Nuclear Winter Whiteout Bobby Akart (love letters to the dead .txt) 📖

and his wife who had taken up seats on the stern’s bench seating alongside their young daughter.

The forty-five-foot fiberglass fishing boat had been used by the captain and his son for years along the coastal waters. Their commercial fishing operation targeted cobia and amberjack for sale to fisheries that package seafood for grocery stores.

The captain instructed them on where to stow their gear, and he showed them the sleeping quarters with bunks for eight people. As they shoved their duffels, weapons, and ammo cans under two of the bunks, Lacey mentally performed a quick head count. There would be ten adults, three children, and the two boat owners on board, requiring them to sleep in shifts. Not that it mattered. Traveling by water would relieve the stresses and danger of the final leg of their journey. Giving up Owen’s truck in exchange for their safety was sad, but necessary.

Without warning, the captain started the 855 Cummins diesel engine. The Big Cam, as it was known, produced six hundred horsepower, allowing the vessel to cruise at fourteen knots, or about sixteen miles per hour.

“Looks like we’re about to get under way,” said Lacey with a hint of excitement. So many memories flooded through her mind of growing up. As a child, she’d loved going fishing with Hank and her uncle Mike. She had been thrilled when he told her, at age twelve, it was time she learned to drive his Hatteras. Lacey had absorbed every detail of traveling on the ocean from her dad. It had been years since she’d taken a boat out on the water. Although this vessel stank of fish and diesel, it was comfortingly familiar.

Tucker, however, was still dejected over the decision to give up Black & Blue. “It sounds like it.” His voice trailed off.

Lacey noticed her son was unable to make eye contact with her. “Honey, all of this sucks. All of it. Let’s get to Driftwood Key and regroup. Okay?”

Tucker reluctantly nodded. Lacey felt horrible for her son, who was forced to become a man. She didn’t want to give up one of the last tangible memories of Owen that they possessed. However, she felt in her gut it was the right thing to do.

And then, as if to reinforce her decision, shouts were heard over the steady rumble of the diesel engine. Tucker scrambled out of the sleeping quarters first, followed close behind by Lacey. They emerged onto the aft deck, where they froze.

The family of three was huddled at the back of the boat, looking toward the pier. A large man led a trio walking briskly toward the boat. His deep voice bellowed, clearly and succinctly heard over the low rumble of Big Cam.

“Get off the boat! Now!”

Chapter Fifty-Four

Tuesday, November 5

Driftwood Key

The knife plunged into Mike’s chest. It pierced the skin just below his left nipple and sank to a point where it almost pierced his diaphragm near his lungs. The force of impact immediately knocked the air out of him as he spun to the ground. With the knife sticking out of Mike’s chest, Patrick pounced at the opportunity to finish him off.

“You’re done, Detective Mikey!” he shouted as he tried to grasp the handle of the knife and twist it.

Only, Mike wasn’t done. He’d held onto his sidearm despite falling hard to the ground. He raised his knee to block Patrick’s attack and then fired a shot into the murderer’s already wounded shoulder.

Patrick screamed in agony as the hollow-point round exploded inside his body, tearing tendons away from bones and shattering everything in its path as it tumbled around. Now Mike had the upper hand.

He sat up and groaned. He grasped the knife handle and slowly pulled it away from his body. His adrenaline-amped ears picked up the tearing sound as the serrated edge further damaged his chest cavity. He knew immediately that he might have cut his lung.

He was having difficulty breathing that was made even more difficult as Patrick rose and punched him in the side of his rib cage. The blow caused Mike to lose control of his gun, which flew into a twisted mess of mangrove roots.

Now neither man had a weapon except their fists.

Mike regained his breathing and ignored the incredible pain burning in his chest. He climbed on top of Patrick and began to mercilessly pummel the man in the face, upper body and shoulder where his wounds were the worst.

“Let it all out, Detective Mikey!” Patrick emitted a wicked cackle that caused blood to fly out of his mouth.

Patrick swung back with his right arm, slamming his fist into Mike’s rib cage. Mike temporarily lost his balance before rearing back and slamming his fist into Patrick’s jaw.

“Why, asshole? Why did you do this?”

“I shouldn’t tell you!” Patrick shouted back before having a coughing fit.

Mike stopped slugging him and jammed his fist into the gaping wound where Patrick’s left shoulder used to be.

“Arrrgggh!” Patrick screamed again. Then, inexplicably, he began laughing. It was menacing. Evil. Insane.

Mike grabbed him by the neck and started to choke him, causing Patrick to spit blood all over his face.

“Talk!” Mike demanded, releasing the death grip he had on Patrick’s larynx.

Patrick began to cough up more blood. He’d lost a lot of blood, and his organs were beginning to shut down. He was on the verge of going into hypovolemic shock. Somehow, he managed enough strength to allow his demented mind to taunt his pursuer.

“You would’ve never caught me.” The words came out in a gurgle.

Mike winced and grimaced as pain shot through his body. Blood was pouring out of his chest, soaking through his sweatshirt. He slugged Patrick again.

“Tell me, dammit!”

“Too easy,” Patrick hissed through his blood-covered teeth.

He started to choke and cough violently. Mike tried to maneuver his head to clear his airway. He didn’t care if the guy died. He just needed to know why he’d attacked Phoebe, first.

Then, with one last effort coupled with a hideous laugh, Patrick spoke again. “I’m Patricia.” He