Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (49 page)

We walked around the lake, circling the west side to
complete the loop, and then headed toward the cabin. Inside, I added rice to
the now boiling water, covered it, and set it off the heat. A call to Walter on
the radio gave us an “all clear” from the marina. I told him that we’d be back
sometime later this evening. Most of the bleach smell had dissipated, and
Michelle shut the windows as I descended the steps to get a fire going in the
cast iron burner in the basement below. The ancient black heater had been
constructed in a long ago era that prided itself on craftsmanship and quality,
but apparently could care less about weight. After the giant stone slab on the
bench by the lake, this was the second heaviest thing I’d ever attempted to
move manually. The main firebox—brick lining not included—weighed 512 pounds.
The only detachable parts were the four iron legs, each cast in a heavy ‘L’
shape for stability. They weighed an additional 49 pounds each. I tilted my
eyes to the ceiling above the stove and noted the much newer subfloor that was
visible from the basement. Because of the weight and bulkiness of the iron
monster, we couldn’t even begin to think about taking it down the stairs. A
hole had been cut in the floor, and we used a set of block and tackle to lower
the unit through. Once in the basement, it had to be shifted by hand to the
proper position so it matched up with the thick stainless steel liner in the
chimney. Like I said, it was heavy. Anyhow, I started the fire and added enough
wood for a short burn, then headed back upstairs.

“Do you want something to drink?” Michelle asked when
I got back to the kitchen.

“Water, please.”

“I thought you only drank Dr. Pepper, beer, and hot
chocolate.”

“Actually,” I said, “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going
to have a cup of hot tea instead.”

“That sounds good. Two cups of tea coming up.”

She put water on to boil, and then join me back at the
kitchen table. A touch of the mouse pad took away the screensaver, and the
pop-eyed badger stared back at us. A few clicks later, my North Dakota
satellite mapping program launched. While it was loading up, we located a
tablet and some pencils, and I turned on the power to Uncle Andy’s computer
system. I couldn’t remember his password, but all I needed was access to his
printer. Previous experience had shown me that I could connect to that
wirelessly.

Back at the table, my laptop showed an aerial view of
North Dakota. The scale on the upper left indicated a relative viewpoint
distance of fifty-one miles above ground level. From that height, the map
encompassed the entire state. I hit the zoom button, taking us down to twenty
miles elevation. A few more click and drags centered the map on the Devils Lake
area. From there I zoomed it down to five miles of relative altitude and
studied the map. Devils Lake Recreation Area is not a single body of water.
Rather, it’s a conglomeration of lakes that total over 200,000 acres of water.
They’re all interconnected through various rivers, overflows, and canals. The
northern section is made up of Lake Irvine, Lake Alice, Dry Lake, and Mikes
Lake. Those lakes are connected to the southerly reaches by a large channel
that flows underneath U.S. Highway 2 NW. The major southern lakes are Pelican
Lake, the main section of Devils Lake, and East Devils Lake.

“OK, the first thing we need to know is where your
dad’s cabin is.”

Her face shadowed at my question. “I’m . . . I’m not exactly
sure.”

“What?”

“I’ve been there,” she said, “but only twice, and my
mother was driving both times. I have his mailing address, but that won’t help
us because it’s a post office box in the actual town of Devils Lake.”

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. Devils
Lake was familiar to me because, as part of my job, I patrolled the waters
during the busiest parts of the summer. My main area of operations though, was
further south around Arrowood Lake and the wildlife refuge that surrounds it,
but during the tourist season, I often pulled double duty.

“Would you recognize his house if you saw it?”

She hesitated for a second before answering,
“Probably.”

“How about if you saw it from the water?”

“You’re thinking about traveling by boat?” I could see
the wheels turning in her head when she asked.

I nodded. “At least, my idea was to travel by water as
much as possible. We’re still gonna have to get to the water, but I’m pretty
sure that we can do that.”

Michelle got up from the table, returning a few
seconds later with two cups of tea. The wisps of steam rising convinced me to
wait a bit, but she tilted her cup and took a sip of the almost scalding
liquid.

The muted
tap
of her mug returning to the table
broke the momentary silence. “I know you, Eric,” she said, “you’re like your
uncle—always two steps ahead of everybody else. I’m guessing that you haven’t
stopped thinking about this trip ever since I brought it up.”

“And I know you,” I said, “you’re a planner . . . a
list maker. So how about I tell you what I’m thinking, and then you organize it
into a workable arrangement that we can both follow.”

Michelle nodded, and I angled the screen of the laptop
towards her. “OK,” I started, “geography lesson time. We’re assuming that the
main roads will be dangerous, or at least not passable. Whether that’s only at
junction points where they intersect with another highway, or just in the
cities—it doesn’t really matter. So . . . I think one of our main goals should
be to avoid traveling on the highways, even if we could find a way around the
roadblocks.”

“Agreed.”

“OK, we’re still going to have to cross two major
roads, though.” I pointed to the map displayed on the screen, “We’ve got U.S.
Highway 2 NW that runs between Minot and Grand Forks, and Highway 281 that runs
just past the west side of Devils Lake on its way up to Richland.”

She took another sip of her tea and nodded.

I tested my own mug with the slight dip of my finger
into the liquid . . . still too hot. “OK, we can take some back roads.” I
zoomed the image down to an aerial view from 1000 feet, watching as previously
unseen lines appeared, “Most people have no clue about these. A lot of them
look just like a gravel or dirt road heading through a field. In any event, we
should be able to avoid any roadblocks or traffic pileups by doing that. I’d
like to plan our route so that when we get close to Highway 2, we’re near the
Wurgler National Wildlife Refuge. There are several county roads that cut
across the highway, but if for some reason they’re blocked or compromised, I
happen to know the combination code for the gate that will give us access to
the firebreak through the refuge. After that, it’s more back roads . . .
basically east instead of south this time . . . until we get to about here.” I
zoomed out a little and pointed to a thin blue line on the map.

She nosed closer and studied where I indicated as I
continued. “This is a canal—a creek really—that flows out of Lake Ibsen,
meanders about eight miles as the crow flies . . . probably double that in real
paddling miles . . . before it enters Silver Lake. Before it gets there, it
crosses underneath Highway 281. Once we’re in Silver Lake, we have water access
to everywhere else in the Devils Lake area.”

“Is it deep enough to float?” She took over and zoomed
down on the canal.

I slid my hand underneath hers and retook control of
the mouse pad, earning a raised eyebrow from Michelle.

“Ahem . . . as I was saying . . . right about there,”
I pointed again toward the blue line, “is an abandoned farm. It backs right up
to the canal, and it’s probably a safe place to park our vehicle. From that
point we can run a bass boat without too much of a problem.” I turned to look
at Michelle, “What happened to the bass boat we took to the campground?”

“Callie dropped its anchor offshore when you were
telling Sam to sink my Explorer.” Her voice was serious, but her eyes were
taunting as she spoke.

“I’ll buy you a new truck.”

“Damn straight you will.”

I chuckled at her answer before continuing, “Anyway,
either that boat, or one like it should be fine . . .”

She cut me off. “That’s kind of a small boat to run on
the big lakes safely, especially if you plan on getting away from shore.”

“As I was saying, once we get access to Silver Lake,
it’s really only about a dozen or so miles through the interconnected waterways
until we can hit the Pelican Lake ranger station.” Both of her eyebrows lifted
and held their arched position as I finished. “There are two ranger stations at
Devils Lake. The main ranger station is smack dab in the middle of the town of
Devils Lake. I’m pretty sure we want to try and avoid that area. The Pelican
Lake station, however, is a small, auxiliary outpost just south of Oswalds Bay.
Anyhow, at the Pelican Lake station, I’m hoping to switch out for one of their
patrol boats. And to answer your questions, yes, I have the keys, and yes, I’m
aware that the boats might be missing. If so, we’ll run with what we have.”

“Assuming that everything goes according to your
plan,” Michelle asked, “what happens next?”

“That depends. I was assuming that your dad’s cabin
was somewhere along the shore near the town of Devils Lake. I guess that I kind
of figured we’d just pull up to it by boat, get your mother if she’s there, and
head back the way we came.”

“His cabin isn’t in town. It’s actually on East Devils
Lake . . . I remember that much.”

“So the real question is ‘can you find it from the
water’?”

I watched as she took another sip of tea and closed
her eyes. After a moment she spoke, “I remember that it was a brown,
wooden-sided A frame cabin with a little dock.”

“That won’t really help us . . . most of the cabins
and rentals along the lake are built similar.”

“I know, but I remember standing at the end of his
dock and looking to the right—northwest, I think—and being able to see the
divider road that crosses between Devils Lake and East Devils Lake.”

“That’s county road 0353. About how far away do you
think it was from his cabin?” I asked.

“At least a mile . . . maybe two.”

“OK, we’re getting somewhere now. Take a couple
minutes and try and remember anything else that you can . . . anything at all.”
Michelle nodded, and I reached for my cup of tea.

Another few minutes of silence passed—Michelle with
her eyes closed—me nursing the raw tip of my tongue from the still too hot
liquid.

“There was a sign nailed to the end of his dock.” Her
eyes were still shut and she was speaking slowly, almost like she’d been
hypnotized by magician. “It was something like a . . . a . . ., um, like a stop
sign shape . . . not as big though. Maybe about the size of a basketball. I
think it was yellow . . . or maybe faded orange—I can’t really remember.”

“Do you remember what it said?”

“Maybe something about an alarm system, or one of
those neighborhood watch, ‘we call the police’ signs . . . maybe.”

“OK, good to know.”

She opened her eyes and shook her head, “I’m sorry
Eric, I know that this is going to make it a lot more difficult . . . a lot
more unsafe.”

“We’ll make it work . . . no worries, OK?”

Her halfhearted nod was unconvincing.

“Besides, I’m hoping that my uncle was meticulous
enough to give us an edge.”

“What ‘edge’?”

I picked up the radio.
“Walter, this is Eric, do
you copy?”

“I was beginning to wonder about you, boy . . .
thought you got lost or something.”

“What’s on the menu for supper?”
It was our prearranged code to move to the private
channel.