The Journal: Crimson Skies: (The Journal Book 3) (37 page)

“That’s wise. Do you need more gas?”

“Not yet, but thank you, ma’am.” He looked
down at his feet. Even after all this time, Joshua was still shy
around me. “When Emilee and Jacob come over, I make sure we do all
the power stuff at the same time. Jacob watches cartoons or a
movie, Emilee talks on the Ham and I do laundry, wash dishes, and
water the animals.”

“That’s a good use of the generator time.” It
was also a reminder to me I needed to do laundry, too.

“Emilee has some radio friends down in
Owosso, near Lansing, that said they’ve been trying to reach her
for days, wondering if she was okay. I guess I should have let her
on the radio sooner,” he said.

“Why is that, Joshua?” I said, wishing he
would get to the point.

“The quake we felt the other night? It’s all
over the news down there.” Joshua’s eyes lit up. “It was right
here, and it was really bad. I think you should come over and talk
to these folks.”

~~~

“My grandmother just came in, Felicia. Can
you get your dad? Thanks,” I heard Emilee speak into the radio
mike. She stood so I could sit down.

“This is Allexa Smeth in Moose Creek. Who am
I speaking with, please?” I said into the mike.

“My name is Glen Grant, Ms. Smeth. I work at
the capital in the Department of Natural Resources. May I ask what
your position is, other than Emi’s grandma,” he said, and I could
hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m the township Emergency Manager, Mr.
Grant, what there is left of the town. I understand you have some
important news for us?” I was trying hard to be patient, something
I wasn’t good at lately.

“Yes, Emi said you felt the earthquakes that
hit three days ago, is that correct?”

“Yes,” I responded, trying hard not to
remember where we all were at the time. “Though all of our power is
gone now, as well as any satellite feeds, so we’re completely cut
off from information. What can you tell me about the quake?”

“I do hope you’re sitting down, ma’am,” he
said, making me nervous. “The first quake that hit in the late
afternoon on December third registered a 7.5 and was centered in Au
Train on the northern shore of the Upper Peninsula. Are you
familiar with the area?”

“I know it well. It’s rather rural there, was
there any damage?”

“Because it’s so sparsely populated the
casualties were minimal. However, the quake that followed was a
10.9.” He paused, I’m sure for that to sink in.

“Is that even possible? I don’t think I’ve
ever heard of one rated that high.”

“Oh, it’s possible alright. In fact it’s
possible it was even higher. Since earthquakes don’t happen in
Michigan there wasn’t any seismic equipment in place, so we don’t
know.”

“What was the damage, Mr. Grant?” I asked
quietly.

“The 10.9 quake ran along the Whitefish River
from Au Train to Gladstone and divided the U.P. into two
sections.”

“
What?!”

“There is a chasm that appears to be almost a
half mile wide. Gladstone was completely destroyed from what the
aerial shots show, and Escanaba is mostly flooded.” Another lengthy
pause made me wonder if we’d lost our connection. “Lake Superior is
draining into Lake Michigan, Ms. Smeth, and flooding areas in the
upper half of Lower Michigan. The Mackinaw Bridge is gone, so is
Mackinaw city, Traverse City too. In fact, everything from
Cheboygan to Manistee is being evacuated.”

I was stunned into silence. Everyone who
lived on the Lake Superior shoreline had moved into town. I doubt
if anyone had even noticed if the water level was going down.

“Are you still there, ma’am?” Grant
asked.

“Yes, I’m here, just speechless. No one in
our surviving community lives on the shore, so there have been no
reports of the lake levels changing.”

“Well, that’s not all that has happened,” he
went on. “The quake also destroyed the Soo Locks. We don’t have
much information on that area yet though.”

“Will you relay that to me when it comes in?”
I requested.

“Certainly. I have a question for you,” he
said. “From our aerial photos we’re reading extreme hot spots in
the vicinity of Marquette. Can you shed any light on that?”

“In a nutshell, sir, Marquette is burning and
will be for a long time. Massive lightning strikes set nearly
everything on fire, including the coal yards for the power plant.
Marquette was evacuated at the end of October. Three groups were
formed and went to Sault Ste. Marie, Escanaba, and here.”

“I’m thinking your group was the fortunate
one,” he commented ominously. He didn’t know the horrors and the
misery we were hiding.

“I need to get this information to our mayor.
Thank you so much, Mr. Grant, and please let us know anything
further. I’m allocating supplies that will keep this ham radio on
the air from noon until six in the evening every day, unless and
until you give us a more convenient time slot,” and I signed
off.

~~~

Tom, Colonel Andrews, and I stood on the
narrow boardwalk that had been constructed years ago for tourists
to enjoy the panoramic view from Lookout Point.

“You relayed to us all that Glen Grant told
you, though it still didn’t sink in. Not until now,” Tom said,
gazing out over the receding muddy shore of Lake Superior. Lake
Meade shimmered in the foreground, held in place by a small
dam.

“What do you think is the distance, a quarter
of a mile?” I asked, referring to the new line where water began
just past the mouth of the bay.

“Closer to a half mile, is my guess,” Jim
said. “Wish we had a range finder.”

“It’s devastating. I also find it
fascinating. Look over at the bay. See that pond? That was a
popular hole for Lake Perch. I wonder if any are trapped there,” I
thought out loud, remembering Art’s offer to go fishing at Mathers
Lake. “The bay is a port of refuge; maximum depth is less than
fifty feet, mostly where that hole is.”

“The bottom looks pretty rocky,” Tom
observed. “We might be able to make our way there without sinking.
Say, Jim, think any of the new residents could build a dock out
that far?”

“Might depend on how hungry they get for Lake
Perch,” he chuckled.

“The lake bottom for the most part is sandy
and should drain quickly, at least here it is. Further out where
the new shore is, I have no idea,” I said. “I wonder how much more
it will go down. At some point it will have to level out.”

“Any idea how deep the lake is?” Jim
asked.

“It has an average depth of four hundred
eighty-three feet,” Tom answered. “And one spot near Munising is
over thirteen hundred feet deep.”

“The surface is nearly thirty-two thousand
square miles, Jim. For it to have a new shore a half-mile out is
one hell of a lot of water to lose. No wonder Lower Michigan is
flooding!” I commented. “Think of all the shipwrecks that might now
be exposed!”

Tom looked from me to Jim and back to me and
started to laugh.

“This is one of the strangest conversations
I’ve had in a very long time! We have been faced with multiple
disasters of apocalyptic proportions and we’re discussing finding
old shipwrecks and building long docks to go fishing. Come on you
two, let’s go have a drink. I’m buying.”

~~~

We sat at the bar in the lower level of the
house that was once my best friend Kathy’s and was now occupied by
my two new best friends.

I picked up my glass of rum that was filled
with ice cubes.

“I sure miss club soda,” I lamented.

The two men were so quiet I looked up.

“Allexa, about Mark…” Jim said quietly.

I held up my hand. “No, don’t. It’s still too
raw,” I choked out. “This is the first day I have felt somewhat
normal, please, let’s just talk shop, you know, natural disasters
and strategic planning, okay?” My laugh came out a half sob.

“Okay. So what are we going to do?” Jim
asked.

“It’s approaching winter, even though the
weather says otherwise. There is little else
to
do until
spring, except survive,” Tom answered him.

“I forgot to mention, Tom, I’ve allocated
Joshua more gas for his generator to have the ham radio on for six
hours a day until we get a regular communication time,” I slipped
in.

“Sure, whatever, just keep me posted. Say,
Jim, did you see the new prototypes of the heating stove Earl is
working on?”

I leaned back and smiled behind my glass of
ice and amber rum. Things might return to a kind of normal. Without
Mark, though, nothing will be normal for me ever again.

December 16

“Are you sure you want to do that, Mom?” Eric
asked. They had been checking on me daily, often twice a day.

“It’s only for two days, just overnight,” I
replied. “Art made the offer for Christmas, but I would rather be
here with you two for that. I really need the diversion, boys, I’m
feeling a bit … stressed, ya know? The weather is mild enough that
I don’t need to worry about heat. I just need someone to come over
and feed Tufts. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Since you’re going anyway, and since you
brought up Christmas, would you invite Art and Claire for us? We’d
like to have a party in the late afternoon on Christmas, no gifts,
just dinner. We all think it would be a good idea to do something
fun,” Jason said.

~~~

“I’m so glad you decided to take me up on my
offer, Allexa,” Art said, balancing on his crutches.

“I see the cast is gone now, Art. How is your
leg feeling?” I asked, stepping into the warm house.

“Dr. James removed it yesterday and said I
could start exercising it a few minutes every day. Even though it’s
only been two months, it feels much longer,” he replied, following
me in. “I still need the crutches if I’m walking any distance, so I
don’t stress the bones.”

“What a lovely Christmas tree!” I said
entering the large living room. “It’s so festive.”

“Thank you. We love Christmas, and since we
got power back on, I thought we might as well have all lights too,”
he said.

Power back on?
My power wasn’t on. I
wonder if Jim got the big generator going. If he managed somehow to
feed that power into the town grid, it
would
extend out
here. I would have to ask him about that.

“I must say I’m looking forward to the
fishing, Art. It’s been so long since I’ve even thought about
wetting a line.” I smiled.

“I will admit that they haven’t been biting
very well since the quake. That won’t stop us from trying though,”
he said.

Claire came into the room with a tray.

“I thought you might like some tea and
scones, Allexa,” Claire said, setting the tray down on the long low
table in front of the chairs. “It’s been wonderful to have regular
flour, thank you so much for the supplies!”

“Speaking of supplies, I’ve brought you a
gift.” I set a half gallon bottle of Captain Morgan’s rum on the
table. “I noticed you drinking this brand, and since you named your
dog after it, I’m assuming it’s what you like.”

Art’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes! It was a real
treat to have some…” Then he stopped and I knew it was because he
didn’t want to mention Mark’s funeral or wake.

“It’s been two weeks, Art, I really am doing
better. I will miss Mark forever, and I will admit there are times
I can’t even say his name aloud without falling apart, but I’ve
been getting so much support from my family and friends that I know
I’ll be okay.” I picked up the cup with trembling hands and sipped
the minty tea. “Oh, and the boys are having a party on Christmas
afternoon, and would like you and Claire to join us. It’s a potluck
dinner and they’ve asked for there to be no gifts. That’s why I
wanted to bring the rum today.”

“It’s greatly appreciated, Allexa, thank you.
We know how hard these past few months have been on you, not only
the last few weeks, which I’ve no doubt have been the worse anyone
could bear. We want you to know, Allexa, that our home is open to
you anytime you need a refuge,” Art said, sympathy deep in his
voice.

~~~

“I thought you might like to see our tanning
factory since you had some interest in what we did with the hides,”
Art said as we followed a long, wide path. “We put this building
away from the rest of the compound because of the potential odors.
During the curing process it can get a bit smelly,” he laughed.
“And since it’s an ongoing thing, it’s always odorous.”

We stepped inside the long, low building
where there were two people sitting at large wooden tables cutting
and sewing leather.

“This is the craft room, and through those
doors is the curing room. We harvested two more deer and a bear, so
those hides are being scraped, if you would care to see,” he
offered, and opened the door to the next section.

“Yep, it smells!” I said, and entered,
fascinated by the steps needed to produce a workable hide. The
three hides were draped over logs that had had the bark removed to
provide a smooth surface. The skins were held in place by straps
and someone was using a wide, dull knife to scrape all the tissue
off the underside.

“What do you use for the curing agent?” I
asked.

“Brains,” Art grinned. “Every animal has
enough brains to cure its hide, except for the human.” At which
point he laughed. “Over here are the stretching racks. If the hides
aren’t held in one shape while they dry, they start to curl.” He
turned and led me back to the craft room.

I looked around more closely this time. There
were various pelts hanging from the ceiling: rabbit, marten, mink,
and wolf. That made me think of the wolf pelts we had wasted back
in July.

“What are you making?” I asked one of the
workers.