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

smoky gray as he trudged toward the bridge crossing over to his home.

He chuckled to himself as he imagined what he looked like as he dragged his right leg behind him as he walked. The cartoonish Hunchback of Notre Dame came to mind. He was having difficulty breathing, and his left leg had buckled as he stepped onto the bridge. Thinking that he should hurry before his lower body gave out completely, he walked a little faster.

As he reached the center of the bridge, he noticed that the gates were pulled closed. Not surprising, he thought. Then the silhouettes of two figures appeared on the other side of the gate. They were holding rifles. Peter hesitated and lowered his eyes to make out who the armed guards were. He slowed his pace and focused on the gate.

Then he tripped over a piece of metal lying in the middle of the bridge. He dropped hard to one knee and tried to brace his fall with his hands, but his weak arms couldn’t support his weight.

The momentum of Peter’s body caused him to land on his side in the fetal position within feet of where another man in search of help named Patrick had fallen ten days ago.

Chapter Forty-Six

Saturday, November 9

Driftwood Key

Hank and Sonny had agreed to patrol the grounds together that evening although it meant they’d both have to pull a double shift that day. It was agreed that Jessica was capable of guarding the gate and the key’s perimeter alone because of her weapons training. She’d sleep first and then relieve the guys for a twelve-hour shift.

The men had been chatting about Mike’s condition when Sonny noticed the shadowy figure approaching the bridge. At first, they kept behind the posts until they determined what they were dealing with.

The scene was all too familiar to Sonny. He remembered vividly what Patrick had looked like that evening as he approached the gate. How pathetic his battered body had appeared. Sonny wasn’t heartless, but he certainly understood the circumstances under which they now lived. He wouldn’t have allowed Patrick onto Driftwood Key although he’d never throw that in Hank’s face. His old friend beat himself up over it every day.

“Another straggler,” he whispered to Hank as the two men strolled to the middle of the gate with their rifles raised and their eyes trained on the newcomer.

The barely discernible figure slowly approached, dragging a gimp leg behind him. Then, like an old drunk might, he stumbled and fell to one knee on the bridge before toppling over.

As if Hank could read Sonny’s mind, he said, “I promise you. No more Patrick situations. Let’s just let him lie there and die if we have to. We’ll just roll him over into the water to feed whatever’s down there today.”

“Works for me,” said Sonny, who slowly lowered his gun.

For nearly ten minutes, Hank and Sonny studied the figure curled up in a ball on the bridge. Finally, Hank leaned over to Sonny.

“Do you think he’s dead? I mean, the guy hasn’t moved since he hit the road.”

“Hell, I guess we could go take a look,” replied Sonny.

“What if it’s a trap? This guy may have an army hidden on the other side of the bridge. Even with the low light, we’d be sittin’ ducks out there.”

Sonny shrugged. “There’s no rule that says we have to help him, right?”

“Nope.”

Hank sighed and lowered his rifle. He and Sonny stood still, studying the body that lay in a heap on the bridge. They waited for any slight movement to give them an indication of whether the intruder was dead or alive.

Another couple of minutes passed, and Hank whispered to Sonny, “What if this guy is a diversion? While we’re waiting on him to do something, they could approach us by water.”

Sonny turned to look in that direction and then returned his gaze to the lifeless body on the bridge. “Could be. Let’s bring this thing to a head, you wanna?”

Hank shrugged. “Sure, why not? It’s kinda weird, and I trust no one, you know. Whadya have in mind?”

“I could shoot him in the leg,” replied Sonny. “If he screams, then he’s alive. If he doesn’t, then we have our answer.”

Hank looked over at Sonny’s face. His amiable, kindhearted friend had hardened through all of this, especially after what Patrick had done to Phoebe and Mike. Hank looked around in all directions and wiped the perspiration that had developed on his brow, his natural reaction to being under stress.

“Unlock the gate,” began Hank. “I’ll go out there and see what the deal is. You stay here so we don’t both get caught outside the gate. If I get jumped, you lock up. Got it?”

“Hank, let me do it,” insisted Sonny. “You’re too import—”

Hank cut him off. “Bullshit, Sonny. You’ve got a wife and a kid.” He caught himself at the last moment. The Frees were distraught over their missing son, and they coped with it by not discussing it until they could send out a search party. It was agreed that once Mike recuperated, they’d conduct a thorough search of the Upper Keys, using Mike and Jessica’s friends in the sheriff’s department to assist.

Sonny wanted to argue the point, but Hank was firm in his resolve. He pointed to the lock and readied his rifle. Sonny pulled the gate open to let Hank out and then closed it without locking it just in case his friend needed to beat a hasty retreat.

Hank approached the body cautiously, pointing the barrel of his rifle toward the man’s back. He was a soldier of some kind. Very odd, Hank thought.

He watched for any movement but paid particular attention to the man’s hands, which were tucked under his stomach. His face was turned away from Hank, not that it mattered because his long hair would’ve covered it anyway. Puzzled, Hank suddenly stopped. He tilted his head sideways and scowled. There was something about this guy.

Suddenly, Peter groaned and turned his face