LeRoy Clary - Humanaty's Blight

The folded canvas on the seat gave me an idea. I went back picked it up. It was heavy, stained with dried paint splattered on it. At the side window of the cabin, I used the railing above it to hold the canvas in place while I refolded it to the right size and had six layers of canvas packed as tightly against the window as possible.

Planning ahead, I went to the dock again and made certain there were no locks or devices that would keep me from releasing the mooring ropes and pushing the boat free. I unwound the loops of rope on the dock cleats until only one or two remained and when I was ready, they could be undone in seconds. I disconnected the hose for water, and unplugged the electricity—although there was none, the heavy weatherproof cable was plugged into a unit on the dock.

Back on the boat, I waited, then gently pushed on the canvas cover over the window with my shoulder. Nothing happened. I pushed harder. Still nothing. So, I backed up and gave it a solid kick.

The window broke, but most of the noise was obscured and absorbed by the layers of canvas. A dull thump was followed by the muted tinkling of falling glass inside the cabin, and that was quickly lost in the rattles, thumps, bumps, and sloshes of the marina.

However, I waited, gun in hand, for what I hoped was ten minutes. Then, so I didn’t cut myself, I carefully broke the remaining glass from the frame. I rolled through the window and slipped inside to find myself on a sofa. My eyes adjusted and immediately found a little desk, complete with switches and the few tiny lights I’d already seen. My fumbling hand found the little drawer and pulled it out, hearing pencils rolling on the bottom.

I reached inside while my eyes searched the array of switches for a hook to hold a key. I touched a soft-rubber oval most boat owners have, and my fingers found three keys on the end. My heart was pounding. The foam thing kept the keys from sinking if they fell overboard. The ignition key had to be attached to it.

I went to the window and quickly climbed out and went back to the wheel. The second key went into the slot. I turned it to the on position, but not to start . It was the right key.

Now the fun began.

I turned the key to glow for the longest thirty seconds of my life. Then I turned it back to off . According to the old man, that warmed the cylinders for easier starting, although he said it is not needed on newer engines. No matter, if it made the engine start a tenth of a second quicker, that was good.

I knew how to squeeze the throttle handle to make it go into forward and reverse.

I wanted to sit and plan some more. I needed that reassurance. And I also knew that there is a time to plan and a time to act, like when I’d decided to grab the motorcycle and ride away with Sue. That had not been a desperate, unthought-of act. It was made because I’d thought about the future and the possibilities and that was the best choice at that time. It was just that I’d done the planning in a few seconds.

Action was the best thing for me now. I’d accomplished all we’d come for. Circumstances might be worse tomorrow. There is a time to take chances and react. I’d already done all the planning I could. What happened next was random and couldn’t be planned, no matter if I stole the boat tonight or tomorrow. Returning tomorrow or remaining on the boat tonight meant more chances that others scrounging, or exploring, or protecting, or whatever they were doing at the marina, would see or hear me.

My mind made up, I jumped to the dock and untied the bow rope, then ran to the stern and untied the other. The boat gently moved sideways from wind or current. I pushed it back barely clearing the space between it and the next craft, which was not much. Between the two actions, the boat finally went in the right direction. But it went there without me.

Only a leap an Olympian would envy prevented me from landing in the water as my ride floated away. I grabbed the railing after jumping and pulled myself aboard, while it continued to float away. Once onboard, I scrambled to the ignition key and turned it. The engine instantly caught.

The breeze and current were still pushing the boat. The stern of my boat was about to crash into the bow of another and that would wake everyone in the marina. I moved the throttle forward a little and the boat continued backing. The sound of crunching plastic, bending metal, and other ugly sounds spurred me to push the throttle more.

The hell with being quiet. The engine raced. I felt the boat surge ahead and looked up. Another boat was right in front of me, not twenty feet away! I spun the wheel and put the engine into reverse as the first shouts of alarm from the docks, maybe from other boats, sounded. I shoved the throttle the other way to slow us down.

The boat finally slowed before ramming the one in front, but it immediately started backing again, this time gaining speed quickly. I spun the wheel the other way and put it in forward. The way was clear. I gave it more throttle and damned if it didn’t more or less go where I wanted.

The boat scraped against one other but kept moving steadily ahead. I turned the wheel again and the boat was slow to react. We were going to hit the boats on the south side of the marina if I didn’t do something. I slammed it into reverse and turned the wheel the opposite way like trying to parallel park a car in a small space. The boat responded, and before it fully stopped and could begin backing us into something else, I pushed the throttle forward. Not all the way.

The boat moved ahead slowly, just as three or four men ran past me to the end dock where I’d have to pass right by them, and they would have clear shots at me. Of course, I intended to dive to the bottom of the bathtub area until past them, only looking up to steer if I had to.

One fired wildly, while still running. I had no idea where the shot went, but it alerted the world to my actions.

In return to that single shot, three well-spaced shots came from the darkness of the water outside the docks. Against my instructions, Sue had waited nearby, and those three shots had come from her. They were a surprise to all of us.

I chanced a look and found all three men who had been running to intercept me were now laying on the docks protecting themselves. One was crawling to the edge where he could fire at Sue. Maybe he could see her in the kayak. I fired three shots at him, waited a few seconds, then three more. He howled, or one of them did, as either one of my shots or one of Sue’s hit.

Immediately after that, the boat cleared the end dock and I needed to make the turn. The breakwater made of large concrete slabs was coming up fast. Using reverse would help me make the turn, but there was no way I’d slow down and present myself as a target to those still on the dock while the boat was almost standing still.

The men behind me were screaming and shouting as if I’d stolen their boat. They had hundreds more to choose from. I wanted to tell them that but was too busy spinning the wheel that was almost as tall as me. Instead of backing, I gave it more gas. Or diesel. But whichever, the boat seemed to turn better if the engine went faster.

I heard no more shots from behind me and I assumed the boat was out of range or hidden in the darkness. I imagined Sue was paddling fast enough to skim across the water, probably going faster than me. I almost smiled, then came to my senses.

My hand reached for the throttle and pulled it into neutral. The breakwater was well off to my right, the other docks or whatever was at least as far off to my left. The dock where I’d stolen the boat was a few hundred yards behind. I let the sailboat slow, putting it in gear only long enough to keep the bow pointed in the right direction.