Humanaty's Blight

CHAPTER TWO

Sue slipped out of her clothing and into the sleeping bag as if we’d slept together a hundred times. I was slower, but the cold got to me, and in the end, I leaped into it as she giggled and zipped the side. I’d warned her it was warmer to sleep without clothing in a cold climate than to sleep in damp pants and shirt. That was another helpful item learned from the Internet, and not first-hand experience. If it turned out to be untrue, I’d feel like a predator.

She wore panties, a bra, and a tee-shirt with a rose printed on the front. I wore shorts and a shirt emblazoned with the logo of a new-age band that probably no longer existed. I tried to be a gentleman and turned away in the confined space, only to feel her shift until she spooned me, either offering her warmth or stealing mine. It didn’t matter.

I talked, she whispered in my ear, and her arm eventually circled around my chest. Sue was chubby, short. When I took the time to notice, Hispanic. At least some of her. Maybe other things too. I’d always had a hard time distinguishing some Asians, Native Americans, and Hispanics from each other as if that mattered. Somewhere not too far back in human history I suspected they had all merged together. If not, in probably the near future only a race of brown people would exist.

In stark contrast to her olive skin and short stature, I was nearly six feet tall, my skin pasty white, and gaining another twenty pounds wouldn’t hurt. My favorite tee-shirt had been green and in large white letters, it said, “Kiss me, I’m Irish” printed around a four-leaf clover. A jock at school who used to tease and embarrass me at every opportunity had pretended to try kissing me one day while I wore it. In retrospect, I should have kissed him back in front of the entire student body, then spread romantic rumors about our relationship. Maybe then, he would have left me alone. It would have spared me months of his endless pranks and crude humor. However, for some crazy reason, I loved that shirt.

Those memories aside, turning over in a sleeping bag made for one but occupied with two people, one heavyset, one tall and skinny, is nearly impossible. Sue was also an aggressive sleeper, taking far more than her fair half. My meager attempts at recovering space were met with angry grunts, shoves, and once, an elbow jammed into my ribs.

The experience was my first. Sleeping with a woman, I mean. Not that I was sleeping a lot. My eyes wouldn’t close, her closeness and the musky smell was strange, welcome, and fearful. I’d been a near-recluse since my parents died, and with the Internet, food was delivered to my door, along with clothing, computer parts, a new large screen monitor, and hundreds of other things. Hardly a day passed without the big brown truck honking a signal that it had left a package on my porch.

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.”

“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.

Once 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.

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?”

I had to chuckle. Then, got serious. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t want anyone to hear it, so I didn’t test it.”

“You’ve never tried it?” She sounded incredulous.

“Nope.” I paused. “And if all goes well, I won’t.”

“That is really stupid. You know more, so tell me.”

I cracked a smile. “You heard the boom of that rifle. My gun makes a crack compared to that rifle, maybe half the noise, probably less. If I had fired my gun while standing beside the rifle, you may not have even heard it from the same distance. If the silencer does anything at all, I expect to hear a pop, about like a balloon popping. You’ll hear it a hundred yards away, not a mile or two.”

She gave the tilt of her head that I was beginning to realize that meant she was thinking and disagreeing with me. “So, that is not really a silencer, but a shrinker. It reduces the sound, but it is still loud?”

I couldn’t argue. Without testing the homemade item, shrinking the sound was okay with me if that’s all it did.

Sue said, “If someone is close, they will hear it?”

“If they would hear a balloon popping at the same distance, yes.”

She gave a slight nod. “It won’t bring people hunting for you from miles away, and that’s good. Will it kill? Yes, I suppose so, especially if you shoot them four or five times, huh?”

Again, I couldn’t argue.

She had a far-away look in her eyes. She shivered and looked back at me. “I didn’t really bury them in our yard, you know. None of them. I lied about that. My father said to get as far away as fast as I could and leave everyone there where they were. Him included. He insisted and I agreed to do it.”

“He told you the right thing.” It was all I could think to say.

She continued as if she hadn’t heard, “Do you think we could go back and do that someday? Bury my family?”

It only took a microsecond to realize what a good-intentioned idea that was, and another microsecond to realize in practical terms, that it was a terrible idea. Rotting bodies of her family couldn’t be good for her to see. Worse were ones strewn about while animals ate the flesh. There would be maggots for sure. My eyes met hers. She was waiting for an answer. “Not right away. Too dangerous.”

“Maybe later?”

My voice choked up. I nodded slowly, knowing my nods were lies.