Humanaty's Blight

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sue joined me at the wheel a short while later, bowls of steaming oatmeal in both hands. She sat beside me and ate, her attention focused on the damp gray dawn as if she didn’t want to talk—at least not for a while. The light drizzle had coated every surface with a layer of moisture.

I ate slowly, not sure of what she would say to me, and fearful it might not reflect well. I’d confessed to killing two more people last night. My body-count was rising, and I wondered if Billy the Kid had once shared the same sort of feelings that consumed me.

Sue turned to me. “It’s so peaceful out here. With the fog and drizzle keeping all of the rest of the world hidden from us, and at the same time, we’re hidden from them,” she said. “A person could make believe all is right with the world.”

“A person with a wild imagination,” I said sourly, for no reason that she deserved.

She gave me one of those faint smiles that meant she hadn’t taken offense. “We’re alive. I’m here with you. On a boat where we’re safer than all but a few lucky people. Of all those still alive, I managed to find the one person that has feelings and regrets. Plus, he protects me. Life could be a lot worse. For both of us.”

That was quite a speech by a fourteen-year-old girl who had lost her whole family, home, and future. When we went through Darrington on the motorcycle, she had pointed out her house. When we continued and went through Arlington near my home, I’d looked from the highway up the hill to where our house stood. It was a brief look. While I couldn’t see it, I saw a column of smoke. It was probably another house.

We remained quiet for a long time. No words came to me that would equal hers. Eventually, I grumbled, “Me too.”

She said, “So, what did you two bring me other than a tin boat instead of our kayaks?”

“Aluminum boat, not tin. I’ll pull it up here close and get in and hand you what’s inside. We can sort through it as we sail.” A glance at the GPS told me I had about a half-hour before turning east to go around the lower tip of Whidbey Island before turning almost directly north.

After the jib was lowered and Truant slowed, I stood and turned to the stern. The rope was tied to a cleat near my hand. I pulled the rowboat closer and I tied it off shorter so I could climb inside. It bounced and swayed in the wind and current and wouldn’t hold still. Finally, I leaped and landed on the floor with a crash, and almost fell over the side before grabbing a metal seat until the boat stabilized. I lifted a pillowcase and realized it was too heavy to hand across. I pulled out a box of shells and handed it to Sue, then another and another.

She took the rifles and ammunition, smiling all the while. Weapons made us safer. The first aid kit added to her smile, the bottles of aspirin and other medications helped broaden it, but when I pulled the can openers free, she looked like a boyfriend had surprised her with an unexpected box of chocolates on Valentine’s Day.

There were packets of dehydrated meals, powdered milk, and dozens of other food items I hadn’t taken the time to examine in the house and now handed to her. She steadied me with her hand as I climbed back aboard and let the rope stretch longer again.

She spread it all beside her on the benches in the cockpit we sat on, examining each item with care. She separated the items into neat piles, some destined for the kitchen, others for our growing armory, and tools in the storeroom. She looked up with an impish grin. “We have to talk. The next time you go shopping there are important considerations you’re missing.”

“Like what?”

“Taco seasoning. Refried beans. Dried cilantro.”

“Hot dogs. Cold beer. Potato chips,” I countered with a chuckle.

“Ice cream. Cake. Chocolate.”

I knew she would get to chocolate sooner or later. “Pizza. Chicken nuggets. Chinese food. And hamburgers. And college football on TV.”

Instead of continuing the verbal game of what we missed the most, she turned away and started sorting the ammunition. The boxes were soft from the damp and falling apart from the moisture in the air and on the seat. The shells were mixed. She went into the cabin and returned with large bowls. We filled them with bullets, a bowl for each of the three kinds. We needed more bowls, so we used the pillowcases for the leftovers. We were prepared for a small war.

Twenty-five shotgun shells to a box and we had four boxes loaded with solid slugs instead of BBs, all of them in green casings. The ones filled with buckshot were red, and we had five boxes of them, another hundred-twenty-five. Three-hundred-fifty rounds of nine-millimeter shells and the rifles both used three-oh-eight bullets, over two hundred of them—an overkill to use a bad pun.

I reloaded three of the nine-millimeter shells in my pistol to replace those I’d fired on our excursion ashore and examined the rifles in more detail. Both were dull black, the stocks and foregrips a composite material, and even the barrels were black and slightly evil in appearance. There was no chrome or nickel to reflect sunlight and warn an enemy. They were the same model, right down to the identical scopes. Both held five shells at a time, and I inserted them, then held the scopes up to look through. In the grayness of the morning, there was nothing to see.

The GPS beeped once, indicating we needed to turn. Without seeing land, the idea was daunting to turn into the unknown, but I kept the Truant on the track shown on the screen and later, we turned again, each time trimming the jib to keep it filled with air. Turning north doubled our speed, I guessed. The slight wind was hitting the sail at a better angle.

Off to our right, lost in the mist, was the home of the Truant and the city of Everett, and later, if it was a clear day, we would see where the old man’s house had exploded. Without a doubt, there was still a black scar on the ground above the beach. I felt like waving or saluting as we passed by where his house had stood at the edge of the water but felt silly.

Sue said as if she read my mind, “I wish he could have come with us.”

I managed to say without my voice choking, “He did, in some ways.”

The GPS indicated over fifty miles to Deception Pass. We were on our way to our initial destination before reaching the islands we hoped to hide in. I turned on the radar to double-check the GPS, as if it needed checking or that I knew what I was doing. When the screen settled down, there were four contacts, meaning other nearby boats or ships. One seemed to be stationary, maybe anchored. Another was far south of us and looked like it was heading where we’d recently been before deciding to sail back and travel up the other side of the island. We’d have to get on the radio and try to warn them.

The other two were moving fast, not together, but a quick estimate said all three of us would meet somewhere ahead. “Sue, go wake, Steve.”

“Trouble?”

“Maybe.” I furled most of the jib and waited.

“I see them,” Steve said as he climbed the stairs, which I took to mean he had looked at the monitor in the cabin because in the thick fog he couldn’t have seen them.

The radar said they were two miles away. Steve took the helm, turned ninety degrees so we pointed right at Whidbey Island, and hit the button for starting the engine. We quickly moved from the interception point. Then the paths of both boats turned slightly.

“We can’t outrun them,” Steve said. “They’re chasing us, so they have radar.”

Sue asked, “What do we do?”

“Ever play chicken?” he asked as he spun the wheel and the boat turned. “Because no matter what we do, they’ll catch up with us in no time and we’ll fight on their terms. If we head for them, we might put a little doubt in their minds.”

“How’s that going to work?” she asked in a tone that let us know she didn’t like the plan, yet she had suggested almost the same thing the day before with the boat that had duplicated our moves.

I watched her carefully to see if she was serious or testing Steve, or what. Her face was impassive.

Steve increased the throttle and we picked up speed. His conclusions were the same we’d come to two days ago. He snarled, “Two weeks ago, most of the people we’re likely to meet had worked in a grocery store, or bank, or were schoolteachers. They might think they are hard-asses for now, but few have ever faced violence or bullets headed their way.”

It was exactly what we’d discussed before we met him. I lifted the nearest rifle and sat the bowl of shells nearby.

Steve said, “Sue, take the wheel. No, not here. Steer from inside the cabin. Use whatever you can find to build a barrier around you for protection and stay low. Do it fast. You have about two minutes. No matter what happens, you go straight even it if means we run into one of them, which won’t happen.”

“We show no fear,” she said as she punched me playfully on my shoulder on her way inside. “I got it.”

Steve said, “The fog is thick but before long we’ll see the nearest boat. We don’t wait for them to open fire. Take your time and use the scope, if you can. They will probably be large motor cruisers, so aim for the higher decks where the helm might be. I’ll do the same. And load both shotguns with slugs. Put them between us.”

“What if they are not after us?” I asked since the idea of shooting first was still something that seemed unfair.

He hesitated, then said as if speaking to a child who was slow to learn, “The fog will probably lift in an hour or two. Friendlies would wait until then to approach and they’d use the radio to warn us and ask permission. These two boats didn’t know we have radar and are trying to sneak up on us. Good people wouldn’t do that.”

I knelt to brace the scope and watched ahead on the left side of the boat. Steve took the right as he steered to go right between them.

A blurry image, a vague shape, darker than the fog, jittered into view and then I lost it in the shifting swirls. “I caught a glimpse of it.”

He remained silent, then a shot rang out from one of the other boats. I still couldn’t find the boat in my scope and looked over the top with both eyes. I’d been watching the wrong one. A white boat that blended into the white fog was heading right for us, and it was a lot closer than the other.

I got it centered in the scope and fired two shots at where I thought the wheel would be, which was one deck above the main deck, and I shot at the right side, thinking the driver would be there. The scope revealed no damage.

Our boat was bouncing as it drove forward, and it swayed left to right with swells in the water. It came closer, even as I evaluated my first two shots and realized the scope might not be adjusted properly or had been knocked out of alignment at the bottom of the aluminum boat. I fired three more shots as I heard Steve shooting.

My fingers fumbled for more bullets and before I finished loading, Steve fired again. I looked up to see the nearer boat clearly in the scope. Five, possibly six men were on the main deck, most with pistols that were too far away to fire. They were a few hundred yards away and closing fast.

The men were massed together on the open rear of the main deck, and I could only see them because the boat came at a slight angle. I aimed for the mass of them and squeezed off all five shots. I hit one man. The group ducked out of sight, not so brave anymore.

The double-barreled shotgun found my hand. I broke it open and loaded two green slugs. The shots boomed. I think I missed with both, but they might think there were more of us because of the different sounds.

I reloaded and listened to Steve fire at them more slowly with his rifle, taking a second or two to aim between each shot. The nearer boat was going to pass directly ahead of us, and I waited before firing my rifle, but pulled my nine-millimeter and emptied the magazine at the other boat that was now speeding away. I saw the driver was a deck higher than I’d been shooting, out in the open.

My rifle came to my shoulder and I fired five spaced shots at the figure. Steve was firing again, and one of us must have hit the man at the wheel. The boat made a sharp turn and looked like it was going to roll over, it turned so fast, the engine still running at full speed.

It went too far away to hit anything, but I looked for the other boat and didn’t see it in the mist. A look at the radar screen showed it was rapidly pulling away from us. The first boat, the one that had been turning at full speed, pulled to a stop as if someone had managed to get to the throttle. Winks of orange and yellow told us they were shooting at us before we heard the sounds of several guns. None of the shells came close enough to hit us or to see where they hit the water.

They were using handguns, as far as I could see, a silly thing since we had rifles that were accurate for twice the distance. I reloaded and timed the rocking of the boat with my shots.

Steve spun the wheel and shouted at Sue, “Let me steer.”

Sue rushed up the stairs and reached for the bullets in the bowls. “Can I load the guns?”

We went away from the boat firing at us and made a wide circle around it. It remained stationary. As soon as we were lost in the fog, the shooting stopped.

Steve pointed at the radar screen. “It looks like they’d have enough.”

I sat heavily on the seat, my heart pounding.

Steve said to me, “If I had any doubts about your bravery, Cap, they’re over.”

Sue looked at him with the same puzzled expression I must have worn.

He said to her, “He stood up and returned fire with all those bullets flying all around us.”

“What bullets?” I asked.

He started to laugh, then halted. “On their approach, everyone on board was shooting at us.”

“I was reloading, I think. When they pulled away, I saw them shooting at us.”

He shook his head. “No, there must have been a few hundred rounds that came our way, most of them too high. Look at the jib.”

There were five or six new holes in it.

If bullets went through the jib because they were fired from a boat in front of us, those same bullets had passed right by me. I hadn’t known a thing about them. It was good I was sitting, or my knees would have given out and I’d be on the deck.

There were no more boats on the radar and the fog seemed to be thinning. He said, “I’ll be right back.”

He went below while I avoided admiring looks from Sue. It was hard to tell her that I was so scared the bullets had flown past without me knowing. She went below and returned with a cold can of soda, the store brand of a supermarket that can never seem to get the right cola taste of the big two. She also carried two more boxes of ammo. We reloaded in silence.

Steve finally emerged and shut down the engine. The quiet of fog at sea enveloped us, with only a few splashes against the hull, the call of a seagull high overhead, and a metal something that again tapped out a pattern on the metal mast.

He gave us a thumb’s up. “We’ll hang here for a while. I talked to that boat behind us and it is a sailboat. Four people on board, doing the same thing as us, running for a safe place to anchor at an island. I warned them about the blockade.”

“Good,” I muttered.

“Also, they are in touch with another boat they are following, and both are turning around and coming this way.”

Sue said, “How can we trust them?”

“Both are sailing their family boats. They know each other and know how to sail. We can go on without them, but there is safety in numbers. I doubt those last pirates would have attacked three boats. It’s something to think about.”

My reservations were kept to myself. I didn’t like crowds and didn’t trust them. Never in my whole life. I’d been the one made fun of too often. My insecurities were well-founded.

“More good news,” He said. “There is a guy on the south end of the island with a view of the water and a marine radio in his house. He’s going to warn all boats traveling north.”

I wondered if it was the man we’d seen walking his dog on the beach down there. There was a good chance it was. While we waited, the wind and currents carried us closer to the island. We noticed but were a half-mile away and waiting for the first of the other boats to arrive. A splash fifty feet away and a little behind us drew our attention, and then the sound of the gunshot reached us.

Someone on land had taken a shot—and it came far too close. Steve hit the starter for the engine, spun the wheel, and gunned the engine as he took us away from land. Three more shots came our way, each farther away than the last, yet they may have served their purpose. We were not going anywhere near where the maniac who shot at us was located.

My anger riled and my reaction was to point the bow right at where the shots came from, leap over the side into the water, wade ashore, and hunt him down. I picked up the rifle again and used the scope to search the beach. If I saw someone, I’d return fire, because those are my new rules. In the past, I’d have wanted to do the same. Now, I would.

When Steve turned the engine off, Sue asked, “What is wrong with people? Are they all trying to kill everyone else, so they are the last left alive?”

That was an interesting thought in a couple of ways. One way of looking at it was what she intended. Another was to do something about it. People were scared. Most probably hadn’t figured out that no more were getting sick. The danger from the flu, or blight as it was becoming known, seemed over.

If there was a way to tell everyone and pull them together to put things in order, I’d be willing to do my part. My eyes went to where the CB and marine radios were. Beside them was the short wave.

Steve went below. A few moments later, he returned with three cold beers, the last of our stash. Sue handed her’s back and went for a soda. He looked my way as he popped the top of his can and took a long drink. “Good news. We have another boat joining us.”

“We can’t save everyone,” I said, again thinking of a crowd of people around us where I’d feel lost and out of place. The comment hadn’t meant to be said but came out anyway. Sometimes I think there is more than a little Tourette syndrome in my makeup. My mouth says things without thinking and I can’t seem to stop the words from spilling out. I put on a face that hopefully said I was serious.

“But they might save us. Think of it that way. Four boats traveling together. Well-armed. Traveling as a force. Not many would dare attack us.”

He was right. I’d felt naked in the boat when I was alone with Sue. My temper was rising again, for no reason. After reaching the islands, we could go our separate ways. But that didn’t cool my anger. I said, “Don’t you think that’s the way every band of idiots on land is thinking? Surround themselves with as many guns as possible to protect themselves?”

He nodded and added, “Maybe it is not a case that all of them are wrong and you are right. It could be they are right. Our world changed and our thinking has to change also. If you want me to ask you before doing things, just say so, Cap. You’re in charge of this boat and all that goes on in it. Just think about it and if you want us to sail on alone, we will.”

I did not want to be in charge. I didn’t want anyone else to be, either. He was right. I needed to think about it and get my head straight. I couldn’t have things both ways. “I will. Sorry.”

Sue came back outside. I suspected she had been listening at the door and waiting. Steve went into the cabin as she took a seat beside me. “Anybody else shooting at us, or racing speed boats in our direction this morning?”

“Is it me, or am I getting jumpy and paranoid at the same time?” I asked.

She raised her soda can in a salute. “Both… and more. I used to think school made me stress out. A history paper due or an upcoming math quiz put me into a sweat. How are those things compared to what we face daily? I need some time to put it all in order inside my head. Like a month on a tropical beach, maybe.”

Her words were my thoughts.