LeRoy Clary - Humanaty's Blight

I leaned back, put my head on the top of the seat, and closed my eyes. If nothing else, I could rest and review my plans along with all the old man had told me. I silently thanked him again.

When I opened my eyes, it was almost dark. Sue was floating right beside me, her hand braced on my kayak to steady it. I’d scooted way down in the seat, my legs placed up on the front of the boat. A kink in my back kept me from sitting upright until I worked it out.

Sue said with a cruel grin, “All that worrying didn’t keep you awake, I see.”

My mind felt refreshed. We let the wind and currents push us where they wished. I now had total confidence in the small craft, and in our abilities to paddle them. Only a storm would challenge us, and we might welcome a storm because it would keep others inside while we stole a sailboat probably worth as much as a small house.

Sue wanted to talk and talk. Nerves, I think. She told me about her school and how the girls had formed cliques in the last couple of years, the gringo blonds became cheerleaders, others became geeks, jocks, kickers, or farmers. Few of the names she used were complimentary.

“Race?” I asked.

“Not so much. Different likes. Culture. And money, of course.”

That was observant of her. The cliques when I was in school were not about race either. They were about interests. Maybe a little about economics. A boy who had brown skin and a nice white smile, along with a pretty car made him just as popular as others. Of course, if he was on the football team, that also helped.

Since leaving school and later becoming a hermit-geek, I’d spent little time thinking about the racial issues that others said were tearing the country apart. From my experience, which was admittedly one-sided, I had my own opinions about that. People were people. Some better than others at sports, academics, or social games. Race or color had little to do with it, just as the fourteen-year-old in the other boat had said. How she got that smart in so little time, I didn’t know.

For me, it started at the beginning of my education. First grade is a distant and vague memory. However, in second grade, our class had been mostly girls and that changed a lot. Of the eighteen students, ten were female and every boy knew not to spend time with them! That left seven boys, besides me. Of them, I had to find a friend, because everyone knew a boy didn’t choose a girl for a friend at that age. One boy was fat and ate all the time. Another cried over something different almost every day. That left a pool of five boys to make friends with.

Of those five remaining, three had been in the same class the year before and were a trio of best friends, doing and saying the same things, and they didn’t want any joiners. That left me with a choice between a white athlete who was something of a bully, and a skinny brown kid from somewhere in Central America. Well, his parents were from there, he was from North Seattle. But Juan and I were thrust upon each other to avoid the rest.

He was a computer guy, more into hardware. I was into software. We formed a friendship that lasted for five years until my folks bought the house in Arlington and we moved up there. We stayed in touch for a while, but it wasn’t the same. I hadn’t thought about his color since the first few days of school that year. He was simply, Juan. My only friend.

No one in Arlington had replaced him. Most had attended the same classes since kindergarten, and I was the outsider. That is not really a fair assessment, of course. Most were nice enough, I just didn’t click with one, and any girl I pursued quickly rejected me. I remember walking the halls of the school day after day without a single one of them saying hello or offering a smile. On reflection, that was more my fault than theirs. If I had offered a smile, I may have received one in return.

I hoped my friend, Juan was immune to the flu and he was doing well, although the odds I’d been calculating before Sue showed up were not promising. With an eighty percent extinction rate, or even seventy, coupled with the deaths sure to come within the first month from people killing each other, put the total death rate nearer ninety.

Ten out of every hundred seemed an optimistic survival rate if Marysville was a gauge. Yes, it had seemed that way when we’d ridden through, but I quickly realized there may have been many more hidden in basements, people hiding in the nearby forests, and other places. They were doing what we were—staying out of sight. As they emerged, the percentage of survivors might be significantly higher.

Wishful thinking, I chided myself, reversing my optimistic thinking. Each of the survivors would then become an enemy until he or she proved different. The old man at the house that exploded had told me that. I believed him.

“We should head in,” Sue said, interrupting my attempts at solving all the problems of the world.

She was right. Clouds hung low to the west and the sun had sunk behind them, making the twilight last longer and the sky surreal with pinks and oranges. In the dimming light, I doubted if anyone ashore could see us. As we paddled closer to shore, the darkness would intensify until we might not be able to see at all if the clouds moved in and blocked the stars. There might not be any lights on the shore to guide us.

“Not too fast,” I muttered, also thinking I could use a little more time to plan and shed some of my nerves. That was true before I made most major moves for the last few years, and as a result, I’d talked myself out of doing many things. Fear can be a motivator—and for me, it was usually a deterrent. Instead of solving the issues, I dodged them by doing nothing.

This was something I had to do. I forced my mind to understand and accept that. The sailboat was our answer to long-term survival. Failure to steal one was not how I wanted to die. Mental images of ravenous hordes of faceless degenerates attacking me consumed my thoughts as much as the possible reality of them eating me. That fear pushed me onward.

It was success or failure tonight. If we failed to locate a sailboat, we could try again in a day or two and know more about how to do it and what to watch out for. Tonight, as we’d discussed, could become a scouting venture. If the marina was heavily guarded, or if we tripped an alarm, or couldn’t find a boat we could take, we’d learn valuable information for another try.

Hell, if it came down to it, we could use the kayaks and paddle north along the shoreline, go ashore at night and scrounge for food and water, then paddle north again the next day. We’d find a boat of some kind, eventually. A sailboat if we were lucky, along the way. There must be hundreds of motorboats we could steal and go north to relative safety.

My spirits perked up. If I encountered danger, I’d leap into the water and swim to the waiting kayaks and escape in the darkness. Then, as my mind often did, it brought up an obstacle. Can a person get into a kayak in deep water? If so, it probably took skill and practice and I had none. Sue would have to meet me where the water was shallow.

The sunlight failed and clouds covered most of the sky, which was good because it made it darker and harder for others to see us. There was no moon yet. No lights were on the shore, no candles, campfires, or gas lanterns. Everyone was scared to use them and draw others to them, I guess.

To the east, a vague dark shape was the high hill the city was built on. It loomed over us. Below was the marina.

In the darkness, we almost paddled into the rocks of the breakwater. Only the faint sound of the wavelets slapping the rocks a few feet away warned us where we were. We turned and paddled parallel to the breakwater, finally reaching the end.

It occurred to me that, in the darkness, Sue would never find me if I had to swim for it because of danger. I paused and said, “Hey, if we get separated and there is trouble, paddle outside the harbor as we talked about. If there is trouble, don’t try to help me, just get away. Meet me on the other side of the breakwater where we are. I’ll swim out to it and climb over the rocks. Paddle along the edge and wait for me to call you. I can get into the kayak here and we’ll escape and come back in a day or two.”