The Journal: Raging Tide: (The Journal Book 4) (7 page)

“Well, I’d say you certainly lucked out with
personnel to be stranded with,” Kopley said while smiling at me.
“Lieutenant, there’s a nice quiet bar across the road. Would you
care to join me for a drink after dinner?”

“I appreciate the offer, Major, and I’m
flattered, but I must decline. I know the Colonel likes to get an
early start and I’m looking forward to a good night sleep,” I said
graciously.

“Oh, I could help with that too,
Lieutenant,” he said with obvious intent.

“Major Kopley, stop hitting on my
lieutenant,” Jim said very quietly, just loud enough for us to hear
the underlying threat.

“I don’t see a wedding ring, so it doesn’t
hurt to ask,” Kopley’s smile faltered.

“Allex is a recent widow, Steve, so back
off.”

“It’s only been four months, Major. My
husband was buried the day the quake hit,” I said.

“My apologies, Ma’am, and my
condolences.”

Just then the civilian waitress brought the
plates of pasta we had ordered.

*

The dishes had been removed and our coffee
cups refilled. Major Kopley unfolded a colored laminated map of the
Upper Peninsula and laid it across the table. A blue magic marker
line made its jagged way from the Lake Superior shore to Lake
Michigan. More blue lines curled away.

“The quake, which has been determined a
10.9, centered here, around what was Chatham. The Divide now runs
from Au Train Bay to Gladstone along the Whitefish River. Instead
of being fifty feet wide and twenty feet deep though, it’s now five
hundred feet wide and the depth in areas is still
undetermined.”

“What are these extra blue markings, Major?”
I asked, pointing to the ones near Gladstone.

“Those are the new shorelines. Here, here,
and here are completely flooded. Any survivors were evacuated
inland. With the quake hitting at the time it did, the causalities
were high.”

“We’ve had some limited ham transmissions
from downstate that indicate there’s been flooding elsewhere,” Jim
added.

“With that much water spilling into Lake
Michigan, most of the coastlines have been breached, including
Chicago. Which is why this has taken on a priority status,” Kopley
said.

“Is there any way to get across this
divide?” Jim asked, examining the map closer.

“The Army Corp of Engineers has constructed
three bridges to access the other side, and they’re working at
trying to plug the hole.”

“Plug it?” I asked. “How?”

“I haven’t seen the area since they started
construction, though it seems to be a Hoover-size dam,” Kopley was
all business now. “The biggest problem we’re having on the other
side is with the gangs, so no matter what you decide, be careful.”
He refolded the map and handed it to Jim.

“What kind of gangs?” Jim asked, concern
lacing his voice.

“When the quake hit, all power was lost for
a time and the prisons went down. There are, or were, two maximum
security facilities at Newberry and the Soo. Eighty percent of the
inmates have been recovered in one way or another, which leaves
twenty percent still on the loose and causing a great deal of
trouble for the locals,” Kopley told us. “Some of them actually
turned themselves back in once they got a taste of the wilderness.
Those city boys can’t hack the wild conditions of the U.P.,” he
added with a laugh. “Please be careful. I’d also suggest you start
at the construction site. They can advise you which crossings are
safest at any given time.”

*

I let myself into the female barracks and
found my new uniforms piled neatly on one of the beds. I found a
khaki nightshirt and a towel on top of the pile; Smitty had thought
of everything. I sat on the bed tugging at the laces of my jungle
boots, thinking about the gangs the major had told us about. A
shiver ran up my spine when I remembered the Wheeler gang and how
many lives they had taken. I pushed the thoughts away and headed
for the showers.

April 12

“Are you
ready, Lieutenant?” Jim asked as I emerged from the barracks. I had
slept well and was looking forward to the new day. The few women
sharing the large room had been full of questions that morning and
were still milling about, curious about the new “officer” and her
high ranking traveling companion.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, a smile tugging
gently at the corner of my mouth. I would be very happy to get past
this charade and back to our casual names. I picked up my new
duffle and followed Jim out the door.

“Let’s grab some grub before hitting the
road,” he said.

“Should I put this in the Hummer first?” I
asked, referring to the duffle.

“No, I want the others to know we’re in a
hurry and will be leaving soon.”

*

We followed 94 to Highway 57, then north
where it intersected with M-28 and headed east. The roads had been
cleared of buckled asphalt and broken concrete, which now lay along
the shoulders in large, unsightly piles. The new dirt and gravel
road slowed our speed and it took over an hour to reach the
construction site, a trip that in the past would have taken twenty
minutes. There was no mistaking the zone when it came into
sight.

“Wow, that is impressive!” I gasped, seeing
the beginnings of the massive dam. A half mile before the actual
activity, we were stopped by another guarded gate.

“ID, please,” the young soldier requested.
We handed over our laminated badges. He carefully examined them,
checking that the photos were indeed us, wrote something on his
clipboard, and handed them back. “Your purpose here, Colonel?”

“Information, Sergeant, and a means of
getting across the Divide to my unit in the Soo,” Jim replied
smoothly.

“Yes, Sir! If you ask for Captain Argyle at
that small building on the left, the one with the red metal roof,
I’m sure he can answer any questions.” With that, he gave us a
quick salute and we were on our way.

*

“As you can see, Colonel, our progress has
been a bit slow,” Captain Argyle said, leading us through a maze of
dusty bulldozers, cables, and scaffolding, “Though we
are
getting there.”

“How long have you been at this now?” Jim
asked, squinting into the muted sunlight.

“Just over three months, Sir. We arrived two
weeks after the rift opened. Our first objective was to establish a
safe route between the two sides here where the work was needed.
Then we set about to secure a secondary bridge for the civilian’s
further south.
This
is a restricted area, of course.”
Captain Argyle led us over to a map board on the wall of another
building. “Our crossing is a quarter mile from here,” he pointed
down the new river at a metal bridge in view. “The civilian
crossing is thirty-eight miles south of here, and ten miles north
of the new shoreline. That gives the best coverage for any that
need to get across.” He indicated on the map where the other bridge
was.

“I was told there were three bridges,
Captain,” Jim said.

“That was our intention at first. It was
deemed impractical, and therefore unnecessary.”

“May I ask, Captain, what are you trying to
accomplish here, besides the obvious of stopping the flow?” I
asked. “And what problems are you running into that is impeding
your progress?”

“The obvious is our only goal, Lieutenant.
The continuing loss of water from Superior has greatly diminished
the shipping lanes. The water level is now down seventy-five feet,
and while that may not seem like a lot when the lake has an average
depth of over four hundred feet, it is. The lake bottom isn’t
consistent and navigating has become difficult.” He looked out to
the lake before going on. “It isn’t just
losing
water from
Superior, though. Our equally important goal is to stop the flow
into
Lake Michigan. There are millions of people being
affected on that other end. I’ve got the governors from not only
Michigan and Wisconsin calling me daily, but from Illinois and
Indiana too.”

“What is your biggest obstacle, Captain?”
Jim said, re-asking my question.

“We can’t find the bottom of the rift,
Sir.”

*

We accepted the coffee Argyle offered us,
and stood fifty feet from the edge of the rift. The gushing water
was mesmerizing. Fifty yards from the original shoreline the water
funneled and turned choppy, swirling in mini whirlpools. The closer
to the rift, the muddier the water became. It rushed and gyrated
and sent plumes of misty spray several feet into the air,
shimmering with rainbows as it formed an unseen waterfall beneath
the waves.

“How far down have you measured?” I asked
the captain.

“The instruments we have registered two
hundred feet before they quit, and the current created is much too
strong to send a diver down yet,” he replied. “We are expecting a
deep water submersible any day now that should be able to determine
what we’re up against. Meanwhile, we are continuing with what we
can, hoping to slow the water down at least. The first two hundred
feet or so on both sides have a bottom of seventy to a hundred and
fifty-five feet. At least there we’ve got something to work with.
It’s that center hundred feet that has us stymied.” He took a sip
from his cup. “The good news is the water is cold, icy cold.”

“Why is that good news?” Jim asked.

“If the water was warming it would mean this
crack was really deep, lava deep, and there would be no way to seal
it.”

*

We left the construction site and drove the
quarter mile to cross over to the other side. Part of the new
construction was forming new dirt and gravel tracts on either side
of the rift for the ease of monitoring the traffic. As far as the
eye could see, the trees and brush had been cleared back for a
hundred feet or so and a dirt and rock berm ran alongside the newly
widened river.

As we neared the bridge, I saw another
guarded gate and a road leading due west, away from the river.

“Corporal, where does that road lead?” I
asked.

“It takes any civilians back toward Trenary,
Ma’am, away from the restricted areas,” he answered. I had been
wondering how that would be handled.

We crossed to the other side in silence, the
turbulent water below us.

“This is a lot
slower going than I thought it would be,” Jim grunted. “Only twenty
miles in two hours.”

“We knew it wasn’t going to be easy, Jim. Do
you want to take a break? Maybe have some coffee?” I asked,
reaching for the thermos I had filled at breakfast as we passed a
small dirt road.

Jim stopped the Hummer and we both got out.
I handed him the thermos and walked back to the road.

“What’s wrong, Allex?”

“Nothing, I think we should do some
exploring, that’s all. Let’s see where that road leads.”

Not too far in another, much narrower road
veered to the north: someone’s driveway. Jim slowed the Hummer as
the house came into view.

It was a peaceful scene with chickens
scratching in the yard and sheets hung on a clothesline. A young
blonde girl stepped out of the house, shotgun in hand. We stopped
the Hummer and stepped out.

“Hi!” I said. “We see you have chickens. Do
you have any eggs for sale?”

“Money’s no good anymore,” she said
warily.

“Maybe we can trade something.” I took one
step closer and stopped.

“What have you got?”

“What do you need?”

“A doctor….”

“What’s the matter? Maybe I can help,” I
offered, concerned.

At that she perked up. “Are you a doctor or
a nurse?”

“My husband was a doctor and I learned a lot
from him, and I helped him as his nurse. My name is Allexa. What’s
yours?”

“Annie,” she replied. “Glenn ate something
and now he’s sick.”

“Can we come closer, Annie?” I asked.

“Sure, if you think you can help him,” Annie
replied.

“Jim, would you get that medical bag for
me?” I said walking to within a few feet of the porch. I could see
Annie was young, maybe sixteen. “Where are your parents,
Annie?”

“Out back.” There was that frown again.

“How old is Glenn? Do you know what he ate?”
I asked tentatively.

“He’s seventeen and I think he ate some
peaches,” Annie backed up as Jim came closer.

“I bet he’s throwing up and has diarrhea,
right?” I said. Her eyes widened. “Sounds like food poisoning. Can
we come in?” When she didn’t move I said, “Annie, we won’t hurt you
or Glenn. I just want to help.” I used my softest mom-voice to
quell her fears. She lowered the shotgun and opened the door for
us.

The house smelled of sick. Annie leaned the
shotgun in the corner and led me to a room off to the side. The
smell was worse in there, even though a window was open. The young
man on the bed, presumably Glenn, looked pale and gaunt. At the
sound of us coming in he turned his head, and dry heaved into a
bucket, which Annie picked up and took into the attached
bathroom.

“How long ago did you eat that can of
peaches, Glenn?” I asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. I
pulled the stethoscope out of my bag, and a thermometer.

“Two days ago. I only ate two pieces because
it didn’t taste right,” he said, closing his eyes again. I stuck
the thermometer in his mouth and listened to his breathing. The use
of the stethoscope was to give them confidence in me and served
little other purpose. His temperature was 102.1, high but not life
threatening. My first thought was the best guess: food
poisoning.

“Was the can damaged at all, or leaking?” I
asked.

“It was a bit swollen, but peaches sounded
so good to me. I guess I shouldn’t have eaten them, huh?”