Countdown to Armageddon (5 page)

     “Scott, can I ask you a personal question?”

     “Sure.”

     “A few weeks ago, when we met out here for the first time, you commented on the box I have in my trunk. The one where I keep my files. You knew what a
Faraday cage was and what it was used for. You mentioned something about solar flares and EMPs. You said it was just a matter of time. Do you think it’s going to be soon?”

     “I don’t know for sure. I mean who can say? I did some research on the Mayans and the things they were able to do without what we consider modern technology. And I was amazed. And I did some research on a professor who claimed to have translated some of the Mayan hieroglyphics. He believed that 2012 opened a window of great risk for solar storms and EMPs. He also believed very strongly that within just a few years solar storms would zap us back to the stone age.”

     Joyce smiled. “Prepper. That’s what my friends called me when they found out I was preparing for something bad to happen on December 21st, 2012. They said it with disdain, like they were mocking me. When nothing happened they ridiculed me. But I never got rid of my extra food stores. I just feel something coming. I can’t explain it. But I am positive something is going to happen. Sooner than later. Perhaps you’re right. Maybe the Mayans were right. Maybe we were right. For preparing for the end of the world.”

     Scott hadn’t had any plans to tell her about the old professor’s notes and his own research. But he liked this woman, and thought there was a good chance they’d grow closer. And it couldn’t hurt, after all.

     So after he scooped their bacon, eggs and toast onto their plates, he sat down across from her and looked across the table into her eyes.

     “As a matter of fact, let me tell you why I bought this place…”

-8
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     The following Tuesday morning Scott was back at the compound, awaiting a truck that was going to deliver a load of angle iron and sheet metal roofing panels. They told him they’d be there sometime around noon, so he had some time to kill. He decided he’d spend it on his new Bobcat, clearing a section of land for planting crops.

     He climbed aboard the Bobcat and was reaching for the ignition when his cell rang.

     The caller ID said Linda, and he thought for a brief moment about ignoring it. But he had to fill her in sooner or later, and it was probably better to do it on the phone than in person.

     Linda was the mother of his sons. They were sweethearts in school together, but she was never quite on his maturity level. She’d had a rough life, both during and after their marriage, with alcohol and drugs guiding her into a long series of bad decisions. She was clean and sober now, but still not the best decision maker.

     “Hello.”

     “Hi, Scott. How are you?”

     “I’m fine, Linda. How are you doing?”

     “I’m good. I just wanted to let you know that Zach left a book here this past weekend. It looks like it’s from the school library. If I know Zach, it’s probably past due. How about if I drop it off sometime this evening?”

     “Sure. Not a problem, and thanks. If it’s a burden I can swing by your office on my way home.”

     “Well, that’s the thing. I quit my job a couple of days ago, and I’m home. I have a new job lined up this time. I’m learning that much at least. But I don’t start until Monday, so I’m just chillin’ at the crib, as the boys say these days.”

     “Is Glen there?”

     “No, he went fishing with his buddies. He won’t be back for a couple of days.”

     “Well, I’ll tell you what. I’m kinda tied up right now. How about if I drop by your house on my way home this afternoon. I’ll pick up the book and save you a trip. There’s something I want to talk to you about anyway, and that’ll give us a chance to talk without the boys interrupting us.”

     “Okay. Sounds good. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

     Scott cranked up the Bobcat. He liked the way it handled. It was diesel driven and turned on a dime. And it had more than enough power to do everything he needed.

     He’d spent half an hour installing a tree pulling attachment onto the front of the machine. It was essentially a set of hydraulic jaws that could be closed around a tree trunk. If the trunk was less than five inches thick, it could snap it in half like a twig.

     That wasn’t Scott’s plan, though. With a little less pressure on the jaws, Scott could grab small trees and simply rock them back and forth. He had identified a section of land on his new spread about the size and shape of two football fields laid side by side. A little over two acres, he figured. It was relatively flat, and close enough to the well to be easily irrigated when rain was scarce.

     The problem was, it needed to be cleared. It was covered with sixty or seventy mesquite trees.

     Scott’s original plan was to cut down the trees, cut them into firewood, and use them as emergency fuel should the need ever arise. But then he had a better idea.

     He knew that mesquite trees had very shallow root systems. And their root systems were very brittle. He knew that it would be easier to pull each tree out of the ground, roots and all, than to cut it down. Plus, pulling them out of the ground would alleviate the problem of having to go back later and removing the stumps.

     Scott knew also that because mesquite trees were covered with savage thorns an inch long, they would make an excellent natural barrier to help keep out prowlers.

     To test his plan, he wrapped the jaws of his Bobcat around the six inch trunk of an old mesquite. Instead of trying to cut it, though, he merely pushed it forward a foot or two. Then he pulled it back. He did this a couple of more times and could almost feel the tree giving up. Then he merely lifted up the jaw attachment, and the tree came out of the ground. Some of the root system was left behind, but that wasn’t a problem. Once the section of land was cleared, Scott would plow it under. The roots would be chopped to pieces and would degrade into fertilizer.

     He used the Bobcat to carry the tree to the gravel road which served as a driveway to his compound. He drove backwards, because the tree blocked his forward view, and selected a spot next to the gravel road about one hundred yards from the house.

     Then he very carefully placed the mesquite tree on the ground, opened the jaws, and shoved it forward. It fell perfectly into place.

     The mesquite tree’s inch long thorns were as hard as nails. The thorns are quite painful, and notorious for causing serious infections. It was Mother Nature’s best effort at making a barbed wire fence.

     With the tree lying on the ground, with its trunk inside the compound and pointing toward the house, intruders on foot would have the formidable challenge of having to crawl through the tree branches. And while one tree wouldn’t keep out a determined intruder, a long line of them, completely surrounding the perimeter of the property, just might.

     And if it didn’t keep them out, it would damn sure slow them down. And cause them some pain.

     Scott suspected that the trees would also be effective in stopping vehicle traffic. Mesquite thorns have been known to flatten tires. And the tree trunks, laying low to the ground, would dig into the dirt and provide some good resistance to a vehicle pushing against them.

     Hopefully that wouldn’t be a problem, of course. The only vehicles that would be running after the EMP storm would belong to those who had planned ahead and protected the vehicles. And anyone with enough sense to do that would have their pick of targets to get food from. Softer targets than Scott’s compound, anyway.

     He uprooted about twenty trees, placing them carefully in a line with the first tree, so that they overlapped and there was no safe passage between them. He decided to take a short break at the same time his delivery truck came barreling down the road.

     Scott liked that the road was made of caliche and gravel, instead of pavement. He could see the cloud of dust rising over the trees in the distance long before he saw the truck. Another effective tool against intruders and marauders.

     Luckily for Scott, the truck came with a three-wheeled forklift attached to the back. He could have offloaded it with his Bobcat, but that would have meant taking the tree attachment off the front and installing the forklift tines. Only a twenty minute job, but then he’d have to spend another twenty minutes after the truck left to take the tines back off again. The trucker bringing his own lift just made things easier.

     “Howdy, partner!” The trucker was a jovial sort. “Where abouts you want this stuff?”

     Scott instructed the driver to drop his load on the south side of the house. That’s where he’d start building his ten foot privacy fence. He’d start there and just move the materials around with him as he went.

     His plan was to start at the front of the house. On the southwest corner, he’d plant a metal post, and then run a series of metal posts every ten feet for a hundred yards. Then he’d turn north and continue the process. When he finished, he’d have a ten foot tall steel fence measuring two hundred yards wide and a hundred yards long. It would be large enough to grow a large fruit and vegetable garden, a small orchard of fruit trees, and would provide corrals and pens for various livestock.

     It wouldn’t be cheap, of course. But he’d learned how to weld as a welder’s apprentice after high school. He’d maintained his certification all the years since, so that he could do a lot of the repairs himself at his storage facilities and save some money. He could spot weld a broken overhead door in just a few minutes and save several hundred dollars each time he didn’t have to call in a repairman. And, by God, if he could do that, then he could damn well install a privacy fence.

     When he did the mortgage paperwork for the property, he’d had the bank throw in an additional hundred thousand dollars for a home improvement loan. That would cover all the materials for the privacy fence, as well as additional motors and electronic components for the well pumps, wind turbine and solar panel console. All of those, of course, would be stored in a garage sized
Faraday cage he planned to build when he wasn’t building the fence. It was a good thing he didn’t really have to go into work everyday. There was quite enough to keep him busy at the compound.

-9
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     Scott looked at his watch. It was a quarter past five. Both boys would be home from school by now. He took his cell out of his pocket and called home.

     “Hey,
Jordan, how’d your day go?”

     “Oh heck, Dad. Don’t even ask!”

     “Girl problems again?”

     “Good guess.”

     “Get used to it son. It never gets any easier. I’m no closer to figuring women out than I was at your age.” He chuckled.

     “You gonna be home anytime soon, Dad? Or do you want me to start dinner?”

     “Ask your brother if he’s hungry. I’m going to stop and visit with your mother for a few minutes and pick up Zach’s library book. It’ll be a couple of hours before I get home. If y’all want to eat before then, go ahead. If you can wait, let me know. I’ll stop by Taco Cabana and get something to go.”

     Scott held the line for a few seconds until his oldest son came back.

     “Zach says he’d rather have Taco Cabana than anything I can cook.”

     “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Okay, I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

     He climbed into his truck for the forty five minute drive to Linda’s house, surprised at how stiff his muscles were. It dawned on him then that he wasn’t getting any younger. He wasn’t quite feeling his age, not yet. But in the years ahead it would be comforting knowing that he’d have two sturdy boys to help him with the heavy work. And they were both good boys. He’d made sure of that. They’d work all day without complaint. Pretty rare for most kids their age.

     A bit later he pulled up in front of Linda’s house. He was glad to see that Glen’s raggedy ass truck wasn’t in the driveway. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Glen, he told himself. It was just that Linda could have done much better than a man who went from job to job, only working long enough to make a few paychecks. Then he’d find a reason to quit. The manager had it in for him. Or the rules were too strict. Or they didn’t recognize his potential. Or they screwed him out of a promotion. Then he’d lay on the couch for weeks at a time until the bills backed up and Linda started begging him to go back to work.