The Pulse: An EMP Prepper Survival Tale (2 page)

He stopped next to an oak tree and drew his
binoculars, surveying the area intently for any signs of wildlife.
It was slightly after dawn. Sunlight beamed through the looming
pines and big-leafed magnolia trees. James adored the woods. It was
his sanctuary. He reveled in the quietness of the early morning.
Birds called to each other to signal the rise of a new day.
Squirrels leaped and dived among the native Georgia pines.
Witnessing nature's daily revival was a simple experience James
cherished. Next to hunting.

James Cook, a Georgia native, was in his
fifties, fifty-five to be exact. He had always been somewhat of a
woodsman but had moved to Milledgeville following a divorce from
his wife of twenty-five years. They had been separated for a little
over six years now. Their split was mutual for the most part. They
had a son, Cliff, who lived in California with his wife and kids.
James was hard pressed to think that the rambunctious boy he once
knew now had a wife and kids of his own.

Living in rural Milledgeville had created a
rift between him and his son. They weren't estranged , but James
rarely heard from Cliff lately. They both lived different lives.
James was a college instructor who taught history at Georgia
College in Milledgeville. Cliff worked in real estate development,
selling land for high prices to businesses and corporations.
Through it all, Cliff couldn't understand James' lifestyle any more
than James could understand Cliff's. Cliff drove a Prius while
James drove a pick-up truck. Cliff didn't know how to cook, whereas
James killed and skinned his own game for food. Cliff liked the
city and moved his family to San Diego, whereas James considered
living in the city to be problematic on all accounts. He didn't
like the tight spaces, the noise, the pollution, the population
density, and the high taxes.

As a Marine and Gulf War Veteran, James had
fought in Operation Desert Storm and Desert Shield in the early
1990s. He was eighteen when he joined as an infantry man and served
for four years. When he returned home from active duty, he had been
shaped him into a different person. He had made it to the rank of
Sergeant and would probably have stayed in longer had not his wife,
Anne, pressured him to come home and get out. They had married
before he left, and James soon decided that a long-term military
career was not what he wanted, for himself or their relationship,
despite whatever positive qualities he had gained from his
experiences. After returning home, James enrolled in college to
earn the only degree that made sense to him: history. Though his
parents said it was a worthless pursuit and Anne had her doubts,
James stubbornly pursued the goal he wanted and didn't stop until
he achieved it.

As a woodsman, James
believed in the concept of self-sufficiency, so much so that he
immersed himself in the lifestyle of a "prepper." The very nature
of being a prepper was about being prepared. James foresaw a
national breakdown on the horizon, the likes of which had not been
seen in the history of the United States. He saw disaster in the
future. By 2020, the national debt had reached—coincidentally
enough
—
twenty
trillion dollars. Unemployment was a staggering 25 percent, and a
record number of 150 million people were not working. He believed
that the nation's economy, one way or another, was destined to
collapse; it was a matter of economic law. When the Federal Reserve
could borrow no more, it would trigger the fall. And this was for
starters.

An economic crash, as far as James was
concerned, demanded careful rationing of all life's most basic
necessities. James lived in a large four-bedroom house stocked with
preserved food of all kinds. His stores included dried food, canned
food, frozen food, and pickled food, enough to last for more than a
year in the event of a food shortage. He had an impressive amount
of fuel reserves locked in a pinewood shed that James built
himself. The house ran on well water that could be pumped by hand
if necessary. Solar panels aligned the roof generating a moderate
amount of electricity—enough to power the lights if needed. The
house also had two backup generators in the event of a major power
outage. He drove a '75 Ford F-150 diesel pick-up truck,
manufactured before computer components were installed in all
modern vehicles.

Through the years, he had performed regular
maintenance on the truck to keep it in the best condition possible.
It was an antique as far as anyone else was concerned. The looks he
got when driving the truck around town were worth the price of
admission. For James, choosing that particular truck was a
strategic decision. He had read that vehicles manufactured before
the 1980s didn't have computer parts susceptible to EMPs. After
doing some extensive research, James became a believer in the
threat of EMPs and could think of nothing worse, aside from a
nuclear attack. Nothing would push the country faster to the brink
of collapse than the loss of power and electricity.

He was living in serious
times, although most he knew people were oblivious. There was no
silver lining in sight. James's plan was to live off the land the
best he could in the event of the inevitable. But he wasn't the
only one. James was one of a small group of individuals who had
agreed to work together in the event of an economic meltdown or
natural disaster. He was the caretaker of the bug-out house they
had purchased together, chosen for its remote and tranquil
location. They had all met through a local on-line chat group while
trying to find answers to the unknown: how to survive the tide of
uncertainty in 21
^st-
century America. There
was a young couple who lived in Savannah, a family who lived in
Atlanta, and James. Together, they were part of a prepper group
determined to make it through their once-vibrant and free nation's
impending collapse.

Chapter Three

The Couple

Sunday September 20, 8:05 a.m. Savannah,
GA.

If there was one thing Mark Moss paid
attention to, it was finances. He and his wife, Janice, lived in a
small, two-story, two-bedroom house in the suburbs of Savannah.
They seemed the picture-perfect young American couple. They hadn't
any children yet and had only been married four years. So far, they
had been happy. Mark didn't see any point in rushing things.
Circumstances, such as work and money, played a role in their
ambiguity about starting a family. Janice, however, felt that it
was time. At twenty-eight, she had begun to grow concerned, but
hadn't yet figured out how to express her feelings about it to
Mark. She wasn't sure if he'd understand. Marriage so far had been
wonderful.

Mark was thirty-one, and had a full head of
dirty blond hair. To him, there was no rush. Janice had always
wanted children, but it never seemed like the right time to talk
about it. That morning, they sat across from each other in the
kitchen, sipping coffee and reading the morning paper. Mark had a
lot on his mind. He had just started a new job working at a Nissan
dealership, and after two weeks of long hours and tireless efforts
at making a good first impression, he had made six sales.

He was giddy with a kind of excitement not
shown in months. After walking away from a low-paying job in retail
management at a clothing factory outlet store, Mark had his first
full-time job. Mrs. Andrews, his boss at the dealership had asked
if he would meet her for coffee the next morning for a casual
discussion. That was how she had put it. Mark had no idea what that
meant, or why she had requested face-to-face so soon. His mind
raced as he began to over-think the entire scenario.

"Just quit thinking about it," Janice said,
interrupting his train of thought. She could tell, just by looking
at him, that he was worried. "She asked you to coffee for a casual
discussion. Probably just to assess your thoughts about the job.
Think about it; if they were going to fire you, she wouldn't waste
the time. Not on someone who's only been there for two weeks."

Mark thought to himself. “I hope you're
right.”

The television was on in the living room.
Inane banter of the Sunday talk shows could be heard at low volume.
Windbags pundits talked in circles about the economy, and how to
fix it. For most Americans, money was tight, no matter who you
were, where you lived, or what you did for a living. The super-rich
were mainly unaffected; they always would be. So were the
politicians. But for most people, any attempt to make an honest
living was a struggle.

Mark and Janice felt that they were
financially hanging on by a thread, and it was for this very reason
they strayed from the subject of pregnancy. Mark may have been
using it as an excuse not to have children, for all Janice knew.
She was suspicious. Mark laid his touchscreen tablet on the table
and spread some cream cheese on nearby blueberry bagel. He flashed
Janice a quick smile and took a bite. It tasted perfect.

Sunday was their day. It was a time when they
could spend the entire day together. Mark looked forward to it, as
did Janice. They worked so much during the week that they rarely
saw or spoke to one another until the weekend. Janice worked for a
hiring agency in town, often deluged with the job-seeking
unemployed. She saw first-hand the results of a faltering
economy.

“We're coming back from it; I can just feel
it," one of the pundits declared from the television set. The
talking heads had an answer for everything but weren't telling
people what was really going on, as far as Mark was concerned. He
tuned them out most of the time. He had to if he didn't want to
lose his mind.

Mark and Janice were similar in many regards.
They both came from working-class families, both had only
associate’s degrees, and a slight amount of student debt as a
result. Neither one of them could afford to go back to school for a
bachelor’s degree.

"We'd never be able to pay them back. It's
one giant trap," Mark had said. Janice tended to agree. If they
saved up enough money, one of them could finish college, but they
hadn't got there yet. They invested in gold and silver for
financially stability in case of an economic collapse. Having
silver served the same purpose. It was a solid commodity, and would
come in handy if the dollar lost value during hyperinflation. Their
investments were small, and it was money they didn't have, but it
was necessary, they felt, to have something outside of cash, credit
cards, and a bank account.

They lived a frugal lifestyle and strived to
be debt-free, though they weren't perfect. They did the best they
could do. Sunday was not the day to worry about it. They were
fortunate enough to have one day out of the week not to think about
work, money, and wave after wave of distressing economic news
reports. They sat in their bathrobes—Mark wore plaid, Janice wore
blue—in the natural light of their kitchen, and enjoyed each
other’s company. Sunday was their day to relax.

"So what do you want to do today?" Janice
asked after taking a sip of cappuccino. She knew what he was going
to say. Mark said the same thing every week. He looked at her
through the lens of his horn-rimmed glasses. "I don't know. What do
you wanna do?"

"We could go for a walk," Janice
suggested.

Mark smiled. "You need a dog for a walk.
Otherwise people just think you're weird."

Janice gave him a disapproving look in
return. She even crossed her arms to emphasize her displeasure.

"I'm kidding, only kidding," he said,
extending his arm toward her.

"Very funny," Janice said back. "We can't
afford a dog."

Mark looked up, surprised. "Look who's
telling jokes now," he said.

She knew she could get to him. Even with
their jabs, there was still plenty of love between them. They had a
rare combination of love and understanding, two fulfilling
assurances in a marriage. Mark took another bite of his bagel, and
the subject soon moved on to other matters.

When was the last time we checked our food
stock?" he asked.

Janice thought to herself for a moment. "Um.
I'm not sure. It's been a few months."

"Try a year. We're slipping, Janice. A lot of
it is probably expired by now. We should clean out the basement
today, and re-stock."

It was the last thing Janice wanted to do
with her Sunday. She answered Mark with little enthusiasm. "I don't
want to spend our entire day rummaging through the basement. I need
a break, Mark, we both need a break."

Mark didn't want an argument. He scratched
his chin, took the last bite of his blueberry bagel, and pushed the
plate away. "Tell you what we'll do. Let's go to the park today.
Then we'll hit up the farmer's market."

"I'd like that," Janice said. "I need to
swing by the book store too."

"Anything you desire," Mark said in a mock
thespian voice. He got up from his chair and walked over to Janice,
placing a kiss on her cheek. "Would you like to join me in the
shower?" he asked, rubbing her shoulders.

"No way," Janice replied, pushing him away.
"You're a water hog."

Mark walked off laughing
toward the bedroom. Janice took another sip from her mug, and got
up to turn the television off. The talking heads continued to
theorize about economic conditions. She had heard enough and shut
it off with the push on the remote. Mark and Janice were preppers
every bit as concerned about the future as James, their counterpart
in Milledgeville. Except they had gotten comfortable, and prepping
was not as important them as of late. Their investment in the
bug-out house was the greatest commitment they had made yet. They
also owned a bug-out vehicle, which sat in the garage, and hadn't
been started in months. Their interest in prepping waned as other
priorities took over, and they were fairly certain that their
prepping skills would never
really
be put to the test.