All day long, the sky seemed hazy. In this sprawling metropolis on the Gulf Mexico, where urban planners were constantly over-ruled by development oriented elected officials, the air moisture seemed strange. After all, when politicians have real estate investments, or urban sprawl developmental interests, the collusion is in your face. Regardless, the smoggy atmosphere seemed eerier than normal. Such was not the kind of weather you normally see along the western coast of Florida. That, plus an incessant rainy dampness added to the gloomy gothic atmosphere.
Downtown, as well as along the interstate, a formerly high-speed network, movement was at the usual crawling creepiness. With the drizzle, which seemed like rain, a shroud of darkness hung over the city. The more I examined the drippings; the visual inspection was not actually a typical rainfall. Some other kind of substance gave a dingy look and feel to the continual sprinkles. Overhead, the usual blueness, with sporadic white puffy pure clouds, with bright rays of sunshine, remained hidden behind a dark gray cloak. By afternoon, what little illumination there was got very dark.
As a retired cyber investigator, and now a part-time consultant, my paranoia immediately suspected terrorism in the peninsula state. There was something weird about the atmosphere. Shortly, the daylight changed from dark gray, nearly a blacker ashen tint, and then to a kind of murky blue ink color. While I drove cautiously, headlights on, to the local marina, other cars were pulling off the road. Along the ditch and retention runoffs, some people were puking, others coughed, wheezed and stumbled, as though reacting to smog or other airborne contaminates. A few had crashed their cars.
Another couple of miles to the wharf and it got crazier. In the center console, I kept an emergency breathing mask. While I slipped it on my face, I left the compartment open. My Smith and Wesson 9mm pistol rested inside. Around me, Cars were smashing, people were fighting at crash scenes, and pedestrians collapsed on sidewalks. Police and fire services personnel responded in a timely fashion. Yet, the ensuing human chaos grew more bizarre as the minutes ticked away. Soon, emergency rescue attempts would be overwhelmed and probably outgunned. Anarchy would soon ensue.
Why? The proverbial 'why' question usually came up after you got over trying to figure out 'what' was happening. Chaos would take over because humans in a pack will turn on each other out of their primal selfishness. Back to the 'why' of it all for the moment. As such, 'why' did it appear some were affected, and others were not? For now, it appeared to me, as I made my way to a semi-secure area, a small percentage remained within a limited framework of rationality. However, a significant number seemed on the edge of panic, madness and devolving stupidity. Yet, I felt no such imbalance. Interesting, I pondered the possibilities of an airborne illness.
Applying training and experience in tactical driving skills, I made it to the marina, a well-fortified private gated maritime community. At the front gate, the massive iron green archway announced Clam Tow Marina or C-T for brevity. Of which, property managers were quick to deploy more security personnel, all of whom were licensed to carry and deploy firearms. Typically, rich people utilized some of the best protection money can buy. As an aside, I was not in their class.
No, not by any stretch of the imagination. Yet, by clever investments, specialized favors and possession of information sources, I had membership in the marina. Additionally, regardless of any exceptional services I may have rendered to bored or unhappy wives, girlfriends or mother in-laws, I was still an orphan. In the end, who cares, we all end in the same place once we're dead. Nonetheless, security waved me through and immediately secured the essential fortifications behind me.
Inside the marina compound, I noticed some of the security were on the ground. People with first aid kits hovered over them. Again, some were affected while others seemed okay. Easily, I found my parking spot at my reserved boat slip. One of my boating neighbors was keeping watch. She was always a fascinating eye fest to behold. At that point, I took note of vacant parking spaces around the moorings. Having parked in front of my boat, I gave a momentary glance around the marina.
Living aboard my classic reconditioned former patrol boat was a pleasurable eccentricity. The sleek odd-looking craft, sky blue with white trim, had once seen service with a state police agency. Sixty feet of high-speed cruiser was completely overhauled after decommissioning and kept a low profile in the marina among more exotic watercraft. From consulting work, the purchase was a bargain.
The "Double D" made for a fast getaway if needed and its electronics were custom designed for an array of operational contingencies. She was older than most, yet her computerized components were state of the art. On board, there was plenty for room for one person to live comfortably, like a small apartment. As to the name of the boat, nosey neighbors tried to guess what "DD" stood for. With their nasal tones, while looking up at the sky when they spoke to you, if at all, figured it was "Deadly and Dangerous" as some concluded. Then some thought, "Devious and Deceptive", and chuckled at their brilliance. Nope, for a lady friend, which referred to her bra size.
Meanwhile, as I unpacked supplies for the DD, my senses kept vigilance around the moorings. My first thought was maybe I should volunteer to help somewhere. Yet, reason and logic grew stronger in one of my inner voices. Sure, that may or may not work if I made some phone calls. I still had contacts in key places. Nevertheless, I had been out of government service for a long time. Long since forgotten and replaced by another generation, my effort would be just another volunteer wannabe. On the other hand, from years of many role-play, tabletop exercises and emergency planning, I knew the outcome. That told me intuitively that public safety was going to collapses very soon.
At any given time, on a seemingly normal day, emergency services, public safety and security resources would be quickly overwhelmed in a major disaster. Politicians only ensure about 1% investment to protect 99%. All those planning exercise fall extremely short in the face of real-world disaster. Developmental, urban sprawl, and incessant consumption of resources, outpaced the ability of local infrastructure to protect or provided adequately most of the people most of the time. Government typically plans for normal outcomes, and disasters are never normal or follow a plan.
"What the hell is going on?" I muttered to myself after my morning shopping excursion, and carefully putting everything in storage. From the aft deck, I scanned the parking lot. Some boats were pulling out of the marina. "Damn, this place is a ghost town, or rather ghost marina. Nonetheless, it's nice to be home on my boat."
"Hi, Hal," my next-door neighbor said anxiously from the deck of her boat. Hands on hips, looking gorgeous as usual, she went on, "What the hell's going on?"
"Hi, Rox, how's things," I answered with a smile and a slight glance in her direction. Her boat was parked next to mine. "I'm working on it. Coffee?"
"Seriously, right now?" She sucked in a long breath and arched her back. Such was a lovely sight. "Well, okay, maybe between the two us we can figure this out." She gave me a smile. "You betcha, on my way over, handsome," she said with a smirk.
My neighbor was very friendly. Purposely blonde, tall and angular, balloon-like implants, Barbie doll look-alike, exotic and attractively mature, Roxana Dunes was dressed in a red G-string monokini. Very little was left to my imagination. The slim red swath of cloth below her navel stretched precariously over the large shaved mound of her pubis. Her dark brown eyes seemed to sparkle at a cup of coffee. I tried never to judge, or speculate about appearances, because it is easy to be fooled.
Roxy's uninhibited flare seldom kept you guessing. One of the best parts was that she usually annoyed the wealthier residents by her brazen behavior. Like me, she was all too aware of the hypocrisy. Usually straightforward and direct, Roxy's cover story could fool you. However, beyond skin deep, she was quite gifted in many ways. A retired high school math teacher, Roxy's I.Q. was way above the average range. With my depraved imagination, I figured several students owed their graduation to her.
"Hot, dark and steamy espresso," I said while I gave her a hand on to my deck. Her flip-flop sandals clapped as she came aboard, exposing much to my delight. At the bistro table, I pulled out a chair for her. "My lady, thanks for joining me."
"Thank you, Hal, always love your coffee baby, hot and swarthy as usual," she beamed, while her big brown nipples peeked at me. Sleekly tanned, oiled up for the day, her freckled face changed to a frown. "It's been really weird, Hal."
"You okay?" I asked appreciating her mature presence. "Sure, the day's weird."
"Bizarre to the say the least," Roxy said and sipped her coffee carefully through puffy lips painted red. She leaned back and shrugged off her nipple covering straps. Hugely bare breasted, with large brown areolas and thick nipples, she added, "People been shipping out all day. It's as if the rich guys know something we don't."
"Well," I nearly stuttered at the sight of her perfect contours. I took in a breath to stabilize myself and went on, "I'm working on a hypothesis at the moment."
