Peter slowed his pace, finally recalling the best way to ride in harsh weather was to keep his speed slow and consistent. Now was not the time for fast runs or aggressive accelerations. Wave jumping could be fun, but not in the midst of a hurricane under pitch-black conditions.
As he slowed, he glanced over his shoulder to confirm Jimmy was still behind him. His friend was hunched over the handlebars like a Jedi Knight hunched over a speeder bike. The strong wind coupled with the tall waves pelted both of them but was especially painful to someone whose face was covered with open wounds, and their eyes weren’t covered with protective goggles.
Peter could only imagine how the rain mixed with salt water was stinging Jimmy’s injured face. Wind-driven rain was painful anytime, he thought to himself. As a result of his empathy, he made a critical mistake.
He wanted to let Jimmy catch his breath and allow his face to get a respite from the deluge. He slowly released the throttle and held his right arm out to let Jimmy know he intended to stop. The waves, which were cresting at nearly two feet in the protected sound, had been battering the hulls of their WaveRunners, and even as he slowed, the rollicking water caused him to sway back and forth.
It also turned them around, causing them to lose their bearings. Key Largo was no longer to their left, as it had been when they’d exited Jewfish Creek. It was, well, they had no idea.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Friday, November 8
Driftwood Key
Jessica had to yell to overcome the roar of the wind. “Hank! The wind keeps shifting, so I can’t let it carry us alongside the dock. I’m gonna take it in bow first. I need you to loop the line around the cleat a couple of times. Then I’ll bring the stern about.”
“On it!” he hollered back. Hank positioned himself by kneeling on the seat cushions near the open bow and readied the rope. Jess had already tried to fight the wind and waves to parallel park the vessel. The hurricane wasn’t gonna let that happen.
Jess pointed the bow so that it was perpendicular to the dock. This allowed her to reverse direction if they were blown forward. Her careful touch and finessing of the wheel did the job. Hank leaned forward and threw the line so that it was around the cleat at roughly half the line’s length. Then he pulled the line to tug the boat closer to the dock until the bow almost touched it. A wave rolled over the boat, forcing Jessica to reverse the engine’s power slightly to prevent the bow from crashing into the dock.
Once Hank gave her a thumbs-up, using the secured line as leverage, she swung the rear around and quickly raced to the stern line. Her technique minimized the turning effects of the wind by her aggressive use of the throttle coupled with quick-reaction steering.
After securing the bumpers so the boat didn’t get pummeled during the hurricane, they disembarked and immediately checked on the Hatteras. Apparently, Sonny had beaten them to the task. He’d battened down the hatches, as the saying goes, by closing any openings below deck and covering the windows with taut tarps.
The two of them fought the crosswinds and headed toward the main house. Between the blowing rain and the lack of power, it was difficult to make out any of the buildings near the shoreline of Driftwood Key.
The twenty-nine-acre island was on the leeward side of the Keys to the storm, but it didn’t really gain the benefit of a buffer. It was located along one of the thinnest stretches of Marathon. The narrow strip of land did nothing to slow or weaken a hurricane.
Many of the hurricanes entering the Keys from the Caribbean pass over quickly, as there is little in the way of land mass to slow them down. Naturally, a storm stalls on occasion based upon atmospheric conditions such as a high-pressure area to the west. Hank had an innate ability to analyze winds based upon their velocity, direction, and moisture content. He feared this storm might be slow moving, which meant it would take its sweet time before it moved into the Gulf.
Their feet hit the sand, which was soaked from the constant battering of the storm surge. The three Adirondack chairs that had provided the Albrights a place to wind down at the end of their hectic days had been turned on their sides and gradually buried by the migrating beach.
The younger, more athletic Jessica raced ahead of Hank toward the steps leading onto the porch of the main house. Once gently swaying palm trees were bent over. Their dying, lower fronds, which had been scheduled to be pruned, were ripped away by the hurricane. Each one became a whipping, boomerang-like projectile capable of knocking a person down.
Before Hank could reach the steps, Jessica announced that the front side of the main house, which would bear the brunt of the storm, was already boarded up. She raced down the porch past the windows of Hank’s office overlooking the rain-soaked lawn.
“Let’s try the kitchen entrance!” she shouted as she reached the edge of the porch and leapt onto the wet sand below.
Hank pivoted and willed his body to move faster to keep up with his sister-in-law. Part of him was impressed with her speed and agility while part of him cursed his aging body. By the time he rounded the corner of the house near the kitchen entry, Jessica stood in the crossroads of the path that led to the bungalows in one direction and the Frees’ cottage in the other.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his chest heaving and his heart pounding within it.
She pulled her hair back and wiped the rain off her face. “It’s locked. I knocked hard, too. Nothing.”
Hank was glad to catch his breath. “Sonny knows what to do when a storm is approaching. He probably felt it coming before anyone in the Keys. I don’t understand locking the doors, though. Unless…” Hank’s voice trailed off. They’d been threatened by outsiders multiple times since the nuclear attacks. His eyes grew wide as a feeling of dread came over him.
Jessica was one step ahead of him. “You check the greenhouses to make sure they’re secure. I’ll try their cottage. Let’s meet at the front gate.”
Without waiting for a response, Jessica was off in a flash, ducking to avoid a bundle of coconuts that had been dislodged above their heads. With a deep breath, Hank broke off toward the greenhouses, when a heavy gust of wind smacked him in the back, causing him to face-plant on the sandy path.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Friday, November 8
Blackwater Sound
Florida Bay
“This is brutal!” Peter shouted to Jimmy as the two of them attempted to keep their WaveRunners upright. The waves rolled over them, causing their machines to rise and fall with each crest. Notwithstanding their efforts to shift their weight over the rolling water, the guys struggled to maintain their balance while adrift.
“My face feels like it’s peeling off!” Jimmy yelled back.
Peter sat down on his WaveRunner and wrangled the handlebars in an attempt to point into the continuously blowing wind. Lowering his center of gravity helped stabilize the machine, but sitting still made the task near impossible. His mind hearkened back to Fairfax when all of this had started when he’d attempted to ride a bicycle for the first time in many years. He’d almost run into multiple cars despite his best efforts.
He wiped the moisture off his face as he stated the obvious. “There’s no way we make it to Driftwood Key like this.”
Jimmy was similarly wrestling with his WaveRunner. When he wiped moisture off his face, it was tinged with pink because of the blood oozing from his wounds. Yet he soldiered on and was in good spirits.