Nuclear Winter Desolation: Post Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (Nuclear Winter Series Book 5) Page 14

  Tucker was about to ask another question when Mike’s two-way radio squawked to life.

  “Sanchez for Albright. Over.” Mike and the deputies assigned to his substation had agreed to dispense with the formalities on their radio calls. He was recognized as their supervisor, but none of them used their ranks when interacting with one another.

  “Go ahead, Sanchez.”

  “A woman came into the substation claiming to have seen several pickup trucks approach the loading docks at the high school. She thought one of them, a teenager, was climbing on top of a backhoe parked near the building.”

  “Roger that,” said Mike. He’d laid down a single law with his deputies when he gathered them together for the first time. The buddy system was always in effect. “I’m 10-53.” He was en route to the station.

  “Do you think they’re breaking in?” asked Peter.

  “Probably gonna try. I went by the high school the other day, and the buildings looked secure. But you know kids.” Mike laughed as he mussed Tucker’s uncharacteristically long hair.

  Don Wallace was the group’s field general. Everyone looked up to him, and he relished the opportunity to feel important once again. In his prior career, he’d operated a large road-construction business. During its heyday, he’d had multiple contracts with the state of Ohio, building new highways and resurfacing old ones. Then a period of hyperinflation hit America, causing building material prices to skyrocket. At the same time, the labor market became tight, and he was having difficulty keeping employees, much less hiring new ones. After making several large draws that included work that was yet to be completed, Wallace’s house of cards collapsed. He allowed the business to close its doors. He liquidated his equipment and kept the advance payments he’d received from the state. Before he could be investigated and prosecuted, he and his wife slipped away and landed in the Florida Keys.

  The glass breakage was sure to draw attention, but it was necessary. The young man who had volunteered to climb the boom of the backhoe and jump over to the suspended roof covering the loading dock did so with ease. Seconds after breaking through, he dove in head-first, his legs languishing half in and half out for a brief moment as if he were diving into a swimming pool.

  “You two, cover that entrance. I need two more on the other side. If anyone from the neighborhood approaches, make sure they see your rifles. Don’t get into conversations with them. The idea is to scare ’em off. Got it?”

  With a quick nod, the four took off to man their posts. Wallace had plenty of people with him to locate the food storage within the high school and to load the trucks. What he didn’t need was an audience.

  “The rest of you, come with me. Let’s move quickly through the building and locate what we need. Don’t waste time unnecessarily searching through cabinets and desk drawers. This is a high school, not a jewelry store. Understand?”

  The men and women agreed. A minute later, they were pacing in front of the roll-up doors, waiting for one of them to open. Wallace was growing frustrated. All the man had to do was come directly to the floor below him. How could he get lost?

  “Hey, are you guys out there?” the man shouted from the center door.

  Wallace rolled his eyes. Yes, moron. “Yeah, what’s the problem?”

  “The doors are run by a motor. There’s no power. I’ve tried all the switches.”

  Wallace shook his head in disbelief. He should’ve sent in a second man with this guy. He nervously looked around. Standing on the platform of the loading dock exposed them to onlookers from the adjacent neighborhood.

  “Disengage the locking mechanism,” ordered Wallace. “Think of how you manually open your garage door. There won’t be a rip cord, but somewhere near the motor or the guides, you’ll find a locking bar.”

  After a minute, Wallace was about to ask the guy if he was doing anything when a series of loud metallic bangs could be heard. The door shook and rattled, startling the group who were waiting to enter. Then a slight gap appeared at the bottom. The man’s fingers protruded from underneath.

  “Hey, can you guys gimme a hand?”

  The twenty-foot-tall steel panel door was heavy and required five men to lift it. Once it created an opening of four feet, a pallet was retrieved from near a dumpster to wedge under the door.

  “All right, people. Let’s split into two groups. Food service is most likely on the main level. Half of you head to the right, and we’ll take the left side. Let’s go!”

  They broke off from one another, flashlights dancing around the hallways, entering the building as they searched for the storerooms. It took a couple of minutes to find what they were looking for.

  “Bingo!” Wallace shouted. He thought he was a winner.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tuesday, November 12

  Marathon

  Hank and Erin left Mrs. Morton’s home encouraged by the support shown by the three county commissioners but wary of whether the group could pull off what amounted to a coup d’état. Lindsey had allies throughout the county, some of whom were likely being compensated through her confiscation program.

  The additional complicating factor was Lindsey’s relationship to the sheriff. Jock’s actions indicated he was in lockstep with her plans, and that didn’t bode well. When a state’s national guard was preoccupied with societal unrest in major cities like Miami and Tampa-St. Petersburg, a county sheriff’s department was tantamount to an army.

  “We don’t have the luxury of time,” began Hank in a defeatist tone. “My guess is Lindsey’s been planning something like these confiscations since the president declared martial law. Obviously, Key West was the first likely target. However, it won’t be long before Sheriff Jock will have his deputies heading up Seven Mile Bridge.”

  Erin patted Hank on the leg. “You’ve made some powerful friends. As I said, you definitely impressed Commissioner Marino at the hospital the other day. So much so, he stuck his neck out and approached the other commissioners.”

  “What I don’t understand is why doesn’t Marino carry the torch. He’s obviously ready to make a move on Lindsey.”

  Erin was quick to reply. “He needs a political outsider who’s known in the community. The Albright name obviously is respected in the Keys.”

  “Maybe. I’m just not so sure to what extent our family is that well known on the other keys. We’ve had very little to do with Key West. Folks in Islamorada know us, but not so much in Key Largo.”

  “That’s where networking and the other commissioners come in,” said Erin encouragingly. “You should solidify your support in the areas you know best. Show the other two commissioners this move is viable. Then let the mayor and sheriff hang themselves. Heavy-handed approaches to governing never work regardless of which side you’re on. Eventually, the people turn on tyrants. You’ll see.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Hank until he suddenly leaned forward in his seat and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. He pointed through the windshield. “Hey, that looked like Mike’s truck with his emergency lights on. He turned by the Winn-Dixie.”

  “I saw him, too. He was in a hurry, wasn’t he?”

  “Hold on. Let’s see what’s going on.” Hank accelerated and raced past the International House of Pancakes, which was in the process of being looted. He glanced over at the restaurant and simply shook his head as he focused on finding his brother.

  “I’ve got two armed men with weapons at low ready near the utility yard,” said Deputy Sanchez, who’d turned in his seat to remove the shotguns from the roof-mounted gun racks. “How do you wanna approach this?”

  Mike pointed through the windshield. “They’ve seen us. What happens next is on them.”

  Mike raced into the high school parking lot, which was shared with the Florida Keys Community College. The two men retreated behind the wall, but Mike caught a glimpse of another man milling about at the other end. He, too, abruptly disappeared.

  The first entrance to the par
king lot had been blocked with a stalled car, so Mike drove past it, skidding to a stop on the sand-covered road at the next entry. He sat there for a moment while Sanchez racked rounds into the shotguns.

  “That damn wall has our view blocked,” Mike complained.

  “We have to separate, Mike. Each of us will approach from a different end and converge on them in the middle.”

  “We need backup!” Mike was still agitated. He was trying to police Marathon with four deputies, one of whom was on Lower Matecumbe Key, and the other two had just gotten off of their shift.

  Suddenly, one of the gunmen poked his rifle around the block wall and fired toward the truck. The bullets missed to the right, kicking up sand and asphalt as they skipped past.

  “That’s it! Idiots!” Mike exited the truck, and Sanchez followed his lead. Each ran in opposite directions to take up positions behind parked vehicles that afforded them a view of the utility yard. Sanchez ran in a low crouch until he reached a green power transformer adjacent to the building. He’d arrived undetected. Mike wasn’t as fortunate.

  Still easily winded due to his lung injury, he had to slow down as he reached a viburnum hedgerow that separated the utility yard from the school entrance. He was well concealed, but he had little in the way of ballistic protection. Just as he reached the hedges, bullets sailed over his head and ripped through the foliage. The gunmen had no way of knowing precisely where he was located, but they certainly had him pinned down.

  Mike dared not shoot back. He remained in a low crouch, hidden from his assailants. He thought for a moment. These shooters weren’t disciplined nor were they trained. He keyed the mic on his radio and whispered to Sanchez, “Fire on them. But be ready for them to fire back. I need you to draw their attention.”

  “Roger,” Sanchez responded. Seconds later, the boom of his shotgun filled the air as he broke cover and quickly unloaded on a vehicle parked near the utility yard entrance. The windshield exploded as the pellets struck the truck. Then he shot again, purposefully aiming toward the end of the stucco retaining wall. Hunks of stucco and the underlying foam were torn away from the wall.

  “Inside!” shouted one of the men. “Fall back and get inside! Now!”

  Mike could hear their hurried footsteps as the shooters found their way to the concrete stairs leading to the loading dock. He peeked through a thin section of the viburnum hedge to get a better look.

  Just as he stood to round the hedges and enter the utility yard, he heard a vehicle approaching from the main highway. He raised his shotgun and turned toward the sound, prepared to shoot. He slowly lowered his rifle and exhaled as he recognized the Suburban he’d obtained from the impound vehicle lot. The driver’s side window was rolled down, and Hank shot him a concerned look.

  Mike began waving his arm at Hank, directing him away from the scene. Shots rang out again as two of the gunmen began firing upon his position from the windows above the loading dock roof. Mike swung around and dropped to a knee. He was approximately two hundred feet away from the shooter, not optimal range for a shotgun, but close enough to cause serious injury.

  He fired. The double-aught buckshot reached its target, blasting through the partially broken glass and striking the two men who foolishly failed to take cover. Both screamed in agony as they were knocked backwards. Mike had no way of knowing whether they were killed, but they certainly didn’t fire back.

  He rushed across the parking lot, glancing up at the building as he went. He noticed Sanchez break cover and run toward the stucco wall to get closer to the loading docks. He reached the Suburban just as Hank and Erin exited, weapons in hand.

  “You two need to get back in the truck,” Mike said angrily.

  “Not gonna happen,” Hank shot back. “What can we do to back you up?”

  Mike brusquely grabbed his brother by the arm and led him around the truck to get them out of the open. He looked at Erin and then addressed Hank.

  “These guys mean business. They fired on us first, Hank. That means they’re stupid. Stupid is dangerous. You follow?”

  “Yeah, I follow. And I’m not gonna let you take them on alone. I, um, we can handle ourselves.”

  Mike looked over the hood of the Suburban and confirmed Sanchez was in position. He shook his head but then came to the realization he and Sanchez were greatly outnumbered. He assessed their choice of weapons. Hank had a shotgun, and Erin was holding an AR-15. Both had their handguns tucked into paddle holsters at their waists. Erin even had a backup magazine in her jeans’ back pocket.

  “Geez, Hank. Are you sure about this?”

  Before Hank could answer, another gunman showed up at the upper windows and fired toward Sanchez.

  “Yes. Now, what do you want us to do?”

  “Okay, Sanchez and I have to flush them out,” he began. He turned toward the building and gestured as he spoke. “I need you and Erin to take up positions on each end of that stucco wall. If they come toward you, and they’re armed, then you shoot them. Understand? None of this hands-up-or-I’ll-shoot nonsense. If they’re armed, shoot them.”

  “No problem,” said Erin. Her look of determination gave Mike a comfort level to proceed.

  “Agreed,” added Hank.

  Mike whispered into his radio, “We’ve got backup. We’re moving.”

  Sanchez readied his rifle and leaned around the corner of the wall, focusing on any movement in the broken window. He responded, “Move!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tuesday, November 12

  Marathon High School

  Mike and Deputy Sanchez worked together now. With Hank and Erin ensuring nobody else entered the building after they did, the trained law enforcement officers could feel comfortable they wouldn’t get trapped. There were four pickup trucks backed up to the loading dock. Mike checked their exhaust pipes to confirm they were still warm from being recently driven. He expected there could be as many as eight armed gunmen inside, plus the two who were likely wounded from his shotgun blast.

  He led Sanchez into the spacious receiving room. They both walked in a low crouch, separating once they were inside so as not to present their attackers with a single target. It was oddly quiet. Mike expected to be fired upon as soon as their silhouettes appeared inside the building, but they found themselves alone. There were no whispers or muffled coughs. No footsteps echoing across the concrete floor. The loading docks were devoid of human activity other than Mike and his deputy.

  Mike motioned for Sanchez to walk along the perimeter walls of the intake room. He did the same, constantly checking on his partner as they encircled the space that led to a single set of double doors in the center of the back wall.

  The fixed door latches had been opened, resulting in the spring-assisted door being left slightly ajar. Mike dropped to a knee and cradled his shotgun with his right arm. Using his left, he slowly pushed the door open, wincing as it creaked on its hinges. He held his breath, assuming a barrage of gunfire would be thrown in their direction.

  Nothing.

  Great, he thought to himself. Now these guys had found some discipline. Mike knew the dynamics had changed. He put his game face on and made a decision to head toward his left down the corridor. To his right was the community college, and to his recollection, it did not have a full cafeteria like the high school did. Its portion of the storage warehouse was probably dedicated to sanitation supplies and the like.

  He whispered across the door opening to his partner. He pointed his hand down the left corridor. “Sanchez, take the lead. I’ll cover our back.”

  Mike pressed the button on the tactical flashlight mounted to the Mossberg 590’s Picatinny rail system. He swept the barrel of his shotgun up and down the hallway. Satisfied the corridor was clear, he moved to the right and once again pointed left, indicating Sanchez should get started.

  The two men walked in tandem. Sanchez concentrated on the upcoming door openings in the hallway. Mike walked backwards, focusing on their rear while periodically
swinging around to check his deputy’s progress.

  Sanchez had been trained in search techniques by the sheriff’s department. In fact, he was one of the better deputies at the MCSO. Mike was lucky the man lived in Marathon, making him a logical addition to the newly formed substation.

  They moved quickly along the painted block wall until they reached the first doorway. With their backs flattened near the door opening, they focused their hearing on any sounds indicating movement in the room. They shared a nod, and Sanchez led the way inside, moving to the right while Mike slid along the wall to the left.

  While being cautious, they wanted to hit the rooms aggressively with the intention of startling any of the gunmen lying in wait. Tensions were high as their flashlights illuminated the space, searching for a target. Several cubicles were located in the center of the room, providing ample cover for the gunmen. Mike dropped to a knee and swept the flashlight underneath the partitions, which were three inches above the concrete floor.

  Satisfied there wasn’t anyone hiding in the cubicles, he motioned to Sanchez to move quickly along the outer walls. Just as they’d done in the spacious loading dock area, they kept their backs against the perimeter of the room, their eyes darting around the space in front of them as well as back to the door through which they’d entered.

  After clearing the first room, they carefully reentered the hallway to move on to a room down the hall to the right. A large set of double steel doors were closed, unlike the next door in the hallway to the left, which was open.

  Mike could’ve easily assumed this room was unoccupied, but he left nothing to chance. After he and Sanchez were in position, he slowly turned the knob and pushed it open. This open area had windows on the back side, and just enough ambient light was available for him to get a good look at the layout.