The Big Blue Sky: Chapter Two-Thirty

At just under twenty thousand souls, Marquette is a veritable metropolis among the wide and unyielding wilderness of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. The wilderness gave way to strip malls, fast-food restaurants and motels on the western approaches, where the growing city encroached and pushed back the forest. Front Street rose from this modern assertion against nature’s sovereignty. There the original town still clung to the Superior shore, perched upon hills and bluffs above an open harbor and the massive ore dock below the town.

Doug turned the car onto Front Street, where the businesses and shops were closed up for the night. Two squad cars racing up Main Street. Doug had heard the sirens and slipped into an empty space in front of the old Ironwood Theater. He shut off the lights, ducking out of sight with the girls as the sqauds raced past.

When it was clear Doug pulled back onto the street. He went quickly through the dark and sleeping town. Following the lakeshore, it took the better part of an hour to reach the mainland dock opposite Grand Island. It was just off the road and hidden from view by trees. To the east the first sliver of pale orange daylight fought a curtain of turquoise clouds, silhouetted like some army of giants trudging off to war. It would be daylight in a few hours.

The Island was separated from the mainland by a narrow channel. To one side was Munising bay, and the other side, the open waters of Superior. The lake was like polished obsidian, reflecting a hand full of lights from the island. Grand Iland was as much of a fortress as Doug could hope for. High cliffs and treacherous surfs protected it from three sides. A stalwart but widely dispersed collection of loners and survivalists inhabited the island, each hidden away and isolated by dense primeval forest. This time of year, most folks abandoned the island for the mainland. With Autumn, storms came up sudden and fierce, the combined assault of screaming winds, sudden squalls and thundering waves cutting off the island for days or weeks at a time. Doug could not imagine a better place to hide out.

There was an aluminum skiff nearby, with a single blond-wood oar inside. Doug dragged it to the rocky little beach as the girls piled whatever they could inside. That done, he pulled the creased and faded business card from his pocket and quickly dialed the number into his cell phone. The phone rang twice at the other end. A woman answered her voice groggy and filled with sleep. Doug quickly hung up without a word. He carried the phone over to a hollow log, teetering on the bank above the shore, and placed the phone inside. That done Doug returned to the girls, shoved the boat into the lake and climbed inside.

Doug carefully pushed the oar into the icy cold water, careful not to make any more noise than necessary. Sounds could carry great distances over the lake. Rowing slowly, pushing the oar smoothly into the dark water and pulling back firmly it took a little better than twenty minutes to reach the island. The house was just across a small yard. It was small, with white trim and a small fireplace. A family of tall birch with fiery yellow leaves all but hid the place from view. The owners were old friends who were away for the season. Doug knew the place would be well stocked with food and supplies. Best of all, from here he could see anyone approaching the island from almost anywhere along the mainland coast. There was a shotgun and a hand full of shells in the house, kept to ward off scavenging black bears inhabiting the island. As Doug helped the girls up from the beach he was confident the girls could be safe here, at least for a while.

Doug hauled the boat onto the bank and covered it with branches and an old tarp. Careful to leave nothing behind, he followed the girls up to the house. There was a key hidden beneath a planter beside the back door. It had been weeks since anyone had lived in the place. The house seemed to exhale as Doug shoved the door open with his shoulder, the stale air escaping into the cold clear night. Doug started a fire and pulled out the sofa bed for the girls. He found the shotgun, dropped two shells into the twin barrels, fell back in a soft leather chair beside the girls and fell quickly to sleep with the gun cradled in his lap.