The Journal: Raging Tide: (The Journal Book 4) (6 page)

“Sure thing, give me a hand, Linda,” Jim
said, taking me by the arm.

“What the hell is going on, Allex?” he asked
once we were downstairs. “That old man thinks you’re Linda and I’m
Richard? Is he crazy?” Jim went behind the bar and opened the
refrigerator. He selected one of the more exotic beers and opened
it.

“I think he’s got dementia and that’s why he
was put into a home, Jim. I’m not sure what we’re going to do about
this. I mean this
is
his daughter’s house!”

“Maybe he’ll get confused again and walk
out,” Jim sighed and we went back upstairs.

“Here’s your beer… Dad,” I said, extending
the bottle to the old man. He didn’t move. I touched his shoulder,
thinking he’d fallen asleep. He still didn’t move. I backed up.
“Jim… I think he’s dead. Would you get my medical bag from the
Hummer?” I stood there, looking at how peaceful the old guy
looked.

Jim handed me the brass studded black
leather purse that I had converted to a medical bag a few years
ago, the one Mark had used until he died. I removed the stethoscope
and listened for a heartbeat. Nothing. I stepped back again and put
the stethoscope away.

“At least he died content, thinking he was
back with his family,” I said.

“Let’s move him upstairs so he really can be
with his family,” Jim said softly.

I got another sheet from the closet. We
wrapped him in a blue floral shroud, then carried him up the stairs
and laid him at the foot of the crowded bed.

We finished putting most of our finds away
in the basement, with the exception of the canned foods and a few
bottles of wine. It was now eight o’clock, and in spite of the
shock of the old man waiting for us, and then dying, I was hungry.
I took a jar of pasta sauce from the basement pantry and another
can of flaked chicken.

Once again, we sat on the floor in front of
a fire. Dinner was spaghetti and more wine. We finished off the
first loaf of bread mopping up the sauce.

April 9

After breakfast I emptied the dishwasher and
put everything back like it was. The few remaining canned goods
went into our box of food along with an assorted case of wine from
the upstairs cache and the basement. I left my notes of what was
where in this ritzy neighborhood under the silverware tray so I
wouldn’t lose it.

It was time to get back on the road.

Jim steered
around yet another chunk of asphalt that was jutting up and in our
way. “This road is a mess, Allex. We’ve made only five miles in the
past hour and we need to put more distance behind us. Do you know
another route or do we go off-road?”

“I say it’s time for me to see your true
driving skills,” I teased. “There are a few places the shoulders
dip away and deep for rain runoff, otherwise I don’t think there is
anyone around to complain about you driving over their lawns. Just
don’t break the wine bottles.”

“Do you think there are many houses like the
one we just left?” he asked, running down a plastic pink flamingo
lawn ornament.

“Seriously? No, I don’t. Tom said people
were leaving every day, and I doubt they would leave behind that
much food.” We had found a second pantry in the basement, filled
with canned goods and more gourmet foods. “That house was off the
beaten path and well hidden even from within that subdivision. Anna
had said there was so little food left before the evacuation that
she only managed to get a few cans from all the houses surrounding
where she was. So, no, that house we found was a rare treasure
trove. Maybe the Iversons were planning on riding out the disasters
by hunkering down and then got sick. I hope the house is still
secure when we return.”

“Any idea how much further to Sawyer?” Jim
asked. “I’m not that familiar with this route and things look
different to me.”

“It’s maybe another ten miles, if we don’t
run into any blockages.”

*

We pulled up to the security gate at Sawyer
Air Force Base and an armed guard stepped out of the new shack. Jim
rolled down the window.

“ID, please,” the young man said. Jim pulled
his ID from the visor and handed it over.

The guard saluted, and said, “Welcome back
to Sawyer, Colonel Andrews!” He looked into the Hummer at me. “I’m
sorry, sir, orders are no more civilians are allowed on base.”

Jim’s gaze became very stony. “Lieutenant
Smeth is not a civilian, Sergeant. What she is is out of uniform,
and we’re here in part to rectify that.”

Me a lieutenant? I wish Jim had warned me,
though I could play along if I had to.

The sergeant went silent for a moment. “My
orders—”

“Do your orders include questioning a senior
officer? Open this gate, Sergeant,” Jim snapped testily.

“Yes sir!” The gate lifted.

Once Jim had parked the Humvee, he turned to
me and said, “I’m sorry about that, Allex. I’ve been wondering if
we were going to meet some resistance, now I know. As far as we are
concerned, you’re now a first lieutenant, under my command. I had
to rank you over that guard, and over ninety percent of the
soldiers here for your own protection. How familiar are you with
ranks in the military?”

“Not very.”

“Okay. Basically, a captain, a major, a
general and a colonel outrank you. It sounds like a lot, however
there aren’t that many high ranking officers here. They have to
salute me, so if I salute back, you salute them, okay? I’ll try to
mention their rank at this time. And if in doubt about what to call
someone, Sir or Ma’am will suffice. First thing on the agenda is to
get you some military duds,” Jim said as he started to get out.
“Oh, lose the shoulder holster, Allex. Military doesn’t wear them.
I have an extra Beretta that will fit on your belt.”

I slipped off my jacket, and then removed
the holster. “I’ll have you know I feel half naked without this,” I
said as I wrapped the straps around the Kel-Tec and shoved it under
the seat.

“You can put it back on when we clear
everything military. Until then, you need to act like Army.” He
handed me a leather holster and I threaded it on my belt.

When we entered what used to be the airport
terminal, I noticed how much it had changed, even from just a year
ago when I came here to pick up Eric and Emilee. There was a great
deal of activity everywhere. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed and
hoped I could keep my cover.

“Colonel Andrews!” someone called out. Jim
stopped and turned toward the deep male voice.

“Steve! How’s my favorite major?” Jim
returned the salute. I came to a moderate attention and saluted the
major. He returned my salute with a question in his eyes directed
at the Colonel. “Major Steven Kopley, I’d like you to meet First
Lieutenant Allex Smeth. Allex has been my right hand these past few
months. We’re here to re-outfit her. She lost everything in the
Marquette fires.”

“Welcome to Sawyer, Lt. Smeth. Where did you
transfer out of?” the Major asked with a genuine smile.

I smiled back, stalling for time.

“Selfridge, Sir,” I replied, dredging up
some distant memories.

“Selfridge is an Air Force Base,” he said
skeptically.

“So is Sawyer, Sir. The Army has presence
everywhere these days.” I was starting to feel interrogated.

He looked at me suspiciously. “I spent some
time there a while back. There was a cider mill I was rather fond
of, on one of the Mile Roads, 21 I think.”

“If it’s Spencer’s you’re remembering, Sir,
it’s on 26 Mile Road. Best cinnamon cake donuts this side of
heaven,” I replied smoothly.

Major Kopley grinned. “Those were indeed the
best I’ve ever had.”

“Things look a bit different from the last
time I was here, Major. Where is the PX located now?” Jim asked,
swiftly changing the subject.

“Building H will have everything you
need.”

“After we get the lieutenant back in
uniform, can we meet you somewhere for a briefing on this crack
left behind by the earthquake? Our information is very limited,”
Jim said.

The major looked at his watch. “Meet me in
the officers’ mess at eighteen hundred hours for dinner and I’ll
tell you everything I know. Colonel, Lieutenant,” he saluted and
left.

Jim stared at me for a moment. He looked
confused.

“What?” I said.

“I’m speechless, and that’s hard to do to
me,” he confessed. “He was testing you, you realize, and you passed
with flying colors. I’m impressed.”

“Robert Heinlein, one of my favorite
authors, once said there were three ways to lie. I adapted those by
adding enough truth to the lie to make it believable without
digging myself in too deep.” We walked out the doors looking for
Building H. “I grew up on the eastside of Detroit, Jim. Selfridge
was well known to everyone, and the cider mill was a favorite
hangout for us teens in the fall, and they really did make great
donuts! I hope he doesn’t ask me too many more questions because
I’ve never been to Selfridge, although I have an aunt that spent a
great deal of time there.”

“Before we run into anyone else, we need to
give you an AOC, an Area of Concentration— a line of work. Everyone
does something, and since you’re in Emergency Management already I
think Public Affairs would suit you.”

“What does a military public affairs officer
do?” I asked perplexed.

“Basically, you civilianize military
information; make sure what is going out to the public doesn’t have
anything classified in it. It’s the perfect cover AOC for
traveling,” Jim said, obviously pleased with himself.

We found Building H easily and no one dared
stop or question the colonel. Signs were abundant enough that we
didn’t have to ask directions to the Clothing Sales shop in the
Post Exchange.

“Well, hello, Smitty!” Jim looked at the
young man behind the counter.

“Colonel Andrews!” he snapped a salute.
“It’s good to see you again, Sir!”

“Corporal Donald Smith, this is First
Lieutenant Allex Smeth,” Jim introduced us.

“Ma’am!” Cpl. Smith saluted me, which felt
very odd. I returned the gesture.

“The lieutenant lost everything in a fire,
Smitty, so I need you to completely re-outfit her. Can you do
that?”

“Oh, yes Sir!” Smitty looked at me
appraisingly. “Size 8, five foot five?” I nodded, impressed. “How
much, Sir?”

“I think two or three sets of fatigues
should do; t-shirts, pants, shirts, cap, jacket. Do you have any
sweaters here? Good, one of those too. And her bars.” Smitty was
busy writing. “Do you still have that embroidery machine?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Good,” Jim handed me a pen and I carefully
printed my name to get the spelling correct.

The corporal quickly brought me a short
stack of clothes, camo pants and a khaki t-shirt. “If you will try
these on, Ma’am, to make sure I have the sizes right. The dressing
room is right over there.” He pointed to a curtain.

“I need a favor, Smitty,” I heard Jim say
while I was changing clothes.

“Anything for you, Colonel!”

“I need one shirt with her name and rank
before we leave. The rest we’ll pick up later,” Jim requested. “And
she’ll need a new laminated ID.”

“I’ll get right on it, Sir, and I can drop
everything off to the women’s barracks, if you like.”

I could hear the hum and clatter of a
machine from somewhere in the shop. Soon Smitty reappeared with a
handful of tags that said “SMETH” and set them on the table. From a
locked cabinet, he brought out a box of officer insignias. I tried
on the shirt he handed me and we went for a half size larger for
comfort. He disappeared again and returned with my name tag sewn on
and my officer bars on the collar along with the shield for Public
Affairs, my new AOC.

“I’ll have the rest for you within the
hour.” Smitty smiled at us. “Ah, sir, what unit do I send the bill
to?”

“No need, Corporal, I’ll pay for them. After
all, I lost them.” I shrugged. He told me how much and I removed
the bills from my wallet. Thankfully I had taken some of the
remaining cash from my envelope before we left. I added an extra
fifty to the pile of bills. “I do appreciate you sewing all this on
for me. I hate sewing,” I gave him one of my best smiles.

“If you’ll step over here, Ma’am, I’ll take
a picture for your new ID card.”

*

We were well away from the PX and out of
earshot, when Jim casually said, “I thought you liked sewing.”

“Oh, I do, but Smitty doesn’t need to know
that,” I answered. “Everyone needs to feel appreciated, Jim,
everyone.
And if Smitty thinks he’s doing me an extra favor,
so much the better. Besides, I think I just made a new friend and
possible ally.”

Jim laughed. “You learn fast.”

*

We were back in the main terminal a few
minutes before six o’clock, though I had to remind myself that I
needed to say eighteen hundred hours. The officers’ mess was up a
flight of stairs, connected to what was once the small restaurant
when this was only an airport.

Major Kopley had already secured a table and
was waiting for us, a cup of steaming dark coffee in his hands.

“Got everything squared away, Colonel?” he
asked.

“Yes, it was good to see Smitty still in
charge,” Jim replied. A civilian came to our table, poured us some
coffee, and set a sheet in front of Jim with the daily menu printed
in large block letters. “Tell us about the quake, Steve. We felt it
up in Moose Creek.”

“Before we get into that, Jim, can I ask how
you ended up in that little town?” Major Kopley asked. “We all
thought you were going to the Soo, and then you disappeared from
radar.”

“Very simple, I got stranded on the wrong
side of the fires when I cleared out the civilians. I had already
assigned Sanders, Perkins, Jones, and Smeth to temporary duty in
Moose Creek, so it seemed logical to join them there until I could
figure out where we stood,” Jim said, casually fielding the
question. He picked up the menu then handed it to me. “With winter
approaching, there wasn’t much choice except to stay put, and once
the quake hit, all comms were down.”