NightFall (3 page)

With the kids off, Rob
decided to take a breather and sat on the couch for a moment,
catching the morning hodge-podge of random topics on cable news.
The economy was in the tank and there were new terror alerts issued
from all around the country.
The country
was in trouble and had been for a while. Rob, like some other
people he knew, was preparing for the worst. It was, in fact, his
main trade.

He owned a shop downtown, Pro-Survival
Gear, an outdoors specialty camping and hunting outlet that also
specialized in survival equipment. He catered to what the market
demanded: reliable and affordable products for the self-sufficient
individual. His target demographics were people, commonly known as
“preppers,” concerned individuals and families who strived to be
prepared for natural disasters, economic turmoil, and societal
collapse. They were realists who took the trade very
seriously.

The young female news
anchor on TV was itemizing the day
’s news
with images of the New York Stock Exchange and plummeting Wall
Street numbers filled the screen. Her commentary droned in the
background.

The news was enough to make his head
spin. There was little, he believed, the government could do to
revert the disastrous course they were on with their frivolous
spending. Because of this, he was certain of one thing: money would
soon lose its value. Inflation was on the horizon and his family
had to be ready. He gave it six months to a year before things got
exponentially worse. Though, he wanted nothing more than to be
wrong.

He wanted his family to be as prepared
as possible. He wanted his kids to possess the skills needed to be
self-sufficient. To prep and plan effectively, it had to be a joint
effort. But that was easier said than done.

Mila had her hands full at the local
hospital where she worked as a registered nurse. With four years of
school behind her, she still had her fair share of student loans to
pay.

In his youth, Rob had
established himself as a competitive marksman, when his
interests soon shifted toward running his own
business. Before then, all he did was drift through the country,
taking odd jobs where he could. That was, until he met Mila and
started a family in his thirties.

Nyack was a quaint town with there was
plenty of nature and beautiful scenery. Moving there had been a
dream come true. But the dream, Rob knew, wouldn’t last
forever.

He took another sip his coffee. It was
time to get ready for work. The day was September 12, 2016—one day
after the fifteenth anniversary of the 9/11 terror attacks, and as
he contemplated the future, he found himself filled with
dread.

Was the outlook really so glum? Was
most of it in his head? The mood of the country was reflected in
what he was seeing. His products were flying off the shelves:
emergency food kits, water purifiers, camping equipment,
flashlights, batteries, multi-tools, Para cords, and other prepper
basics.

He knew a community of preppers who
had purchased land in the mountains along the Hudson River, close
to where his own family maintained a small cabin for his familty’s
weekend getaways. They hadn’t been up there in some time. A
travesty, Rob believed.

He heard
Mila
’s car pull up in the driveway. The
time displayed on the television news said that it was 7:30 A.M.
His store opened at nine. He’d have a little time to spend with
her, maybe discuss going to the cabin for the weekend. However,
after a thirteen-hour night shift, he knew that Mila probably
wouldn’t be up for much talk. He went into the kitchen and cleaned
off the table just was Mila walked inside.

He cleaned the table off
as the front door opened and Mila
’s
jingling keys sounded down the foyer hall.

“
Good morning,” he said to
her as heard her keys jingle down the foyer hall.

She turned to him dressed in purple
scrubs and looking exhausted. There were lines under her hazel
eyes. Her black hair was tied back in a ponytail, reaching her
mid-back as a lone piece hung over her forehead.

“
Hey,” she said, looking
around. “I guess I just missed them.”

“
Yep. They just left about
ten minutes ago,” Rob said.

“
Did they remember their
permission slips?” Mila asked.

“
All taken care of,” Rob
answered, without going into any details. He placed some dishes in
the sink, walked over to Mila, and hugged her. “How was
work?”

“
Long,” she answered.
“Arleen is at it again. Basket case.”

Mila was convinced that
Arleen, her hopelessly combative shift supervisor, had it in for
her.
She took her purse and hung it on a
nearby coat rack.

“
Hungry?” Rob
asked.

“
Not now,” Mila said. “I
think I’m just going to lie down.”

Rob poured the rest of his
coffee out in the sink.
“Sounds good. I’ve
got to get ready for work.”

Mila voiced trailed down the hall.
“Thanks for getting them off to their field trip. I know Kelly was
really excited.”

“
My pleasure.”

Rob turned and followed
her down the hall.
“So I was thinking,
maybe we should spend some time at the cabin this weekend. Get
re-adjusted to the place.”

“
I’d love to,” Mila said.
Then her face dropped, along with her enthusiasm. “But I have to
work a double on Saturday.”

“
How many times are they
going to do that to you?”

“
They’re short of
nurses.”

“
They’re always short
nurses,” Rob said. “Tell them to hire more.”

Mila rolled her eyes. “Not happening.
They’re supposedly stretched financially thin as it is.”

Rob put his arms around her and pulled
her close, trying to provide some comfort to her obvious stress.
“We’ll have all our debts paid off soon. Trust me.”

“
I know,” Mila
said.

Rob finally got to what he wanted to
talk about. “We need to start talking about prepping. The kids need
to be out in the wilderness more. I’m concerned that they’re too
green right now.”

With her vacant eyes and
frown, it seemed a topic Mila wasn’t in the mood to explore.
She
put her finger to his lips.
“We should talk about this later. I’m very
tired.”

Rob let it drop. But it was something
he wasn’t going to let up on. Mila went off to bed while he
showered and got ready for work. The start of a normal
day.

Adapt or Die

Pro-Survival was located
two blocks from Main Street in downtown Nyack and about three miles
from where Rob lived. After parking his
blue Chevy Impala
, Rob got a coffee
and bagel and headed to work. The brisk morning walk down the
street from the coffee place was exactly what he needed. Rob’s shop
was sandwiched between a thrift store and a book store and seemed
to fit right into the eclectic mix.

The modestly busy downtown
area had an assortment of restaurants, cafes, bars, markets, hair
salons, and other specialty shops. Several franchises had also
moved in over the years, but his
main
competitor was the West Nyack shopping mall.
Rob, however, felt he had a niche market and catered to the
needs of his customers in ways the mall couldn’t. So he
believed.

The main issue he faced
was with his landlord, Mr. Clayton. Rent offers were coming in from
places with much deeper pockets than his own. And to make matters
worse, Clayton had increased rent every year
, blaming it on the economy and other external factors. Rob
couldn’t really say that he blamed him.

He unlocked the front entrance to his
shop while holding his coffee and bagel in the other hand. The
glass door had a Closed sign hanging above and bars on the window.
Two windows on each side of the entrance displayed camouflage
camping gear and various bug-out bags.

The shop’s
motto, written on the door said, “Adapt or Die.”
Non-preppers shopped there for camping and outdoors supplies.
Preppers, however, came for the survival gear.
Next door to him was the
Thrift N’
Save, owned and operated by an older man named Bernie, an antique
enthusiast. He had wild, white hair and often wore Hawaiian shirts
and flip-flops.

On Mondays, Bernie usually swung and
talked his ear off for a little bit. That morning, he was nowhere
to be seen. Rob was relieved. His other neighbor, Carol, ran World
of Books, an independent book seller. She was a pleasant-enough,
outspoken red-haired woman. But she and Bernie never didn’t get
along. Different personalities.

He entered in shop and flipped the
light switch near the door. A line of long, fluorescent hanging
bulbs lit up in unison, casting light across a long glass display
counter in the corner by the register. In the center of the
two-thousand square shop sat four rows of shelves stocked with
goods and a display wall in the back with various carry bags and
prepper apparel hanging on hooks.

Rob placed his coffee on the counter
near the register and looked around. Everything was just how he’d
left it the day before. As sole owner, proprietor, and employee, he
spent six days a week there. It was hard to believe that two years
had already passed since he’d first opened his doors.

He usually spent the first part of his
day on-line surfing prepper sites and keeping up with the latest
items. He went behind the sales counter, turned on a nearby radio,
and took a seat where his laptop sat.

A little light rock music
helped get his gears turning.
Computer
time consisted of working on his prepper blog during the slow hours
of the morning. Things usually picked up later in the day and on
weekends. He took a sip of coffee, and just as he turned on his
laptop, Bernie walked in.

“
Hiya, Robbie. What’s the
good word?”

Rob looked up and paused. Bernie was
wearing a beige suit, black tie, and dress shoes. It was an
unexpected sight, to say the least.

“
Nothing much, Bernie. How
about yourself?” Rob said, looking back at the computer
screen.

Bernie
didn
’t seem to notice Rob’s busy
distraction. Instead, he waltzed into the store and leaned against
the counter, tapping on the glass.

“
What do ya think? Is it
me?”

Typing, Rob looked
up.
“Oh, it’s you, all right. Where’d you
get it?”

“
Customer dropped it off
last week. Got it pressed and just trying it on for my big
day.”

Rob nodded. “Mmmm.”

“
Jury duty,” Bernie
said.

Rob looked up.
“Jury duty?”

“
First time in my life.”
Bernie laughed. “You know, at sixty-five, I didn’t know if I’d ever
get a chance. Can you imagine that, someone actually
wanting
to have jury
duty?”

“
Hard to imagine. For
sure,” Rob said.

“
Well, I think it’ll be
exciting. What if I get on some high-profile murder
case?”

“
That would be something,”
Rob said, scrolling his blog they talked. He had been thinking
about his next post: Five ways to prepare for a financial
collapse.

Bernie moved down the
counter and switched topics.
“What’re you
workin’ on there, buddy?”

Rob was slow to respond.
His fingers typed wildly across the keyboard.
“Oh… Um, just some work stuff. Posting to my prepper
blog.”

Bernie snapped his
fingers.
“Ooo! You should do something
about the Russians. You see what they’re up to?”

“
Yeah, a lot of crazy
stuff,” Rob said, with indifference.

“
That’s not the half of
it. They’ve taken the Ukraine. They’re moving in on Poland. I’m
telling ya’, these guys can’t be trusted. They’re trying to build
the Soviet Union back up.”

“
No surprise there,” Rob
said.

Bernie’s tone
intensified.
“But we have to do something.
Wouldn’t you agree? They could nuke us some day.”

Rob looked up
again.
“What time is your jury duty,
anyway?”

Bernie
backed away from the counter and shot Rob a cockeyed glare.
“Oh, I see how it is. Can’t talk to ol’ Bern, eh? Too busy?” He
pulled on his sleeve and looked at his wrist watch. “You know what,
Parker? I think I’m due at the courthouse about now.”
He then stormed off toward the exit.

Rob tried calling him
back.
“Oh, come on. It was an honest
question!”

Bernie stopped at the door
and turned around.
“Look into what Russia
is doing right now. That’s what you should be blogging about. Not
some post about booby traps.”

Rob waved.
“I’m not a journalist, but I’ll look into it.
Fair enough?”