by Bobby Akart
In Florida, he needed to make an example of the Florida Keys. Across the country, communities and towns were learning of these quasi-secessionist movements so were also following Texas’s lead. Federal highways that passed through towns were being blocked, and travelers, few that they were, had been denied entry. Pockets of rural communities across the southeastern states had armed citizens engaging in hostilities with refugees seeking help. If they weren’t residents, they were told to leave. If they didn’t leave of their own accord, they were forced to at gunpoint.
The president saw this type of activity as lawless, and it ran contrary to the spirit of cooperation he thought the nation needed to help one another through the crisis.
During the daily briefing that morning, Secretary of Agriculture Erin Bergmann was called upon by Chief of Staff Chandler to provide the president some insight into the mindset of these rural communities. She very succinctly equated it to the Helton administration’s position on assisting Israel and India during the outbreak of nuclear war. The president’s duty, similar to that of governors, county executives, and mayors, is to protect the citizens within his charge. Rural communities don’t get the kind of attention large cities do in times of unrest. They had to fend for themselves, she explained.
This honest assessment was the proverbial nail in Erin’s coffin. The president was interested in surrounding himself with yes-men, those who agreed with every one of his proposals. He wasn’t interested in contrarian points of view at the moment. Although Erin responded with her opinion when called upon, following the meeting, the president instructed Chandler to begin looking for her replacement. He hoped, by her forced resignation and expulsion from Mount Weather, other cabinet members who chose to challenge his approach to the governing of the U.S. would fall in line.
He instructed the chairman of the Joint Chiefs to assemble regional strike forces to move into the rural areas of America, where communities tried to isolate themselves from the rest of the nation. They were instructed to open highways, by force, if necessary. If a community failed to cooperate, a larger contingent would be ordered in to sweep the homes for weapons and hoarded food.
As for the Keys, he saw the importance of the southernmost point in the U.S. to the rebuilding effort. Their location in the southernmost latitudes of the country provided an opportunity to grow food and raise livestock. Of course, it would require a colossal effort to remove buildings and hard surfaces to make way for truckloads of topsoil. The Keys would be converted from a tourist mecca to America’s new breadbasket until the clouds of soot and smoke lifted. After that, it could become a national park for all he cared.
The president pulled Chandler into his office and gave the orders. He wanted U.S. military troops from outside of Florida to deal with the problems in the Keys. He’d already dealt with military leaders at Fort Hood and Fort Bliss, who refused to follow orders because their loyalties had shifted to their home state. He ordered the troop contingent to halt the insurrection in the Keys to be deployed from Fort Benning on the Alabama-Georgia border just outside Columbus.
Within hours, the eighty-eight-vehicle convoy of Humvees, troop carriers and logistics support vehicles were traveling down Interstate 75 toward the rally point at Homestead Motor Speedway.
Part VI
Day nineteen, Tuesday, November 5
Chapter Forty-Five
Tuesday, November 5
Overseas Highway at Cross Key
Florida Keys
It was the middle of the night when Peter entered the stretch of Overseas Highway that connected the Mainland to the Upper Keys. The tiny islands upon which the two-lane divided highway was built were mostly uninhabitable except for the Manatee Bay Club approximately five miles from the point where the boys said the roadblock was set up.
Peter knew the location well. An access road had been built on both sides of U.S. 1 leading to Gilbert’s Resort, a small hotel and tiki bar known for being home to a number of racing catamarans. The access road looped under the highway, so any cars denied access could be directed back toward Homestead.
At this hour, he assumed the road would be desolate. He was wrong. In addition to abandoned vehicles, there were pedestrians walking in both directions. Occasionally, a vehicle would force its way through the throngs of people.
Conversations were had across the concrete divider as those who wanted access to the Keys quizzed those leaving about the requirements to get in. Many tried to develop stories to con their way past the many armed guards who stood vigil at the entrance.
Friend of a friend. Long-lost family member. Dual residency. Been off to college. Lost my license. Identity theft.
The list of excuses for not being able to show photo identification was long. Peter wasn’t sure how he was going to overcome the deficiency. He simply hoped a familiar face would be present. Or, at the very least, someone who knew the Albright family well enough to confirm his story.
He joined a pack of refugees shuffling past the aqueduct’s pump station. Fresh water was pumped to the Florida Keys through a series of aqueducts connected to a one-hundred-thirty-mile-long water main. It was the only source of fresh water and was used by the Albright family to fill its own water tower on Driftwood Key. Now, with the power grid down, the pump station wasn’t working, causing survival in the Keys to be even more improbable for most people.
He walked another thousand feet until Barnes Sound was on his left. Because of the darkness, he couldn’t see across the fairly large body of water toward the toll bridge. As the people in front of him began to bunch together, waiting their turn to enter the Keys, he realized he was more than a mile away. He shook his head in disbelief and prepared himself to wait hours for the opportunity to enter.
As he shuffled along with the others, he continued to eavesdrop on conversations. He was amazed at the quest for information. For many, it appeared to be more important than food and water. Misinformation seemed to run rampant as well.
Rumors of more nuclear missile strikes on U.S. soil were common. Confirmation of Mexico shutting out American refugees was confirmed by a number of people. Texas had closed off their borders to outsiders. It was believed they were still operating their power grid without a single blackout episode.
None of them seemed to be aware of the National Guard presence at the speedway. He didn’t dare ask, as he preferred not to draw attention to himself. However, when nobody made reference to it, he began to question the veracity of the teenage boys he’d spoken with.
Having witnessed the number of stalled cars on the Overseas Highway coupled with the throngs of people making their way in both directions in the middle of the night made him wonder how they’d cross the sound to begin with. And if the barricades were in place as the teens said, that bridge would be impassable without a significant amount of work by some heavy-duty Caterpillar front-end loaders.
The wave of refugees came to an abrupt halt, and they began to bunch together. Some eased down the embankment and fought along the mangrove trees to cut ahead of the others. This drew the ire of some, and hostile words were exchanged.
Peter noticed the number of refugees heading off the Keys was less, so he sat on the concrete barrier and swung a leg over to the other side, followed by the other. To avoid walking against the flow of pedestrian traffic, he opted to shuffle along the silt fence separating the soft, sandy shoulder and the riprap that prevented it from washing into the water. He was moving much faster than the other side of the road, and soon others joined him.
Pushing and shoving broke out as those who felt people like Peter were cutting in line tried to stop them. Shouts filled the air, and a couple of fistfights resulted in a near brawl next to a stranded DHL delivery van.
As daylight came, Peter pressed forward despite being shoved ever closer toward the water’s edge. He gripped his pistol and contemplated pulling it so he could defend himself. The melee, however, was on the other side of the barrier as people began to push forward, crushing those a
head of them into those standing in line.
Raised voices broke the relative silence he’d enjoyed until this point. People were scared and agitated. The shouting and fighting rose to a crescendo until a single sound quietened everyone, stifling their voices.
An explosion rocked the waters of Barnes Sound. A massive blast sent a fireball high into the air from the direction of the Monroe County Toll Bridge. The sound of concrete crumbling and the extremely heavy concrete barriers falling into the water roared across the glass-like water.
Then the hundreds of people surrounding Peter reacted. As if on cue, in unison, they screamed at the top of their lungs. Voices shouted out warnings.
“They’re bombing us!”
“It’s the Air Force!”
“There’s gonna be a tidal wave!”
“Run!”
A panicked stampede was headed Peter’s way. Some people from the right side of the road jumped the barrier and began to flee the Keys. Those who were already shuffling their way to the mainland ran for their lives.
He was at risk of being trampled, so he stepped over the silt fencing and found a gap in a guardrail that marked the last thousand feet before the access road entrance came into view.
Peter didn’t know what had happened, and he doubted anybody’s air force had bombed the bridge or the pedestrians on it. He did see an opportunity to use the chaos as a way of getting to the front of the line. He considered it to be his best opportunity to get onto Key Largo.
Or die trying.
Chapter Forty-Six
Tuesday, November 5
Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center
Northern Virginia
It was during the predawn hours of November 5 when the president assembled his military leaders. His day was filled with meetings and included his first encounter with the outside world since the nuclear attacks. Marine One, the presidential helicopter, was going to take him on a tour of Washington, DC, followed by a flyover of Philadelphia. He wanted to end his day on a positive note.
The president’s first meeting was with Chandler and his military leaders about the progress they were making toward his goal of establishing a new center of government in Pennsylvania. In order to secure the necessary facilities to house Congress and other government agencies, residents and businesses in downtown Philadelphia had to be displaced. This resulted in pushback in the form of violent protests that distracted the military from fulfilling the president’s directives. Many lives had been lost on both sides during the unrest, creating a boondoggle for President Helton.
During their briefing, the subject matter turned to the Florida Keys. The governor of Florida was no longer responding to the Helton administration’s attempts to intervene. Even direct communication attempts with Monroe County leaders failed.
“They’re calling themselves the Conch Republic, Mr. President,” said the chief of staff of the Army.
“You can’t be serious,” said the president sarcastically. “Are they actually claiming to secede from the Union?”
The general rolled his eyes and smiled. “Sir, they claim they already did many decades ago. Now they’re simply formalizing their declaration. Their words, not mine, sir.”
“Well, our nation, and this administration, will not be insulted by their insolent declarations of independence, or whatever’s on their minds. It’s insurrection against our government, and I want it quashed by whatever means necessary. I can’t allow this concept of a Conch Republic, or banana republic, to take hold. Texas is a difficult enough situation to deal with. Counties or geographic areas trying to assert their separation from our nation need to be dealt with harshly.”
The general continued. “Sir, as we speak, our troops are pulling out of the rally point in Homestead, halfway between Miami-Dade and the two bridges being held by the locals. We will use Army logistics bulldozers to force the concrete barriers off the bridges. Our troops, led by armored personnel carriers, will enter Key Largo. We suspect the locals will lay down their arms or run screaming into the night.”
The general had just finished his sentence and laughed along with the other military personnel in the briefing. Suddenly, one of his aides entered the conference room and interrupted their playful banter at the expense of the Florida Keys. He read the note and then nodded to his aide, who scurried out of the conference room.
“Mr. President, I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me,” the general said as he rose from the table. “We have reports that the locals have detonated explosives under the supports of one of the bridges. A two-hundred-foot span has collapsed into the water.”
“Explosives? Collapsed? Were any of our people hurt?”
“Unknown at this time, sir.” He turned his body toward the door.
“Wait. Did you say there was a second bridge?”
The general nodded.
“Protect it, dammit! Use air support. The Coast Guard. Whatever it takes. Do not allow them to cut themselves off!”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Tuesday, November 5
Overseas Highway at Cross Key
Florida Keys
Eventually the lane leading off the Keys contained only a handful of elderly people and families who walked away from the checkpoint. Around the bend, floodlights washed the highway as more concrete barriers blocked both sides of the road in a staggered fashion. This was apparently designed to let vehicles through one car at a time. On the other side of the highway, the grassy shoulder was littered with stalled cars that had been pushed off the pavement to make way for others.
Voices were raised as he approached the checkpoint, where armed guards threatened to shoot the refugees despite the fact some of those who were trying to gain access claimed to have proof of residency. A scrum of several dozen people was occurring around the folding tables where men and women in plain clothes processed the refugees.
Peter had to take a second look when he saw the blue flags of the Conch Republic flying in the breeze behind the intake tables. At first, he rolled his eyes at the lunacy. You can’t secede from the United States. Then he thought, Or could you?
Regardless, he needed to get through the checkpoint because the only other option was to hop over the barrier and wade through the mangroves. That was a surefire way to get snakebit or lose a limb to an alligator.
One of the gatekeepers shouted to his personnel, “We’ve got to move it along, people! I’ve got orders to shut it down.”
The crowd of refugees immediately responded.
“Shut what down? You can’t!”
“Let us in first!”
“Please, we came all this way!”
“We’re so close. You gotta let us in.”
Peter sensed what was about to happen. Whoever had dreamed up this secession thing must be aware of the troops amassing in Homestead. Out of fear, they planned to isolate themselves from the rest of the country. Blowing up the toll bridge was just the first step. They might destroy the short span over Jewfish Creek at Anchorage Resort or the longer stretch that crossed Lake Surprise. Either way, his access to home would be taken away.
He furrowed his brow and set his jaw. Being polite wasn’t gonna get him anywhere. He shoved his way past several people, who became agitated. Peter didn’t care. He needed to get someone’s attention before they pulled the entire operation to the other side of those two bridges.
He elbowed his way past several men, who grabbed at his backpack in an attempt to sling him to the ground. Peter angrily swung around and pulled his pistol on them.
“Gun!”
“He’s got a gun!”
“It’s the man in camo!”
The supervisor of the intake process had had enough. “That’s it, people. We’re outta here.”
“You heard the man, soldiers! Weapons hot!”
Peter stopped in his tracks. He knew enough about military parlance to realize there were soldiers of some nature standing on the other side of those barriers with what could be autom
atic weapons. They’d cut him and everyone around him to ribbons if he forced the issue.
“Please! Let us in, mister!”
“Yeah, we have a condo in Islamorada. I have our deed with me!”
Peter was unsure of what to do. He had no identification that showed residency. He didn’t have a deed to a condo. He didn’t have a library card. All he had was his name.
He used the same ploy that had worked when he walked out of the conference center in Abu Dhabi. It had worked when he approached the old couple in North Carolina, who’d proven so helpful. He holstered his weapon and raised his hands as he pushed his way to the front.
“Hey! I’m Peter Albright. Does anybody know me?”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Tuesday, November 5
Nashville, Arkansas
That night, after hours upon hours of traversing the back roads of four states, they found a secluded place to sleep in the back of a cemetery just west of Nashville, Arkansas. While they both found it creepy sleeping among the dead, they also felt they were less likely to encounter other people in the offbeat location.
The farther they drove south and east, the more traffic they encountered. Gas stations were closed and mostly looted. The types of vehicles varied, but they were few and far between. Lacey surmised gasoline would be even more difficult to find now. In the several-hundred-mile radius surrounding the Denver metropolitan area where the electromagnetic pulse had the greatest impact, new vehicles were disabled. Owners of vintage trucks like the McDowells’ and the Otero County Sheriff’s Department were the few who truly needed gasoline for transportation purposes.
