LeRoy Clary - Humanaty's Blight

We kept going, using the paddles slowly so we didn’t tire, and we didn’t go near the shore where anyone might shoot at us. We traveled together and talked little. I managed to adjust my seat, so my feet touched the pedals.

From behind, we heard more shooting an hour later. I recognized the crack of the old man’s rifle, but the boom of a much larger shell also sounded. We looked behind and found we’d only traveled a quarter-mile or a little more, mostly drifting and waiting for darkness to fall. On the beach, a man appeared. Then another. One shouted, “There they are.”

There was no hurry. We had hours of daylight left and I didn’t want to give anyone on the Everett side of the bay an idea we were heading in their direction, so they could meet us.

I had no doubt those behind had spotted us after the warning shout. We were so far away I was surprised I’d heard the man who said it could see us. Unless they had a fast boat and were willing to sacrifice it to the number of bullet-holes I intended to put in it if they came this way, they had better not follow.

One of them took aim and fired. A splash off to our side and a little in front of us said we needed to paddle faster and put more distance between us. Maybe we were not far enough away, after all.

We put our backs and arms into it. The kayaks sliced through the water as another shell landed, not far from us. The shooter must have been using a scope and was a good shot. We could zigzag but that would slow our overall progress. Another rifle fired, then a third. We were floating targets, but we were gaining distance. Bullets splashed closer as they got our range. We should have paddled faster from the beginning. A shell landed close enough to splash water on me. We were both getting the hang of paddling and were going so fast we left wakes.

A huge explosion behind us erupted so forcefully the concussion felt like the slap of a giant hand. We turned and found an orange ball of fire expanding around and consuming the house we’d been inside an hour earlier. The impact of sound that struck us a few seconds later was a physical thing. We were watching the aftermath. The ball of fire continued to expand, changed colors to a dull red, and then morphed into mostly black smoke that drifted away with the breeze.

The men who had been on the deck of the house shooting at us were nowhere in sight. Neither was the deck or house. The old man must have set a trap.

More likely, he’d set it off himself, not trusting a simple tripwire or similar device that might injure innocents. I remembered the rack of propane bottles I’d assumed were empties even though they appeared to have been recently placed on the ground under the deck, next to the house. A row of seven or eight.

He’d probably barricaded himself inside somewhere, and when the time was right, he set it off, allowing us to escape while taking out most, if not all of the attackers. One final act of revenge and friendship in a ball of fire.

“What happened?” Sue asked.

“That old man refused to be defeated.”

“He blew up his house and those people? On purpose?”

I paddled beside her, keeping my voice soft and fighting back tears. “He was only going to live a few more days. This way, he did some good and killed people we don’t need in our world. And avoided the pain he was going to suffer. That’s what he told me.”

She took a few strokes and finally said, “I could never do that.”

I glanced behind and saw the black smoke still rising. Where the house had been only a part of the concrete foundation remained. The old man was part of the smoke, rising into the late afternoon sky where he could watch our progress from up there. I felt like saluting.

Instead, I paddled slow and sure. The kayaks scooted along, and the mouth of the Snohomish River was directly ahead. The kayak I sat in was bright red, Sue’s yellow. Anyone looking from the shore would spot us instantly and might anticipate where we were going, or they might follow us along the shore.

“We need to turn away as if we just want to take a look at the city from afar.”

“And go where?”

“That island out there,” I pointed to a rugged-looking island with a tall cliff and evergreens growing on top. At a guess, it was a few miles away. “Hat Island, I think. Paddle real slow and we’ll make it seem we’re either going there or back to Marysville.”

Again, she declined to question or argue. That was good, of course, but for me, it provided time to think. Stealing a sailboat was about to get real. I’d had ideas, but the old man had given me a wealth of new information and I intended to use what he taught me. My mind required time to think and digest his advice, then decide how to put it to the best use.

The task was daunting, now that I was actually considering doing it. We had no food, no water, and I had to pee. We were a mile or two from the nearest land. I couldn’t resolve those minor problems, but was considering turning pirate, creating more problems that would magnify exponentially.

A small wave bumped the side of my kayak and nearly tipped me over—as if the sea-gods were teasing me. All the while I refused to look back at the column of smoke because some of it contained what little remained of the old man who had become my friend in a few hours.

I chuckled because I thought he’d have found that idea funny.

Sue gave me an odd look and paddled closer. I reviewed and tried to prioritize everything he’d told me to look for. First, it seemed to be that all sailboats are pretty much the same. The difference was in the details. Taking one too small would be a complete mistake. One too large was the same, but for different reasons. He had said to look for one about thirty-five feet.

The one item he’d stressed was to find on a boat with solar panels. After that, he had mentioned other things, but that seemed to be the one item he felt we would need the most.

The other important thing was the engine. Diesel. I assumed most were diesel. So, then he’d said to use the glow plug starting option for thirty seconds because the boat may not have been run for a while. It all sounded confusing. Maybe too confusing.

“Sue, listen. When I go ashore to do this, I want you to tie my boat to yours and paddle out into the channel where it is darkest and wait. If things go wrong, I’ll dive into the water swim out to meet you and we’ll paddle to that Hat Island to spend the night. Tonight might end up being just a dry run, to see what is there and what options we have.”

“We were standing in the snow up to our knees a few days ago. Do you know how cold the water is?”

“Can’t be helped. Besides, how crazy would someone else have to be to jump into the water and swim after me?”

She didn’t laugh. So, I wouldn’t mention my observation about the old man and the smoke. She said, “What do you think can go wrong?”

I counted on my fingers. “Someone may spot me and shoot me. Or see the sailboat start to move and investigate, then shoot me. Or they might hear the engine when I start it. Or it won’t start. Or I crash it into other boats because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I can go on.”

“I get the picture. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing—other than trying to grope around in the dark to take a boat you don’t know how to drive when there might be people shooting at you. I think I get it. You don’t have to bite my head off just because I ask you a question. What else?”

“I have to pee.”

She smirked. “Oh, I took care of that problem long ago. That reminds me, I may need a bath sometime in the next few days.”

Well, that was one problem that I could also solve, although why I hadn’t done the same earlier attested to the fact I hadn’t yet adjusted to the new world we lived in. I let it go and instantly felt better. The sun was still high enough that it wouldn’t be dark for a few hours. I could use a nap, but with the pee and the little water that had seeped inside sloshing back and forth, sleeping in the narrow boat didn’t seem an option, even if I could get comfortable as I tried to stretch out.