Missanabie Falls

From where we were, 400 miles away, we couldn't tell that. The only thing we knew was, it was probably going to hit us faster if we didn't do something about it.

The boat sped up, I don't know if we were at full speed, but it was faster than our transit before, and the landscape went by quickly. Our position, at that point, was in Munuscong Lake, heading up Lake Nickolet and into the locks.

I didn't know about the locks, but apparently the captain did.

The choice was, be up on the bridge, where he could see, and get his voice on video, or stay put. I decided to stay put since moving through the ship was Not Easy.

Pulling up to the locks, we saw there were two other boats waiting there, both sailboats and much smaller than us. Someone was yelling up to the guy on the shore, who seemed to be saying they weren't going to do anything, with the earthquakes happening.

The captain's P.A. system cut through the chatter on the deck, and we all held our hands up in Platoonist-silence, to make sure we could hear the guy on the shore.

"We're the 'Brittany Shoreline'. We have over 1000 refugees from Chicago. We MUST get into Superior, fast. You have a tsunami coming!"

"What?" The guy didn't understand, obviously.

"Baltimore was wiped out by a tsunami from when Washington DC was hit. That Earthquake was almost certainly Chicago. Could have been Duluth or Detroit. Doesn't matter. There's going to be a HUGE tidal rush through this channel that will bust your locks open if you don't stand ready to open them ahead of time."

"We're undermanned! We don't have much power left! I can start the generators, but it'll take some time!"

The captain paused, and said, "You have about 20 minutes, maybe, 40 at most, before the wave hits here. Tsunami waves can go 1000 miles per hour, it's 423 miles to Chicago, and you Do NOT have time to talk with me. Get the locks open, all of them. But, save us, 1000 children! Let us through and fast!"

There was a lot of yelling, and some other Navy or Coast Guard guy came running up, asking what the hell. There was some back and forth I couldn't hear, and they both ran back to some kind of a control building. Right after they went in, super-loud klaxxons started sounding, sirens, and we saw some black smoke rising behind one of the buildings, like diesel generators or something.

In front of us, lights flashed "Green!" and a big LED sign lit up with, "CLEAR DOORS / ENTER DEAD SLOW", which was probably the default message. The doors super-tall lock doors started opening.

Across and down from us, the sailboat owner that had been there originally talking with the guy ran to get his trolling motor going and headed out in front of us.

The sailboat managed to get in ahead of us, and another motorboat was coming up the river, fast. Just about as they got near us, I looked back where they came from and saw a white line across the river, not high, but it was hard to tell.

The motorboat pulled in beside us, and just as they did, the lock doors shut, faster than I'd have thought they could. The doors in front opened and that helped them shut, maybe. i don't know what was happening too well behind, but our people were yelling out what was happening.

Below us, the motorboat was idling. i could see they had at least 10 people in there. Someone yelled down, "What's up?"

"Giant Wave! Coming here! We booked it! Was gonna wipe out everything!"

Indeed. We would have been in serious trouble. I felt so relieved, in a sense, that our preparations had been valid, but at the same time, there was a hole in the middle of me where I didn't want to look.

My parents, and almost everyone I'd ever known, were almost certainly dead.

The doors in front of us opened, and I heard klaxons all around us, and sirens, like fire sirens, starting to going off. In front, off to the side, there was a medium-sized freighter, at anchor.

The captain started honking the horn in what I found out later was the collision warning, then the fire warning, and then back and forth. He was yelling over the P.A., and it was WAY too loud, so everyone held their ears, "TSUNAMI WARNING! BIG WAVE! DEADLY WAVE! TSUNAMI! GET TO HIGH GROUND!"

The wave behind us was coming fast, overtopping the shore on either side and spilling portable docks and all manner of buildings and crap in a froth at the front. The captain gunned it, heading out into the open water ahead of us, coming close to the sailboat.

I was snapping pictures of this and that, and had been, but I had very limited zoom capability on the camera so I was blindly hoping it got anything.

The captain turned sideways so he could see behind him, the bridge being obscured from the rear by way too many people on the deck. Everyone could see, that way.

The frothing water reached the locks, but as it did, the locks opened, and went out of the way. It was barely taller than the 3-story-tall water height difference, so it wasn't that bad, but still it did froth, and there was a lot of floating gunk in the lock area.

The water kept building in height, though, and soon the front lock opened, too, water spilling out over the land around, and coming up from teh side and overtopping a spillway meant to keep water from going downstream too fast.

With no gasoline, there weren't any cars on the roads, but I did see one police car on the top of the bridge, in the distance, maybe a cop was next to it, it was hard to tell. We all made a noise when the car started up and drove away at high speed. Obviously they'd kept enough gas for emergency use, and it was a good thing he was doing that because I could see how the land on either side of the bridge might get flooded.

The captain pulled to the quiet waters on one side, to see what would happen and idle the motors.

After about half an hour, the water seemed to be receding, we agreed, and the captain must have agreed, too, because he spooled up the engines and we moved forward.

I'd thought the channel opened up, but it turned out we had some more winding to do, and buoys to follow, to stay in the ship channel.

Another 20 minutes, again we were at a fast-walking pace, initially going straight west, but then we turned almost north. I had thought that Lake Superior was mostly an east-west lake, just like Michigan was north-south, but apparently I was wrong.

According to my pocket compass, we were only 10 degrees west of straight north.

Mr. Davis got on the P.A., and gave us some relief from confusion.

"Attention. Hear this. Here's the plan. We are headed for a big hunting and fishing lodge on a lake, about 100 miles inland, but more like 150 by road, the way it winds around. There's gonna be food - fish and stuff we raise. I was there, once, so I know the area. There's some flat ground to raise some food crops this summer, and plenty of trees to build cabins for us all."

He let that sink in a moment.

"This is not going to be a fancy life. This is going to be very rough. But - We Are Platoonists! We're capable! We are prepared. We have plans. We make things happen!"

He paused, and as he came back on, he'd obviously just said something to Mrs. Wolff.

"There's a town about 5 miles away. It's far enough, we shouldn't be bothered by them, they shouldn't be bothered by us. The owner of this place, whoever that is, might try to make us go away, but if it doesn't work, we'll find somewhere else, there's a bunch of these hunting lodges around. There's even a stables and show-barn on the property, though they didn't have any horses when I was there about 12 years ago."

"So, here's the plan. We'll have enough fuel to get to WaWa, yes, that's the city's name, WaWa. We'll dock and unload. From there, we're going to divide the bicycles into pairs, put some sticks between them, make a platform, and pile the heavy stuff on that platform. Then, we walk. We push the bikes forward, and head off. If we get very lucky, we'll get a truck to take most of the stuff, but I'm doubting there's any trucks with fuel, so we're probably hiking the 150 miles. That's at least 2 days' walk, maybe 4, depending on how much weight the bikes can take, how many hills, complications, all that."

"Get some rest. When we get there, it's going to be all hands on deck, jumping at the task. If the locals get their fingers on us, we might get stopped and made to suffer some crazy paperwork or whatever. Best to disappear before they notice. Security teams, coordinate, we'll need each squad to stay in sight of their neighbors, and have fallback positions if they get lost. Our final destination is need-to-know, so if someone gets trapped and forced, authorities can't intercept us."

"Got that?? Say: 'Sir, Yes, sir!?!?'"

We yelled, "Sir Yes Sir!"

"Rockin In Boston, People! We're 5 by 5, clear and steady. Sleep the next 8 hours, then get up and get organized, we'll be walking steadily nearly the next 24 with almost no stops or sleep. Have a plan, who does what. Immediate road is heading east on 101, then north on 547. Remember those numbers - 101-East, 547 North. What are they? shout it back?"

"101 East! 547 North!"

"Again?!?!"

We did.

"Right! Got it. It really is 150 miles. I'm not kidding. Walking is 3 miles an hour, that's 50 hours walk. Don't think it's just up ahead, this means days of walking. We can do it. What do you say?!?"

We yelled, "Sir Yes Sir!"

"Oh, one more thing. We may be Platoonists, and honorable, but if you see an Axe, or shovel, or rake unattended, find a way to get it into your pack or put away. Don't get shot! Offer to buy it cash, tell them you're refugees, and we need 'em. We'll figure out how to make the money right later. We are Platoonists! WE DO TEAMWORK! We're prepared, we do the Right things. That is all."

The sound cut off, and we were back to the steady thrum of the motors.

I worked my way back to my squad, taking some pictures along the way, then settled in next to Vera. She was my sister. I was protective, but it was also softer to lean up against her than a steel bulkhead.

I actually could sleep. I was amazed. I was bone-weary, but it felt okay to drop off.

== Chapter: Wawa Waponi-Wu ==

The motors changed sound, and that's what woke me, for sure, and the others.

Mrs. Wolff was on the P.A. with a subdued, "Rise and shine, campers.... Woo hoo, rise up, we're waking up now. Everybody, calmly get up. It's time to go. We are not going to eat before we get to town. We're going to buy food there, in bulk, no junk food. For now, wake up. Everyone arrange to hit the head. Pee over the side, but not onto bikes, we're going to using those. If you're not at the rear pooping, go to the front. If you think the boat is leaning one way, shift a little, and keep us centered, got it? Good. We have about an hour before we get into WaWa. It's 5:06 pm local time, by my watch. Poop and pee, pack and get ready. Dress in layers, it will be cool tonight, and we'll be walking all night long. Rechargable lights, keep in contact, don't wander off or you'll get left behind, probably forever."

"What's the route?"

"101 East, 547 north!"

She did the routine of, "What's that?" and "say it again?" to cement the numbers, then ran over the plans just as she did the previous night.

I got out my camera, gave instructions to my squad, and started taking photos. I didn't take any of the rear of the ship, knowing what that was like, but I did take a few of odd scenes around the boat, just this person packing, or that, or someone tying up boot-laces, whatever.

Along the route, I ran into the girl who'd been dressing the day before, from the island. She told me her info, and that of the girls and boy she was with. The boy, her cousin, didn't want to leave and they had to drag him aboard.

I asked if she knew if her parents were going to head for high ground, but she didn't know since her grandma was there and couldn't walk fast. They had some rowboats, but no one used them much.

What do you say to a person when you're pretty sure their parents just died?

Funny, I was asking this even though my parents had probably only died an hour before hers did. I couldn't think about that. My parents had planned ahead, they might have had another way to drive or ride a bike west and get away from the Chicago area.

I was ready, by the side, and everyone was prepped and counted off. The squad leaders were being super-strict on this one, and everyone had huge attention to details, we knew we had to make it go and fast.

The marina was nearly empty - only a few paddleboats remained, and a canoe, heavily padlocked.

There weren't cars, either, and no one was sitting around. We chugged in, a distance from the dock so we didn't squish the bicycles strapped to the side, and started heading down the gangplanks.

The captain came on the P.A. again. "People! Stay randomly distributed on the boat! If everyone walks over to the port side, the boat could turn over! Stay spread out. Only the squad that's leaving needs to be near a gangplank, and you know what order you're going in, already. Stay sharp. Think ahead."

That was a warning. The boat was very loaded down. I was pretty sure we were significantly lower in the water than we were when we started, never mind the diesel fuel weight we'd burned. There might be bilge water we couldn't or didn't pump out, I didn't know.

It didn't matter much. I wasn't sure if anyone would be riding on the ship again anytime soon.

I would describe the next 3 hours but it's just easier to say that, it was one of the most pride-inspiring operations I'd seen as a Platoonist (second only to the previous parts of our trip). Squads got out all the gear and tents, divided it into even piles, assigned a squad to a pile, divided the bikes to squads, fixed the bikes together, strapped and loaded it all, and we set out.

The first squad left the parking lot about an hour after we docked. I was around, taking pictures of it all. Some people were just sitting on the ground crying, mind you, it wasn't all-pulling ahead, but the general thought was, everyone gets 20 minutes to cry, then a set of more and more strongly worded urgings would start.

I found one kid, definitely younger than our youngest, and I hadn't seen him. He looked about four or five, and was just wandering like it was nothing.

Some lady appeared from up the hill and started yelling for him, and I saw him look up, so I grabbed his hand and led him over.

The lady was very thankful, and wanted to know who we were and where we were headed. I gave her the synopsis, and asked if she had lawn and garden tools she could spare?

"Of course" was the reply, and I grabbed half my squad and half another to bounce up to her house, right at the top of the hill. She led us to the garage, opened it, and said, 'Take Everything."

She started crying. I'd told her we were from Chicago, and it had just been blown up. She didn't know about the other cities.

Soon, many more people started showing up, and they, too, opened their garages. We had a huge assortment of rakes, shovels, trowels, seeds, kid's wagons, even a pull-behind trailer for a car. We put a whole bunch of stuff on that, and lashed some lumber to the tongue so we could pull it with a four-person team and some ropes (extension cords).

One guy had a lawnmower with big wheels, so we went to town unscrewing and unbolting and got the engine and mowing deck off. With it lightened up to just wheels and a steering rack, we could pile crap onto it. It held at least 250 pounds - 8 heavy backpacks - a rope and harness let a set of people pull it easily.

This continued. Our squads just headed east. I took pictures with the families, got their names and addresses in case we could ever pay them back, but they refused.

No one asked for food. it was a whispered rule, on the spot. These people looked gaunt already. We knew that would be scarce already, and we were happy for what we could get of the lawn tools.

it was an odd sight, having that many people pushing ad-hoc carts up a street, down another, and onto the empty highway. No one was driving. There wasn't gas. Who could go anywhere? Why go somewhere when the safest place was home?

I was scooting alongside our parade, going between squads, passing messages or encouragement or baggage-lashing hints, when I saw (among our onlookers on the sidewalks) another Platoonist uniform.

Walking up, I said hello. They'd just walked up to the street themselves, and were looking at us streaming by, probably wondering what to do.

Four were girls, one a guy, all late teens. One had a Platoonist uniform, though the patches had a Canadian flag (normally, desired!). They had lugged big camping backpacks there, but hadn't put them on yet.

Finishing the thought, I asked, "What's up?"

An middle-aged lady had been right behind them. She wasn't looking good at all. Her face was a mess with acne (a malnutrition sign) and her hair wasn't washed or brushed recently. She asked, "Who's in charge here?"

I thought about the question. "Mr. Davis, at the rear, but he's gonna be busy. Can I pass a message along, or give him a warning you want to talk?"

"We have five here. There are 10 more on the way, they're getting prepped. They have bikes, and some food, what we can spare. Are you going up north? Fishing? Living off the land?"

My eyes could narrow a bit and consider this idea. We didn't need people from everywhere we walked through, but considering most of the road ahead would be forested, that was probably limited as a worry. I bobbed my head, "Yeah, we figure. We have some skills. I hope they're enough."

"These are my 3 kids, and our neighbors..." She introduced them. "We're ... doing what we can, but ... there's not enough food. I figure, you will have... a better chance than us... they might... be safer. We..." Her face was desperate, but she was trying to hold it together for the kids. I immediately saw that for what it was. They were starving to death, right there. It wasn't going to get better. She was saving the kids, at the cost of Herself.

I chose to answer the simple question, struck by emotion and needing to not show it, either. Thin-lipped, jaw controlled, I carefully said, "Might. Might be."

"Where can we get them, again, if we ... if things get better?"

"We'll send a Platoonist down sometime. We're going 110 to 547. Go to the end of that and ask, I guess. None of us knows. It's up to our p-group leader. He wants to keep it on the down-low so we don't get starving people showing up at our camp, that threatens all of us."

She thought about that. "Sensible."

About then, 8 more showed up, two of whom were definitely over 18, one guy, one girl. They were holding hands, but they'd both been crying. The rest were high school or college aged, it was hard to tell. I got out my book, took their names, birthdates, grades, and hometowns. Two in grade school, 2 in high school, and four college freshmen, friends, who'd driven west and had run out of gas there.

All of them were from suburban Toronto, 1000 miles east of us.

I had the roster, and assigned them as a group to a squad, which it turned out had just passed us (there was an order to this, so we knew who was where).

I asked where the local store was, for flour or rice, but they said, no, there wasn't. They said there was a big grain elevator at a rail stop about 100 miles west, maybe, they'd seen it a few years ago on a vacation. I noted that. It remained a hope for a long time, never realized.

== Chapter: Walking and Walking, with More Walking ==

We stopped to eat after leaving town, chewing on trail mix bars and just trying to take the edge off. We didn't have much food with us to begin with. Mom had packed a shit-ton of trail mix, maybe 10 pounds of my 80-pound pack was food. My waist-level pockets were, too, with blocks of expensive high-end but high-fat block cheese. I figured it was still around in the store because it was expensive in the first place.