Nuclear Winter Whiteout

by Bobby Akart

  “About that, let me show you something,” said Sheriff Mobley. He led the McDowells into the department’s communications room, where they were introduced to the 9-1-1 operator who now monitored the ham radio base set. He had a large map of the United States hung on the wall next to a map of Otero County. There were strips of Post-it notes taped at various points along a route toward Florida. Once he had their attention, he explained.

  “We have reliable information to the effect that Texas has closed their borders to all outsiders,” he said.

  “What? Can they do that?” asked Lacey.

  “It’s hard to tell what’s truth and what’s fiction right now. Accurate information is a precious commodity. Speculation and conjecture are plentiful. I do know this, though. The Texas electrical grid, operated by ERCOT, their utility, is separate from the rest of America’s. Here in Colorado, we’re part of the Western Interconnection, and those utilities east of the Mississippi River are part of the Eastern Interconnection.

  “The nukes caused blackouts around the country. Eventually, the entire grid failed as the system got overloaded. Texas wasn’t affected because their grid isn’t connected to the Western and Eastern.”

  “So they have power, and nobody else does?” asked Tucker.

  “Well, that’s the rumor via our ham radio network. There are parts of the Texas Panhandle, you know, near Amarillo and Lubbock, that were affected by the same EMP that hit us. Otherwise, the state’s power wasn’t shut down.”

  “Who closed their border? The president?”

  Sheriff Mobley sighed as he hitched up his utility belt. “Supposedly, the Texas governor did it. They convened an emergency session of the legislature and declared a statewide crisis to be in effect. They’re not letting any nonresidents in.”

  “Wow, that’s so trash,” said Tucker as he traced his fingers along the thirty-eight hundred miles making up Texas’s perimeter. “But think about it. Everybody would want to move to Texas if they didn’t close their borders. Right?”

  None of the adults in the room could argue with the teen’s logic.

  “You can see the tabs I’ve placed on the map,” continued the sheriff as he directed their attention back to the wall map. “There really isn’t a need to try to cross into Texas although their wide-open country roads would make for a safer trip. If you follow U.S. 50 over to Dodge City in Kansas—”

  Lacey interrupted him. “That was part of our original plan. Then we were gonna make our way toward the Florida Panhandle, avoiding any populated cities if we could.”

  “Very smart,” said the sheriff. He reached onto the table and retrieved a foldable paper map from AAA. He opened it up to show them. “I’m not telling you what to do, but this is the route I would take.” He pointed out an erratic line drawn by a black marker on the map. The route went through Oklahoma, Arkansas, Louisiana, and across the Mississippi River.

  Lacey took a look for a moment and then folded it up. “Thank you for this. And, um, Tucker noticed a few extra things in the back seat, like picnic baskets and, um …” She hesitated to continue since there were others in the room.

  Sheriff Mobley smiled. “From time to time, in the course of our duties, we have to confiscate weapons and ammunition from criminals. We have a few that are on the destroy list, but we’ve been a little busy to do it. I thought you might be able to take them with you and discard them when you arrive in the Keys.”

  Lacey smiled. “Glad to help out, Sheriff.”

  “Lastly, take this with you.” He gave her a small, cloth zippered pouch. She opened it and viewed the contents.

  “A two-way?”

  “It’s a portable ham radio with a cigarette lighter charger and instructions. It also has our call signs and frequently monitored channels preprogrammed. You’ll have a way to communicate with others and listen for information on the emergency channels, too.”

  Lacey teared up again at the sheriff’s generosity. She gave him another hug and thanked him. After a few more words of sage advice, Lacey and Tucker left the building and stood behind their truck.

  “It’s so different,” said Lacey. “They did a good job of ruining it, if you know what I mean.”

  “Badass,” muttered Tucker. He stepped past his mom. Ignoring her disapproving look, he headed for the passenger door.

  “Wait. Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I thought we were leaving?”

  “We are. But you get the first shift.” She tossed the keys into the air until they struck Tucker in the chest. He fumbled to catch them before they hit the ground.

  “Really?”

  She nodded and smiled at her young man, who’d grown up so fast since they left Hayward.

  “Yeet!” he shouted as he opened the passenger door for his mom like a gentleman. “Here you are, madam. Don’t forget to buckle up.”

  “Trust me. I wish there were two buckles.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Monday, November 4

  Key Largo Checkpoint

  Florida Keys

  “Okay, people. Listen up!” Sergeant Franklin of the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department was used to bellowing at his charges. He’d supervised many watch shifts during his career although he’d never had to deal with an undisciplined bunch of newly deputized civilians with no training. It was midmorning, and he gathered up the new deputies while his experienced crew stopped processing refugees trying to travel down Overseas Highway. The sergeant waited for everyone to calm down and give him their complete attention. Satisfied, he began.

  “I’m looking for experienced divers. Anybody here fit that bill?”

  Reflexively, Jimmy almost raised his hand and then caught himself. He’d been warned by everyone, especially Mike, not to engage in conversation with the deputies unless forced to. They were not his friends, Mike had warned him. They were only going to use him for things they didn’t want to do themselves.

  Several of the young guys eagerly raised their arms under the assumption they’d be pulled off the ungrateful checkpoint duties, where they were verbally abused and threatened all day. As it turned out, they were right, but what they’d volunteered for was wholly unexpected.

  Sergeant Franklin pulled them out of the crowd and turned them over to Jessica’s boss on the Water Emergency Team. They piled into several sheriff’s department vans that appeared to be full of SCUBA gear before traveling back toward Jewfish Creek, using the ramp leading to the water’s edge.

  Jimmy regretted his decision to remain silent. He was not an adversarial person by nature and truly hated conflict of any kind. The loss of manpower at the checkpoint meant he’d have to shoulder a greater part of the load and possibly work a much longer shift that day.

  In addition to the hostilities he encountered while working the checkpoint, his heart was broken by the desperation exhibited by those who were being removed from the Keys and those who were trying every ploy to get in.

  On the one hand, the Keys offered the new arrivals hope of living in a more hospitable climate with the opportunities to survive through fishing or growing crops. There were many people who tried to sell themselves to the gatekeepers with offers of heirloom seeds and farming expertise.

  Then there were the evictees. Travelers who came to Key West, mostly, to let their hair down and enjoy the mirage that was Margaritaville. The power grid collapsed. The hotels threw them out. Their cars ran out of gas. And now, with the entirety of their earthly belongings consisting of swimsuits, shorts, tee shirts, and flip-flops, they shivered as they were escorted out of the Keys to become someone else’s problem.

  It was a display of humanity that he only thought he’d see in the movies. It disgusted him and broke his heart at the same time. However, it also reminded him how lucky he was to be a part of Driftwood Key. At first, he didn’t want anything to do with becoming a quasi-deputy. It was his father who convinced him it would be a short-term sacrifice to protect his family and their home until Hank could come up with a s
olution to his aunt’s demands.

  He watched another group of the poor and downtrodden who were being removed from the Keys. He shook his head in disappointment at the decision made by his aunt Lindsey, the mayor of the Conch Republic, as many of his newly deputized associates called her.

  Jimmy, who wasn’t much for deep reflection or an analysis of the world around him, did realize his ex-aunt would be judged by her actions one day. Perhaps harshly. For him, family came first, at all costs. Not just his parents, but the Albrights, too.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Monday, November 4

  Near Cushing, Oklahoma

  They’d made great time on the road. Sticking to the route suggested by Sheriff Mobley, they rode through Kansas without incident, stopping once to swap drivers and top off the gas tanks with fuel. He’d suggested to them that they keep the truck’s fuel tank as close to full as possible in the event someone stole their gas cans. At least their truck could travel on.

  It was approaching five o’clock when they stopped next to Cushing Lake, just west of the small town located equidistant between Tulsa and Oklahoma City. They’d come upon an Oklahoma Department of Transportation facility, where salt and sand trucks were ready to clear the roads as winter set in. However, the place was locked up and lacking any activity. Even the United States and Oklahoma state flags had been lowered and stored away.

  Tucker took a chance and used the bolt cutters he’d found to open the chain that padlocked the fenced entry. Lacey drove into the maintenance yard and found a place at the back to park their truck. They topped up the fuel tank, had a snack, and relieved their bladders. Then they set about looking for more gasoline.

  Lacey was the first to spy the two zero-turn riding lawn mowers tucked away in the back of the open maintenance shed. She shouted for Tucker, who came running. He easily broke open the small padlocks with the heavy-duty bolt cutters and found four five-gallon cans. Three were full, and one was half full.

  Then he found a water hose and cut it into a six-foot length using the bolt cutters. Although he’d never done it before, he figured out how to siphon the gasoline out of the mowers until the fourth can was full. Then he took the time to transfer the newly found gas into their own empty camouflage containers.

  “Mom, this was a great score. We might be able to make it home on what we have now.”

  Lacey wandered away from him and into the darkness that had overtaken Oklahoma. She turned her head sideways and squinted her eyes to focus.

  “Do you hear that?”

  Tucker, who was breathing heavily after hoisting the fuel cans back on top of the Bronco, joined her side. He tried to control his breathing so he could hear better.

  “What? I can’t—”

  The roar of an engine grew louder as it approached.

  Lacey was on the move. “Something’s coming. We’ve got to get ready.”

  “Crap!” he said as he fished the truck’s keys out of his pocket and rushed toward the driver’s door. Lacey followed him and swung open the passenger door. Before climbing in, she pulled the seat up and retrieved one of the handguns they’d been carrying.

  The vehicle, which had appeared to be traveling at a high rate of speed as it came upon the maintenance facility, suddenly slowed at the gate. It skidded to a stop in the gravel.

  Tucker had parked the Bronco behind the single-story metal building near a wood privacy fence surrounding a dumpster. They were unable to see the gated entry, but in the quiet, powerless world, any sound was amplified.

  Both he and Lacey rolled down their windows to listen. Suddenly, the vehicle revved its engines and spun out, throwing gravel against the undercarriage. The headlights told the story as it washed the trees to their right and then the side of the building they were hiding behind.

  They could hear voices as the vehicle raced through the gates. People were laughing, and the sound of a bottle crashing against the No Trespassing sign affixed to the fence could be heard.

  Tucker leaned forward in his seat and nervously fiddled with the keys in the ignition. He glanced over his left shoulder to see if the headlights gave away the newcomers’ intentions. As best he could tell, they were stationary, shining on the front of the corrugated steel building he and Lacey were hiding behind.

  “Maybe they’ll leave,” Lacey whispered to her son. She hadn’t blinked since the vehicle pulled through the gate.

  A car door slammed. Followed by another. They were exiting the vehicle and talking loudly.

  Tucker kept his fingers on the keys, ready to fire the ignition as soon as he felt he had a chance.

  The sound of breaking glass startled them both. The new arrivals broke into the DOT offices and were clearing out the excess shards so they could climb through.

  Tucker’s mind raced. He turned to his mom. “Gimme the gun.”

  “Why?” she questioned.

  “Because their truck is on my side. Trust me.”

  Lacey hesitated but then handed it over to him. Tucker flipped off the safety and gripped it in his left hand. He turned to his mom in the darkness.

  “Hold on tight, Mom.”

  Lacey nodded and braced herself using the dashboard. Her eyes darted between her son and the chain-link fence a few hundred feet in front of them.

  Tucker started the Bronco. The noisy motor immediately grabbed the attention of the newcomers, as their excited shouts from inside the building indicated. Tucker wasted no time in moving from behind the building. He whipped the wheel to the left, causing the top-heavy truck to sway to the side. He and Lacey were both thrown toward the passenger side before he corrected and drove around a Caterpillar backhoe.

  He held the handgun in his left hand, allowing his arm to dangle out the window. He slowed slightly as he reached the corner of the building, where he came across their late-model, charcoal gray Mustang. It was pointed toward the front of the maintenance building.

  Tucker took a deep breath, took aim at the left rear tire of the Mustang, and pulled the trigger. The first shot embedded in the car’s fender. However, the next shot found its mark, causing the tire to explode.

  Tucker took off toward the gate, spinning gravel and kicking dust into the air. The newcomers ran through the parking lot toward them, but within seconds, Tucker had put plenty of distance between them. After handing the gun back to his mom, he swerved to the left, placing them back on the county road heading east.

  His adrenaline was racing, and Lacey had gripped anything she could find to hold onto until her knuckles turned white. Tucker drove at a high rate of speed until Lacey finally convinced him to slow down.

  “Whew!” an exhilarated Tucker shouted as he turned onto another county road headed south.

  “What was that all about?” asked Lacey.

  “I didn’t want them to follow us.”

  “So you shot out their tire?”

  “Good idea, right?”

  Lacey wasn’t sure she agreed. “What if they had a gun and shot back? What if you missed and they did chase us down?”

  “They didn’t,” Tucker argued.

  Lacey rested her chin on her hand and looked out the passenger window. A farmhouse sat off the road a couple of hundred yards. Its downstairs windows were lit up with flickering candlelight. She decided not to get into an argument with her son, although she thought the risky maneuver should be addressed before something like that happened again.

  She sighed and then unfolded the map. With a penlight provided by Dr. Brady, she studied their location. She wanted to make it into Arkansas before they stopped for the night. It meant traveling another five hours or so. Then something struck her as odd.

  “Tucker, what kind of car was that?”

  “One of those new Must—” he began before cutting himself off. “Mom, it was a new car. That means Sheriff Mobley was right. There are gonna be other cars now.”

  Lacey sighed. Things were about to change, and she wasn’t certain they would be for the better.

&nb
sp; Chapter Forty-Four

  Monday, November 4

  Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center

  Northern Virginia

  In the U.S., a law called the Posse Comitatus Act prohibited the domestic use of military for law enforcement purposes without specific congressional authorization. There was another law, the Insurrection Act, which provided the president authorization to use the military under certain circumstances. Throughout American history, the Insurrection Act of 1807 had been invoked on numerous occasions but generally to quell unrest in large urban environments. It’s considered an action of last resort to be used in the event state authorities were unable to give their citizens the protection of law enforcement.

  Pursuant to the declaration of martial law, the president was able to invoke the provisions of the Insurrection Act without the input of the states’ governors. Both the governors of Florida and Texas refused to take action as he’d requested. Texas doubled down and ordered the Texas Army National Guard to assist law enforcement to create roadblocks at any road entering the state. Those roads they couldn’t patrol were blocked with concrete barriers and razor wire.

  In Florida, the governor set up roadblocks at the state line to ask for proof of residency. He didn’t use the Florida National Guard, as it was occupied tamping down unrest in Miami, Orlando, and the Tampa Bay area. Likewise, the governor of Florida refused to intervene in the actions of the Monroe County government.

  The Florida Keys represented a very small part of the state’s population, and their actions didn’t threaten any lives, although the evicted nonresidents argued to the contrary. Nonetheless, he refused to take action, and this angered the president every bit as much as the Texas border issue.

  In response to the perceived insolence on the part of the two governors, the president elected to use a show of force to make them capitulate. He sent available troops from regional military bases toward Texas. They were instructed to amass at major highways entering the state as if they planned to invade. Whether that actually came to pass was yet to be determined. He hoped the Texas governor would back down from her quasi-secession attempt.