Nuclear Winter Desolation: Post Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (Nuclear Winter Series Book 5) Page 18

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

  “Who?” asked Erin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Wednesday, November 13

  Key West

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Wednesday, November 13

  Key West

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

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

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

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

  Three shots. Three bodies dropped to the asphalt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Yeah!”

  “Let’s teach this one a lesson!”

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

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

  “You can’t shoot us all!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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