End Days Super Boxset (74 page)

Far from the quarantine outpost, Greg Atkins stood in the kitchen of his quaint, two-bedroom home, brewing a cup of coffee before going to work. The television was on in the living room, and he had the volume up loud enough to hear the local morning news as he downed a series of vitamins together with a small bottle of water he pulled from the fridge.

The Ebola outbreak in the US was in its early stages, and though news of the disease was disconcerting, there were plenty of other troubling matters to occupy the media. There was fear of Iran acquiring nuclear weapons. There was Russia's unprecedented expansion into neighboring sovereign countries. And there was the growing Middle East turmoil and the fall of Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, and Libya. Talks of World War III were becoming more commonplace as of late.

Terrorism and genocide were consuming several impoverished countries in Africa, while the international efforts were united at combating the Ebola outbreak in West Africa, where it had already claimed over ten thousand lives. But there were some bright spots here and there. Infections had been going down, and two of the three main outbreak countries, Liberia and Sierra Leone, had recently reported an end to the crisis. Much of this was due to the outpouring of support from nations like the US, which maintained a humanitarian and military presence in the region.

As Greg poured himself a cup of coffee, he tried to clear his mind of the troubling news on TV. He could easily have changed the channel to a superficial talk show, but he liked to stay informed. It was part of who he was, or who he aspired to be: a man in the know. As a prepper, staying informed was at the top of his list.

He washed out his coffee mug and placed it in the sink. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was almost time to go. Monday morning meant the start of a long work week. Now in his forties, Greg's body was starting to feel its age, and he was growing tired of crawling through attic ducts to install security alarm systems. Before this, he had worked for the phone company. No matter his occupation, he always found himself working with wires. It was what he knew.

Prepping, however, had become much like a second job: something he did in his free time that proved both productive and fulfilling. There was little question in his mind of impending disaster right around the corner. With many of the world's economies in shambles, including the US, and with war, disease, and famine spreading, Greg wanted to be prepared for the worst. But he knew that it was impossible to be equipped to handle so many different doomsday scenarios all at once.

He had to prep practically and be prepared for the most realistic and impending crisis. This, he believed, involved the dwindling of resources caused by hyperinflation and food shortages. It seemed to Greg that the government had been propping up the economy with debt it could never repay. Once the debtors stopped paying and the lenders came to collect, the crash would be triggered. He, like most Americans, had experienced the housing crash and subsequent recession of 2008. Now he believed something ten times worse was imminent. However, Ebola wasn’t among the threats he truly suspected.

There had been routine news reports about the disease, but nothing matched the level of concern caused when Ebola was first carried into the country by an infected Liberian man in 2014. Since then, the influx of medical and military personnel had become a common presence, and any incoming aid worker showing symptoms was immediately treated and oftentimes cured. The virus didn't seem to pose any immediate danger to the public. For most Americans, no news on Ebola was good news. It seemed like everything was under control.

Greg was an alarm system technician or "field service representative" for Red Alert Home Security. He had his house, his work van, and a dog named Captain, a German shepherd. Captain was running around in the back yard as Greg got ready for work. Outside time was limited, as his dog was notorious for digging holes when Greg wasn't around and had to be kept inside during the day.

Captain knew this and made the most of his morning routine by rolling in the grass, barking at birds, and chasing squirrels. Prepared to start his day, Greg opened the door leading to the back yard and called Captain inside. It usually took some coaxing, and he had to shake a bag of dog treats, which lured Captain into the house in a matter of seconds.

"Good boy," Greg said, feeding the dog a bacon treat and patting him on the head.

Greg closed and locked his back door and walked back through the dining room. He checked the kitchen to make sure Captain had enough food and water in his bowls and then grabbed his keys and wallet. Before leaving, he walked into the living room to shut off the television. The news caught his eye again: reports of more corruption in Washington. Another day, another scandal. He flipped off the TV and bid farewell to Captain.

There wasn't much he could do about anything going on in the world, or the country for that matter. At the very least, he wanted to ensure that he was prepared for disaster. But prepping took planning, and planning took work. Greg lived in a tight-knit suburban neighborhood in Carson City. He had come to Carson City looking for a fresh start, a place he could call home after so many years of running from a past known only to him.

He opened the front door and then pushed open his screen door. After locking up, he moved down the steps of his wooden porch and onto the short, narrow sidewalk leading to his company van in the driveway. He buttoned the top of his red polo work shirt and tucked it into his black slacks. The shirt bore the Red Light logo over his chest. He straightened his ball cap and knelt to lace up his suede work boots, long broken in for the past three years.

Greg was tall, nearing six feet, sporting short dirty-blond hair and a light stubble on his cheeks. To his neighbors, he seemed quiet and preoccupied, but was also known to offer assistance whenever needed. The neighbors trusted him, it seemed, though no one knew much about him beyond his reputation as a cordial man who kept mainly to himself. When word spread that Greg was some kind of "Doomsday Prepper," it only added to the mystique. But it was something he always said little about.

He looked into the morning sky and straightened his hat. The sun had risen high and was a blinding yellow circle. Not a cloud dared get in its way. Springtime in Carson City was not too far different from summer. It was already hot out, but that was expected from the day’s forecast.

Greg had nearly become acclimated to the weather, and liked the city and all its mountainous, wide-open scenery. The mostly year-round semi-desert climate was agreeable for the most part, with an average of 265 days of sunshine per year. It could get as high as the 90s and as low as the 40s, with a minimal amount of snow in the winter. There were never any extremes, which Greg liked the most. With its bustling city and friendly neighborhoods, it was a place he could call home.

Years of crawling through hot and stuffy ducts, attics, and crawl spaces had helped him stay fit and slim, but the work was exhausting, and he had felt the need to move on to something else, just as he had always done.

“Greg!” a man said, walking up the driveway. It was his neighbor from across the street, Larry.

A semi-retired truck driver, Larry spent much of his time sitting on his front porch sipping on a sixteen-ounce. He was the unofficial, self-proclaimed neighborhood watch spokesman, and very little happened on the street without his taking notice. Greg stood by his van, keys in hand, as Larry approached him, wearing an open Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. He was bald except for a ring of hair that went around the lower part of his head. His beer gut protruded out from his open shirt. Greg considered himself lucky: most of the time Larry didn't wear a shirt at all.

“Hey, I been meaning to ask you. You got a sander I can borrow?”

“A sander?”

“Yeah, I got a big wood project this weekend. Gonna make Loraine some shelves.”

Greg gave his neighbor the courtesy of giving it some thought without outwardly saying no, but he honestly didn't own one. “Sorry, Larry, I don't.”

“Ah c’mon! A fella' like you should definitely have a sander somewhere in the mix.”

“Wish I could help you, but I don't own one." Greg thought of OPSEC and tried to downplay the idea he had much of anything. “I don’t even know if I own a screwdriver, to tell you the truth.”

“All right, all right," Larry said, giving Greg a playful nudge with his elbow. "Guess I'll ask ol' Lou next door.”

Greg opened the front door of his van. He was always in the habit of parking it facing the road, in the event of a quick getaway. “I'll ask around work for you. Maybe one of the guys has one.”

“I'd much appreciate it," Larry said with a salute. "Thanks. You take 'er easy.”

Greg waved and shut the passenger door as Larry walked down the driveway back toward his house. He started the engine and then drove past homes like his where people were leaving for work. Greg waved to them as he drove by, always eager to keep up good appearances.

Everyone knew his van when they saw it. It was a mid-sized white van displaying a Red Alert Home Security logo on both sides. In the back were all of Greg's tools and equipment. He had what he needed for his rounds: electrical wiring, drills, splicers, cutters, meters, and more. It was about a twenty-minute drive to work, given morning traffic, and Greg flipped on the radio to some light rock music.

However, his instincts got the best of him, and he scanned through his presets, looking for a news show. He came across a news-talk station and left it there as the news correspondent continued:

“Legislatures agreed in a majority vote today to raise the debt ceiling limit in order to avoid a government shutdown. It's still too early to tell if the additional thirty billion dollars will provide adequate funding for the next fiscal quarter, but sources are confident that a positive deal can be reached.”

Greg grabbed his sunglasses from the dashboard to block the glare of the sun, which shone directly in his eyes once he turned onto the interstate. Daily politics didn't particularly interest him, but he, like many other Americans, was concerned about the endless profligate spending taking place in Washington. Suddenly, the news switched to something that caught his attention, striking him like a pail of cold water.

“In other news, three separate but undeniably linked cases of Ebola were confirmed in service members returning from the Ebola Relief Mission in Liberia. The US ended all operations in the once disease-ravaged country after government officials declared success in ending the outbreak. A total of 1,500 military personnel were deployed in a nine-month relief mission. With most of those personnel now home, new concerns are rising about a possible fresh contagion.”

Greg instinctively leaned toward the radio and turned up the volume.

"The CDC says that the three service members who tested positive for Ebola will be treated in the same high-priority manner as medical personnel who contracted the disease and were flown to America in 2014. Some Congressional leaders, however, are criticizing the administration for not doing enough to contain the virus within our own borders. As recently as yesterday, the three service members were reported at separate hospitals near their hometowns, which include Tampa, Florida; Dallas, Texas; and Carson City, Nevada."

Greg's eyes lit up at the mention of his own city. In his mind, he played back what the reporter just said, wondering if what he had heard was true.

"Dallas, as we know, was the city to first encounter the virus back in 2014, when an infected Liberian man flew into the United States after contracting the disease. He soon died at the Texas Health Presbyterian Hospital after medical staff tried unsuccessfully to treat him. Officials state that 'there is no need for concern or panic, as each case is being handled with utmost care and the latest advancements in medical treatment.

“The CDC has repeatedly stated that the disease is only contagious in its most symptomatic stages and extremely hard to spread. The CDC Director, Dr. Theodore Robbins, told reporters yesterday that the chance of any outbreak is extremely low, and that anyone claiming the opposite is just trying to incite panic."

Suddenly, the news was interrupted with a local traffic report, giving Greg a moment to contemplate the information he had just heard. They didn't disclose exactly what hospital the soldier was being treated at, but Greg figured that would look into it and find out later. He wanted to believe the CDC that there was nothing to worry about, but the news hit him too close to home.
When in doubt
, Greg said to himself,
just keep prepping
.

He pulled into his company’s parking lot next to a line of vans that resembled his own. On any normal day, he would go into the office, clock in, and receive his client list. As a "security specialist," he was pretty much on-call all day, which meant he was available for installations, repairs, and technical issues with alarm systems. Business had been pretty good, even in the off season, and Greg was looking forward to his week-long vacation the next month.

The Red Light Security building was nothing special to look at: a brown, square cement structure with a few windows and two glass entry doors bearing the Red Light logo. The business did, however, have a nicely maintained lawn on both sides of the entrance sidewalk, with thick grass and trimmed bushes framing the building. The building’s appearance and lackluster atmosphere didn't bother Greg, for he spent little time there. Most of his time was spent making house calls.