LeRoy Clary - Humanaty's Blight

“Good idea,” she said.

We paddled around the end of the breakwater and proceeded slowly to where the boats were moored. There were hundreds, many identifiable by the masts rising into the night sky. Either our eyes had adjusted to the darkness, or the clouds had thinned a little. As we neared the nearest, the sounds of the night increased.

Something metal tapped against the aluminum mast of a boat and ropes tapped out an irregular beat on another. Boats rode up against protesting plastic fenders as the water moved against the hulls. Each boat contributed two, three or more unique sounds to merge with the thousands of others. It reminded me of a beehive with each bee contributing a little buzz of its own until the whole thing was a hum that could be heard fifty feet away.

What we didn’t hear were voices, footsteps, or other noises from humans until a shot from a rifle or large caliber pistol split the night. It had come from above us, in the city a hundred feet in elevation higher than the port. The shot was quickly followed by two more, of smaller calibers. Then silence.

We paddled again, slowly and silently. No talking. The masts looked like a forest of bare trees rising up in the darkness. More gunshots sounded—this time from a different direction. They came from ahead of us and to our left, down where an industrial area and papermill had dominated the waterfront for a hundred years.

Behind us, a half-mile away, was where a small naval base had been built. The last few times I’d passed by, there were no ships tied up, but a fair number of sailors still worked there. It seemed odd to build a navy base and then not use it all the time, but again, I know little about the military.

The yacht harbor of the marina was split into two parts, one set of docks on the south side, another on the north, with a waterway like a main road separating them. Any boat leaving would have to pass through that one opening. Before finding a boat, I wanted to inspect both sides of the opening.

I wanted to look for signs of people, of course. But also, examine the boats. Sailboats dominated the nearer spaces, but closer to shore were covered boat docks of every size, where motor-cruisers tied up. Yachts, to my way of thinking.

We paddled to the north side, where a smaller cluster of docks held several hundred boats. I climbed out and knelt on the floating dock while Sue drifted a few feet away holding my kayak alongside hers. If she needed to hurry, she could paddle away and leave mine.

Once on the dock, I kept to the deepest shadows and moved silently—my gun was drawn and ready. If I needed to use it, I wouldn’t hesitate to make whatever amount of noise was required.

The docks shifted under my feet as I moved on the floating platforms. No lights came on, no alarms or sirens sounded. There was no sign of watchmen.

A larger sailboat was tied up to the end of one dock, more of a ship than a sailboat. It was an older design, the squat hull made of iron instead of sleek in design made of high-tech plastics. It had two massive wooden masts instead of the usual metal one. What caught my attention was that in the dim light I noticed the larger mast had squarish rings attached to it. A ladder. From up there, my view of the marina would be excellent, even in the dim light.

I climbed aboard, climbed the ladder as if being chased, and reached a small platform where I could stand. Using all my senses, I felt, sniffed, listened and even tasted the air for anything out of place. My eyes darted to every corner where a person could hide. Once assured I was alone, at least for now, because there could be people sleeping inside the boat cabins, I almost relaxed.

The clouds thinned a little more and allowed the rising moon to send fingers of white light over the horizon. There were boats obviously too small, others too large, many were cruisers and fishing boats. While I didn’t know how long a thirty-five-footer was, there were dozens of the general size we wanted. I estimated ten steps is about twenty feet, so we needed something in the range of fifteen steps along the dock, as measured by my eyes.

Only one dock away from me a glint of light reflected off the roof of the cabin of a boat about the right size, if maybe a little larger. It was the kind of glint that a solar cell reflecting moonlight might make. While I couldn’t be sure that was what it was, I decided to investigate that boat. The reflected light could have come from chrome fittings, a sliding window like a sunroof, or plastic hatch, but it was about the right size boat, and I felt lucky.

I slithered down the ladder and leaped back to the dock in total silence. The docks were laid out like a giant E, only with more arms. An E with twenty crosspieces. To reach the boat I needed required me to run to the head of the dock I was on, down a ramp and up the next arm of the E.

My feet were light on the dock, and I was listening and feeling for the vibrations of other footsteps on the dark metal docks. I paused at the next section of the dock and planned my next move. A dart and a sprint took me to another place of concealment, or another shadow.

By now, I hoped Sue had paddled to the end of the breakwater. She must have seen me climb the mast of the large boat, so she knew to move off. I went down the arm of the dock I wanted and the third boat from the end. It was the one I wanted.

My heart pounded, my breath came in uncontrollable pants anyone close by would hear, but I remained alone. I stepped aboard and squatted. When nothing happened, I scooted to the front of the cabin and reached up to touch the roof. It covered in solar cells; a mat of thin plastic tied to the roof with small fasteners and Velcro. The entire roof seemed to be covered with them. In a splash of light from the moon, I saw my guess was right.

My eyes had adjusted to the dim light and I could almost make out details. I went to the rear of the boat and stepped into a shallow bathtub sort of area, surrounded by padded seats. A heavy canvass was folded on a seat, probably from where a workman had left it. A huge upright steering wheel stood in the center. I sat behind the wheel on a little stool attached to the floor, letting my eyes further adjust while my fingers groped until they found a square recess about four inches on each side.

There were chrome letters imprinted on the lid. I knelt and twisted and turned my head until a bit of light from the moon glinted on the letters. The bottom word said, start . Above it was, run . Then off . And above and to the left a bit, glow .

That told me the engine was diesel. Solar panels and a diesel engine. A single upright mast so the boat was not too large. And there had been no warning or sighting of me. The only thing that would have made it better was if there had been an ignition key in the slot near the four words. Just like a car, the sailboat needed a damn key to start it. Nobody had mentioned that.

I should have spent time on the internet researching how to hotwire a sailboat. Until I figured that out, the boat was not moving. I didn’t know how to sail, let alone spread one to catch the wind. My heart fell. I’d have to come back after solving the problem.

Wait .

If I had a boat and wanted to go out sailing on it, I wouldn’t want to get all the way to the marina and find I’d forgotten the key at home. I’d have a spare. The spare would be on the boat.

Inside the tub area, I went to the door or hatch to the inside and found a secure padlock holding it closed.

“Calm down,” I told myself. “You can always return tomorrow night. Now, think.”

The hasp was solid, not like those cheap ones you buy in hardware stores. The lock was the kind that was advertised as unbreakable. I circled the cabin on the little walkway that ran around the sides. I looked inside through the windows, but it was far too dark to make anything out but a few tiny pricks of light. The windows seemed like the kind that slid open, but they were all firmly locked on the inside.