food grown, harvested, pickled, and stored. He was just thankful that his family could take care of itself, which was much more important now more than ever.
JJ, as they often referred to him, squealed once more, louder this time, announcing his displeasure at Wilber’s repose. Pulled towards the mountain of tasks ahead, he trudged forward with a grimace.
He really didn’t need this. There was too much to do. He had to check on the fencing on the eastern edge of their property, install the new part in the control unit for the windmill, and store the shipments of ammo he received yesterday at their delivery box, and go into town to buy some more batteries, waiting at Dingles Hardware. Finally, he wanted to work on the follow up book to his survivalist novel; the one he was pretty sure was never going to get finished. But it was a nice distraction from what was to come.
He could feel something bad was going to happen. He didn’t buy into all the conspiracy theories spread by the prepper communities. He often visited to give and receive tips on making do on your own. Often reading reported incidents, which surely would lead to some cataclysmic event, Wilber would research further to check on its validity. Sometimes, he posted some of the better ones, just to stir the pot. However, some of the conspiracies made sense and seemed believable.
Lately, he had been reading lots of chatter about solar flares and CMEs and it just sounded a little too real. Especially, the reports from scientists like Dr. Reid. He knew they wouldn’t be directly affected by the loss of power, but his greater worry was for his family’s security. The whole town knew of his family and made up stories about the Wrights did this or that or the Wrights have too much money and should share it with others . It wasn’t just the town’s greed that kept him up at night. It was the fact that their food would run out and they would want to take from his family at some point.
Walking up to the gate of the pen, he was assaulted by the smell of sickness. “Petunia doesn’t look too good, does she?” Olivia said while holding their baby.
“Thanks O.” He looked around, searching. “Where’d Buck run off too?”
“He’s out trying to get that damned fox that killed some of the chicks yesterday.”
Another thing he forgot was on his list. “Can you do me a favor and run into town and pick up my batteries at Dingles? Buck can help me work on the fence today to make sure it’s secure, if he ever gets back.”
“Sure. I wanted to stop in to see Emma and see how she is doing.”
“Tell her we’re praying for her.” He pecked her on the lips, turned, and grabbed the shovel propped up against the fence, and entered the pen, now starting his long workday.
9.
Stocking Up
7:05 A.M.
Rocky Point, Mexico
Max took a big bite out of his huevos con queso burrito. Fragile wisps of steam emptied out of the bitten end, slithering by his face, slowed slightly by the brim of his blue Cub ’s cap, before emptying through the open air of his Jeep into the soup of the city’s aromas. It was a blended mixture ranging from foul to delightful. A flavorful volcano of fire erupted in his mouth. He put out the agreeable fire with a big swig of the remainders of this morning’s freshly brewed coffee currently residing in his large to go cup. Eyeing his dwindling burrito, as a predator would its prey, he bit through the soft tortilla, taking in another mouthful. Truly, very few things beat the taste of Pablo’s burritos in the morning. He tried focusing on this diversion from what lay ahead for him and his friends. Unfortunately, it was also a reminder of so many simple pleasures which would soon be gone.
Max was sitting in the driver’s seat of his Jeep Willys, left elbow resting on the door, hand holding the foil wrapped delicacy. His right hand firmly held his plastic anti-spill
JJ, as they often referred to him, squealed once more, louder this time, announcing his displeasure at Wilber’s repose. Pulled towards the mountain of tasks ahead, he trudged forward with a grimace.
He really didn’t need this. There was too much to do. He had to check on the fencing on the eastern edge of their property, install the new part in the control unit for the windmill, and store the shipments of ammo he received yesterday at their delivery box, and go into town to buy some more batteries, waiting at Dingles Hardware. Finally, he wanted to work on the follow up book to his survivalist novel; the one he was pretty sure was never going to get finished. But it was a nice distraction from what was to come.
He could feel something bad was going to happen. He didn’t buy into all the conspiracy theories spread by the prepper communities. He often visited to give and receive tips on making do on your own. Often reading reported incidents, which surely would lead to some cataclysmic event, Wilber would research further to check on its validity. Sometimes, he posted some of the better ones, just to stir the pot. However, some of the conspiracies made sense and seemed believable.
Lately, he had been reading lots of chatter about solar flares and CMEs and it just sounded a little too real. Especially, the reports from scientists like Dr. Reid. He knew they wouldn’t be directly affected by the loss of power, but his greater worry was for his family’s security. The whole town knew of his family and made up stories about the Wrights did this or that or the Wrights have too much money and should share it with others . It wasn’t just the town’s greed that kept him up at night. It was the fact that their food would run out and they would want to take from his family at some point.
Walking up to the gate of the pen, he was assaulted by the smell of sickness. “Petunia doesn’t look too good, does she?” Olivia said while holding their baby.
“Thanks O.” He looked around, searching. “Where’d Buck run off too?”
“He’s out trying to get that damned fox that killed some of the chicks yesterday.”
Another thing he forgot was on his list. “Can you do me a favor and run into town and pick up my batteries at Dingles? Buck can help me work on the fence today to make sure it’s secure, if he ever gets back.”
“Sure. I wanted to stop in to see Emma and see how she is doing.”
“Tell her we’re praying for her.” He pecked her on the lips, turned, and grabbed the shovel propped up against the fence, and entered the pen, now starting his long workday.
9.
Stocking Up
7:05 A.M.
Rocky Point, Mexico
Max took a big bite out of his huevos con queso burrito. Fragile wisps of steam emptied out of the bitten end, slithering by his face, slowed slightly by the brim of his blue Cub ’s cap, before emptying through the open air of his Jeep into the soup of the city’s aromas. It was a blended mixture ranging from foul to delightful. A flavorful volcano of fire erupted in his mouth. He put out the agreeable fire with a big swig of the remainders of this morning’s freshly brewed coffee currently residing in his large to go cup. Eyeing his dwindling burrito, as a predator would its prey, he bit through the soft tortilla, taking in another mouthful. Truly, very few things beat the taste of Pablo’s burritos in the morning. He tried focusing on this diversion from what lay ahead for him and his friends. Unfortunately, it was also a reminder of so many simple pleasures which would soon be gone.
Max was sitting in the driver’s seat of his Jeep Willys, left elbow resting on the door, hand holding the foil wrapped delicacy. His right hand firmly held his plastic anti-spill
Similar Books
