Starting Point (Doomsday Preppers)

by Elle Aycart

  Once they reached the cabin, he didn’t bother waking her up. He scooped her up gently and walked inside. He placed her on the bed, took the rubber boots off her, and, still childishly pissed about Marc’s clothes, covered her with the quilt.

  While he was at it, he noticed her hands were closed in tight fists, and his stomach dropped to his feet. Her nails appeared to be digging into her palms too. He tried to unclench her fingers—and as soon as he managed it, she grabbed his hand. She was still asleep, but she didn’t look so tense anymore.

  He sat on the side of the bed, Megan holding his hand, and watched her, ready to stay there the whole damn night if need be.

  Chapter 4

  Megan had just woken up when she heard a horn blaring outside the cabin. She opened the door, noticing as she did that she was still wearing the borrowed scarecrow outfit from the day before. Whatever. The light was blinding. Squinting, she managed to make out a silhouette next to a truck. It was Alec. “What’s with all the ruckus first thing in the morning?”

  He let out a raspy laugh. “It’s past noon, sleepyhead. Come on. Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Sunday market in town. You need supplies if you’re going to make dinner for me tonight.”

  Right. “Give me ten minutes. Five,” she yelled as she ran inside.

  She washed her face, smiling at the thought of Elastigirl and the whole mess. She must have fallen asleep on the ride back, because she didn’t recall how she’d made it home. She brushed her hair with her fingers, threw on some clothes, and dashed out.

  She grabbed the plastic cup Alec handed her after she jumped into the truck. “Thank you. No hangover tea, right?”

  He knocked her out with that sexy smile of his. “Nope. Good old coffee, I swear.”

  “Great. Let’s go,” she said, buckling up and trying to regain her bearings. “I love small-town markets. Checking out the local crafts. I love handmade things.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not that kind of market, although they’ve got the handmade part down pat,” he muttered. “Anyway, I thought we could also get something there you’re going to need in case you lock yourself out of the cabin again.”

  Megan had very fuzzy memories of town. She’d gone in maybe a couple of times when she was young, but she remembered it being much bigger. And less run down. If she blinked, she might have missed Main Street, although at the moment it was full of stands and people.

  Alec parked at the far end, and as they walked back to the stands, a man carrying a pile of clothes approached. She realized they were camo outfits—in four different patterns, from dark green to white.

  “Hi, Jacob,” Alec greeted him. “Setting up your table?”

  “Wow, so many patterns,” she whispered.

  Jacob smiled at her. “Of course! You never know when the Soviets might attack. You need to blend with your surroundings regardless of the season.” He turned to Alec. “See you in a bit.”

  “Are we expecting the Soviets?” Megan asked when Jacob was gone. “Because, considering the regime fell many decades ago, that would be a hell of a surprise.”

  Alec chuckled. “I told you, people around here like to be prepared for anything. Some scenarios are more plausible than others.”

  No shit. “What other implausible scenarios are there?”

  “Well, it actually depends on who you’re asking. For me, the most implausible scenarios are zombie apocalypse and alien invasion. Natural disasters are more plausible, although the one about Earth shifting on its axis not so much. Man-made disasters I totally buy. But that’s just me.

  “You see that lady cleaning her hands with disinfectant, the one whose table is full of hazmat suits and gas masks? That’s Carol, a member of the pandemic squad. She believes the world is a flu away from extinction. The man with the tuned garbage cans is Monroe. He’s preparing for an electromagnetic pulse that will disable anything with electronics in it. The garbage cans are DIY Faraday cages to protect your gadgets. Over there is part of my crew.” He lifted his chin to a group of beefy guys dressed in camo, Marc among them. Their stand was covered with… protein bars and MREs?

  She looked at Alec in confusion, then around her, and then she noticed the banner at the bottom of Main Street: Preppers’ Market. “Oh my God. I’ve seen this on TV. You’re not hoarders. You’re doomsday preppers, aren’t you?”

  “Doomsday preppers sounds so gloomy, though, boss. ‘Survivalists’ sounds better.”

  Megan surveyed the stands. There was no pottery or jewelry or fresh produce. There were oxygen masks, camo outfits, homemade booze, shelf-stable foods, and a whole bunch of things she had no clue about.

  “The first Sunday of every month, we hold a market where you can barter or buy goods,” he explained.

  Megan began to laugh. “God, she would had loved this sooo much.”

  “Jess, right?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s not exactly picture-perfect small-town America, but—”

  “This is brilliant,” she interrupted him.

  He looked suspicious. “Brilliant?”

  “Brilliantly nuts?” she offered and grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s check out the goodies.”

  Soon she realized the whole town knew Alec. Although he didn’t seem to be one for casual chitchat, every person they encountered greeted him.

  Their first stop was at Marc’s stand, so Megan could apologize for not having his clothes with her. The men exchanged a few words and nods, every inch the stoic, no-nonsense soldiers.

  After wandering around for a while, Alec stopped to buy a heat blanket and a thin, rectangular magnet. At her questioning glance, he just shrugged. Then they approached a stand full of beers. “Adam, our very own microbrewer. Talented guy.”

  “Why so much booze?” she asked. The stand next to Adam’s was also full of different drinks. She had no clue what they were, as the labels were handwritten, but both stands were very popular.

  “Booze is like gold for a prepper, boss. You can drink it. You can use it as an antiseptic if you’re injured. You can fuel a vehicle with it or use it as currency. And it takes a lot of tinkering to learn to make it well. When shit hits the fan, you don’t want to start brewing your own booze.” He winked at her. “You know, what with running away from zombies and all, the last thing you need to worry about is being struck blind or worse by badly distilled alcohol.”

  True. Sad, but true.

  Passing over a stand full of coffee, they chose one with different sorts of tea. A very friendly girl was there. “Yo, Alec, in need of more hangover tea?”

  “No. Megan, this is Shayna, our local tea expert.”

  “Not one of our finest concoctions in terms of taste,” Shayna admitted. “But it works wonders.”

  “Yes, it does,” Megan assented. “I can attest to that.”

  “Good to have you back,” Shayna said to Alec. “Tell Sean to take care of his own clients. We need you here. These people are slacking off without you riding their asses and organizing emergency drills.”

  “You’re their boss?” Megan squeaked.

  Alec lifted his hands. “Absolutely not. They were already like this when I got here. I just organized them and brought them into the twenty-first century, technology-wise. Except for the pandemic squad. They don’t follow orders well. They like to fly solo and arrange their own drills. You wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve gotten a call because someone in NoName woke to find their house under quarantine and they couldn’t get out.”

  Wow. The lady with the disinfectant had seemed so sweet and innocent.

  Shayna got a customer, so they waved goodbye and continued their stroll. Megan looked around the cramped street. “I don’t recall this many people being here when we were kids. Aren’t small towns dying off? This one is jammed.”

  “That’s not my fault, either. It’s the zombie apocalypse all over TV. Every time a new season of The Walking Dead airs, we get more people. Nothing has do
ne more for prepping than that goddamned series. And Z Nation. We even have a conspiracy YouTuber who visits on weekends. Conspiracy theorists around here used to talk about who killed Kennedy. Now? They theorize about the Malaysia Flight 370 disappearance.”

  “What’s the consensus?” Megan asked, amused.

  “Aliens.”

  Of course. “I think Google Maps found that plane.”

  “Google? That’s a forbidden word. Most people around here believe Google is assembling data to turn us all into mindless clones. Don’t even mention 23andMe to them—you may get kicked out of town.”

  “You mean the company that takes a sample of your DNA and tells you who your ancestors were? That’s all over the place.”

  He assented. “Uh-huh. Personally, I’m not a fan of any corporation taking my DNA and storing it for God knows what purposes. I wouldn’t go so far as to say they’re gonna clone us, but I’m suspicious of shit like that.”

  “I see you guys are big on conspiracy theories,” she said. “I guess you also have people who still believe the earth is flat.”

  “No, but the moon landing is totally up for debate.”

  Nuts.

  “What about her?” Megan asked, indicating Shayna. “What is she prepping for? The zombie apocalypse?”

  Alec laughed. “Shayna was born here. She’s ready for any and all mayhem. Plus she’s an ex-Marine, so she has what it takes to back up all the talk. Let’s head over there.” He pointed at a table full of canned food. “I knew you were hoping for fresh produce, but preppers aren’t too keen on fresh; they prefer durability and long shelf life. They grow their own stuff and either eat it right then or preserve it. Believe it or not, this is the best stroganoff in the country,” he declared, grabbing a jar of what looked like beef and brown sauce. “If they gave Michelin stars for prepper food, this would get three. You’d never know it was canned five years ago.”

  She must not have looked convinced, because he added, “Okay, we can stop by the drugstore too.”

  “You were right. This stroganoff is spectacular,” Megan said, licking the fork. After leaving the market, they had shopped at the town’s lone drugstore, buying egg noodles and frozen veggies to accompany the meat. They shouldn’t have. The meat had been the star of the show.

  “I told you, boss.”

  “I didn’t believe you. I thought it would taste like cardboard.”

  He put more stroganoff on her plate. “Nope. You know how they say that the world is nine meals away from anarchy?

  “Nine meals?”

  “Yeah—the average amount of food a normie has in their cupboard. If you keep them away from the grocery store any longer than that, chaos ensues. That does not apply to this town. We’ll still be eating gourmet food for years after the world ends.”

  She hated to admit it, but he was right. She took a sip of the beer he had bought at the market. Very good too. “Tell me honestly, Bonehead—all this talk about the end of the world… you don’t really believe it, do you?”

  Alec became pensive. “You know, during my deployment overseas, I saw a lot of people whose world ended in a second, and it wasn’t pretty. Not by a long shot. No food, no law, no protection for civilians. I believe in being prepared and being able to defend the ones I love. I want them to survive anything and everything. Once the basic structure of society collapses, there’s nothing but chaos left. And you wouldn’t believe how fast things can turn to shit, or how bad it can get for the population.”

  “Pessimistic much?” she asked, continuing to stuff herself with meat.

  “It’s not a question of optimism. You don’t prepare for the best day of your life. What you have to prepare for is your worst.”

  “What if they never do? Turn to shit, I mean. What if the end of the world as we know it doesn’t happen?”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His caramel eyes sparkled in the light from the fireplace and the lantern on the table. It was a lethal combination. “You need to switch literary genres from romance to apocalyptic horror, sweetheart. You’ll get it then.”

  As if. “No, thanks. I’m sticking with romance. I’ve had enough horror for a lifetime, apocalyptic or otherwise.”

  “Preppers want peace of mind in the face of the insecurities of life. A sense of control, if you will. Some years back we hit a very rough weather patch. We were totally disconnected from the rest of the state, with no help coming from the government. Up here you can only rely on yourself and your neighbor. That’s about it. We are a self-sufficient, resilient bunch. And very proud of that.” He grinned. “You know how the saying goes: everyone makes fun of the redneck until the zombie apocalypse.”

  “Is that a saying?” Because she’d never heard it in her life. Granted, she’d spent thirty-odd years in Seattle, and she was a city girl through and through. Still.

  “You bet it is, at least around here. I don’t think we have to wait for the zombie part, though. You don’t need zombies for shit to go FUBAR. Real live humans are bad enough.”

  “True,” she muttered, and finished off her stroganoff. Before leaving town, she was sooo asking for the recipe.

  Then again, maybe not. When would she have the time to cook it?

  “Let’s put on some music,” she said, walking to the coffee table where her cellphone and earbuds were. She unplugged them and sat on the fluffy rug, her back against the sofa. She patted the spot next to her. “Join me?”

  Alec walked over, two bottles of beer in his hands, and handed one to her. Then he sat by her side.

  “You sure we can drink more beer? What if Marc calls with another emergency?”

  Alec shook his head. “We’re safe, boss. He doesn’t have that much livestock, and none of the rest are pregnant. I asked.”

  “Good. Yesterday was as much as my poor heart can take,” she confessed, scrolling through her playlists. “Here.”

  BTS started playing and she jammed to it. “Fii-yerrr!”

  Alec looked at her, cringing. “Your taste in music has changed a lot. What band is this and what language are they singing in?”

  She laughed. “This is K-pop, my friend. The best thing to come out of South Korea since kimchi. Remember how I told you Jess loved TV shows about small-town America? Well, she loved K-drama too, and K-pop. This is a boy band called BTS.”

  He glanced at the photo on the screen, then took her cell out of her hands to bring it closer to his eyes. “Are you sure they’re boys? That’s some fashion sense.”

  She rolled her eyes. If Jess could have heard, she would have been so appalled. “Young men have different beauty standards in Asia. Some are… pretty. They call them flower boys.”

  He studied the image. “Huh. Gotta hand it to the guy, he carries off that flowered jacket with panache. That one dressed in pink and orange—even his hair is pink.”

  “Don’t mock it till you’ve tried it.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. Orange and pink are not my colors.”

  She thought they looked good in orange and pink, but that argument was totally lost on men like Alec. “Say whatever you want, but they’re mega-famous. Idols.” And they could dance like gods, but that again was another lost argument on Alec. “Jess used to walk the halls wearing what she called the trifecta of idols: black mask, sunglasses, and hoodie. That’s how they avoid being photographed by the paparazzi. You wouldn’t believe the way visitors looked at her—because of course everything else she wore was hospital issue.”

  Alec downed some of his beer. “You and Jess were very close.”

  Megan nodded. “She was my roommate on and off for years.” They had written their wills together. And planned their funerals. Megan had watched Jess die. Those details, though, were nothing but a big conversation stopper. “Sometimes, if the victim was healthy and she knew him, Jess would jump on his back.” At Alec’s puzzled expression, she explained, “That’s a typical move in K-dramas. The heroine gets drunk and the hero piggybacks her home. Have you ever seen
one?” He gave her an are-you-fucking-serious look, and she laughed. “Okay, okay. I figured. The girls are always tripping over their own feet and falling. They sprain their ankles as often as you or I might sneeze. And don’t get me started about their expressions when the heroes kiss them. Oh God, they look like frozen fish, eyes open so wide it’s painful to look at. You wouldn’t believe how many times we yelled at the screen. We used to throw stuffed animals at it.”

  “If it was so painful, why did you keep watching?”

  Good question. “I don’t know. Some scenes, especially the ones including any kind of skinship, are like watching a train accident in slow motion—you’re horrified, but you can’t look away. Yet those shows have something I can’t describe. They’re addictive. Oh, and the male shower scenes? Big, big selling point.”

  He smiled. “You know a lot about K-drama.”

  “You don’t say,” she replied, tilting her head back on the sofa cushions. “Jess was learning Korean for our trip. We were going to eat spicy chicken feet at the street stalls. And stuffed pig intestines, udon noodles, and rice cakes. We were going to drink soju bombs, get drunk, and hope some nice flower boys would piggyback us back to the hotel. But we didn’t have time.”

  His face went somber. “I’m sorry. I know how hard it is to lose people you care about.”

  “Thanks. I bought takeout for her from a popular Korean restaurant in Seattle. Spicy chicken feet and rice cakes—but it wasn’t the same by a long shot.” Head still on the sofa, she looked at him. “And the nurses caught us. Turns out Korean food is smelly,” she finished with a smile.

  She stared at him for a long, long moment, just soaking him in. His rough expression was made sharper by the shadows from the fire, his eyes sparkling intensely. She’d said too much already. Most men would have run for the hills by this point, but it seemed Alec wasn’t scared of this kind of talk. “Why are you here?” she asked softly, her gaze never leaving his.