William Weber - Surviving America's Collapse

Although the story you are about to read is a work of fiction, the electromagnetic pulse (EMP) it depicts and its destructive effects on our countrys electrical systems are a real and present danger. Events following Hurricane Katrina gave us a glimpse into the terrifying possibilities if we suddenly lost the modern conveniences weve come to depend on. Needless to say, the consequences of such an attack would be devastating. Millions would die from starvation, lack of proper medicine, exposure and roving gangs of looters. In the end, the domino effect could lead to the collapse of the American economy and usher in a new Dark Age.

John Mack stopped his F150 pickup at the red light and switched the cell phone to his other ear.

What time do you expect the open house to end? he asked his wife Diane. She was a real estate agent with Century 21. Ever since the housing market had started to bounce back, sales as well as commissions had been steadily increasing. Their family had been hit hard during the recent recession and it was a real sore point between them. Not that he had any right criticizing her choice of profession; after all, he was a general contractor. Right or wrong though, having all their financial eggs in one basket was a recipe for disaster.

I should be home around six, Diane told him. She sounded annoyed and a little out of breath, like she was at her desk, bending over to put her heels on. Probably the same ones she said looked great, but made her soak in hot water for hours afterward.

The light turned green and John accelerated through the intersection. Dont forget, its your choice of movie tonight, but no romance. One more chick flick and the kidsll threaten to move out and I might join them.

Oh, wouldnt that be nice.

The two of them laughed.

See you at home, honey, she said. Love you.

A few minutes later John pulled into the driveway of their house. Two stories, three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Looked a lot like most of the other houses on Willow Creek Drive, except John would be willing to bet that his was different. Last summer hed dug down under the crawlspace in his basement and installed a concrete bunker. Most of the work had been done slowly and secretly and the job had taken months. Not even their kids, twelve-year-old Gregory or fourteen-year-old Emma, were allowed to tell any of their friends. Since then John had outfitted the bunker with an air and water filtration system and a stockpile of dried goods designed to last them about a month. John had then put up a false wall to hide the pods location in case the house was attacked or overrun.

Hed even made bug-out bags for each member of the family, packed with the essentials they would need in case they had to flee their home.

As far as natural disasters went, the streets of Sequoyah Hills, Tennessee, a tree-lined suburb west of Knoxville, were about as safe as they came. Sure, once in a while a thin coating of snow might turn to ice come January or February, but most everyone knew to stay indoors and wait till the ice melted away.

But if Johns time with the military and the wide spectrum of combat and humanitarian missions hed run in Iraq, Rwanda and Bosnia had taught him anything, it was that you could never be too well prepared.

In the event of a short-term disaster, he could keep his family safe and sound. The bunker underneath his basement, his stockpile of supplies and the alternate bug-out location in the Appalachian Mountains north of Knoxville had each set him back several thousand dollars, but it was a price well worth paying.

Not all of Johns neighbors saw things the same way. When Sequoyah Hills had been put on a water-boiling advisory last year, he was the only one who hadnt rushed to clear the grocery store shelves. Keeping your preps a secret, that was Johns number one rule, but he didnt mind telling Al Thomson, his next-door neighbor, that he liked to keep a couple things on hand just in case.

Youre not one of those guys, are you? Al had asked him back then.

One of what? John had replied, not entirely sure where his ageing neighbors question was headed.

You know. One of those people obsessed with the end of the world. Always talking about slugging out.

Johns eyes narrowed in confusion. I think you mean bugging out?

Yeah, thats right. Als smile faded when he saw John wasnt laughing.

Well, lets just say theres nothing wrong with being ready for a worst-case scenario, Al.

No, no argument from me on that, Al had said, fumbling with the cell phone in his pocket. Just keep in mind, whenever something bad happens, its never more than a day or two before everythings back online, right? Police, fire department. We pay taxes for that stuff, you know.

Conversations with Al never seemed to go anywhere. Wasnt that Al was a bad guy. Quite the opposite. But John had run into similar disconnects any time people asked about his time in Iraq or Africa. Deep down, they didnt really want to hear the truth. They wanted the sanitized, fairytale version theyd watched on CNN. Bloodless combat. Precision-guided weapons.

Watching a Bradley roll off a shoddy bridge and into the Saddam Canal in Iraq, killing all on board, or the mountain of bones that lay as monuments to the senseless slaughter of innocent civilians in Rwandathose were the ugly realities that made guys like Al squirm. And as much as John couldnt relate to living in ignorant bliss, before joining the army, hed been one of them.

That exchange with Al had taken place around this time last year and since then the two hadnt shared more than polite neighborly pleasantries.

Now in his driveway, John killed the engine on his Ford F150, listening to the sound of the engine ticking down. Next door, Al was watering his lawn and whistling.

John got out and waved. Al nodded, bobbing to the song he had playing on the radio in his garage. The bed of roses under his bay window were in full bloom. Al and his wife didnt have kids. In some ways that lawn and the greenery Al took such pains in caring for were like the children hed never had. That was Dianes theory at least, and she was probably right.

Those roses are coming along, Al.

Sheer unadulterated joy grew on Als face. He dropped the hose and pulled a pair of gardening shears from his back pocket. Al cupped one of the roses and snipped it about midway. He came and offered it to John.

For Diane, Al said. Shell love it.

I couldnt.

No, I insist. Al gave John a devilish wink and pushed the rose into his hand. Its important to keep the romance strong, John. Us men have a habit of getting complacent, if you know what I mean.

John grinned and took the rose. You do have a point.

Oh, I almost forgot. Tell Diane to give Missy a call when she gets home. The annual block party is tomorrow and the wife wants to finalize whos bringing what.

The block party had become something of a tradition. Neighbors, new and old, would gather the first week of June in the park at the end of Willow Creek Drive. Each family was asked to bring a salad, main dish or dessert. The men organized games for the kids to play. It was a sweet way for the neighborhood to come together once a year. Build a sense of community. John had lived in suburbs outside New York City where you never knew the names of the people around you. Sequoyah Hills was different and John never stopped appreciating that fact.