Martial Law Read Online Free PDF Page B

the Hun.” Drew laughed.
    Abbie stifled a laugh.
    “What’s the J stand for?” asked Drew, still obsessed with the dangling silver J .
    “Juicy Couture,” replied Abbie with a smile.
    “Of course it does,” said Drew. “I hope you can run in couture in the event we have to hoof it.”
    “Hilarious. I expect you to carry me, soldier.”
    “Yeah, right.” Drew laughed. “Buckle up. This could get interesting.”
     

Chapter 8
    September 3, 2016
    9:53 p.m.
    Downtown Tallahassee, Florida
     
    “Ripley, the troopers have suggested we alter our course,” barked Drew into his agency-issued Motorola XTS radio. He was frustrated. On a separate channel, Drew was advised the preferred routes leaving downtown Tallahassee were blocked with pedestrians and traffic. The planned route out of the city was to turn left out of the south parking lot of the Tucker Center and head towards the Florida State Capitol. From there, the caravan would travel northeast on Thomasville Road towards Interstate 10, where they would have a direct route to the east for over one hundred miles. They were now at a standstill in front of the Capitol grounds—after only four blocks. It was obvious to Drew the situation was deteriorating rapidly.
    “Which way should we go?” asked Abbie from the backseat. Drew looked left and right before answering.
    “We should defer to the locals,” said Drew. “But we are stuck like chuck. The Florida State football game was moved from Orlando to Doak Campbell Stadium just to the west of us due to the oncoming hurricane. Everyone is leaving for the suburbs to the northeast, according to the trooper. They need us to change course.”
    Drew fumbled with the onboard GPS and punched in Exit 199 on Interstate 10. The route appeared on the display. He suggested the change to the highway patrol.
    “Ripley, you copy?”
    “Go ahead.”
    “Follow the trooper,” said Drew. “GPS is Exit 199. We’ve lost the front vehicle—” Suddenly a beer bottle crashed against the windshield of their truck, followed by a chorus of angry shouts.
    “ Hey, fat-cat politicians! ”
    “ Give us a ride! ”
    “ When are you gonna fix the power, asshole? ”
    Drew instinctively reached for his weapon but composed himself before issuing instructions. “Trooper Walker, we need to move now. Go! Go! Go!”
    “Ripley,” Drew continued his instructions, “we have an angry mob surrounding us. Let’s roll!”
    The buzz of spinning tires on the rain-soaked pavement filled the air as the trooper quickly turned left on Pensacola Street and back towards the Tucker Center.
    “We’re going back?” asked Abbie, now sitting on the edge of the bench seat.
    “This isn’t safe, and the northeast route of the city is at a standstill,” replied Drew. “We’re going to backtrack slightly to access the interstate. Between the event and the football game, there are nearly one hundred thousand people within a mile of us.”
    The three-vehicle caravan pushed its way west to Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard and then turned north at the FSU College of Law.
    “This is madness!” exclaimed Abbie. Drew couldn’t disagree. Traffic was at a crawl and pedestrian traffic was shoulder to shoulder. Abbie was clicking the keypad of her phone.
    “Abbie, our first goal is to extract you from danger,” started Drew. “Then we need to gather information so we can better assess the situation. Listen, seat belts, please.” Abbie clicked her belt and adjusted it for comfort. She held her phone up for the guys to see her display.
    “Well, I might be able to help there. Rhona sent me a text. She said the hashtags collapse and SHTF are trending on Twitter. Apparently, with limited cell service, information is still being disseminated.”
    “Our service-issued phones aren’t getting any signal. Do you have any details?” asked Drew.
    “It’s all based on speculation,” replied Abbie. “There are allegations of an attack by Russia. Apparently, the BBC