin was like rubbery sandpaper as it grazed his feet and ankles.

Jimmy opened his mouth, thinking if he screamed, the monster that circled him would leave him be. He tried and tried, but he had no breath left as he cried for help.

“Where’d he go?” asked Erin. She pulled back on the throttle and allowed the boat’s wake to push them slowly toward the island.

Hank scampered off the flybridge and raced onto the bow. He was holding the railing as he walked around the perimeter of the bow, looking into the water.

Jessica was less than a hundred yards away as she raced toward him. Hank turned toward her and raised both hands in the air, urging her to slow down. It had been nearly a minute since they’d seen the man waving his arms high over his head. And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

CHAPTER FIVE

Sunday, November 10

Florida Bay

Jimmy tried to hold his breath and fought death by not panicking underwater. He slowly turned in a circle, waving his arms, just below the sandy bottom before the drop-off, his arms churning the water over his head. He could see the surface and the large boat hovering nearby. It was moving closer to him. His efforts to swim upward weren’t working as if his feet were tied to anvils holding him down.

Soon, his body began to tire again. An argument raged in his mind as to what was the best course of action.

You gotta breathe or you’ll die!

I can’t breathe or I’ll die!

He had to make it. He twisted his torso to lay prone underwater. The other way wasn’t working. He closed his eyes and allowed his body to go limp. He imagined himself as bait on a hook, awaiting the big fish to carry him away. Or a dead body floating, waiting for the hand of God to snatch him up to Heaven.

Jimmy’s mind wandered, wondering how long he’d been underwater. Was he even conscious? Was this what it was like when a person died? He kept waiting for the soothing voice to tell him to go to the light. Instead, a shadow passed over him, covering him in darkness.

Hank jumped off the transom into the water while Jessica dove off the bow of her WET team boat to assist. They both swept their arms in wide arcs and furiously kicked their feet to force their bodies deeper below the surface, fighting the natural buoyancy of their oxygen-filled lungs.

Jessica arrived at Jimmy’s body first and immediately waved Hank off. A drowning person may appear docile when first discovered, but she knew from experience that they were prone to panicking when rescued. When a victim begins to flounder, they could easily knock their rescuer unconscious or prevent them from rising back to the surface.

Jimmy was making no effort to kick his way back to the surface. His body appeared lifeless, yet his mouth was closed, a good sign. Jessica was an excellent swimmer and diver as well. She’d saved the life of a drowning victim once before. Underwater rescue training helped, but the real-life experience of dealing with a person on the brink of death proved invaluable as she touched Jimmy.

His reaction was not unexpected. Startled, followed by an intense desire to help his rescuer. Jessica wanted to shout to him—I’ve got this, relax! Instead, she remained calm so she could think clearly and react to his movements.

She moved behind Jimmy’s shoulders and reached her arms underneath his arms. Jessica’s leg muscles were strong courtesy of good genetics and constant training by running in the sand. She began kicking, and the two of them moved quickly toward the water’s surface. Seconds later, they breached the plane, and Jessica quickly took in a deep breath in case Jimmy woke up and pulled them underwater again.

Her mind tried to shut out the cries of joy and shouts of Jimmy’s name coming from all directions. There was still work to be done. She moved her hands to brace his head upright. As she did, she felt for his pulse.

There wasn’t one. And he wasn’t breathing.

Jessica closed her eyes briefly and then rapidly kicked her legs as she dragged him to the back of her boat. As she passed the port side, Peter and Sonny were looking over the rails, shouting words of encouragement to Jimmy.

“Meet me at the back!” she shouted. “Grab the backboard!”

Peter reacted first. Despite his own injuries, he was setting aside the pain he felt in order to help his friend. Sonny was crying, alternating between wiping his tears being shed for his son and gripping the railing of Jessica’s boat to get a better look.

“Got it!” shouted Peter from the boat’s stern.

“Sonny! I need you to help Peter. You guys need to get on the transom so we can hoist his body onto the backboard.”

While she had been in Key West with Mike at the hospital, she’d taken some time to go to the supply depot located at the nearby sheriff’s office. She’d restocked the medications and other trauma supplies used on her water emergency team boat. She’d also taken a seventy-eight-inch orange backboard. Made of high-density polyethylene, it was not only buoyant, but the Velcro straps and head immobilizer provided her the ability to secure Jimmy in place while they dragged him on board.

Sonny held his son’s face in his hands while Peter and Jessica positioned Jimmy on the backboard. Then the three of them pulled him over the stern and onto the deck of the boat. Jessica didn’t waste any time as she rushed to the helm.

Her marine radio remained set to the emergency channel monitored by first responders and hospitals in the Keys. Despite the power outages, some hospitals were still operating using generators, including Mariner’s Hospital in Tavernier. She radioed them and advised she was bringing in a drowning victim.

She had to think for a moment as to where the closest marina was located. Normally, they’d bring an accident victim into Tavernier Harbor on the Atlantic Ocean side of Tavernier. On the Gulf side, an ambulance would meet them at the closest marina.

Peter seemed to sense her inability to remember the closest marina. “Jessica, Mangrove Marina in Hurricane Harbor. It’s less than a mile up the road.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” She turned her attention back to her conversation with the dispatcher at Mariner’s Hospital and then looked over to Hank and Erin. “Go get Phoebe!”

Hank waved and yelled, “Thank you.” He and Erin fired up the Hatteras. After Jessica turned her boat around and took off toward Bottle Key to the south, they began their hour-long ride back to Driftwood Key.

Jessica shouted, “Peter, drive! You know where to go.”

She knew Jimmy needed immediate medical attention. Even small amounts of water left in the lungs can cause respiratory issues later known as dry drowning. With Peter propelling the boat along the fortunately smooth waters, Jessica began cardiopulmonary resuscitation.

She took a normal breath, gently pinched Jimmy’s nose, and covered his mouth with her own, ensuring an airtight seal. She exhaled quickly twice, keeping a watchful eye on his chest to see if it rose. She raised her body and began chest compressions, pressing down about two inches.

“One, two, three, four, five.” She counted to force herself to remain consistent and to give Jimmy’s chest an opportunity to rise back to normal. “Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Off.”

“Why isn’t he breathing?” asked Sonny.

Jessica ignored his question and pointed to the storage compartments underneath the bench seat on the port side of the boat. “Grab me the light blue bag in there. I need to intubate.”

Intubation was the process of placing a specially designed plastic tube into an unresponsive patient who was unable to breathe. The flexible tube was carefully inserted into the trachea to create a conduit through which air could be forced using a large squeezable bulb.

“Okay, I’m in. Sonny, I need you to gently squeeze this bulb to force air into Jimmy’s chest. Like this.”

After Jessica showed him what to do, Sonny recovered emotionally and set his jaw, determined to save his son.

“Okay,” she continued, reaching out to Sonny’s hand and squeezing it gently. “Let me try compressions again.”

She began to pump his chest. She was halfway through the thirty-count when Jimmy’s body heaved upward, and he began to cough violently, choking on the intubation tube in the process. Jessica quickly removed it and then turned him over to his side. He immediately spit out some sea water.

“Son, I’m here.” Sonny slid across the deck on his knees so Jimmy could see him. His eyes were open, but he was clearly disoriented.

“Jessica! Water!” shouted Peter from the helm. He held up a bottle of water, and Jessica opened her hands to catch it when he tossed it to her.

“I’ll need another in a second,” she said before turning back to Jimmy. “Let’s get you up and clear the gunk out of your throat.”

She and Sonny worked together to get him upright. His eyes were darting around wildly, and mucus was dripping out of his nose. Sonny lovingly wiped his face and moved his stringy wet hair out of his eyes. Jessica slowly poured an ounce or two of water into Jimmy’s mouth, monitoring his intake so he didn’t gulp down too much.

He coughed again, and Jessica gently patted him between the shoulder blades. She spoke in a calm voice. “That’s okay, Jimmy. This will take a few times. Slowly, okay?”

She allowed him a little water. This time, he let the soothing moisture trickle down his throat. Jimmy closed his eyes for a moment until a single tear dripped down his cheek. Then he managed a smile and nodded.

All he could manage was a whisper, but his words spoke volumes.

“Love you, Dad.”

CHAPTER SIX

Sunday, November 10

Gulf of Mexico

For several minutes after Hank sped away from where Jimmy had been found, he glanced back toward Florida Bay, trying to catch a glimpse of Jessica’s WET boat speeding toward Tavernier. He desperately wanted to be with the young man who’d grown up with Peter and practically became a part of the Albright family. Sonny, Phoebe, and Jimmy had lived on Driftwood Key for nearly three decades. They’d experienced loss together and enjoyed the island living the Keys afforded. Jimmy’s death would be devastating.

Erin moved next to Hank on the bench seat and began to rub his shoulders. The touch of a woman caused him to break down in tears. Men tried to remain stoic in a crisis. They want to shoulder the burden of solving the problem or being the family rock—strong, solid, and unchanging.

Yet Hank was a considerably empathetic and caring man who tried to put others’ emotional needs ahead of his own. That was one of the reasons he was having difficulty accepting the collapse of society that continued to unfold during nuclear winter.

As the proprietor of the Driftwood Key Inn, he enjoyed tending to his guests’ needs. It bothered him that he’d had to ask them to leave in anticipation of what was coming. Deep down, he knew it was the right thing to do. His guests needed to get home before conditions worsened.

When Patrick Hollister showed up at their doorstep, figuratively speaking, Hank readily took him in. He wanted to help a fellow conch in his time of need. Nowadays, the number of people born in the Keys, known as a conch, were outnumbered by the newcomers. Patrick was an original. He’d also turned out to be a serial killer.

Even that experience didn’t tamp down Hank’s desire to help others survive. He simply had to change his mindset. For one, he had to ensure he could take care of his own first. That included his immediate family and, of course, the Frees. Secondly, those in need didn’t include anyone who tried to steal from him.

As society continued to collapse, the use of violence to survive had increased beyond his wildest imagination. There had been gunfights at Driftwood Key, the kind you see in the movies. Marauders at the gate, so to speak. Hank was certain these encounters would increase as people became more desperate.

He was relieved that his family was together again, albeit without his son-in-law, Owen. He was a good man. A loving father to Tucker and a devoted husband to Lacey. Hank had immediately hit it off with Owen when Lacey brought him home for the first time. The suddenness of Lacey’s return coupled with the search for Jimmy hadn’t given Hank time to process Owen’s death. He wondered if and when life in the apocalypse would allow them the opportunity to talk it through.

Hank took a deep breath and exhaled. This was all weighty stuff, and he desperately wanted to clear his head before he arrived at Driftwood Key. He needed to provide Phoebe hope that her son would survive, without overpromising. When Hank saw her son last, he wasn’t breathing.

“Hank, I feel like I know you well enough to feel the heavy burden you’re carrying,” said Erin, interrupting his thoughts. She stopped rubbing his shoulders and moved around the seat to lean against the helm, where she could study his face. “I spent enough time with you and your family those few days to know that young man is in good hands. He’ll pull through.”

Hank managed a smile and made eye contact with Erin. He’d been laser focused on the waters ahead of him. There was a substantial amount of debris floating in the Gulf as a result of the hurricane. Because there had been little or no warning to most residents, the normal precautions weren’t undertaken to secure their belongings.

Tears began to flow as Hank spoke. “I can’t tell Phoebe the truth, but I can’t lie either. A mother looks for words of optimism and hope when her child is injured. I can’t say he was lying on the deck of a boat, not breathing because he’d drowned.”

“I understand. However, I believe Jessica is a very capable, take-charge first responder. In her care, I think Jimmy has a chance. Plus, we don’t know for certain; therefore, you can offer her hope.”

Hank chuckled and wiped the tears from his face. “My father used to say things like that when he was supporting me as my wife passed away. She had many chances to live and fought hard to do so. In the end the disease defeated her.”

“You have to channel your father’s words of encouragement, Hank. You’ve experienced grief, and from what I recall, Phoebe was there to help you through it. Think back to how she helped you when your wife was ill.”

“She fed me,” said Hank, laughing now as he thought of those days when Phoebe would dote on him like he was her grandchild.

Erin also laughed. “Okay, well, we don’t want you to put her in mortal danger, now do we? Perhaps you can find some other way to comfort her without invading her kitchen.”

Hank reached out and took Erin’s hand in his. She’d gently yanked him out of his melancholy state of mind and turned him back into the rock of the family everyone relied upon.

“Thank you. I was, um, as the kids say, having a moment.”

“You can have a moment, Hank. You’re entitled.” Erin pointed ahead. They were approaching the dock at Driftwood Key. “It appears they heard us coming, so you’d better get your game face on. If you pull into the dock a blubbering mess, Phoebe will most likely freak out.”

Tucker led the way, racing through the sand. His momentum caused him to stumble slightly as he hit the dock. After regaining his footing, he got into position to take the line from Erin. His eyes studied his grandfather for a clue as to what they’d discovered, if anything.

His uncle Mike beat him to the punch. “Any news?” he asked as Erin tossed him the bow line. Mike was recovering from his knife wound and healing remarkably well. He was moving slower than normal, as he was consciously aware of his sutures and the pain associated with certain activities.

Phoebe was crying, sobbing and struggling to catch her breath. Erin didn’t hesitate. She climbed onto the side of the Hatteras and hoisted herself onto the dock. She immediately hugged Jimmy’s mother to console her until Hank could join them.

She forced her tone of voice to be upbeat. “Okay, we have good news. We found Jimmy.”

“Oh, thank God,” Phoebe said as she continued to cry. She tried to wipe the tears off her face, but they poured out too fast. Her eyes darted between Erin and Hank. It didn’t take her long to realize their demeanors were subdued and not celebratory. “Is he …? Is he okay?”

Hank moved closer and lovingly wiped the tears off Phoebe’s face. He held her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. “Phoebe, your son is a survivor. However, he’s been through a lot. For days, he’s managed to fight the hurricane and dehydration to stay afloat in Florida Bay.”

“The bay?” Mike asked. “I thought they were in Blackwater Sound?”

“He must’ve been pushed through the Boggies during the high winds,” replied Hank before turning his attention back to Phoebe. “Listen to me. You know Jessica. She’s the best there is at helping people outside of a hospital. They’re taking Jimmy to Mariner’s in Tavernier. Sonny is with them and so is Peter. We need to go, too.”

Phoebe nodded her head up and down vigorously. She started to pull away and head toward the beach.

Erin had a suggestion. “Mike, I assume your truck has sirens and lights?”

“Yes, of course, although traffic isn’t an issue. It’s the stalled vehicles.”

She stepped closer and kept constant eye contact with him in an effort to convey the message she needed him to understand. “Your family needs to be together. Can you drive them? You know, as quickly as possible?”

Mike got it. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“I can stay here with Erin,” offered Tucker.

“I’ll be—” she began to argue before Tucker cut her off.

“Seriously, I’ll stay. There’s been some things happening, and you’ll need help.”

Erin had a puzzled look on her face, but she acquiesced. Minutes later, Mike, Hank and Phoebe were racing up the highway toward Tavernier.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sunday, November 10

Mariner’s Hospital

Tavernier, Florida

It wasn’t an ambulance, but the E-Z go utility cart had a long enough bed to hold the backboard firmly in place atop a one-inch-thick, vinyl-coated pad. Jessica worked with Sonny and Peter to lift Jimmy out of the boat, where they passed him off to a trauma nurse and two orderlies. The trio drove away with the trauma nurse perched in the back to continue checking Jimmy’s vitals.

“Guys, let’s secure the boat and head to the hospital,” said Peter. “It’s just over a mile from here.”

They wasted no time in tying the boat to the dock at Mangrove Marina. Jessica also locked all of the vessel’s compartments. During the process, they’d drawn the attention of several onlookers, and she was concerned her medical gear would be looted.

They began jogging toward the hospital. Just as they approached the end of Hood Avenue where it intersected with U.S. 1, a sheriff’s deputy drove toward them. Jessica flagged her down, and the two recognized one another.

The deputy offered them a ride to the hospital, but Jessica declined. She needed a bigger favor. She asked the deputy to watch over her boat. She’d been caught in a conundrum between joining the family at the hospital and protecting her gear. The deputy understood and readily offered to watch it for an hour. She was one of many deputies with the MCSO whom Jessica and Mike had a good relationship with. After working closely together for years, they’d learned whom they could count on and trust in a crisis.

The group ran the last quarter mile to the emergency care entrance to the hospital. The pink and tan stucco buildings surrounded by palm trees epitomized the architectural look of the Keys. The large hospital was far less intrusive on the eye than the retail strip centers and convenience stores found on both sides of the highway.

Jessica led the way into the ER, where they found a large group of people waiting to be seen. Accident victims with injuries ranging from broken limbs to bumps on the head were awaiting treatment. A frenzied triage nurse was doing her level best to assess the injuries in order to categorize them.

Patients had a variety of tags hung around their necks with a clip-on chain. A green tag represented someone with minimal, minor injuries. Scrapes, bruises, and shallow puncture wounds, to name a few. A yellow tag was assigned to those who could have their treatment delayed somewhat because their injuries were non-life-threatening.

Jessica’s trained eye scanned the waiting area and the scrum of people huddled around the reception desk. She was relieved that she didn’t see any red tags provided to those who needed immediate attention—patients like Jimmy who’d suffered life-threatening injuries. Lastly, she was glad there were no body bags or gurneys with deceased patients marked with a black toe tag.

She shoved her way through some family members milling about in front of the intake desk. Sonny and Peter followed her through the crowd, perturbed that people wouldn’t get out of the way once their loved one had been assigned the appropriate tag.

“I’m Jessica Albright with the sheriff’s department WET team. I brought a drowning victim in named Jimmy Free. Can you tell me where he is?”

The nurse tucked her hair behind her ears and reached across the desk to take a clipboard from another nurse. She scanned the handwritten notes. “I have a John Doe. Male. Mid-twenties. Brought in by the AmboCart.”

“That’s him. He’s my nephew,” she lied in order to be treated as family. “His uncle and father are with me. Where is he?”

“Trauma eight. End of the hallway.” She pointed to her right.

The three of them forced their way through the crowd and past a security guard, who made a half-hearted attempt to stop them as they rushed through the double doors leading to the trauma wing. The guard had been preoccupied with a man who was inebriated or high on something.

Jessica led them to the nurses’ station in the trauma wing. “What can you tell me about the drowning victim in trauma eight?”

“Are you family?” the nurse asked.

“Yes. All of us are.”

The nurse read the notes on his chart. “He was unconscious on arrival. His breathing was light and labored. A team is in there working on him now. Their first steps were to improve his oxygenation and then to stabilize his circulation. We should know something shortly.”

“Can I see my son?” Sonny’s voice was pleading.

“Sir, he’s not conscious, and we really need to let the trauma team do their jobs. It would be best for you to wait in—” She began to point toward the waiting room before Jessica cut her off.

“We’ll stand at the end of the hallway by the window. I’m a paramedic with the sheriff’s department, and we’d like to be available to provide the doctor his medical history if asked.”

The nurse scowled. Before she could order them out, she was called away by a doctor who’d stuck his head out of another trauma room. The loud, steady blare of a patient coding could be heard as the doctor opened the door.

Jessica nodded her head toward the end of the hallway, and the guys immediately picked up on the subterfuge. They moved quietly and quickly away from the nurses’ station to the window overlooking the parking lot. Jimmy’s room was the closest to them.

Ten minutes later, the door opened, and the emergency room physician exited. She removed her face mask and gloves before wiping the sweat off her brow. The hospital’s HVAC system had been adjusted to run for just a few minutes every four hours to conserve fuel in their generators.

Sonny immediately charged toward her. “How’s my son?”

The doctor took a deep breath and raised her eyebrows to open her eyes wider. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, or at least since the hurricane swept over the Keys.

“I’m Dr. Golic. And you are?”

“Sonny Free. That’s our son, Jimmy. My wife should be here soon.”

“Well, Mr. Free, your son is either part fish or has the nine lives of a cat. He’s not conscious, but from my examination, I can tell you he’s been through a lot.”

Peter offered an explanation. “We got caught on the water as the storm hit. He’s been missing ever since.”

Dr. Golic shook her head in disbelief. “Wow. That explains it. To say this young man is waterlogged is an understatement.”

“He’d just dropped below the surface when we found him,” said Jessica. “I performed CPR and intubated him to force air into his lungs. He regained consciousness for a brief moment before passing out.”

“You intubated him?” the doctor asked.

“Yes, my name is Jessica Albright. I’m a paramedic with the WET team.”

A look of recognition came over Dr. Golic’s face. “I thought I’d seen you around. You likely saved this young man’s life, Jessica.”

“Oh, thank God!” exclaimed Sonny as he broke down crying. He looked past the doctor toward the door. “May I go see him?”

“In a moment. The nurses are cleaning up and getting him into a gown. It’s a tedious job because he doesn’t need to be jostled unnecessarily. Plus, let me explain where we are in his treatment.”

Sonny’s chin dropped to his chest, but he nodded his understanding.

“Are there complications?” Jessica asked.

“Like I said, your early intubation of the patient made all the difference. The mechanical ventilation was able to keep his arterial saturation at near ninety-two percent. Naturally, because of his time in the water, it was difficult to get accurate readings on the pulse oximeter due to vasoconstriction. However, using the oximeter on his earlobe gave me a reading I was comfortable with.

“His body temperature was a real issue. As we all know, the temperatures in the coastal waters are at least ten to twelve degrees cooler than normal. Even under ideal conditions, remaining in Florida Bay for that length of time in mid-November can bring on hypothermia. We’ve employed some thermal insulation protocols to bring his temp back to normal.”

The doctor paused, and Jessica sensed she was equivocating or perhaps stalling. Sonny was antsy to see his son, and he deserved to know the entire medical prognosis, so she repeated her question.

“Complications?”

The doctor grimaced and nodded. “He was near death when you rescued him. Not surprisingly, he was suffering from dysrhythmia, a medical term for an abnormal heart rhythm. Even advanced cardiac life-support interventions are often ineffective with patients who have low core body temperatures. We tried atropine and lidocaine, administered intravenously. However, I wasn’t satisfied with the results. We used defibrillation to steady his heart rate, but we have to continue to monitor it.

“Once he’s stable, I’ve ordered the team to undertake gastric decompression to deal with the amount of water he swallowed. We’ll also continue to push fluids to help him recover.

“Lastly, it takes up to six hours for lung injuries to present. We’ll continue to monitor him for wet lung sounds, productive cough, and, of course, his irregular heart rate.”

“My god, how can I tell his mother?” asked Sonny, who was overwhelmed by the doctor’s detailed explanation.

Dr. Golic was about to respond when the team of nurses exited the trauma room. “Doctor, the patient has stabilized as his body temperature increased.”

“Great news,” said Dr. Golic. She turned to Sonny. “Mr. Free, you’re going to be able to tell Jimmy’s mother that her son had an intense desire to live under the worst of circumstances. He needs your love and support now. Keep your thoughts positive and pray for him.”

Sonny nodded and looked toward the door. He didn’t have to ask permission, as Dr. Golic knew he was anxious to go inside. She stepped back and pushed the door open but issued a note of caution as she did.

“Please stay calm. He looks like he’s been through hell, and in a way, he has. However, your son is a fighter, and he needs his father to fight alongside him.”

Sonny couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, and he thanked the doctor before slipping inside. Peter thanked her as well and followed Sonny. Jessica hung back.

“Dr. Golic, have you withheld anything or sugarcoated it for Sonny’s benefit?” It was the type of question that some medical professionals would take offense to, but not Dr. Golic.

“That’s all of it,” she replied with a sigh. “There is, however, one matter that I need to raise that only you can probably answer.”

“What’s that?” asked Jessica in a concerned tone.

“How did you find him? By that, I mean was he underwater already or on the surface?”

“We were searching and spotted him from a distance, waving his arms over his head. From his body movement, he appeared to be standing in shallow water. Then, suddenly, he slipped below the surface. When I dove underwater to pull him out, he’d apparently lost his footing and fell into a trough created by the current.”

“For how long?” asked the doctor.

“Underwater? I can’t be certain.”

The doctor grimaced, glanced toward Jimmy’s room, and then reached for Jessica’s arm. She led her several feet away from the door so their conversation couldn’t be overheard.

“Increased duration underwater increases the risk of death but also the potential for severe neurologic impairment. If he was below the surface for less than five minutes, the chances are less than ten percent that he’ll suffer diminished neurologic function. Over five minutes? The percentages rise to fifty-fifty. More than ten? Then I can almost assure you of some type of neurological damage.”

Jessica’s eyes grew wide. All of her training had been focused on rescue and resuscitation. She’d never considered the impact on the brain for a drowning victim.

“Okay. By underwater, do you mean unconscious and not breathing?”

“Yes, if you know.”

“Again, I can’t say for certain, but I’d put it at more than five minutes and less than ten. How much of that time Jimmy was holding his breath, which he’s very good at, versus being in an unconscious state is anybody’s guess.”

Dr. Golic made several notes on Jimmy’s chart and then looked down the hallway toward the nurses’ desk, where another patient was being assigned a room.

“I’ll have a neurologist look in on him once he regains consciousness. He’ll assess the young man’s mental condition. I just need to emphasize to you that full neurological recovery rarely happens after ten minutes of normothermic submersion. This doesn’t need to be shared with his parents yet. Let’s keep him alive first.”

With those ominous words, Dr. Golic left Jessica standing in the hallway alone. For the first time, she broke down in tears.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sunday, November 10

Mariner’s Hospital

Tavernier, Florida

Jessica checked her watch again. It had been forty-five minutes since she’d left her boat parked at Mangrove Marina in Hurricane Harbor. The deputy had been kind enough to offer her time to watch over it, but she couldn’t count on her staying much longer. She needed to relieve the deputy, and besides, Jimmy had not regained consciousness although his vitals had stabilized.

“Guys,” she began, “I’ve gotta get back to the boat. Plus, I’m sure Hank will arrive with Phoebe, and they’re only gonna allow so many of us in the room with Jimmy.”

“How many?” asked Peter.

Jessica shrugged. “Three, maybe four, but I doubt it. They don’t want him to feel overwhelmed when he comes to.”

“Maybe I should—?” Before Peter could finish his question, there was a gentle knocking at the door before it slowly opened. Phoebe’s worried face appeared.

Sonny immediately rushed to her and pulled her the rest of the way inside. Peter held the door while the parents consoled one another. The tears began to flow again as Sonny relayed to Phoebe what they knew about Jimmy’s condition.

Hank and Mike filled the doorway, craning their necks over the distraught parents to catch a glimpse of Jimmy. Mike had spent plenty of time in a hospital bed of his own lately, so he knew what to look for on the monitors near Jimmy’s bed. He frowned when he studied the cardiac monitors. Jimmy’s body was fighting to live, but his heart appeared to be struggling.

Jessica whispered to the guys, “Let’s step outside and give them some time with Jimmy. We don’t want the nurses to run us off.”

The Albright men exited the room and moseyed over by the window. It was getting dark, and the minimal visibility was getting closer to zero with no ambient light coming from the surrounding buildings.

“How is he?” asked Hank once Jessica arrived by their side.

She went through the list of considerations Dr. Golic had been most concerned with as it pertained to any drowning victim, including one in Jimmy’s condition. She avoided any discussion related to neurological matters since it would only lead to speculation and undue worry. She even debated within herself whether she’d tell Mike. She rarely withheld anything from him for his protection. She simply thought there was plenty to worry about regarding Jimmy’s recovery without adding possibilities of a less-than-full neurological recovery.

After providing them the update, she explained her concern for the boat. Mike agreed to give Jessica and Peter a ride to the marina while Hank took a few minutes to visit with Jimmy.

He entered trauma eight with trepidation. Hank still felt guilty for offering Jimmy to Lindsey to perform the role of border guard at the two bridges leading onto the Keys. He never suspected that his second son might get caught up in her dubious plan to destroy the bridges.

The three of them stood over Jimmy’s bed, watching every part of the young man’s body for signs of movement. Sonny told them the doctor deemed Jimmy to be unconscious rather than in a coma. In a comatose person, the brain was so heavily damaged that neither the sensory nor internal networks were functioning correctly. The body rarely moved or reacted to any external stimuli in that state.

Dr. Golic had described Jimmy’s condition as unconscious with a hint of exhaustion. His body and mind had been through a traumatic experience. Quite simply, it needed to rest. The doctor doubted it was prepared to expend one iota of energy more than it needed to.

Mike returned from dropping off Jessica and Peter at the boat. They thanked the deputy for taking the time to watch over the vessel and promised her a favor of some kind if she needed one.

“Any change?” Mike asked as he entered the room.

“No, not really,” replied Hank. “I’ve been trying to understand the monitors. They’re like the ones you were hooked up to, but I have to admit I was too messed up to learn what they were for.”

Mike glanced at the devices and jutted out his chin. “They’re slightly better than twenty minutes ago. It might take a while before he wakes up.”

“Not really.”

The four of them looked at each other. Hank thought he was hearing voices, but when he saw everyone else’s reaction, it became clear. Jimmy had awakened.

“Hey, over here,” he said in a barely audible whisper. “I’m awake.”

Phoebe and Sonny leaned over the railings and gently held their son’s hands as they took turns kissing his cheeks. Their tears streamed off their cheeks and noses onto their son. Rather than cry with them, he smiled. He was alive.

“I’ll get the nurse,” said Mike, who was through the door before anyone could acknowledge him.

Hank was also emotional. “Save your strength, Jimmy. I’m sure the nurses will need to talk to you.”

Loud footsteps could be heard in the hallway, coming toward the door. The soles of their sneakers squeaked on the floor as the two nurses pivoted to come inside. All of Jimmy’s loved ones immediately stepped back to allow them to check on their patient.

Hank made eye contact with Sonny and motioned for him to come around the bed to join Phoebe. For his part, he stepped out of the way to allow plenty of room for the medical team to work.

Shortly thereafter, Dr. Golic arrived with her stethoscope slung over her neck and shoulders. She nodded to Hank but focused her attention on Jimmy. She pulled out her penlight and studied Jimmy’s eyes, speaking to him in soft tones as she explained the purpose of each examination technique she employed.

Afterwards, she issued orders to the two trauma nurses regarding Jimmy’s medications and intravenous feeding. She also set new goals for cardiac and respiratory functions. Now that he was awake, it was hoped his recovery would hasten.

“Jimmy, welcome back. You are a remarkable young man. Part fish is the way your family has described you.”

Jimmy smiled and rolled his eyes. “I’ll never go in the water again.”

Dr. Golic laughed as she picked up his wrist and felt his pulse while studying the rate shown on the cardiac monitor.

“Somehow, I doubt that. You are a survivor. Survivors are known to take calculated risks when necessary. You shouldn’t fear the water, especially since you’ve lived through this.”

Jimmy smiled and nodded. He turned his gaze upon his parents, who looked like they were staring at a newborn baby, their son. He’d been given a second chance in life and planned on making the most of it.

“When can I go home?” asked Jimmy.

Mike laughed. “Sounds like something I’d say.”

Dr. Golic wasn’t sure what he meant by that, so she responded to Jimmy. “You’ve still got some work to do, young man. We need to assess your lungs for the next twenty-four hours or more. Also, there are other specialists on staff who will look in on you as part of our normal protocols.”

She avoided getting into the discussion of the neurological consequences of his near-drowning experience. Not to mention the hospital’s psychologist would poke her head into Jimmy’s room at some point to assess him for post-traumatic stress disorder.

Jimmy frowned at her response.

“Jimmy, you stay right here,” said Sonny. “Your mom and I will stay close. That’s okay, right?”

“Absolutely,” Dr. Golic replied. She turned to address Hank and Mike. “No more than two. I’m sorry.”

Hank nodded. He reached out and squeezed Jimmy’s foot. “You rest up, buddy. Lacey and Tucker are home, as is Peter. We’ll fix you up a double helping of conch stew. Right, Mom?”

Hank reached out to squeeze Phoebe’s hand. The group laughed. Phoebe’s home remedy for pretty much anything was a hefty portion of conch in some recipe or another.

The group said their goodbyes as Hank and Mike eased out of the room. A joyous, emotional reunion took place in Jimmy’s room moments later.

CHAPTER NINE

Sunday, November 10

Overseas Highway

Florida Keys

The Keys were engulfed in darkness as Mike drove across the Snake Creek drawbridge connecting Islamorada with Windley Key. Finished in 1981, it had been the third bridge to span the two islands since the Overseas Railroad was built in the early twentieth century. It was the only remaining operating drawbridge in the Keys. Or, at least, it was.

After the two brothers commiserated over Jimmy and his recovery prospects, they rode along for several miles in silence. Then, as the minds of brothers often do, they brought up a subject in near unison.

“We need to talk about Lindsey,” said Mike as Hank asked, “Can we talk about Lindsey?”

After laughing and exchanging high fives, the men became more serious.

Mike continued. “She’s on your mind, too.”

Hank rested his chin in his hand and stared out the passenger’s side window. Normally at night, the small shops and restaurants that lined U.S. 1 in Islamorada would be bustling with tourist activity. Now the spaces were darkened, and the streets were abandoned except for the occasional wayward soul searching through trash or a looted business.

“Don’t get me wrong, Mike. I bear the responsibility of Jimmy being on that bridge in the first place. I allowed Lindsey to strong-arm me, but I felt it was my only choice since she seemed to say I’d be protected from her plans to put people in our bungalows and seize the food grown in our greenhouses.”

“All right, listen up,” began Mike in a stern tone of voice. “I can’t help how you feel, but I can try to ease your conscience. Lindsey is a straight-up snake. A master manipulator. A true black widow who has a way of getting men to do her bidding before she injects venom into their system. Trust me, I almost fell prey to her years ago, as you know.”

Hank nodded. “Mike, I can’t decide if she’s lost it or if she honestly believes she’s doing the right thing for the Keys. Either way, I don’t think we’re done with her. She couldn’t’ve cared less about her nephew going missing. Sad, really.”

“Sad unless you understand how selfish she is, Hank. She’s power hungry and will absolutely use these circumstances to advance her agenda. She’s been reelected by fooling people. Now she doesn’t have to answer to anyone. Hell, look at how she thumbed her nose at Washington, or wherever our capital is now. Blowing up bridges? Are you kidding me?”

Hank turned in his seat to face his brother. The glow emanating from the dashboard showed the concern on his face. “You’re more attuned to the happenings in Key West than I am. I avoid the place like the plague. How far do you think she’ll go?”

Mike shrugged. “I’d say the sky’s the limit if I could see the damn sky. Personally, I’ve always believed she was power hungry. Now she has unrestrained power, to an extent. I mean, I don’t think she can shoot somebody on Duval and get away with it. But, hell, this martial law declaration probably gives her that right.”

“I’ve read it,” added Hank. “At least the one issued by the president. She probably does have that power. Keep in mind, she’s got her own executive order, too.”

“I nosed around the department before I left Key West. Deputies and staff are scrambling in all directions, jumping at the sheriff’s orders. I gotta believe he’s working closely with her.”

“He’s an independent, elected official like she’s supposed to be,” interjected Hank. “I’ve never known them to act in lockstep on everything.”

“Yeah.” Mike stretched out the word. “You’d be surprised. They disagree on mundane matters that don’t really have an impact on the people who live here. However, on the big stuff, they see eye to eye. There have been policy changes within the department that have us all scratching our heads but afraid to speak out.”

“I tried to have a conversation with the sheriff, but it was a waste of time. When I went to Lindsey’s office, I felt like the enemy. Not a good feeling.”

The men rode on in silence as Mike was forced to concentrate on their surroundings. The bridge stretching from Lower Matecumbe Key to Marathon had been thrust into pitch darkness. There were cars abandoned in all directions, a few of which were being lived in by homeless people or the displaced.

“Before we get home, let me ask you about Erin,” said Mike.

“Okay. You know, we’re just good friends. Heck, we really barely know each other. We spent some time together while she was here. Then the day she was whisked away, we were having a pretty good time fishing. That’s it.”

Mike looked over in Hank’s direction. His brother stared forward through the windshield. “There must’ve been something more for her to get a Coast Guard escort to Driftwood Key. I mean, why did she leave Wash—um, you know, wherever the hell they were working from.”

“Mike, honestly, we haven’t had time to talk about any of that. She arrived, and I was truthfully glad to see her. I’ve thought about her a lot since she left. Anyway, it had been a long day for everyone, so we all went to bed. Then we put together the search party and took off early.”

“She didn’t explain her intentions on the boat ride up to Florida Bay?” said Mike inquisitively.

“No. Like me, she wanted to stay focused on finding Jimmy.”

“No small talk or anything—”

Hank got annoyed with his brother. “No, Detective Albright, nothing like that.”

Mike laughed. “Okay, I deserved that. It’s just odd to me that she would show up out of the blue and think that (a) it was safe and (b) it would be okay with us.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” asked Hank, who was now on the defensive. “She’s a good person, Mike.”

“Geez, Hank. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m a little leery of everything right now. I think we have to move forward with the mindset of, um, trust no one.”

Hank gently slapped his brother on the shoulder as Mike slowed to enter the street leading onto Driftwood Key. “No problem. We’ve all been through a lot.”

“No doubt. I think we need adult beverages.”

“Drinks and cigars,” added Hank.

Mike nodded but threw water on the idea. “I’d love to, but the air quality kinda sucks. I don’t think we should be hanging around outside.”

“Nah, we’ll take over the bar.”

Mike started laughing. “Phoebe will have your ass if you smoke cigars in the main house.”

“It’ll clear out by the time they get home, right?”

Mike shook his head from side to side and grinned. “I hope so for your sake.”

CHAPTER TEN

Sunday, November 10

Driftwood Key

Jessica and Peter arrived at the dock just as Hank and Mike were exiting the unmarked four-door pickup truck owned by the MCSO. Lacey and Erin greeted them all at the dock. Interestingly, all the adults had the same suggestion to help ease the stress and tensions of the day. Cocktails.

Tucker, who’d slept most of the afternoon, was ready to pull an all-nighter at the gate. Mike had picked up a couple of ThunderPower megaphones during his supply run to the sheriff’s department supply depot the other day. Known as the Earthquake Maker, the powerful megaphone was capable of blasting a voice up to two thousand yards, and its shrill warning siren could be heard for a mile or more. Tucker had tested it earlier and found it worked better than the Pyle megaphones they kept on Driftwood Key for marine use.

With Tucker watching the perimeter, the adults raided the kitchen and then made their way into the bar. Illuminated by candlelight, a few windows were cracked slightly so the guys could each have a means to ventilate the smoke from their cigars to the outside, joining the already soot-filled air.

Lacey and Jessica claimed the opposite ends of the leather couch, their legs stretched out so that their feet pressed against each other. While Jessica was older than Lacey, the two enjoyed a sister-like relationship. On the few occasions Lacey had been able to visit Driftwood Key for an extended period of time, she and Jessica had been almost inseparable.

Erin, the inn’s only guest, offered to act as the group’s bartender. She was comfortable with all the members of the Albright family. After the initial shock of her grand arrival via helicopter, the family had welcomed her with open arms although they were anxious to hear why she’d come there instead of her own home.

Of everyone in attendance, Erin was the only person who’d not suffered following the collapse. She’d been fed and protected within the confines of Mount Weather along with the other top-ranking officials of the Helton administration. She’d confirmed with the help of Homeland Security that her immediate family was safe.

As the evening progressed, she hoped the Albrights’ conversations could be somewhat lighthearted. Erin thought they needed a break from reality.

“Okay, everyone. Tonight, you are the guests of the Driftwood Key Inn, and I am your humble bartender. Before you start telling me your troubles, may I propose a toast?”

“Sure!”

“Only if you’re humble!” shouted Jessica, drawing a laugh from the group.

Everyone raised their drinks as Erin lifted hers.

“To TEOTWAWKI—the end of the world as we know it!”

Glasses clinked, and drinks were swigged.

Then Erin bowed her head slightly and looked toward Lacey. She raised her glass again. “To those who were loved and lost.”

Lacey smiled and raised her glass. She fought back tears and smiled before proposing a toast of her own. “To all of us as we find the strength to move forward as a family.”

“Cheers!” several of the group said loudly.

The toasting session managed to empty several glasses, so Erin busily refilled the drinks. Hank, Jessica and Erin enjoyed a scotch. Mike commandeered his own bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Peter sipped rum, and Lacey was the sole wine drinker.

Once settled in with a second round, the conversation turned from Jimmy’s medical condition to what was happening outside the Keys.

Mike turned to Lacey. “You guys had one helluva road trip. I’m sure you’d like to put most of it out of your mind.”

She grimaced and sipped her wine. “You know, it was an odd mix of unfettered violence and people coming together to help. You had some people who’d give you the shirt off their backs, and then there were others who’d take your shirt, after killing you, of course. It’s amazing how broad the spectrum was.”

“I experienced the same thing,” added Peter. “During my trip, I had a lot of time to soak in what was happening around me, and I tried to make sense of it all. I can’t tell you how many times I was surprised by people’s kindness only to see the dark side of humanity show itself moments later. People became violent because they were frightened and others simply because they were evil opportunists.”

Lacey turned to her uncle, whom she adored. “Uncle Mike, other than this serial killer you guys have mentioned in passing, what’s it been like in the Keys? Has there been violence and looting?”

Mike glanced at Jessica and then responded, “Fortunately, so far the spikes in crime have related mostly to B & Es. As the crisis started to unfold, the store shelves were emptied by panicked shoppers.”

“I have to say, we were part of that,” interrupted Hank.

“Yeah, and within the MCSO, some people looked at it as hoarding while others considered it self-preservation. Those of us who reacted quickly to the first signs of trouble are better prepared than others.”

“There has been violence, so let’s not sugarcoat it, though,” interjected Jessica. “In addition to Patrick almost killing my husband and Phoebe, we had gas thieves shooting at us and a well-armed group try to breach our gate. Their bloodstains are still on the bridge.”

Mike continued. “These incidents were becoming more frequent, although the hurricane seemed to give us a break from the violent encounters. However, those who had very little to begin with lost everything during the storm. People who relied upon fishing lost their boats. Others who were days away from starvation also lost the roofs over their heads.”

“And thanks to Lindsey, anyone who wanted to leave the Keys and stay with relatives are stuck here because the bridges have disappeared,” said Hank. He was about to rise out of his chair to get a refill; however, Erin quickly moved across the room to take his glass. The two shared a long, loving look when they were close to one another, something that did not go unnoticed by Mike and Jessica.

After pouring Hank another drink, Erin took her seat on a bar stool and refilled her glass. As she did, Jessica asked, “Erin, what can you tell us about the bigger picture? What’s going on elsewhere?”

She took a deep breath before responding, “First, let me commend both Peter and Lacey for what they accomplished. The levels of violence are much higher outside the Keys. The reports out of Miami, like America’s other highly populated cities, are shocking. There are armed gangs forming to establish territories. They work in large packs to loot and rob people. Home invasions are too numerous to count.”

“Sounds like lawlessness,” said Hank.

“It is, in part because there aren’t enough law enforcement officers to control it and also because many have quit to protect their own families.”

Mike and Jessica glanced at each other. They’d unofficially done the same thing.

“I read the martial law declaration signed by the president,” said Hank. “Obviously, he has the military at his disposal to help, right?”

Erin nodded. “The Army has just over eight hundred thousand active-duty soldiers and National Guardsmen. With the three hundred thousand reservists who have been called up, the Army provides the vast majority of the president’s manpower to gain control of the streets.

“As odd as this may seem under the circumstances, America is extremely vulnerable to foreign invasion at this moment. To be sure, all major powers in the northern hemisphere, namely China and Russia, are going through the same thing we are. That said, their populations are used to a different standard of living, or lifestyle, than we are. They’re also used to living under an oppressive government. Rather than using their military resources to fight rioters or quell uprisings, they could turn their sights on us while our armed forces are preoccupied.”

“Who shot at us to begin with?” asked Lacey.

“North Korea,” replied Erin.

Peter, who was very knowledgeable in foreign affairs, returned to the subject of an invasion. “If the nuclear powers wanted to finish us off, they could’ve easily done so. We most likely exhausted our nuclear defense arsenal against the North Koreans, am I right?”

“Yes,” replied Erin. “Both Moscow and Beijing know this. That said, destroying the rest of America wouldn’t do them any good. China, especially, needs America with a vibrant economy to survive. If anything, they need us to get back on our feet quickly. That doesn’t mean, however, they wouldn’t seize the opportunity to acquire key strategic assets while we’re defenseless.”

“Are you thinking they might seize territories in the Far East?” asked Peter.

“Certainly. Taiwan is a given. They might make a move on American Samoa and Guam. The Northern Mariana Islands are also targets. For Russia, they’d love to invade Alaska. It would be a perfect fit as they expand their presence in the Arctic. Plus, control of the vast petroleum potential in ANWR would change the balance of power in the fossil-fuel industry.” The Arctic National Wildlife Refuge was an oil-rich area that was constantly a football in Washington between those who want to drill for oil and those who don’t.

“We had to reroute our trip home because Texas closed its borders,” said Lacey. “How can they do that?”

“The same way Lindsey did it, I suppose,” said Mike with a hint of snark. “Did they blow up their bridges, too?”

Erin shook her head as she drank. “No, but they certainly blocked them all. Their actions came as a result of the huge number of American refugees fleeing for Mexico. When the Mexican government had had enough of our people infiltrating their country on the way to lower latitudes, they deployed their army coupled with assistance from the drug cartels to close their borders. The Texas governor was facing a humanitarian crisis as millions of people, not knowing that Mexico had shut down access, would be accumulating in his state.”

Lacey shared what she and Tucker had observed. “We saw military trucks, even tanks, headed west on Interstate 40 toward the Panhandle. Did they invade Texas?”

Erin sighed. “I wasn’t privy to all of the details, but I did hear the whispers in the corridors of Mount Weather. Let’s just say it was in the works.”

“Were they going to do the same here?” asked Peter before adding, “I saw them staging in Homestead at the Speedway.”

“Yes. That was the president’s intention. I believe the operation was delayed by the storm and, of course, the decision to blow up the bridges.”

“Maybe Lindsey did the right thing after all,” Mike said as he poured himself another drink.

Erin’s eyes grew wide. So much for lighthearted.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sunday, November 10

Driftwood Key

“Come on, Mike,” countered Hank in a raised voice. “There were better ways to deal with these problems than blow up bridges.” This was the second time Hank and Mike had had a disagreement that day.

“Okay. Okay. Calm down,” began Mike. “Just hear me out. Everyone knows how I feel about Lindsey. Trust me, there’s no love lost between us. That said, she made two decisions that arguably may have benefited the Keys.

“The first one involved expelling all nonresidents. Think about it, Hank. You did the same thing here, and it was the right thing to do. Those folks needed to go home and take care of themselves. We’re going to be facing some difficult times ourselves without trying to feed a dozen extra mouths.”

As soon as he made the statement, Erin wanted to shrink within herself. She was one of those extra mouths.

Mike continued. “Imagine all of these tourists wandering around the Keys. Homeless. Hungry. Desperate. Increasingly violent. It would be a bad situation.”

“What about the bridges?” asked Hank.

Mike turned to Erin. “So what was the president’s plan as he invaded the Florida Keys? Depose the government and become a military occupying force on U.S. soil? Arrest Lindsey and any criminal co-conspirators who set up the roadblocks? They might’ve taken all of law enforcement into custody until they could decide who was complicit and who wasn’t. Think about this. Under the martial law declaration, the president took away all of our rights of due process, speedy trial, trial by jury, etcetera. Jessica and I, and even Jimmy, could be rotting away in a jail cell somewhere.”

“I don’t think the president would’ve let it come to that,” Erin began to explain before Mike interrupted her.

“Don’t get me wrong because I’m not defending Lindsey. All I know is what I hear from people at the MCSO. She honestly believed the National Guard was going to come onto the Keys, by force if necessary, and use all of the powers afforded under the martial law declaration to seize control of the government and anything else it wanted. Including a place like Driftwood Key.”

“Lindsey threatened me with the same crap, Mike,” said Hank. “She stood right outside this window and all but said fork over Jimmy to stand guard or I’ll be back to load up all your food and supplies.”

“I’m just saying we’re better off with the devil we know rather than the devil we don’t,” said Mike as he leaned back and folded his arms.

The tensions between them were evident, making the rest of the family uncomfortable. Erin had intended to speak with Hank alone about why she was there, but she decided to address the group before the brothers’ relationship worsened.

She took a long swig of liquid courage and stood in front of the Albrights. “There’s something I need to say.”

Everyone exchanged glances with one another. Lacey turned around on the couch to give Erin her complete attention.

“Go ahead, Erin,” encouraged Hank.

She looked at him as she spoke. “I never wanted to leave the boat that day. I can’t tell you how wonderful it felt to close out the world and have someone as nice as you come into my life. Being summoned back to Washington like that frightened me because it meant really bad things were on the horizon. Turns out that was the case.

“Hank, not a day went by that I didn’t think about you. Well, all of you, really. I worried about your safety and well-being. In fact, I did my level best to keep tabs on what was happening here through my contacts in the intelligence community who worked out of Mount Weather. I was aware of the mayor’s actions although I never imagined she’d blow up a federal highway and a state road.

“Anyway, I had become a thorn in the president’s side. It was unintentional. In our briefings and cabinet meetings, he’d ask my opinion, and I’d give it. As it turned out, I was too disagreeable for him and was about to be fired. While I was pleading my case to save my job, I seized on an opening he gave me. That’s what led me back to you.”

“What was that?” asked Hank.

“Everyone, the president went through a period in which the stresses of the crisis overwhelmed him. When he came back, he was angry and wanted to take out his frustrations on anyone, including entire states like Texas, which he perceived to be working against him. The Florida Keys became one of those lightning rods for his ire.

“When he learned of the nonresidents being removed from the Keys, followed by the closing of the two bridges with armed personnel, he blew a fuse. This happened at a time when Texas and other areas of the country were doing the same.

“You see, the president has this utopian vision of everyone coming together to help one another through the collapse. That’s possible, but it must be done on a community or more localized basis.

“The president hasn’t been on the road like Lacey and Peter. He hasn’t had his home fall under attack like you have. He sees everyone coming together to share their resources for the greater good of all Americans.”

“Lindsey is the same way,” interjected Hank. “In her mind, all the resources in the Keys should be pooled together and distributed according to need. She doesn’t care whether a business or family like ours made personal and financial sacrifices to prepare for a catastrophic event like this one. In her mind, it’s not fair for some of us to have an advantage over others.”

Mike poured himself another shot of Jack, his fourth. “Are you saying you volunteered to return to the Keys to help the president?” His skepticism of Erin’s motives came through in his questioning.

“Mike, let me tell you what the president’s stated intentions were,” replied Erin, who finished her drink, more to quench her dry mouth than to loosen her tongue. “I’m serious when I tell you this. He planned on taking control of Monroe County’s government. Then he was going to displace most of its residents by moving them to government-owned housing on the mainland.”

Erin took a deep breath before finishing her thought. “He intended to undertake a massive land reclamation project by leveling buildings, trucking in topsoil, and creating large federally operated farms to produce food for the nation.”

Mike started laughing. “That’s freaking nuts!”

“What would that look like?” asked Jessica. “Big bulldozers mowing everything down and then dump trucks building farmland?”

“It’s absurd, you guys, and I told him as much. That’s why he wanted to fire me, among other things.”

“Is that why you’re here?” asked Mike. “To lay the groundwork for this ridiculous idea?”

Erin poured herself another drink and sat back on the barstool. “President Helton is a cunning, conniving politician, not unlike your mayor, except on a much higher level. Here’s why he agreed to send me to the Keys. He wants me to recruit Hank to take Lindsey’s job through valid elections.”

Mike busted out laughing. “Hank? As county mayor?”

“That’s right. It was my idea, actually. You see, the president has encircled the Keys with Coast Guard vessels. He has not given up on his plans to take over the Keys although he lied to me about that. I know him, so I made inquiries with friendly military personnel. Gaining control of the situation is the only way to avoid our own military invading the Keys.”

“Then why would you go along with him?” asked Jessica.

“Because I know politics and how these things work. Now, correct me if I’m wrong. Your mayor, Lindsey, is a power-hungry opportunist, right?”

“Nailed it,” said Mike.

“Okay. She’s got some pretty big cajones right now because she destroyed the bridges preventing the National Guard from coming onto the Keys. I guess she forgot about the amphibious units, like the Marines, available to the president. She’s pissed him off, and he’d come at her with all he’s got.”

“She’d fold like a cheap tent,” said Hank.

“Exactly!” exclaimed Erin. “She’d sell out the residents and businesses throughout the Keys in a heartbeat. He’d let her keep her position while offering her countless opportunities to profit from this. It’s the way these kinds of politicians do business.”

“I take it he didn’t disclose this part to you, am I right?” asked Peter.

“That’s right. I didn’t give him any inkling that I saw through his façade. Trust me, Peter. You know Washington. We were playing chess, not checkers.”

“So what is the plan?” asked Hank. “How do you intend to make me mayor? And then what?”

“By my agreeing to help the president, we can keep any military action at bay. At least for a while. The media will turn on him if they perceive he’s being heavy-handed on a bunch of flip-flop-wearing islanders. We have to find a way to work from within to undermine Lindsey’s authority. Cause the locals to turn on her and demand a vote, a referendum of sorts, to insert an alternative government.”

“Led by Hank?” asked Mike.

“All of you can play a role,” replied Erin. “Think about it. Some of the key aspects of any functioning society are government, law enforcement, and the media. All three of these integral parts are sitting in this room. Each of you can contribute.”

Hank stood and began pacing the floor. He rubbed his hands through his hair as he contemplated Erin’s proposal. “This is a lot to take on, Erin. I mean, we’re gonna struggle to survive ourselves.”

“If you do nothing, here’s what’s likely to happen. First, this tyrannical mayor is going to sweep through the Keys like a pack of locusts stripping away anything of value to be redistributed. At some point, the Coast Guard with a contingent of Marines will come ashore to arrest her and anyone connected to her administration. Possibly, like Mike said, law enforcement officers complicit in the destruction of the bridges. Once that has happened, he might go through with his stupid plan to level the Keys and turn it into Iowa.”

“Or?” asked Hank.

Erin stood again and walked up to him, grabbing his arms so he’d stop pacing. “Or you can save the Keys.”