Nuclear Winter Series | Book 3 | Nuclear Winter Whiteout Akart, Bobby (reading an ebook .txt) 📖

glanced over at his partner. He was wearing a shemagh around his mouth and nose, so Lacey could only see his eyes.

“Move back, lady!” the other soldier shouted, growing impatient with Lacey’s questioning. “We have the authority to confiscate this vehicle and everything within it per the president’s martial law declaration. We’ve got better things to do, but if you insist …” He purposefully let his last few words dangle in the air as he raised his automatic weapon in Tucker’s direction.

“Mom, we should go.”

Lacey didn’t bother to roll up her window. She glanced in her side mirrors to ensure nobody was parked behind her before slowly easing down the ramp. Tucker never took his eyes off the soldiers. He was still gripping the pistol he’d retrieved from the glove box as the men first approached the truck.

Lacey continued south through the country roads that ran parallel to the Mississippi River. The next available crossing was U.S. Highway 425 at Natchez, Mississippi. This was not a route they’d mapped out that morning, and the first comment Tucker made related to the waste of gasoline.

Lacey drove slower than she had prior to this point in an effort to conserve fuel and to watch for opportunities to obtain more. While they thought they might have enough to get into Central Florida, if not farther, they were constantly on the lookout. This unexpected detour gave them a greater sense of urgency to fill up.

U.S. Highway 84 turned into Route 425, where it began to run along the banks of the Mississippi. It also took them through a series of small communities as they approached Vidalia, Louisiana. There was more traffic and quite a few people milling about on the side of the road. Lacey was beginning to feel uneasy, as those without transportation had the distinct look of envy on their faces as they scowled at the moving vehicles.

They entered the small town of Vidalia, perched on the west side of the Mississippi. The closer they got to the bridge, the more traffic built up in front of them.

Tucker rolled down his window and tried to see ahead. The hazy conditions restricted visibility to less than a mile. All he could see was a single lane of taillights.

Tucker was surprised at what he saw. “A traffic jam? Seriously?”

“Nobody is coming off the bridge in our direction. Are they all headed east?” Lacey asked.

Tucker looked around, and then he suddenly opened his door. “I’ll be right back.”

Before Lacey could ask where he was going, he’d exited the vehicle and bounded across the parking lot to the overhang of the Craws, Claws & Tails patio restaurant. He spoke with a group of teenagers and a couple of older men sitting in rocking chairs underneath the sloped roof overhang. He looked back at their truck several times to see if Lacey had advanced any. She had not. Tucker bumped fists with the young men, and he ran back to the truck.

After he was back in the truck, he pointed to his right at a small residential street that ran next to the restaurant. “Mom, take a right here. We can’t cross the bridge.”

“Why not?”

“They’re confiscating gasoline and weapons on the other side. The Mississippi governor, acting on the president’s orders, is searching every vehicle that enters. The martial law declaration allows them to take our guns, ammo, and stored gasoline, leaving us only what’s in the tanks.”

“That’s ridiculous!” shouted Lacey in disbelief. She wheeled the Bronco across the parking lot, where Tucker waved to the group, who gave him a thumbs-up.

“Take a left up ahead and then an immediate right. These county roads drive along the river and will take us to a small town called New Roads. Supposedly the highway is open to cross there since both sides of the river are in Louisiana.”

“It still leads us into Mississippi, right?” asked Lacey although she knew the answer to her question. “We’re just gonna run into the same problem.”

“Eventually, yes. According to those guys, the bridge is open. The next crossings are in Baton Rouge and New Orleans, which are unsafe. They said New Orleans is on fire.”

“Whadya mean?”

Tucker raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly. “I mean they said the city is on fire. People are killing each other in the streets. One of the old men said the cops and National Guard won’t even go in there.”

Lacey shook her head. This meant they had one shot to get across the Mississippi without giving up everything they needed to get to the Keys. She was growing weary of the constant threats and uncertainty. She took a deep breath. Then she got a firm grip on the wheel as well as herself.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Tuesday, November 5

Driftwood Key

Dress for success were the words Patrick Hollister’s father had ingrained in him growing up. When he entered the banking world, he was always impeccably dressed in custom-tailored suits and Italian shoes. While most of the professional world in the Florida Keys adopted a laid-back appearance, Patrick’s pride in himself prevented him from lowering the standards his father had taught him.

He studied himself in the mirror, and the person who stared back was hardly recognizable. He hadn’t shaved in more than a week, resulting in a shaggy beard that certainly hadn’t adorned his face since the day he was born. Likewise, his hair was long and unkept.

The clothing had been given to him by Hank out of his musty closet. Hank was the type of man to keep those unworn size thirty-six jeans he’d bought online many years ago for when he lost a few pounds. Of course, that never happened, and the size forty waistline meant the jeans remained new-with-tag, as they say on eBay.

The long-sleeve sweatshirt with the Driftwood Key Inn logo was ironic. Patrick had every intention of becoming a part of the operation here. In fact, the title of sole proprietor seemed to suit him just fine.

So, with a final adjustment of his sweatshirt and a