He tried to enter the toolshed and found that the paranoid Sonny had double padlocked it. Patrick grabbed the chain and gave it an angry shake before moving on to the greenhouses. He walked through, stopping periodically to examine a hand trowel or a three-pronged weeder. He took the weeder and raised it over his head, slamming it downward into the two-by-four surround of a planting bed.
“Dull,” he muttered as he tossed it into the tomato plants. “Don’t you people have a hatchet? How do you split open your coconuts?”
Frustrated, Patrick continued to roam the grounds in search of a weapon. Anything that was capable of piercing skin or crushing a skull would do. After a few hours, he became concerned he was drawing suspicion, so he made his way back to his bungalow without a killing tool. He’d have to come up with a plan B. Or, better yet, fall back on his instincts that had served him well those many nights sitting on a bar stool, waiting for his next victim.
Chapter Fifty
Tuesday, November 5
New Roads, Louisiana
Lacey and Tucker rode mostly in silence as they mindlessly traveled south along the side of the Mississippi River lowlands. They’d begun to lose their focus and were tiring of the trip although they still had over nine hundred miles to travel. Tucker had tried to cheerily look on the bright side that they were more than halfway to Driftwood Key, but both of them recognized the challenges were becoming more frequent.
They passed through the small riverfront town of New Roads, Louisiana, without incident. The old Bronco chugged up the John James Audubon Bridge, a two-mile-long crossing that rose to five hundred feet above the Mississippi River.
As they drove up the fairly steep slope, more of their surroundings came into view. To their left sat the Big Cajun 2 Power Plant, a fifteen-hundred-megawatt gas and coal-fired power plant along the Mississippi. Louisiana’s first coal-fired station, it now appeared to be nothing more than skeletal remains as it sat dormant below them. The power station relied upon power to generate more electricity for the region. In order to function, computers were required to monitor and control the process. When the cascading failure of the Eastern and Western Interconnection occurred, it took Big Cajun 2 down with it. It would sit empty and useless for nearly a decade as it waited for replacement parts necessary for its operation.
At the top of the bridge span, Lacey slowed their progress to take in the view. They were shocked as they realized they were barely able to see the river. At five hundred feet above ground, they were immersed in the gray, ashen clouds of soot that hung over the earth. It prevented them from seeing into the distance, which meant they’d be driving blind into the lowlands on the other side of the river. If there were roadblocks ahead, they wouldn’t know until they were on top of them.
“We’re committed now,” said Lacey as she caught Tucker’s look of apprehension. He obviously shared her concerns by the way he gripped the rifle he’d pulled out of the back seat before entering New Roads.
“I know, Mom. We’re stuck on this road for a few miles, and then we pick up Highway 61. We’ll be changing roads a lot until we get to Florida unless you wanna chance getting on I-10.”
“Too much traffic. We’ve only got a few hours of daylight left, so let’s keep rolling.”
“I can drive,” Tucker offered.
“Let’s wait until dark. Your eyesight is better than mine right now. My vision has been getting blurry at the end of the day since I woke up.”
Tucker understood. His mom had been injured more by the flash freeze than he was. He was amazed that she hadn’t experienced more issues during the two long days of traveling.
Their drive through the back country of Eastern Louisiana was relaxing. They both began to feel better about their prospects of getting to the Keys by the next evening. Tucker vowed to drive late into the night. By his calculations, they could make it to beyond Tallahassee by midnight, maybe even to Lake City in north-central Florida.
They were able to enter Mississippi at Bogalusa before turning south. They ran into a large group of refugees walking in the middle of the road toward the coast. Tucker was driving now, but he still laid a handgun in his lap as he approached the group. His mother did the same. The two of them had discussed the use of firearms after Lacey broached the subject of Tucker shooting at the vehicle in Arkansas. They’d agreed he’d exercise restraint and only use his gun in self-defense.
Initially, the group of people politely stepped to the shoulders on both side of the two-lane road as Tucker drove past them. Their faces were haggard, and their eyes were sunken into their sockets. Each of them appeared exhausted, hungry and defeated.
Lacey was curious about where they were headed because they didn’t seem to be part of a cohesive group. Rather, they seemed to have banded together for protection, not unlike animals who stick together in herds or flocks.
“Where are you going?” she asked after rolling down her window.
“We’re headed to a FEMA camp in Slidell. It’s been there for years following the hurricanes.”
“We’re headed to the marina at Bay St. Louis,” said another woman, who was holding the hands of two young children who barely kept up. “We heard boats are leaving for South Florida, where it’s still warm.”
“Hey, that’s what I like to hear,” whispered Tucker.
Another woman joined in with her opinion. “Supposedly the weather’s decent and doesn’t have all these clouds. Something about the way the
