The Pulse: An EMP Prepper Survival Tale (3 page)

Chapter Four

The Family

Sunday September 20, 8:05 A.M. Atlanta,
GA.

It was morning at the
Robinson house, an African American family who in lived in a
bustling neighborhood on Atlanta's west side. Christina toiled over
her stove, pouring pancake batter on a griddle as bacon sizzled on
the burner. She wore her favorite pink robe and slippers, and her
short hair was tied in a small bun. Christina's husband, Terrance,
was still sleeping soundly,
and
their
children—Richie, Tobias, and
Paula
—
we
re dragging themselves out of their
rooms, lured by the aroma of Sunday morning breakfast. It was the
best way to get her kids out of bed and then ready for church, a
constant weekly battle. Richie, their eldest at seventeen, was the
hardest to manage, as he often took advantage of his father's
frequent absences. Terrance was a truck driver who spent a good
deal of time on the road. What he had seen along his routes over
the years had greatly disturbed him. He told Christina that the
country was rapidly changing. He could see it. Poverty was
everywhere. Many once-great cities populated by millions had become
decrepit ghost towns. Fuel, food, and power costs had risen
considerably, and he believed that hyper-inflation was just around
the corner.

Such a frightening premonition had thrust
Terrance into the prepping movement. It wasn't long before he
became knowledgeable in the preparation techniques of all kinds.
His children were as resistant to his attempts to teach them
survival techniques as they were to their mother's insistence on
going to church. For Terrance and Christina it was an uphill effort
all around. Most young people didn't see anything wrong with the
way things were as long as they had their electronic gadgets and
diversions. Few had even heard of a "prepper.” They certainly
weren't being taught anything about it at school.

Terrance had asked each of his children to
carry a portable handheld two-way radio on them, good for distances
up to thirty-five miles. It took a lot of convincing, but he
explained to them that cell phones weren't always going to work all
the time. In the event of an emergency they needed to have their
radios with them. He expected them to have them charged daily as
well as on-hand. Their ambivalence was countered with a
demonstration of the range and ability of the handhelds. Tobias and
Paula thought they were cool. Richie had the most objections. He
thought the whole idea was stupid.

"I don't ask much from you kids," Terrance
said, "but I'm asking this. Always have them on you when you leave
the house, period.” There would be no argument. Eventually the kids
complied. Terrance won his first battle; however, they still had a
long way to go.

"Richie! Tobias! Paula! Get out here and eat
your breakfast before it gets cold!" Christina yelled from the
kitchen. The children walked like zombies from their rooms down the
hall rubbing their eyes. Tobias was fourteen and just starting high
school. He was not as tall as his 5' 10” older brother, but was
tall and lanky in his own regard. Richie was in twelfth grade and
looking forward to graduation. He and Tobias both had medium fade
haircuts and strong brown eyes. They could have been twins if not
for some different facial features. Tobias had more of his mother's
features—high cheek bones and vibrant smile. Richie had more of
Terrance's squared jaw and thick face.

Paula, the youngest, was thirteen and just
starting eighth grade. She was a petite girl who with was always
particular about how she dressed and looked. She wasn't vain as
much as she took her appearance seriously at such a young age. If
everything played out right, all three of their children would
graduate from high school in the end. Nothing would please Terrance
and Christina more.

"Quit your lollygagging and move," Christina
commanded her lethargic children. They slowly entered the kitchen
groaning. She placed a large platter of pancakes in the center of
the circular table. Paula was a little more awake than her
brothers, so she was first to her seat.

"Morning, Mom," she said with a smile.

Christina turned around from the stove and
smiled back. "Good morning, sweetheart." She noticed her two sons’
painfully slow movements towards the table, as if they were heading
to the gallows. "Y'all hurry up and eat so you can get ready. We
got church in an hour."

"What about Dad?" Richie said. "Why does he
get to sleep in?"

"Because your father works for a living. Once
you move out and provide for your own family you can miss church
all you want."

Richie was familiar with the routine. Once he
got his mom started she was bound to never stop.

"Got it, Mom. Damn," he said, pouring syrup
on his pancakes.

"Watch your mouth," Christina snapped
back.

Richie took a slow bite of food while looking
down. He couldn't stand church. He didn't want any part of it. Not
a single one of his friends still had to go to church. It was
embarrassing. Every week he would try to get out of it, and every
week it would just start an argument. This particular morning he
would try again.

"I can't go to church today; I got too much
school work to do."

"Your school work can wait. If it weren't for
church you'd be sleeping, so don't give me that," Christina said as
she placed a bottle of syrup on the table.

"But
─
"

"All I ask is for one hour out of the week so
you can set a good example for your brother and sister. That isn't
asking too much," Christina interrupted.

"It ain't right, I shouldn't have to go to
church if I don't wanna," Richie shot back.

"Just eat your food. It's not open for
debate," she said sternly. Richie said no more, but it was clear he
was upset.

"I agree with Richie," Tobias chimed in, with
a mouth full of food. "Church is boring."

Christina pivoted around
from the counter, holding her coffee mug, waiting for the fresh pot
to brew. "Then I suggest you find something entertaining about it.
Maybe try paying attention for once
—
an
d don't
talk with your mouth full."

Tobias said no more.
Christina looked to Richie. "See what kind of example you're
setting? You kids need church. It's good for you. When you're
adults
─
"

"
─
We'll thank you, I know. You say that
all the time," Richie said, looking down at his plate. He barely
had touched his food. His mind was elsewhere: school, his friends,
his girlfriend, the football team.

"I say it 'cause it's true," Christina
answered. "Now enough griping and eat your food."

Her children stopped talking; only emitting
chewing sounds. Pop music from a portable radio sitting on the
window played lightly, as breeze swayed the thin curtains above the
sink. The coffee was ready, and Christina poured a cup. She planned
to surprise Terrance with coffee in bed but wouldn't risk bringing
him breakfast; he was too messy.

She was tough by nature, but had grown even
more vigilant over the years. Her role as a sometimes-single parent
had a lot to do with it. Though there was some give when Terrance
came back home, she ran the house unquestioned. Terrance's salary
alone wasn't enough to pay all the bills, so Christina took a
part-time job working the cash register at the Dollar Store.

Her life had changed
considerably when, after a few weeks on the job, she was held at
gunpoint and robbed by a local hood wearing a ski mask. It was near
closing time when he strolled into the store casually and
unexpectedly. He rushed the counter, stuck the barrel of the pistol
directly against her head, and yelled at her to empty the register.
Her life was on the line. She could see his eyes
—b
loodshot,
frenzied
—
and knew
that there was a good chance he would pull the trigger, even over
what little money she had in the register. Her hands fumbled with
the register because she was inexperienced in opening the drawer
without first ringing up a sale. What she was doing wasn't
working.

"Open the register, bitch!" he seethed.
"Hurry the fuck up!"

His spittle sprayed her face as he pressed
the barrel harder against her skull. She began to shake
uncontrollably, unable to speak, while desperately trying to remain
calm. Miraculously, the register drawer popped open after a few
tries, not a moment too soon. Fear gripped her further when she
looked into the drawer and saw that there wasn't much money inside.
The other cashier had collected her till just hours before. All
Christina could see were a couple of twenties, fives, and ones. The
man took notice of the paltry score before him. He wasted no time
clutching every last bill before he leaned in closer, his index
finger wrapped around the trigger.

"Now where's the rest?" he asked.

"That's all we have," Christina said in shaky
voice. Tears ran down her face. She knew it wasn’t true but just
wanted the man to leave. The rest of the money was in the back
office, but she feared that if he brought her in there, she would
never make it out.

"Don't lie to me, bitch. Gimme the rest or I
put a bullet through your head."

"I don't
─
"

"Last chance."

"I don't know!" she cried.

She was the only person in the store that
evening, and there was only a slim chance anyone was going to come
in and stop the man. There was no quick solution. He was either
going to shoot her right there or take her into the office. She was
frozen with fear, but her instincts told her that the back office
wasn't an option.

"We got nothing left!" she persisted. "Sales
were low today."

"Bullshit, this store makes money. I seen it.
Now I want the rest or I'm-a kill you. That's a promise."

Just when she thought there were no other
options, the entrance door chimed as a pair of clueless customers
walked in. The holdup man was immediately spooked, realizing that
he might be in over his head. A young black couple entered then
stopped dead in their tracks when they saw what was happening.
Christina nearly collapsed in relief upon seeing the couple, but
she also feared for their lives as well as her own. Any steps the
man-made now would be irreversible. He took one look at them, and
then rushed past and out the door in a fury. Christina fell to the
ground on her knees crying.

"Damn, Miss, are you okay?" the man asked
while approaching her counter.

Christina was too numb to respond. The police
were called, and a report was made, but nothing ever came of it.
The way Christina saw it; she would always be a sitting duck. She
was unable to go back to work for a couple of days but then
realized that she had to. She couldn't live her life in fear. There
was an inherent risk just walking out the door, so what difference
did the Dollar Store make? Next time, however, she would be
prepared.

After taking a few self-defense classes, she
began to consider something more. She wanted a gun. And so began
Christina's love affair with weapons. She soon purchased a 9mm
handgun, a .22 assault rifle, and a 12 gauge shotgun within a year
after the robbery. Strangely enough, it was not the weapons that
had the most expense, it was the ammunition itself. Bullets had
become a scarce commodity. The government had purchased billions of
dollars’ worth of ammunition in an unprecedented sweep.

After purchasing her weapons and applying for
a concealed weapons license, Christina felt as if she had made an
important first step. Her greater concern, however, involved guns
in the house, and the safety of her children. The guns were not
toys, and she knew how pop culture glamorized them without teaching
the responsibilities of owning a weapon. She decided to keep them
locked in a large biometric gun safe hidden in a closet to which
only she and Terrance had access.

Terrance's main concern was that she didn't
know how to properly use them. She was moving too fast too soon. He
insisted that she go to the range and familiarize herself with
firing. That way he wouldn't worry about her as much while he was
gone.

"You should take the kids too," he suggested
in bed one night.

"I will, soon. They're not ready yet."

"At least take Richie. You can't protect them
all by yourself."

"I said I will."

Terrance didn't push the issue. In their
twenty-two years of marriage, he rarely questioned her. He would
support her just as he always did. At the time of their wedding,
she was eighteen, and he was twenty-one. Now she was forty-two and
he forty-five. The time had flown by. He didn't think he looked
like a forty-five year old man when he looked in the mirror. He
still had his hair and hadn't turned gray yet. His face had little
wrinkles. He felt he could pass for thirty easily. But when he saw
pictures of himself from a decade ago he could see the difference.
He wasn't as fit and youthful looking. He had gained weight in his
face and all around for that matter.

The stress of having and raising three kids
had taken a slight toll on her features too: light bags under her
eyes and wild hair, even though she wore it natural. Christina
wasn't into wigs, weaves, or anything of that nature. She was still
skinny as the day they met, and that, for the most part, worried
Terrance. His wife could never gain weight. She was always slightly
underweight. It could have been the constant stress or something
else. He just didn't know.