LeRoy Clary - Humanaty's Blight

But the thing on my mind was that I was a cripple when it came to interacting with real people. I was the nerd, the awkward young man who didn’t fit in, the one who was never invited to parties, and the few I’d attended were more torture than fun. Crowds of three were uncomfortable. Ten or more were unbearable.

For three years, those worries, and fears were suppressed as I lived alone in my basement. Now, a fourteen-year-old girl was sleeping beside me. She was going to depend on me. At twenty-nine, she saw me as a responsible adult who could help and protect her. Nothing was farther from the truth.

As I lay awake and evaluated the situation, I came to realize she was more valuable than me. At least she could speak to strangers without stuttering. She had certainly handled me well. In a few minutes, she had gone from being a prisoner to sharing my sleeping bag and making plans for our mutual futures.

The idea that she would see through my veneer of sociability scared me. Right now, she thought of me as a super-survivor, someone that could help her remain alive. Within a short time, she’d see me for what I really was and leave me for the protection of someone better equipped. That was an odd thought because a few hours earlier, I’d dispassionately considered shooting her. Now my biggest fear was that she might leave me alone again.

Sleep refused to come. My thoughts and feelings churned. I wished she had never seen me. I wished she would remain as my companion. I wished I knew how to relate to people and express my feelings.

In the morning, more immediate and practical events revealed themselves when she poked my shoulder until I woke. I looked at her. She said, “Where do I pee? I’m not going outside in the cold snow.”

Again, it was a good question. I pointed to where a small stream of seep water flowed down the stone walls and flowed out of the tunnel via a small trench. Sue gathered her coat and wrapped it around herself, then went to the stream and squatted a few steps from me. I turned away.

“Your turn,” she said when she climbed back into the sleeping bag. “And I might watch.”

“What?”

She giggled. “Not that I want to watch, but you are acting like what my mother calls a prude and that’s not good for us. A few weeks ago, we were properly civilized, and the subject would never have come up. Now the rules have changed. Get used to it. Biology, I mean.”

“Things haven’t changed that much,” I snapped, confused that a girl of her age would even broach the subject. I suspected she was making a point about my social awkwardness in general.

Her face was very serious. “Yes, they have changed that much, Bill. Face it. When I’m out there in the world taking a pee in this new world, I want. No, I need to know that you are looking all around keeping me safe. If you see me, that is just life. When you are taking care of your personal business, I promise to watch over you and shoot anyone who comes near. To do that, I will see you pee at some time.” She giggled to relieve the earnestness of her speech.

“We don’t have to kill everyone we see, yet. And I understand what you’re saying, but you should have some privacy.” It felt odd to talk about such a subject, but Sue had managed to define an area that required our discussion and understanding. She was only fourteen and already seemed to understand the adult situation better than me. There were more things to consider, like sanitary napkins. I shut my mind down. It didn’t work. A teacher had once ordered us to not think about pink elephants that can fly. She waited before smiling at us, knowing that every student in the room was thinking about that exact thing.

A brief thought crossed my mind that finding a male partner would have been easier. But Sue was facing away from me and scooted her butt and the small of her back closer, warming me with her body and probably seeking my warmth. Maybe there were advantages to her being female. Another thought suggested that perhaps the sleeping bags in the cabin had already been taken by others and I’d be pleased with that outcome. I shoved that idea aside and placed the sleeping bag higher on our priority list.

Later, standing at the mouth of the tunnel, we hesitated and examined the new-fallen snow for tracks made by an animal or human. Clouds hung low and dark. It looked like more snow would fall today. A few random flakes floated down, but we saw no sign of intruders. The air felt warmer than the last few days.

I took the lead. The cabin that was our destination sat on a side road and had been owned by cross-country skiers as evidenced by what they stored there. Winter people, so they had a lot of warm waterproof clothing, heavy coats, stocking caps, and extra skis. I had never used skis, they left easily followed tracks, so I left them where I found them. However, the contents of the cabin were a veritable treasure trove.

We paused a few hundred yards away, at the edge of a tree line where we would be invisible if we remained motionless under the shadows of the evergreen trees. There was no car or truck parked beside the cabin, but we hadn’t expected to find one. No footprints in the snow, but like ours, anyone walking there would have their tracks quickly filled in with blowing snow. There were no lights on in the cabin. No smoke emerged from the chimney.

All that was extraneous. Any of those things would have set us retreating. The lack of evidence is not evidence in itself. Ten rogues could have entered the cabin last night and be snoring the morning away and we’d have no idea until entering.

Well, that is not totally true. There are circumstances sometimes called passive alarms that are reliable, again knowledge gained from my gaming experience on the Internet. Inside, beside the front door was a six-inch-wide window to allow light inside. On my last visit, I’d moved the large umbrella holder from behind the hinge-side of the door to the window side, next to the door. Anyone entering would have pushed the door open and the umbrella holder would have slid on the bare floor. It sat in full view where I’d left it.

Most people would have arrived at the front of the cabin and entered. Nobody had. However, a careful person may have used the rear door as I intended to do.

I spoke softly, “Let’s go look at the rear door.”

“Gotcha,” she said without asking questions.

We circled the cabin and approached from the back. No broken windows on the side that may have been used for entrance. At the top of the rear door hung a small earthen pot. A piece of cotton clothesline rope had been run through the hole in the bottom of the pot and a knot tied by me. The other end of the rope had been placed over the top of the door before closing it. If it had been opened, the pot would have fallen.

“We’re good to go. I only want to spend a few minutes inside. Not long,” I warned her. “We need to plan. We don’t want to be caught in there by other looters, because that’s what we are, and they will be competing with us.”

“Just tell me what to do.”

Good girl. No questions. No arguments. “Okay, near the front door are sleeping bags on the sofa. Grab two and unroll them as soon as we enter. Keep them zipped. Drag them into the kitchen and put any utensils and dry or canned food inside. Don’t make either too heavy. We’ll carry them over our shoulders like Santa and his bags of toys.”

“What will you be doing while I do all the work?”

“Scavenging. Making a mental list for the future but looking for things we can use right away. No more than five minutes and we’re out of there.”

“Why?”

Again, a good question that deserved an answer. “Because by now, I think most of those who were going to die from the blight, already did. Those left alive will be like us; searching for survival equipment. I don’t think we’re alone in these mountains and others will discover this cabin.”