Humanaty's Blight

by LeRoy Clary

  “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.”

  “And smart survivors are out gathering what they need while it’s snowing to cover their tracks,” she added. She learned quick.

  When we reached the door, I held the clay pot in place so I could replace it when we left. The door was not locked. I’d used a prybar to enter last time, then unlocked the door. We entered in a rush, my pistol in my hand, just in case. Sue went to the front room while I hit the first bedroom. The closet held winter ski clothing. I felt like I’d won a small lottery. Coats, waterproof pants, socks, and underwear flew to the bed as if a crazy man was looting the place. And shirts. Wool. On the top shelf above the clothing in a corner was a box of shells. Twenty-twos that would fit my gun. I barely repressed a whoop of joy.

  I tore the room apart searching for the gun matching the bullets. There was none. I checked the end tables beside the bed, under the mattress, and found only two pocketknives. I took both. A pair of oiled winter boots looked like they would fit Sue. They joined my pile.

  The second bedroom was for guests. It held little of interest. The bathroom yielded a razor and many blades. In the cupboard under the sink were tampons. I grabbed all there were. A pair of scissors for cutting hair caught my eye and I took them.

  “Time’s up,” Sue called softly.

  I raced back to the master bedroom and tossed my treasures onto the bed, then folded the four corners of the bedspread to the middle and hefted it over my shoulder. In the kitchen, Sue had been discreet in what she took. Neither sleeping bag was very full. When she saw the load I carried, she said, “I can get both of these.”

  At the rear door, I paused and closed the door with the rope in place to hold the pot suspended again. The umbrella stand was still guarding the front door. If we returned, we would know if others had been here. I gathered the corners of the bedsheet again and slipped them over my shoulder, the contents in the bulge riding on my back.

  Turning to leave the rear deck, Sue grasped my forearm with fingers that had turned to claws. “People.”

  Her whispered word was like the hiss of a mountain lion encountered on a narrow trail. Every muscle in my body tensed when I heard whispered voices in the white stillness. I paused on the deck and felt the vibration of the front door opening and closing. We went down the steps, turned and silently raced for the nearest trees.

  On
ce under the low branches, I turned and looked back. Our fresh footprints in the snow were clear and unmistakable. Instead of trying to outrun pursuers, I motioned for Sue to follow me.

  We kept under the trees but moved almost halfway around the cabin where we were much closer but could see if anyone used the back door and tried to follow us. My idea was that from there I could easily ambush him, or them. It was a shot hard to miss. If they didn’t follow us, no problem. Live and let live.

  The rear door opened, and I held my breath. The little pot crashed to the wood deck and shattered. A man and a woman cautiously emerged. He carried a rifle. It looked like one used for elk or deer. She had a six-gun in a holster fit for 1890 west of the Mississippi. It was worn on the outside of her down coat. The row of shiny brass shells in the loops reflected the dim sunlight the snow clouds allowed to pass.

  He used the scope on the rifle to examine the trees where our tracks entered the trees. Luckily, we hadn’t stayed there. She knelt and examined our footprints carefully. She said something. He shook his head. They went back inside.

  I was not satisfied. Not yet. They could still follow us.

  We moved closer to the front door, always staying out of sight. They emerged carrying bundles in their arms. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, a stupid thing to do. The thought came that I could shoot her first because she wore her weapon exposed at her hip, then shoot him at leisure. It was a thought, but an uncomfortable one.

  The reality was that I couldn’t shoot them. They had done nothing to me. If the situation were reversed, I would have examined the footprints in the snow, just as they had done. They knew we had been there a short while earlier. They had chosen not to follow us.

  We withdrew after the couple was out of sight down the road. The falling snow grew heavier and we hurried to our tunnel. Yes, I considered it our tunnel.

  Sue said without preamble, “Do you think very many people died? I mean everywhere. In my town, it seemed like most people did. I only saw a few alive before heading for the mountains.”

  “Darrington?” I asked.

  “How did you know that?”

  “It’s the only town near here. I didn’t think you’d walked too far.”

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “Arlington. Larger, but I had a car so drove most of the way here. Only twenty miles, on a two-lane road. Chancy, but it seemed the best option. There were still a few cars on the road when I bugged out, so the worst hadn’t happened.”

  “Then what?”

  “I followed the Sauk River a bit and parked at a wide place beside the road as if that matters any more. Years ago, I explored the mine with my dad when he took me deer hunting.”

  She peered at me curiously. “You had a car and this place was the best you could come up with?”

  “It was. It is. Civilization sort of ends here in Darrington, my dad used to say. Nothing but mountains east of here until you reach Lake Chelan on the other side of the Cascades. South of here, the mountains are probably filled with thousands of people who fled Everett, Seattle, and Tacoma. For me, the fewer the better.”

  We trudged ahead. After maybe ten minutes, she asked, “So you got out of town before most were sick or dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if it was all a false alarm or something?”

  “Then, I guess I’d have gone home. I still may. Or hope to.”

  “You didn’t shoot those people at the cabin when you could have. I thought you were going to. I was sure of it.”

  “They did us no harm.”

  She was quiet again. Then as the granite wall that held the tunnel entrance came into view, she said, “So, that’s the new rule about killing? Do not attempt to do harm to me and I won’t shoot you?”

  We were almost at the entrance of the tunnel when I answered. “That’s a pretty good way to phrase it. I’d maybe add one more thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “Don’t let me think you’re going to harm me. Not really the same as attempting it, but for instance, if those two back there at the cabin had begun to search for us and followed our tracks, I’ll have taken it as a threat.”

  We put our plunder down beside the dead fire and started sorting out the items. The good pair of boots were a little large for her, but she laced them up tight and they were fine with two pairs of socks. After walking around the tunnel to try them out, Sue was quiet for a while then said, “The rules have really changed since the first people got sick sixteen days ago. That was not very long ago when you think about it.”

  She wanted to talk. I had rounded the number of days to a couple of weeks, not the precise number of sixteen days. That showed a clear differentiation in the way we thought. I cleared a space, sat on a ledge of rock and said, “I wonder if the entire country was devastated the same way, the same amount of deaths. And those that survived, like us, are we immune, or lucky, or smart? And was it only America? I would assume Canada was the same as us, and Mexico. What about Panama? South America and the rest of the world? I never heard about them.”

  Sue said, “For all we know, there may only be only four people left alive on the planet and we considered killing half of them today.”

  Damn. She had a way with insights and words. I went to the cave entrance and made sure the snow had completely covered our tracks. It was warming and the snow beginning to melt. The depth was less than yesterday but tonight it would probably freeze again.

  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.