Humanaty's Blight

by LeRoy Clary

  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.

  The wind or tide kept turning me. I nudged the boat ahead twice more before hearing faint paddling noises. Sue pulled up to the rear and handed up her shotgun, then my rifle, and then the arm of a shirt.

  “Hold onto that,” she ordered as she groped for a handhold on the sailboat.

  Instead of climbing aboard, she reached down and grabbed the bow of her kayak and pulled. I belatedly helped her pull it aboard, then we did the same with the other that she’d tied with the shirtsleeve. Their bows were positioned down in the bathtub area near our feet, the rudders high above the cabin. Smart girl.

  She wore only her bra. She untied the shirt as I pushed the handle forward and the sailboat gently eased ahead. The end of the breakwater came into view as a black mass on our right side that ended, and I maintained our course. The water depth worried me—or the lack of it after what the old man had told me. We went around the far end and out into Puget Sound. I kept the speed as slow as the engine would allow and when I judged we were miles from any land, I cut it.

  “Damn, dude,” Sue hissed in my direction. “You did it!”

  That said it all.

  CHAPTER TEN

  We’d done it! The boat was ours. We didn’t know what brand name it was, what type of sailboat, how long it was, or even the color, let alone how to sail it. None of that diminished our enthusiasm.

  No matter if we sank and died before dawn, the two of us had done the impossible. Sue’s words rang in my ears. Damn, dude! The feeling of accomplishment had my ego soaring and my feet were ready to dance until dawn.

  Sue said, “So, let’s get a look at the rest of this beauty.”

  She was already at the hatch. I heard her rattle it and then call, “Locked. Got the key?”

  “I think the key is back here.”

  Her footsteps thumped across the deck, her hand outstretched. In light, I’d have taken the cabin lock key off the chain instead of killing the engine, but in the dark, the right thing seemed to be what I did. I pulled the key from the ignition and said, “I need that right back.”

  “No problem.”

  She opened the padlock on the hatch and started inside, then called, “Hey, someb
ody was here first. They broke our window and got glass all over the damned place.”

  Our window, she’d said, which made my grin grow even wider. Not wishing to admit I was the culprit, I said, “We’ll clean it up when we have more light in the morning when we have more light. Better hand the keys back.”

  “Dude, this wicked stuff will slice our feet. You drive the boat. I don’t need light to get rid of the bigger pieces.” A tiny splash indicated where the first piece flew overboard. As for driving the boat, as she put it, we were drifting, no sails, no motor, and no cares until morning. More tiny splashes.

  I said, “Hey, we can take care of that glass later. Right now, I need the key for the engine.”

  “Engine? I thought you were going to get a sailboat.”

  I laughed for the first time that day. “This one has both.”

  I took the time to reload my gun’s magazine and reinsert it with a satisfying mechanical click. While I didn’t know much about guns, I did know that you have to clean them, or they get clogged up. I had no cleaning supplies and didn’t know how to do it. Just another thing to worry about. That, or steal another gun. Hell, I might steal one after that and never have to clean one. There were enough laying around to last me a hundred lifetimes.

  Sue called softly, “Do you think it will hurt to have a little light in here? Just one of the cabin lights so I can see?”

  I almost laughed again. One little light on the vastness of the dark water when there were no lights anywhere else would stand out like a lighthouse on a rocky coast. Anyone on land or on another boat would instantly be drawn to it. “Wait until dawn. We’ll have plenty of light then.”

  “Okay, what about tonight? Sleeping, I mean? Anyhow, there are a few little lights in here so I can sort of see my way around.”

  The tiny LEDs on the control panel with all the switches were what she meant. I’d forgotten them. I had another thought. What if there were alarms that sounded when water came in through a busted window? Or low fuel? I didn’t know how to turn any of them off, including the LEDs.

  Fingernail polish would cover them. Then, perhaps a little scratch from the point of my knife in the polish to let me see the status. Now all I needed was fingernail polish. Besides learning to sail and how to run the engine, there was everything electric or electronic to consider.

  I couldn’t drop the anchor because I didn’t know how, or if the boat had one. There were a thousand things I didn’t know. I felt helpless. My ignorance could easily sink the boat.

  Her question about sleeping tonight was a good one. I didn’t foresee much sleeping for me. “Bring me a couple of blankets up here, will you? I’ll sleep out here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We snatched this boat so we wouldn’t have to sleep out in the rain.”

  “You sleep inside.”

  “With all the glass? Alone? Do you hate me?”

  The tinkle of her laughter drew any sting from the comment. She climbed the short stairs to the cabin with an armful of bedding. “Nice night for sleeping outside.”

  “It’s overcast.”

  “But not raining. Did you know there’s another steering wheel down there? Inside? If it rains or if we have bad weather, we can steer from inside.”

  I hadn’t known that. There hadn’t even been a chance to go into the cabin other than to find the key. I needed to inspect the boat. To illustrate how insane the situation was, I didn’t even know the color of the hull, and that seemed to really bother me. If it had all happened to someone else, I’d have laughed at them.

  Sue had never once said we were going to steal the boat. The thought came unbidden. When the subject came up, she had accused me of stealing the motorcycle, yes, she had used that word when it applied to me. But when she was involved, we snatched, took, or she used another adjective. She never used the word steal when it referred to her.

  “Sue, what do you think about the morals of stealing this boat? I mean, how do you justify us doing it in your mind?”

  “The owner you stole it from is probably dead. So, there is no crime.”

  “Maybe not. Is there anything else you’d like to steal?” I’d used the word intentionally.

  “I don’t steal.” Her tone was flat as if that ended the conversation.

  “The things in the cabin where we got the sleeping bags? We stole them, didn’t we?”

  “They were left by the owners and besides, we needed the food and stuff we took in order to survive.”

  “Isn’t that stealing?” I prompted.

  She was quiet for a while. Then said, “If the rightful owners ask for it back, we’ll give it to them and add a little more for their inconvenience. Does that suit you?”

  My reaction was to tease her a little further. My common sense told me to shut up. I’d found a button of hers to push, a sensitive area she felt strongly about. If possible, I should forget the word and use another.

  She said, “Inside the cabin is like a camping trailer, only better. It’s like a grand palace, just smaller, and the floor is covered with bits of glass so be careful. Cleaning that will be my first job tomorrow while you learn to run the boat.”

  I pulled a blanket over my shoulders and watched the clouds in front of the moon. They were thin and allowed light to filter through. A pinprick of light on the mainland drew my attention. “Who is stupid enough to have a lantern?”

  “I think it might be a house burning,” she said as if it were a normal thing.

  The flames increased and she was right. We heard several shots even though we were far away. The sounds of the shots traveled across the water and came to us as if the shooters were a hundred feet from us. Both of us flinched, knowing people were shooting at each other.

  Sue covered herself with another blanket and snuggled closer. I placed an arm around her and said, “I’ll help with the glass and together we’ll get to know the boat and how to sail it, but I guess teaching you to ride a motorcycle isn’t going to happen.”

  “I don’t know anything about boats.”

  It sounded as if she didn’t intend learning. “What happens if I’m hurt or sick? It will be up to you.”

  She pouted and refused to answer any more on the subject.

  Our halting conversation continued deep into the night. Sue had been raised with strict gender roles and beliefs. At first, she resisted what I was suggesting about her learning to steer the boat. After discussing it for a few hours she relented, if for no other reason than to get me to shut up so she could sleep.

  I insisted on sleeping outside, with the mental reservation that if it rained, I’d go inside. I awoke several times, nervous and uneasy with the bobbing of the boat, when a larger wave pushed us aside, or when we heard gunfire. After a quick search all around, I went back to sleep each time. Sue was on the cushion next to me, wrapped head to foot in a couple of blankets.

  My sensible thinking was about all the things we needed to do the following day, and the day after that. Hundreds of things. If we accomplished half, we’d be doing well. I was planning again. It seemed a curse.

  But my social awkwardness and general ineptitude when around people was what kept me awake. Not that I didn’t like people but admitted to myself that I didn’t care for most of them. They were usually self-centered egotists. They had little time for people like me, and many had been deliberately unkind. The groups at school were a good example. There was no group or clique I ever fit in comfortably.

  They had time for people like themselves, but not for me. So, what did that mean? I’d long ago decided it meant there was something wrong with me, not them. Perhaps I expected too much. Maybe not enough. All of which brought me back to Sue. She seemed to like me for who I was, although sometimes she had to lead me around by my nose. I certainly liked her. Hopefully, she reciprocated the feelings.

  My troubled mind centered on the immediate future. She would eventually find someone she liked better. Then she would leave me. I hated that idea. Living without her had become
unthinkable.

  The thing to do was for me to change, not attempt to change her. I needed to be more caring, and maybe less of some other things. That might work if I knew what those things were and how to resolve them. I’d spent my entire life trying to figure out those shortcomings and failures. The idea I could do it now was silly. I am who I am.

  The dawn broke softly, if that is possible. Out on the water, with the engine turned off, it seemed totally feasible. The lapping of the waves against the hull, the gentle breeze causing ripples on the water. As the boat rocked back and forth, a metal snap on the end of a rope tapped against the metal mast. Seagulls circled and squawked, demanding a handout.

  Instead of rising immediately, as was normal for me, I remained still, enjoying the pleasant morning sounds. An increasingly loud buzz made itself known. My dull mind finally recognized it as a motor.

  A boat motor. I leaped to my feet and spotted a boat in the distance, white water spraying to each side like the mustache on an old man, as it headed directly for us.

  “Sue!”

  I located the rifle just inside the doorway to the cabin. With the rocking of the boat, it took a while to find and focus the scope on the approaching boat. It was the kind with the open bow that I associated with water skiing. Three men were in it, one waving what looked like a whiskey bottle as he shouted gleefully.

  Sue pursed her lips but said nothing. She watched the antics on the boat with a slight curl of disapproval on her lip.

  Another man held a pistol that looked like a six-shooter from cowboy days. Over the whine of the engine, I heard their screams and shouts as they came closer. I lowered the rifle. Pulled my pistol, then fired a single shot into the air. That was my only warning. I wouldn’t waste more ammunition on warnings.