Nuclear Winter Series by Akart, Bobby (recommended ebook reader .TXT) 📗

with bedding had been unloaded into the small cabin. It was plenty warm, and the trio was in good spirits as they settled down for the second of their three meals of stale MRE bars.

“These things taste awful, but they give you enough energy to make it through the day,” said Owen.

“We’re gonna have to find real food, Dad. This stuff sucks. Plus, we only have one more for each of us.”

“We can check out these cars in the morning,” said Owen.

“I already looked,” said Lacey. “I wandered around to make sure nobody was hiding. Most are locked, not that I saw anything in plain view anyway.”

“That sucks,” said Tucker with a moan.

Owen tried to be realistic. “We’ll just have to pick and choose our opportunities to eat. Tonight, after we drain our water, let’s pack the empty bottles with snow and bring them inside to thaw. We can fill up our containers before we leave and filter out the ash and soot later.”

“Which way should we go?” asked Lacey.

“I was looking at the map,” Owen began to reply. “The problem with all of these back roads is they’re curvy and mountainous. I was looking at Highway 50, which we took to this point from Placerville. It stretches all the way into Colorado and beyond. Because it’s a U.S. highway and not a state or local road, they probably went through the trouble to blast out mountains to keep the road grade kinda flat and the direction straight. I vote we take it across Nevada, Utah, and Colorado until we reach Kansas. At that point, we’re on flatlands, and taking a back-roads route will be much easier.”

Lacey shrugged and finished off her MRE bar. “Works for me.”

“I don’t care. Y’all are doin’ the driving. Maybe in Kansas I can practice driving?” Tucker used his best I’m-a-responsible-teenager tone of voice.

Owen chuckled. “Okay, maybe. Son, why don’t you take the first watch?”

“Cool,” said Tucker. He stretched out his arm toward his mother. “Mom?”

Tucker expected her to hand over the pistol. Instead, he got an empty MRE wrapper.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Monday, October 28

Driftwood Key

“I missed these evenings,” said Jessica as she peeled off her sneakers and sport socks. She and Mike had spent the day herding nonresidents off the Keys, a task that was met with loads of open hostility but, fortunately, no violence.

Phoebe had noticed the stress the Albrights were under. Between the two law enforcement officers acting to keep the peace in the Keys and Hank, who, despite his statements to the contrary, had become increasingly worried about the welfare of Peter and Lacey, together with her family, the family remained on edge.

Phoebe had managed their provisions well and had learned to take advantage of the few hours a day when the electricity was still on. The rolling blackouts had become more frequent and came without warning. When the power was restored, albeit temporarily, she summoned everyone to help her cook, do laundry, and prepare meals to be frozen.

Tonight, she wanted to give the trio a chance to relax like they had before the attacks. She made a pitcher of the inn’s signature mojitos to be shared by Hank and Jessica. Mike was provided a fifth of Jack Daniel’s with a glass and a bottle of water. Ice was available but was dispensed sparingly. The Manitowoc commercial ice makers couldn’t generate enough ice during the brownouts to keep up with their needs. For tonight, they were given a bucketful stored in an Igloo cooler.

Hank nodded as he raised his glass to toast with the others. They clinked their glasses and took a generous first sip to start the evening.

He was appreciative of Phoebe’s thoughtfulness and thanked her several times before she finally told him to hush. After she left, he expanded on Jessica’s comment.

“Even though we operated a fairly quiet hotel, you could always feel the energy of the guests around us. They were here for a good time, and we never had to pull them back by the reins. I don’t think there was a single instance since I took over that we’ve had to ask someone to leave due to bad behavior.”

Mike laughed. “I remember when Mom and Dad were running things. There was this rock-star guy who wanted to book the entire property for his entourage. They moved other reservations around and made him pay in advance. Do you remember what happened?”

Hank threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh. “Yeah. The kid was swimming in money, I guess. It makes me think I missed my calling.”

“Being a rock star?” asked Jessica.

“No, country. But the same thing.”

Mike laughed so hard he snorted. “Hank, there’s a big difference between having star power and singing karaoke down at Bobby’s Monkey Bar.” A local haunt frequented by locals, inside Bobby’s Monkey Bar one would find dozens of Velcro-handed monkeys dangling from chandeliers and rafters while others were perched on virtually any flat surface, smiles plastered on their faces and multicolored lights reflecting off their plastic eyes.

“I could’ve been good,” said Hank somewhat seriously. He was a beach crooner, but so were thousands of other people in the Florida Keys.

Mike continued the story. “Well, anyway, mister rock-n-roller parties with his bros and hos in the W hotel in Miami and tore the place up. They had to send the SWAT team to empty the suites he rented. He was taken to jail, held for several days without bond on some drug-related charge, and never made it to Driftwood Key.”

“I remember,” said Hank. “Mom decided not to book the rooms since they were paid for times two, right?”

“Yep,” answered Mike. He took a sip of his drink. “It was the one and only time we went to Disney World as kids.”

Hank sighed. His parents had been married to the inn. There was never a time that the two of them could be away together for more than a day. Hank and Mike had accepted that. They’d made the islands their playground.

The