Once father and son were left alone again, Peter waited while Hank locked the gate. He ran his arm through the sling of his rifle and stood next to Peter, who draped his arm over Hank’s shoulder. They walked twenty feet or so before Peter stopped.
After gulping two bottles of water, his voice had recovered somewhat. He was capable of whispering louder without pain.
“Dad, I’ve got to tell you something.”
“What is it? Is it about Lacey?”
“Lacey’s not here?” Peter asked, his tone reflecting his surprise.
“No, son. I haven’t heard from her at all.”
Peter sighed and dropped his chin to his chest. He thought Lacey would’ve come home before the attack, as he’d suggested to her. He’d broach the subject after he had some rest.
He continued. “Dad, I was with Jimmy. It’s a long story, but he and I were trapped on the other side of U.S. 1 when they blew up the bridge. Anyway, we made our way into Blackwater Sound when we got caught in the middle of the hurricane.”
Hank welled up in tears again. “Is he, um? Son, is Jimmy…?” Hank’s voice trailed off because he couldn’t bring himself to say the word dead.
“I don’t know. We got separated. I found his WaveRunner, but he was missing. I’ve looked all day trying to find him. Nothing.”
Hank took a deep breath and glanced toward the main house. “Let’s get you cleaned up and fed. Then we’re gonna have to tell his parents. This is not good.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Saturday, November 9
Lower Keys Medical Center
Key West
If the world wasn’t in the midst of the apocalypse, Mike would’ve thought he was arriving at the scene of any other crime. Uniformed deputies milled about, hyped up by the events they didn’t witness but could only talk about. Civilians huddled in corners, comforting one another even though they were on the second or third floors far away from the drama.
He’d been called hero more times than he could count as one person after another filed by the trauma recovery room, where he awaited a doctor’s final clearance to leave. His sutures had been torn open and continuously oozed blood throughout the ordeal. However, he was easily stitched up by one of the less frenzied nurses with a steady hand. He was thankful for that.
There was pain, but not the sharp, stinging pain he’d been warned about as a sign of trouble. After he’d been left alone, he did a self-assessment to determine if there was internal bleeding.
Weakness or numbness on the wounded side of his body? Nope.
Tingling in his extremities? Nope.
Headaches, impaired vision, or hearing? Nope, nope, and nope.
As far as Mike was concerned, he was good to go, and if he wasn’t released, he’d simply slip out the door in his street clothes.
After the shooting was over and the hospital erupted with activity, he had some time to clear his head in between visits by congratulating well-wishers. The world had gone to shit and would only get worse for years. The decision he’d reached with Jessica was confirmed by what had happened at the hospital. It was time to protect his family and Driftwood Key.
Mike came up with a plan, one that involved taking advantage of the chaos following the hurricane as well as the distraction of the MCSO at the moment. In addition, for his plan, he had another advantage. Political capital. Heroes garnered lots of political capital.
The moment he walked out the doors of the hospital, he was going straight to the sheriff’s office. He’d adopt an Action Jackson superhero crime fighter type of attitude when he arrived. He’d play the part of hero if that was what they wanted. He’d put on the cape and mask in order to do one thing.
Prepare to defend their home.
“Mr. Albright,” the emergency room physician announced, snapping Mike out of his daydream, “under any other circumstances, I would never consider letting you out of my sight, much less this hospital. That said, you have two things going for you. One, you proved that you can be mobile. That goes without saying. Two, we’ve got a flood of patients inbound from throughout the Keys who’ve been seriously injured by this devil of a storm that passed over us. Actually, you can thank the hurricane for me signing this.”
The doctor handed Mike a number of pages that included aftercare procedures. He only had to see the front page of the stapled packet to manage a smile. He’d been discharged.
Mike tried to control his exuberance. He had work to do. “Thank you, Doc. I appreciate you guys fixin’ me up.”
The physician looked down and studied the floor covered in crusty drops of Mike’s blood. He seemed to get emotional before he spoke. He slicked back his thinning hair and let Mike know what was on his mind.
“You know, in the heat of the moment and under harried conditions, one might not have the opportunity to study those around them. Mr. Albright, I was the physician standing over the GSW patient. I was wearing a surgical mask, and the lighting was not optimal. And you probably never saw my face. Nonetheless, I firmly believe you saved my life earlier.”
Now Mike understood his demeanor. “Doc, I was just doing my job.”
The doctor looked his patient in the eyes. His eyes were red and swollen, as well as filled with teary moisture. “Maybe. You could’ve been justified in sitting it out, too. There are a lot of appreciative people around here who’ll never forget your bravery.”
Mike smiled. He didn’t receive words of appreciation very often.
Suddenly, there was a commotion in the corridor. The doctor turned to take a look. It was a few of Mike’s fellow detectives. They’d come to check on him and heap praise of their own.
The doctor slipped out of the way, and the detectives joined Mike in the cramped trauma recovery room. He rolled up his discharge paperwork and used it as a club to playfully swat at the detectives as they entered. After some ribbing, they escorted Mike out of the hospital and to the sheriff’s office. He was told Sheriff Jock wanted to personally thank him for his valor.
Mike couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity to implement his plan. When he entered the MCSO facility, he was applauded like a rock star. He had to warn his fellow law enforcement officers that hugs and backslaps were off-limits. He didn’t need his sutures torn open again. The appreciative doctor might not let him leave the next time.
“Hey, Mike!” shouted one of the captains on the force. “Sheriff Jock would like to see you. But a heads-up. He’s knee-deep in the shit, if you know what I mean. He does wanna throw some kudos in your direction.”
Mike thanked the captain and made his way to the sheriff’s office. As he did, he formulated his pitch. He’d have only one shot at this, and he’d better make it a good one.
He waited outside Sheriff Jock’s office. Mike had a decent rapport with the rarely amiable sheriff. He’d learned early on after Sheriff Jock was elected that the man wished he worked for the FBI. Nobody knew why the sheriff didn’t pursue his dream of a career at Quantico or one of the many field offices staffed by FBI agents around the country.
He was certainly not a politician capable of slapping backs, shaking hands, or kissing babies. In his three elections thus far, he’d let voters in Monroe County know where he stood on certain issues, and they could take it or leave it. In a way, Mike thought, that had been refreshing. Full transparency should be a requirement of all politicians with no false promises.