Rafael shrugged. The “M923A1s came with a cover kit as standard issue. This one is so old, it probably tore away over the years.”
Peter furrowed his brow. “M what?”
“M923A1. A five-ton six-by-six. We used to call it Big Foot on account of the wheels and tires being so large compared to the frame. It has twice as much cargo capacity as its cousin the M35 deuce-and-a-half.”
“We, as in military?” asked Peter.
“Former Army,” Rafael replied. “Stationed at Camp Mackall over towards Fayetteville. My family and I were traveling home from vacation at Dollywood. After the nukes hit DC, we decided to head to her family’s place in Miami. We ran out of gas and got stuck here. This is the only option as far as we can tell.”
“Come on. Hurry up!” Greyhound barked at Rafael’s wife and son. Rafael snapped his head around and cast a dirty look at Greyhound, who sneered in return.
Peter glanced over his shoulder and saw there were a few stragglers waiting behind him. They didn’t appear to be together as they nervously kicked at the ground and studied their surroundings.
“Come on, Petey,” Greyhound said condescendingly.
Peter adjusted his load and inched toward the back of the military truck, assessing how he was going to hoist everything in the cargo bed.
Mr. Uber rounded the side of the truck. “Hold up! What the hell is all of this?”
Peter was confused, so he didn’t respond.
“Come on, Petey,” said the man’s son. “Ya gotta an explanation?”
“For what?” Peter responded with a question of his own.
Mr. Uber got in Peter’s face. “The old man paid for your transportation, pal. Not your worldly belongings. This stuff has to stay behind ’cause there ain’t no room for your wardrobe.”
“But I can rest them in my—”
“No exceptions, Petey,” Greyhound said forcefully. He pointed his finger in Peter’s chest.
Peter’s blood boiled when the jerk touched him. He slapped his hand away and said with a snarl, “Peter. My name’s Peter.” He stepped closer toward the man, but Mr. Uber put his hand between them.
“Hey. Hey, now. We can work this out, right? Money solves everything. Here’s the thing, Peter. If you look around, everyone has one bag. They’re not greedy and entitled like you. You get one bag and a carry-on just like on a freakin’ airplane. Wanna tote a duffel bag and a backpack? Fine. Everything else stays behind.”
“You guys never told us that,” complained Peter. “If I had known, then—”
Mr. Uber cut him off. He got right in front of Peter, and his son inched closer too. “You see these nice people behind you? They want your seat. They’d love for you to get the hell out of their way. Now, do you wanna ride or not?”
Peter glanced back at the anxious faces. They all had a single bag to carry.
“Yes, I wanna ride,” Peter responded with gritted teeth, cracking his neck as he finished his sentence.
“Good,” said Mr. Uber, stepping back a pace or two. He raised his right hand and waved his fingers toward him. “Gimme the AR.”
“What?” Peter was incensed. “We had a deal!”
“Deal’s changed, Petey!” yelled Greyhound.
“New deal,” said Mr. Uber. “You can carry all this other shit in your lap, but the price of extra baggage is the rifle. Take it or leave it.”
Peter sighed and ran his hand down his face. He’d already given up his bicycle, and there were no guarantees the other truck drivers were traveling south or would be any more reasonable than these assholes. He’d already given away the hunting rifle to Charles as a thank-you for his help.
He reluctantly removed the AR-15 from his shoulder and handed it to Mr. Uber. The man smiled and winked at Peter.
“Pleasure doin’ business with ya,” he said and then glanced over his shoulder at the three disappointed refugees. “Folks, we’ll be back in five days to rustle up another load. We’ll see ya then.”
It was wishful thinking by Mr. Uber.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sunday, November 3
Driftwood Key
Hank and Sonny waited nervously on the front porch of the main house for the first invited guest to Driftwood Key since the collapse. Well, invited was a term that simply differentiated Sonny’s ex-sister-in-law, Monroe County Mayor Lindsey Free, from the armed attackers of the day before.
Word had spread quickly throughout Marathon of the nighttime gun battle. By the next morning, it was the topic of conversation at the daily briefing held by the Board of County Commissioners in Key West. Mayor Free, who’d been elected to represent District 2 encompassing Big Pine Key, had been elected mayor as well just over four years ago. Previously, she’d sat on the Marathon City Council and had been elected mayor of Marathon prior to that. Her relationship to the Albrights went back to childhood, as she was only a few years younger than Mike. Mayor Free’s ex-husband was also the youngest of Sonny’s five siblings.
Hank had been told in advance by Mike to expect something other than a social visit. It was going to be more of a courtesy call than anything. The sheriff, in light of the attack on Driftwood Key, felt compelled to give Mike a heads-up. In an unrelated decision reached by the Board of Commissioners, Mayor Free was prepared to take a tighter grip on her constituents.
“Sonny, you really shouldn’t be here for this,” said Hank as he finished a protein shake. He set it on the table next to his old friend’s partially empty bowl of watered-down Frosted Flakes. They had powdered milk in their storage pantry, but Sonny thought it would be wasted on cereal.
“Let me at least say hello. Otherwise, she might think I’m hiding from her. Lindsey’s a viper, Hank. If she smells weakness, you’re a goner. Ask my brother.”
“I heard. No wonder she’s a politician. It suits her.”
“So what does she want?” asked Sonny.
“I don’t know for sure, but we’re about to find out,” replied Hank as he stood and pointed toward the driveway. A deputy sheriff driving a marked SUV slowly pulled toward the parking area joined to the bromeliad-lined walkway in front of the main house. The tropical plant bloomed once in its lifetime although the flowers usually lasted for a fairly long period of time. It was one of the features Hank’s wife had introduced to greet guests with a lovely first impression when they walked to the front porch. Each day since nuclear winter began to take its toll, the beautiful tropical flowers withered and died.
Sonny walked down the steps to greet his former sister-in-law. “Hi, Lindsey. Well, I mean, Madam Mayor. This is official business, right?”
Hank chuckled to himself. Nice touch, wingman.
Lindsey leaned in to accept a peck on the cheek from Sonny before she responded, “Oh, not really. I heard this morning what happened to you folks last night. I’ve always held the Albrights in high esteem, and I simply worried about them, and you, of course.”
Hank managed a smile. She was every bit the snake as she was growing up when she pitted boys against one another for the chance to kiss that picture-perfect smile while gazing into her enchanting hazel eyes. Many a man had been caught off guard by Lindsey’s wily ways. He took a deep breath and was inwardly thankful he’d engaged in the gun battle last night. It better prepared him for what was coming.
“Good morning, Mayor,” said Hank nonchalantly as he eased his hands into the pockets of his linen slacks. It was a little cool that morning, but he didn’t have much else to wear. He’d bloodied his khakis moving dead bodies out of the way so a county flatbed wrecker could get the disabled pickup truck removed.