NightFall

by Roger Hayden

  “I know I gave it to you last, Dad. You said that you were going to sign it.”

  Rob went straight to the microwave and opened it.

  “And I did.” Rob pulled the plate out of the microwave and set it on the counter. “We’ll find your permission slip before the bus gets here, I promise.” He slid on the tile over to the coffee maker and turned it off. “Now have a seat and eat your breakfast.”

  On the table were two plates and two glasses of orange juice.

  “I don’t eat those things,” Kelly said.

  Rob looked perplexed. “Oh. Well, have some Froot Loops or something.” He went to the pantry, pulled out a box, and set it on the table.

  “That’s OK,” she said, pushing the box away. “I’ll just get something out of the vending machine at school.”

  “No. We don’t buy cereal so you can spend your allowance on candy at school.”

  Already behind schedule, Rob’s day was off to a hectic start. The school bus was going to arrive soon, and he couldn’t find Kelly’s permission field trip permission slip.

  His thirteen-year-old son, Josh, walked into the kitchen with his backpack over his shoulder and his iPod earbuds in place watching Rob riffle through the kitchen drawers.

  “You guys are still looking for that thing?” he asked, tossing his bag on the counter. He grabbed a sausage biscuit from the table and devoured it. Rob was too distracted to answer. Josh reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Well, I’ve got mine. Better luck next time.”

  “Don’t say that! It’s around here somewhere,” Kelly said, defensively.

  Rob looked at his iPhone. “You sure about that?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Right, Dad?”

  Rob slammed the last drawer shut pulled up a stool next to Kelly. “Now think real hard. Are you sure that I didn’t give it back to you?”

  Kelly folded her arms. “You didn’t. If you did, I would have it.”

  Stuck for an answer, Rob thought to himself, trying to play each step back in his mind.

  Josh looked at his phone through bushy-blond bangs. “Bus will be here in ten minutes.” He scooted out from the table, grabbed his backpack and left the kitchen.

  “You could be more helpful here, you know,” Rob called out.

  Josh stopped in the adjacent living room and turned to face them. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Help us find this thing,” Rob said. “If your sister can’t go, you can’t go. How do you like that?”

  Josh stared back. “You can’t do that.”

  Rob leaned back on his stool with his arms crossed. “I’m your father. I can do anything that I want.”

  “But it’s not my—”

  Rob stopped him. “Start helping us look.”

  Josh turned and stormed off toward his room, muttering under his breath.

  “Dad, look,” Kelly said.

  She was staring ahead, over his shoulder, wide-eyed.

  He turned and could see it pinned on the refrigerator. The Rob stood up and walked over. A small note had been placed over the slip from Mila, his wife, addressed to Kelly: Don’t forget your permission slip. Have fun! Love, Mom.

  Rob snatched the signed permission slip from the fridge and handed it to her.

  “Well… I guess that clears it up.”

  Kelly held the paper in her hands, relieved, but wanting vindication. She then looked up at Rob. “I told you that you never gave it to me.”

  Rob humbly bowed to her. “Accept my deepest apologies, fair maiden.”

  Kelly ran out of the kitchen with the paper in hand.

  “Don’t lose it,” Rob said jokingly.

  He then went to the counter and poured some coffee into his Brooklyn Dodgers mug, contemplating his day. After the kids went off to school, there was much work to be done. Their field trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art would last all day.

  Josh walked into the kitchen, ready to go. “Kelly told me it was on the refrigerator the entire time?” he said.

  “That’s correct. How’d you miss it?” Rob retorted.

  Josh shook his head and walked toward the door when Rob called him back. “Wait for your sister.”

  Josh stopped. “Ugh. She takes forever.”

  Rob approached him at the door. “You need to look out for Kelly, you know,” he said, placing a hand on Josh’s shoulder.

  Josh looked down and he began to shift impatiently.

  Rob continued. “You remember what it’s like to be in sixth grade, right? New school with new people.”

  Josh looked up. “She has the same friends from last grade, Dad. Just a different school.”

  “That’s not my point. She needs you there for her. You’re her big brother. Understand?”

  Josh nodded. Kelly emerged from the hallway and into the foyer wearing a pink hooded jacket under her backpack.

  “You all ready?” Rob asked.

  Kelly said “yes” and smiled.

  “OK, gotta go,” Josh said, impatiently.

  “Hold on, guys.” Rob leaned down and hugged Kelly. “Stick close to each other and enjoy the museum.”

  He then turned to Josh and gave him a hug, despite his son’s futile resistance. “Remember what I said. Love you guys. Have fun today.”

  The kids said goodbye and left the house. The sun was just rising as cars from the neighborhood street passed by—commuters going to work.

  Rob waved to them and watched as they walked down the front lawn and onto the sidewalk to their bus stop at the end of the road. Once they were out of view, he closed the door. The house was quiet again, except for the television in the living room.

  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 r
eady 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?”

&nb
sp; “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?”

  “Sure, sure,” Bernie said. “No hard feelings. I really do have to get to the courthouse.”

  “Good luck,” Rob said. Bernie waved back and left the store. Everything went quiet again except for the light rock playing softly and the hum of the air conditioner. His edit screen was open, and he had only typed the title of his economy post. He deleted it and instead added: A Coming War with Russia?