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

The waves rolled over them, causing their machines to rise and fall with each crest. Notwithstanding their efforts to shift their weight over the rolling water, the guys struggled to maintain their balance while adrift.

“My face feels like it’s peeling off!” Jimmy yelled back.

Peter sat down on his WaveRunner and wrangled the handlebars in an attempt to point into the continuously blowing wind. Lowering his center of gravity helped stabilize the machine, but sitting still made the task near impossible. His mind hearkened back to Fairfax when all of this had started when he’d attempted to ride a bicycle for the first time in many years. He’d almost run into multiple cars despite his best efforts.

He wiped the moisture off his face as he stated the obvious. “There’s no way we make it to Driftwood Key like this.”

Jimmy was similarly wrestling with his WaveRunner. When he wiped moisture off his face, it was tinged with pink because of the blood oozing from his wounds. Yet he soldiered on and was in good spirits.

“Agreed! Let’s go straight to Key Largo and hunker down until it passes. I can deal with walking fifty miles. What about you?”

“Piece of cake,” replied Peter, who meant it. He’d mentally prepared himself to walk from Fairfax at one point. A combination of methods of transportation had shortened his trip by many weeks. He took a deep breath and shouted his question. “Ready?”

“Lead the way!” Jimmy yelled his response over the roar of the storm.

Peter thought for a moment. Earlier, they’d seemed to be riding parallel with the wave crests as they left Jewfish Creek. From his recollection of the geography of the Keys, that had them pointed in a southwesterly direction. He wasn’t sure how far they’d taken the WaveRunners into Blackwater Sound, but regardless, if they began riding head-on into the wind and the storm surge, they’d eventually find Key Largo. The ride would be rough, as they would be constantly fighting the gales and the choppy waves, but by his calculation, they were only a mile or so from shore.

“Let’s hit it, but slow and easy this time!” Peter shouted. He barely heard Jimmy’s response over the howling wind.

While the Yamaha WaveRunner was capable of traveling nearly sixty-seven miles an hour depending on the model, Peter tried to ride at a speed that kept him in control of the watercraft rather than cede its maneuverability to the storm surge.

Fighting the waves, they bounced along, with Jimmy trailing Peter over his right shoulder. The two had maintained this separation to prevent running into one another if they were running parallel. They took off directly into the wind, braving the elements, in search of land. The guys had been cut off from their families and the Keys where they’d grown up. Neither was certain what the future held for them and their family, but without a doubt, they felt they could survive together as a group.

Peter remained focused on the task at hand. He constantly monitored his speed, trying his best to find that sweet spot, as he thought of it, that was not too fast and not too slow. Although it was a fruitless exercise, his eyes constantly scanned ahead in search of the shoreline. Even if the power was out, he hoped any harbor buoys operated by battery or solar power would provide him some kind of navigational beacon to guide him.

He imagined himself riding a horse around a ring. Rising in the saddle to prevent his nether regions from being pummeled, he was also able to take the jumps over the increasingly tall waves.

Naturally, Peter’s calculations as to time and distance couldn’t be precise. He couldn’t see his destination, and he was unaware of his starting point. From recollection, he suspected they had been a mile or so out when they began their push toward Key Largo. Even riding at low speeds, especially necessary at night to minimize contact with floating debris stirred up by the storm, he expected a fifteen-minute trip before making landfall.

It had been at least fifteen minutes, maybe more, when he began to question whether the winds had shifted, sending them in the wrong direction. Regardless, at some point, they had to hit the four-mile-long shoreline of Key Largo that stretched from Dusenbury Creek up to where the bridge had been destroyed at Jewfish Creek.

Peter was beginning to doubt himself. He was certain he was riding in the same direction, as the waves were breaking as he’d expected. Unless he’d miscalculated and took them farther away from Key Largo, toward the Boggies and hammocks bordering the north and west side of Blackwater Sound.

Perplexed and angry with himself, he decided to stop and get Jimmy’s advice. He slowed and then turned to look over his shoulder to get Jimmy’s attention.

However, Jimmy was gone.

Chapter Thirty

Friday, November 8

Driftwood Key

Trying to do anything outdoors in the throes of a hurricane was damned near impossible, especially at night. Even when the Keys experienced power outages, Driftwood Key had numerous generators and solar-powered security lighting to provide some form of illumination. At the very least, for someone like Hank, who’d spent virtually every moment of his life walking the island, a pathway light or the steady glow of the string lights near the bungalows would provide him some point of reference.

However, these conditions were like nothing he’d ever experienced before. It was pitch black. No ambient light whatsoever. The air was an odd mixture of salt and soot, as if the ocean had caught on fire.

Without warning, unseen gusts of wind swept over him as he fought his way through the vegetation lining the paths leading to his sustainable gardens and hydroponics operation. Thanks to Sonny’s diligent supervision, they’d been able to continue to grow their own food despite the minimal sunlight. The greenhouses might have been their single most important survival asset other than a roof over their head. Now a vicious hurricane threatened to destroy it.

“Help me, Sonny!”

It was Phoebe.

Hank furrowed