Nuclear Winter Desolation: Post Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (Nuclear Winter Series Book 5) Read online

  President Helton set a dour tone for the meeting. “Erin, the attacks on America and the nuclear winter conditions have changed the dynamic of this administration. Each and every member of my cabinet was hired with a particular role in mind. When I chose you for the Secretary of Agriculture slot, I followed a skill-mix approach that transcended traditional boundaries, specialisms, and levels of engagement.”

  Erin bit her tongue because she needed to see how this meeting played out. Her thoughts, however, weren’t constrained. Mumbo jumbo, naturally. You gave me the job as political payback and to endear yourself to Floridians with their thirty electoral college votes, the nation’s third largest.

  The president continued. “As we transition in the direction of recovery rather than a defensive posture, I will need people around me who are willing to carry out my vision for the future of this great nation.”

  Erin chuckled somewhat disrespectfully. Her attitude drew a scornful look from Chief of Staff Chandler.

  “Yes-men,” she interrupted.

  “Excuse me?” asked the president.

  “You need more yes-men, as if the other fourteen out of fifteen members aren’t enough.”

  “Secretary Bergmann, you’re out of line!” shouted Chandler.

  She gave him a death stare. “Am I? It’s blatantly obvious that my opinions are disregarded because the president doesn’t want to hear an opposite point of view.”

  “I do value your opinions, Erin,” countered the president unsuccessfully as he took control of the meeting. Erin wasn’t buying it.

  Over the weeks since the attacks, Chief of Staff Chandler had wielded more control and power in the Helton administration. The president’s stress and anxiety created a power vacuum that Chandler was more than willing to fill. However, with their impending move above ground, as the president liked to call it, Chandler’s role was also being diminished. The HR people might call that being managed down.

  “Well, Mr. President, respectfully, I understand that you may choose not to follow my suggestions or advice. There can only be one decider, to borrow a term from former president Bush. However, I don’t believe it’s in your best interests to discard someone who can provide you a different approach.”

  The president took a deep breath, glanced at Chandler, and exhaled. Erin got the sense he wanted to use the words you’re fired. However, his chief of staff, who micromanaged the administration’s personnel decisions, was always concerned about optics and media perception. As a result, Chandler was careful not to create a situation in which the president was accused of being one of the many labels ending in -ist or -ism.

  “For example?” the president asked.

  “Let’s take Florida, my home state. Sir, your plan to exercise your authority under the martial law declaration to seize property and convert it into America’s new breadbasket is a fool’s errand. The sandy soil of the Keys won’t support agricultural growth. And even if it did, there’s not enough land mass to feed the residents of Florida, much less the nation. Plus, with NOAA’s hurricane advisory, you should note that anything grown there could be washed away prior to the harvesting season by storm surge.”

  The president furrowed his brow and studied Erin. She didn’t break eye contact with him as he spoke.

  “My interest in Florida involves more than growing food for America. We have a situation, as you know, that borders on treason. I cannot allow state and local governments to shut themselves off from the rest of the nation at a time when we need to come together to help one another.”

  “You’re referring to the actions of the Monroe County officials, I presume.”

  “Of course. The Florida Keys. The Upper Peninsula of Michigan. The barrier islands along the Eastern Seaboard. Hell, the whole state of Texas thinks they can restrict the flow of American citizens and ignore the rule of law. The first order of business is to tamp down this treasonous activity so I can focus on helping people stay alive.”

  Erin’s mind raced as she soaked in his words. He seemed to be acting out of frustration. She also believed Chandler had been chirping in his ear about using the transition to the temporary seat of government at the Army War College in Central Pennsylvania as a logical opportunity to eliminate Erin, who’d been a thorn in the administration’s side.

  Truth be told, she was tired of playing the political games. She was proud of her accomplishments and verily believed her experience would be an asset to the country. However, this president and his right arm, Chandler, had shown a propensity for making knee-jerk decisions and playing favorites with members of the cabinet. Her contribution would never be acted upon much less appreciated. So she took a chance.

  “Maybe I can help you?”

  “In what way?” asked Chandler, rudely trying to insert himself in the conversation. Erin responded to his question but remained focused on the president.

  “Mr. President, I have considerable ties to Florida’s political machinery, as you know,” began Erin, who reminded the president why’d he tapped her as Secretary of Agriculture in the first place. Her expertise was in transportation, but the agriculture position gave her the opportunity to help Floridians. “I know the governor well, of course, and I’m also familiar with Mayor Lindsey Free, the county executive of Monroe County. Perhaps I can defuse the situation.”

  “Secretary Bergmann, the president’s decision has been—” began Chandler before the president raised his hand and cut him off.

  “Let her finish, Harrison.” The unusually stern rebuke drew a slight smile from Erin.

  “Sir, I respect your decision to make a change at the Department of Agriculture. Naturally, I would prefer that you not. That said, I serve at the pleasure of the president and will honor your wishes. However, I can serve you in a way that helps solve the problem in the Keys.”

  “Go on,” said the president, who was once again leaning back in his chair and relaxed.

  “Sir, I have many contacts there. Send me to the Keys as your emissary, of sorts. With the approval of the governor, I can work behind the scenes to convince Mayor Free to back down from her shenanigans. If not, I can work with other politicos in the Keys to orchestrate a recall or some other similar means to remove her from office. I know the circumstances are unusual, and generally, a change in leadership of any government, even at the local level, is not advisable. However, her actions are almost tyrannical.”

  “I see you’ve been paying attention during the security briefings,” said the president with a smile. His mood had softened. “Erin, the governor isn’t any help to us. While he doesn’t have a relationship with this mayor, he doesn’t want to appear heavy-handed in dealing with the local county executives. His actions toward one might seem like an affront toward all.”

  “Makes sense,” said Erin. “The federal government has different interests at stake than Tallahassee. For one thing, they’ve blocked a federal highway. Secondly, from a national security standpoint, the Florida Keys are the closest point to Communist Cuba, a close ally of Russia.”

  “Very true, Erin. What, exactly, do you propose?”

  Erin paused and then laid out her plan. “I have a friend in the Keys whose family has been there since the beginning. He’s well liked and highly respected. If you’ll arrange travel for me to Driftwood Key, as well as create a direct line of communication to Harrison, I’ll keep him abreast of my activities. I’ll also consult with him as I work to remove the mayor and anyone loyal to her from office.”

  The president smiled. “I like it,” he said as he turned to his top aide. “Harrison, work with Erin to give her anything she needs.”

  For the next two days, Erin learned all she could about Lindsey Free and the politicians who ran Monroe County’s government. She identified potential allies and met with the Pentagon representatives coordinating the National Guard troop movements.

  The day she was supposed to travel by helicopter to Driftwood Key, a devil of a storm swept over the island chain.

 
Part I

  Day twenty-four, Sunday, November 10

  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 th
ey 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.