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during training. Tipped her and rolled her. Not here. Not on this lake. Swells never get that big here. Seven feet was the biggest we’ve had on Ontario, best I can recall. So you don’t have to ask. It works. The life jackets, purely precautionary.”
His smile, his laugh--they did little to settle my stomach. The jackets were like ones found on an airplane. Deflated. Pull on the cord, and they inflate. Not sure how big the waves were, but it felt worse below deck.
    “We have roughly a five hour voyage ahead. Storm’s going to follow us the whole way. We’re going to try and stay outside of it, but that will only add time. We’re safe. Just isn’t going to be the smoothest ride. Regardless, we’re safe here. The bunks aren’t comfy, but the sheets are clean. I suggest you take advantage of the time and get some rest.”
    “Thank you, Captain,” one of the men from the second Humvee said.
    When the Captain went up top, the rest of us stared at the steps as if we expected someone else to come down.
    I took a deep breath, remembering what Lt. Marfione had said. “Before we choose bunks,” I said, “I want to introduce myself. I’m Chase. My son, Cash, daughter Charlene, and this is my girlfriend. Allison.”
    “I’m Dave. Dave Rivera, and this is Sues Melia.”
    The man who’d thanked the Captain stood up. “My name is Tim Chatterton.” He had to be about twenty-seven, at least 6’2”. He was dark-skinned with a shaved bald head and a thick beard with no mustache.
    We all shook hands.
    “Were you two cops?” Chatterton said.
    “Worked at nine-one-one. Dispatchers,” Allison said. Worked , she’d said. She understood the gravity of the situation. My shoulders fell. Only had a white t-shirt on underneath or I’d lose the shirt.
    The second man waved. “I’m Nicholas Dentino. Nick,” he said. Physically fit, also in his early to mid-twenties and resembled a model who posed for clothing ads in magazines. Short dark hair, set jaw and hazel colored eyes.
    I waved back. Shouldn’t hold it against him, but if he wasn’t going to make an effort to shake hands, neither was I. “How’s the arm?” I said.
    “Healing, hopefully,” he said, and snickered. Sounded like he was all right, but to look at him, I’d say he was scared. Guess we all were. No shame in that.
    “I’m Crystal Sutton,” the woman said. Her shoulder length brown hair was pulled back tight in a ponytail. She had white skin that clearly revealed that she had not spent the summer bathing in sunlight.
    With introductions out of the way, an awkward silence ensued. The idea of getting sleep was attractive. Being able to sleep, as the ship tossed back and forth might prove difficult. Part of me wanted to talk and hear their story.
    I wasn’t as interested in sharing mine, though. Talking was funny that way. Supposed to be give and take. People clam up if it’s too lopsided. I call it being cautious.
    “You guys know where we’re headed?” Chatterton said.
    I shook my head. I watched Dentino. He didn’t look well. The boat rose and fell on the swells. Might not be as high as seven feet, but they felt huge just the same. “Was told an internment camp. Somewhere in New York.”
    “By boat? Where could that be?” Crystal said.
    “Up the St. Lawrence,” I said.
    My son yawned.
    Hard not to feel like the last nine people who’d been found alive in Rochester? Could we have been it? Was Border Patrol flying around searching for more survivors? Even if they came across some, what then? The Coast Guard station was empty. No crew was left there, and we were cruising on the biggest of their boats.
    “I’m going to get some sleep,” Chatterton said. He stretched; arms went wide.
    “Good call,” I said. “Maybe we can talk some more once we get to the camp.”
    The other three silently nodded, trying to make it look like that would be a great idea. I wasn’t buying it though. Not sure why, but they made me uneasy. Might be the way I