eight bottles of beer, three bottles of bourbon, and two bottles of vodka. Bob locked his condo and they set off, lugging their loot.
Bob said, “If the cops see us they’ll start shooting.”
“Do you see any cops?”
“I don’t see anyone.”
Minutes later, they arrived back at Nelson’s, all three panting and even more exhausted. They entered through the rear patio so they would not be seen, though there was no one to see them. Bruce went to the garage and tried to open the overhead door. It wouldn’t budge until he found the manual bypass switch next to the motor. He and Nick grunted and pulled until the door was open. They quickly filled the trunk with canned goods and boxes of pasta from the pantry, bacon, eggs, and cheese from the fridge. The freezer was empty except for two steaks and two frozen pizzas. Gluten free. They took them, then made a generous haul from Nelson’ s bar. He liked good Scotch and they helped themselves to it, along with every other bottle they could grab. Luckily, they found an entire case of imported sparkling water.
Since Bruce knew more cops than Bob or Nick, he was chosen as the driver. Nick lifted the yellow crime scene tape and Bruce eased the car under it. They were in the street, their borrowed car packed with loot, and headed toward downtown, certain they would be stopped and arrested. The fifteen-minute drive took two hours as they weaved around fallen trees, got blocked at almost every turn, negotiated through police barriers, and waited at unnecessary checkpoints. They passed a few residents cleaning up, all dazed and tired. They passed a few other cars. The police and Guardsmen were busy, stressed, suspicious, and of little help. They were in rescue mode and had no time for curious sightseers. One helpful policeman saved them with directions that led to a gravel road along a marsh.
They parked in Bruce’s driveway and immediately ran to the kitchen for a bottle of water. The generator was rattling away on the terrace and Bruce turned it off. He had less than five gallons of gasoline. All breakers were off except for the refrigerator, freezer, and a circuit that cooled and lit the kitchen and den. The rest of the house was hot and muggy.
They unloaded the car, stashed away the food and drinks, opened three bottles of cold beer, and sat in the den for a long rest. Bob, who had slept not a wink before, during, and after the storm, soon nodded off in his chair. Nick followed him on the sofa. Bruce needed a nap too but his mind was racing. He restarted the generator and set the thermostat on 80. Tomorrow’s priority would be gasoline.
He left his men to their slumbers and began walking. His bookstore was only four blocks away, and as tired as he was, he needed the exercise. The floodwaters had receded to a point about a block from the harbor. Two police cars were parked in the center of Main Street. Barricades kept away traffic that did not exist.
Bruce knew one of the officers and shook hands with both of them. They passed along the latest rumors: The phone company was hard at work on a temporary cell tower. Might have service as early as tomorrow. Ten dead now, with about a dozen missing but there was no way to know if they were really missing or in a motel somewhere. A tornado did some damage ten miles to the west, but no one was hurt. The bridge was open to rescue personnel, volunteers, and supplies, but not to residents. Not sure when the islanders would be allowed to return. Electricity was a priority but would take days. Crews were arriving from as far away as Orlando. Generators were pouring in. All stores were ordered closed until further notice. Except for Kroger, which had a large generator and was open for business. More Guard units were on the way.
Bruce walked to his store and unlocked the front door with great trepidation. One day before, he and his crew had managed to move ten thousand books to the second floor, where they were