Nuclear Winter Devil Storm by Bobby Akart (great novels txt) 📗

first. They were flanked by a third soldier, who was being led by an overly excited dog.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Thursday, November 7

Manatee Bay Club

Overseas Highway

Key Largo

The Belgian Malinois, also known as a Belgian sheepdog, had become the dog of choice for police and military work. They were smaller and more agile than German shepherds and generally had fewer health issues. Trainers and handlers loved the breed due to their intense drive and focus. They rarely became distracted when tracking a suspect.

The dog began barking excitedly and pulled his handler toward the house. As he did, Peter looked away and turned to Jimmy.

“That is the same kind of dog the Secret Service uses. I’ve seen them in action. He’ll track our every step and lead them right to this door.” He waved at the boathouse door behind him.

Jimmy paced the inside platform surrounding the cigarette boat. He continuously glanced into the rafters at the two personal watercraft suspended above the speedboat. They were held in place by two steel cables that were attached to a harness wrapped underneath the PWCs.

“I think I can hot-wire one of those,” he said, pointing up to the rafters. The WaveRunners swayed gently back and forth as the wind periodically swirled and found its way to the leeward side of the property.

“We’re gonna have to move this thing out of the way,” said Peter, pointing at the cigarette boat.

The sound of the Belgian sheepdog barking at the rear of the house near the pool indicated the guards were halfway through their search. It gave the guys an increased sense of urgency.

“Untie these dock lines,” ordered Jimmy. “I’ll get the other side. We can push it out into the canal without them seeing it. That’ll give us time to lower the WaveRunners.”

Working together, the guys pushed the heavy boat halfway out of the boathouse. Then the wind began to fight against them and tried to force it back inside. They struggled for nearly half a minute until the bow nudged its way out. With one final shove, they forced it out far enough to let the waves and wind finish the job. Soon, the expensive boat was aimlessly adrift, rocking on the waves toward the boats tied off on the other side of the canal.

Neither of them bothered to watch the speedboat’s demise. Instead, they frantically turned the handles on the wall-mounted cranks. The WaveRunners were lowered together, with Jimmy’s landing in the water first.

Using a fishing gaff, Jimmy pulled the Yamaha WaveRunner over toward the platform. He slowly slid his body off the wooden dock until both of his feet were securely in place on the WaveRunner.

“We’re in business!” he shouted a little too loudly.

Whether it was his excited tone of voice or the fact that the military dog felt he was closing on his prey, the dog began barking rapidly. “I’ve got the remote transmitter.”

Some PWC models didn’t use keys in the traditional sense. A few had alternative security measures like a push-button keypad, while others, like these particular WaveRunners, utilized an electronic key fob similar to the kind used for cars. Jimmy found the key fob attached to a floating keyring that was slung over the grip of the handlebars.

The sound of the dog barking was closer, panicking Peter. He whipped the crank around and around until his WaveRunner fell into the water with a loud splash. The wake it created caused Jimmy to rock back and forth. The momentum of the other WaveRunner carried across the water until their bumpers were crashing into each other.

Jimmy held the second watercraft in place until Peter lowered himself into the water and boarded it from the rear. He raised his hand and exchanged high fives with his best friend. The two riding WaveRunners together was reminiscent of their days growing up after school. It had been their preferred method of transportation when traveling around the Keys.

WOOF! WOOF, WOOF!

The dog was at the door, and the soldiers were yelling to one another.

“Cover the back!”

“Yes, sir!”

“You! Inside. Open up and come out with your hands raised high. This will not end well if you don’t!”

Jimmy and Peter exchanged glances. There was no doubt what they intended to do. With the flip of a switch and the press of a button, the Yamahas fired up. Jimmy didn’t hesitate. He gave his machine its full throttle, and he jumped forward through the end of the boathouse.

Peter was close behind, following in Jimmy’s wake. Jimmy made a wide, sweeping left turn just as bullets splashed in the water all around them. The lack of light and the adverse conditions made it impossible for the National Guardsmen to take an accurate shot. They fired hoping to get lucky, and the dog roared his disapproval at the fleeing prey.

In less than a minute, Peter and Jimmy were crashing through the waves created by the hurricane that was pummeling the Florida Keys. And, at the time, they were in the relatively safe waters of the hurricane hole located at Manatee Bay. By the time they entered Barnes Sound, their visibility was reduced to near zero, and the blowing rain stung so hard that Jimmy’s somewhat healed wounds began to bleed.

Using their knowledge of the shorelines from one end of the Keys to the other, the guys located the entrance to Jewfish Creek. They slowed as they approached where the bridge had once carried tens of thousands of cars and trucks daily. Now it had disappeared beneath the water’s surface, leaving a mangled opening that Jimmy was all too familiar with.

Several bodies floated in the middle of the creek while others were seen tangled in the razor wire at the shoreline. The metallic smell of blood mixed with the brackish water forced both men to cover their mouths and noses with their shirtsleeves.

At Gilbert’s Resort on the right, refugees yelled at Peter and Jimmy as they slowly drove past. Several National Guard vehicles could be seen parked at the hotel and restaurant. At that point,