LeRoy Clary - Humanaty's Blight

She said, “We should get the other food you hid. I know we’re tired, but what if the snow stops? The new tracks will lead anyone here, so we won’t be able to get it then. We really need to stay inside until the spring melt, and that has to be over a month away.”

She was right.

I hadn’t thought of any of that. “We’ll use sleeping bags again to carry the food.”

We used a different route to get near the cabin. The food in the first stash was right where I’d placed it, covered with a little brush and snow. We rushed it to the tunnel and went for more, our eyes watching for any signs of people. We saw none.

On our way back on the second trip, the still, cold air was split by a single rifle shot. We agreed it came from beyond the cabin. Probably the man with the rifle. He’d just announced to the world where his location was, and in my opinion, he should expect visitors, good or bad. Probably not good.

Sue had paled at hearing the shot echo off the mountains and hillsides. She said, “This should be our last trip outside for a while. The other stash can wait until we need it or the snow melts. Too much chance of stumbling into people wandering around in the woods investigating that shot.”

She looked as if she expected me to argue. I didn’t.

We heard no more shots.

Back at our mine tunnel, she said, “When we do go out again, I need to find myself a gun. One just for me. Top priority.”

There was no question in her voice. She was not asking.

I helped with the supplies, which meant I dumped the contents from a sleeping bag and tossed the empty bag to Sue as she began sorting and storing. I sat heavily, pulled off my boots, crawled into my bag and fell into an exhausted asleep. The sleepless night and the hiking in the snow had sapped all my strength. I was used to sitting in front of a computer using my thumbs and fingers to do my exerting. A trip upstairs in my house had tired my legs, a walk to the corner grocery for snacks had been a burden. I used my keyboard to order pizza for lunch and Chinese for dinner; the necessities of life.

When I awoke from another nameless bad dream, the girl was back inside my bag contributing her warmth and soothing me gently. We may as well have left the other two sleeping bags in the cabin because it seemed she had no intention of using one. I moved her aside to give me a bit more room and lay awake, thinking. Since meeting her, life had become more complicated and at the same time, more enjoyable.

Sue was young enough to be my daughter. Barely. She was at an age where people are like butterflies. They emerge from being children and morph into young adults. During the transition, part of the time they are still children, and at other times they become adults.

All that aside, people, in general, made me uncomfortable. Perhaps she was not the only one changing into something else.

Sleeping with her was something I had to endure, if that was the right word. The truth was that I liked her warmth and closeness. It seemed like she needed to be near another human. In other words, she needed me. I needed her.

That was a disturbing thought. I’d never had a girlfriend, not because I didn’t want one. I had no sisters or brothers. My parents were standoffish sort of people, rarely touching or kissing me. Hell, they rarely talked directly to me. They loved me in their own way, but I never learned how to return that affection to others. Now I had a grown child clinging to me, and my feelings were conflicted. Nobody had ever depended on me. Ever.

She realized I was awake and asked, “What would you like for dinner?”

Instead of it being the middle of the night as I’d believed, it must be earlier. After giving it some thought, I said firmly, “There was a can of pears that caught my eye.”

“Pears for dinner?”

“Why not?” I demanded with more force than intended as I sat up. She laughed. We ate the pears, then drank the sweet syrup like it was the last we might ever get. We huddled in the dark without a candle or light, sleeping through much of the late afternoon and evening. We talked about everything and nothing.

It was the sort of talk without a purpose other than to be near and share with another human. We rambled. I told her about the car accident that killed my parents and how I’d withdrawn from all social interaction afterward. I hadn’t wanted to be around people. The insurance settlements went into my bank accounts. I spent little and the principal increased over time. It was magic.

There was my online account with the world’s largest retailer. In two days, almost anything was delivered to my door. If I was a smarter man, I’d have been prepared for what we faced and wouldn’t have to settle for a can of pears split between us. That retailer could have set us up for life. It was almost a physical hurt to realize what could have been delivered to my door. We wouldn’t have to scrounge cabins in the woods where others were ready to shoot us over a handful of rice.

I asked if she’d seen a can of peaches in with the others. After the pears, peaches sounded like caviar and rare white wine. Suddenly, that was a goal of mine. Find and eat peaches. The pears had been good, but peaches would be better.

“Cravings,” Sue said in a knowing way. “Mine is chocolate. Remember those big boxes on Valentine's day? I want one. A red one. The whole thing. Eat until I’m sick.”

That started a verbal contest of what we missed most. The list was ever-changing, odd, lilting, and at the same time, humorous. I wanted to watch western movies again. She wanted to date a tall basketball player. I wanted to surf in Hawaii. She wanted to learn to drive a truck—a big one, all the way across the country.

We laughed. We cried. Time passed and we fell asleep. When morning arrived, we were still sharing the same sleeping bag. I tried to slip out without waking her and get in another. She woke, realized what I was doing, and cried because, obviously, I didn’t like her.

I climbed back in and held her.

We warmed baked beans in our only pot for breakfast. They were the kind with the little sausages. Sue had never eaten them. After a few snide comments from her while they cooked, when the beans were warm enough, she tentatively tried a spoonful. The disdain abruptly ended. It was her new favorite meal.

The snow had stopped, and we climbed into two sleeping bags after finding the zippers didn’t match on any of the three to make one large one. The air was too cold to spread it one on top of another. The girl would have stolen all the cover and I’d have frozen. At least, that’s the way I’d tell the story in the future.

She wouldn’t hear of sleeping alone. After the whimpers, cries, sudden starts, and once a scream in the middle of the night, I understood in my own way. She was as messed up as me. Fear didn’t describe her feelings. Terror did. I finally realized she had lost far more than me.

Two weeks ago, she had a mother, father, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, friends, neighbors, and classmates, and a nice safe home. Now she had me, no matter how haphazard our relationship, or how poor my interpersonal skills. I was it. Her instincts were to cling to me.

Mine were more basic. I wanted to live. Survive.

After eating, we huddled under two sleeping bags facing each other. She said, “Did you hear me when I said I need a gun?”

“Did you hear that rifle yesterday morning? People miles away did.”

“I want one like yours so I can make a silencer and carry lots of spare little bullets in my pocket.”

“We’ll see what we can find, but your ideas are good. You’re learning. Not many people are going to continue fighting with you if they have one of your tiny bullets in them.”

She looked up at the roof of the tunnel. “The boom of that rifle was stupid-loud. I never heard one before but understand why you don’t want a rifle like that around here. What sort of sound does yours make with that goofy-looking homemade silencer?”