Max said. “Honey, I don’t know about you, but I keep thinking we may be biting off more than we can chew. When Magnus was talking about the animals, all I could think of was milking goats and chopping off chicken heads. Yuck.”
Dorrie made a face. “Think about killing a little pig and having to gut it and chop it up. Pat and Henry, you remember them, lived a block down from us and drove the red Mustang.”
“Yeah, Pat was a looker.”
“Be glad I didn’t catch you looking,” Dorrie replied, half-joking. “They had a pet pot belly that lived in the house with them. It was the cutest little thing. I can’t imagine killing and eating one.”
Max laughed. “I can’t imagine Kelly letting us. Buying bacon from a store is a lot different from slicing it off the animal. That’s closer to the source than I dreamed I’d be. God, I hope we’re not making a mistake.”
Dorrie stood and went to the kitchen, filled a teakettle with water to heat and returned to the table.
“We’ll make our share of mistakes, but we’ll learn as we go. At least we have ‘nigh on a hundred years’ of King’s knowledge to draw on. He’s a character, isn’t he?”
“A character comes nowhere near describing him. Rascal is more like it. Almost a hundred years old and he’s still playing pissing games. He practically said he could whip me in a fight. That’s the kind of gumption I hope I have at his age.
“I’m glad we met him. Besides a source for animals, knowing his boys will be here guarding our belongings takes a load off my mind. The equipment we stashed in the barn would be a temptation for thieves.”
Dorrie nodded agreement. “His boys aren’t exactly boys. Really big men would be a better description. I met them and their wives while I was at their farm. Jacob, the oldest is about forty-five and Otis is at least forty. Between the two of them, they must have ten kids.
“Their farm looks like a post card. The original main home is on a hill. Built by King’s grandfather. It must be close to a hundred-fifty-years old. Jacob and Otis built their homes with King’s help. They have over two-hundred acres, and all their fields are well laid out and maintained. There’s no junk lying all over like you see on most of the properties around here. They’re genuinely decent people.”
“Glad we have them for neighbors. He did cause me to worry about the ethics of some of the others nearby. I’m glad we have guns. Oh, shit, Dorrie! The rifles and pistols are still in your trunk. They’re unregistered. If the cops pull us over and search, it’ll earn us a trip to jail. I’d bet some of them are illegal under the new gun laws passed during when the new administration decided they had more to fear from the populace than from terrorists. Lying bastards. Where the hell are we going to hide them?”
“Calm down and mind your language, Max. We’ll find a place for the weapons, but words like that is your ticket straight to hell,” Dorrie said, echoing King’s admonishment. She stood in response to the steam whistling from the teapot. “I’m having tea. You want a cup of your instant?”
Kelly solved the gun problem. Acting on her suggestion, they placed the weapons in one of the commercial refrigerators in the basement. She taped a hand written sign on it.
Rotten meat.
Stinks.
Please do not open!!!!
They spent the rest of the day clearing the yards and driveway of two years worth of windblown debris from the pines and oaks shading the home. The next morning Max and Dorrie decided to drive both vehicles back to their house in the suburbs. Dorrie in her car to take the kids by their school to withdraw them, and Max in the truck to cash his severance check and begin the process to close out their checking accounts.
Max went to the bank and cashed the severance checks without hassle. Closing his accounts at his bank was a different story. After talking with a representative, he waited until the bank manager finished with a customer. Max shook the manager’s hand and sat in a chair at the end of his ell-shaped desk. The manager glanced at his computer and then spoke to Max.
“Good morning. I’m Gordon Masters. Mister Henderson, how can I help you today?”
“I want to close my checking and savings accounts.”
Masters glanced at the computer screen again. “The combined balance of your accounts is over thirty-five- thousand dollars. May I ask you why you want so much cash?”
“You can, but may I ask you why you’re asking?”
“Mister Henderson, in the interest of national security, there have been several laws passed that make it a requirement that we ask when amounts over ten-thousand are withdrawn. We have to file a report.”
Max thought fast. “Oh, I see. I didn’t know that, but I can see why there would be some concern. I recently lost my job. Our home is mortgage free. We’re putting it for sale. We have some property that we can put a mobile home on. My wife and I decided it would be a smart idea to have it in place before the home sells.”
“Why not pay with a check? With your credit rating we’d have no problem issuing you a financial instrument up to the limit of your account.”
Max was tired of playing games. “Sir, I have found that having hard cash on hand significantly enhances one’s ability to negotiate a price. It will be to my benefit to find the best deal possible. I want the cash.”
“Yes, yes. I see. There is a mandatory waiting period of two days for the withdrawal. Is it your intention to entirely close your association with our bank?”
“Yes it is.” Max stood to end the conversation. “Today is Monday. What day and time will my money be available?”
Master’s tapped his fingers on the keyboard. “Your funds will be available on Wednesday after one. Let me say we enjoyed having you as an account holder, and our doors are open if you should desire to renew an association. Is there anything else I can assist you with today?”
“No, I think that covers it. Thank you.”
Back at home, Max parked the truck by the curb in front of the house so Dorrie would have access to the driveway. He went inside, made a pot of real coffee, and then took his cup to his office- niche, a computer console, and chair in a corner of the den. A short time later, he came to the realization that accessing his money held in his IRA account was complicated. Using his cell phone, he called an accountant he’d used several years ago. After speaking with him and explaining the reasons why he wanted to close the IRA, the accountant informed him that, because of the failing economy, a large portion of the population breached their retirement accounts early.
The bottom line, Max would have to take a hefty penalty for making an early closeout. Asked where he wanted the money transferred to, Max told him he wanted cash. The only thing the accountant said was possible without a bank account was to have the funds transferred to a prepaid debit card. He assured Max that he could handle the entire transaction and the fee he stated was reasonable.
Max spent several more minutes on the phone, passing on the information the accountant required. He ended the call with the knowledge that another forty-five thousand would be available to him. Goodbye retirement fund.
It was getting close to noon, and Dorrie still had not arrived home with the kids. Max grabbed another cup of coffee and went back to his computer to research which items would be advantageous to have on hand as trade goods in the event of a calamity.
Typing ‘trade goods apocalypse’ in the search bar brought up thousands of websites and forums dedicated to the subject. He compiled a short list of the hundreds of items the survivalists thought would be handy to have on hand. Baby products, tobacco products, feminine hygiene, toilet paper were among the favorites.
As far as tradable foods, he figured a combination of Spam, beans, cornmeal, and powdered milk would be highly desirable if someone were starving. While he had every intention of purchasing more ammunition for the new weapons in his possession, he wasn’t all that keen on trading ammo or arms. He eliminated bulky objects like bicycles and gas grills from the list, not only because they would take up too muc
h room, but also because they were not an item that would be consumed or disappear in the event of a breakdown.
He printed his list and went to the kitchen with the thought to make a sandwich. He turned the radio on. Sitting at the table, with his sandwich and a glass of milk, he heard the front door open, and the rest of his family came bustling in. The kids disappeared up the stairs. Dorrie joined him at the table.
She touched his shoulder as she sat in a chair adjacent to him. “That took forever. We stopped at Subway on the way home. How’d your morning go?”
“Fairly well. Cashed the checks and then went by the bank to close our account. The money won’t be available until Wednesday after lunch. You’ll have to go with me since the accounts are in both our names.
“While I was dealing with finances, I figured I’d called William Higgs, the accountant we used when your grandmother died. He’ll close out my IRA, and we’ll access it with a debit card. That’s thirteen-thousand from the checks. We took a hefty penalty hit for closing early, but the IRA will give us another forty-five thousand. Bank account is another thirty-five. Almost a hundred-grand total.”
“That’s wonderful, Max. I called our Real Estate agent while I was waiting for the school to finish the paperwork. She said if we’re prepared to sell cheap she may already have a buyer that wants to live near her father. I agreed she could bring the prospect over this evening at seven.”
Max stood to turn off the radio. “What are your plans for the rest of today? I made a list of trade items while I was waiting for you. We can go over it and make a list of non-perishables to stockpile. I’m thinking of going to Sam’s Club and filling the truck with a load to take with us to the farm.”
“Good idea. Take the kids with you to help. I need to call about getting satellite for the farm and then I’m going to get on my Kindle and download everything I can about canning and preserving while our debit card on the account is still valid. I do remember one thing from Granny. The lids for the jars come in three parts, and she never reused the inner piece with the rubber gasket. I remember seeing canning supplies at Sam’s. Pick up a few thousand lids if they’re available.”
“Thousands?”
“Yep. Think about how much a family of four can eat in a year. We’ll go through hundreds of jars full, but we have to plan on having them on hand for many years to come.”
“Got you. Thousands.” Max finished the last bite of his sandwich and took his dirty plate and glass to the sink to rinse. “Wait here. I’ll get the list I made and a pad and pen.”
It took longer than Max thought it would to make the list. Dorrie wanted to proceed on the assumption they’d be eating from their garden starting midsummer and from preserved foods during the coming winter. Max insisted they not depend on great success with the first year of gardening, and plan for the possibility of failure. He stressed that even though they could depend on the fact they would work hard and get a garden planted, there was no way to foretell if drought or other conditions beyond their control would occur. Dorrie saw the sensibility behind his concerns.
“Besides, whatever we don’t use become trade goods.” They finished their list, keeping perishable items limited to immediate use until they firmly established themselves at the farm.
Max organized the papers with their lists and called for the kids.
“We’re off to do some serious shopping. Hon, are you sure you don’t need the kids to help straighten the place for the agent this evening?”
“No, our home is always straight. Well, you can take out the trash bag from the kitchen.”
Sam’s Club was only three miles from their home. They rounded up two of the flatbed carts and began shopping.
One of the carts they filled with nearly a thousand rolls of toilet paper. Max had Bobby wheel it to the front and bring another cart. It didn’t take long to load the next cart with cases of canned meat products, tuna, ham, spam, chicken. It took both Kelly and Bobby to push it to the front. While they did that, Max loaded yet another cart with canned meat products, adding a few cases of Vienna sausages even though he doubted they were a nutritionally sound item. That became the system. Load carts and wheel them to the front. Dry and Dehydrated products, pastas, rice, beans, powdered milk and eggs.
In the commercial kitchen section, they discovered many items in sealed, five-gallon tins and buckets. Rice, flour, cornmeal, vegetable oil. After a couple hours, the three were almost a sweaty as when they loaded the truck in Headley’s warehouse.
At the front of the store, Max surveyed the twelve, heavily laden carts, and went to find a store manager. The manager saw the carts and agreed to have several of his employees load the merchandise onto their truck.
The total of their purchases came to ninety-four-hundred, a thousand less than Max had guesstimated. He paid cash and drove the truck into the loading area. Sam’s employees got busy. Again, the lift made the job go smoothly, even so, it was close to six-thirty when they finished.
Max called Dorrie to let her know. In order to not overwhelm the potential buyer with their presence, she suggested they eat out and delay coming home until she called.
The kids were happy to oblige their mom and began chanting, “Pizza, pizza, pizza.” Max laughed at their burst of new energy. They used the restrooms at the store to freshen up and went to Pizza Hut. The last slice of pizza was long gone before Max’s phone alerted him to a call.
“They loved our place. I’ll tell you all about it when you get here.”
It was after nine when Max pulled to a stop in front of their house. The kids were exhausted. They went straight upstairs to shower before bedtime. Dorrie was in the living room watching CNN on their wall-hung flat-screen. By the way she was sitting forward on the edge of the couch Max knew something had her rapt attention.
“What’s going on, honey?”
“Everything’s falling apart overseas. Earlier today, food riots protesting the rising costs and shortages started in Germany. The riots turned extremely violent and the police opened fire. They killed hundreds of citizens. Now rioting has spread to nearly every European country and in the UK too.
“Some major cities have fires burning out of control. Police can shoot to kill anyone attacking first responders. Practically all of Europe is under martial law with orders to shoot anyone on the street after dark. That’s not stopping the rioters. Thousands have been killed already, but the streets are still full.”
Max sat beside her on the couch and put his arm around her shoulders. The screen showed a night scene with people rushing a police barricade, throwing Molotov cocktails. Some of the citizens were firing automatic weapons. Burning buildings lit the streets.
“I knew things were getting tight in Europe, but this is horrible. What city is this?”
“London,” Dorrie told him. “But it’s the same all over. I hope it doesn’t spread to the US. There’re plenty of desperate people here in the Atlanta area, and it’s even worse in the northern cities. We’re not ready for this.”
Max squeezed her tighter. “It’s out of our control. What say we shut this off and check back later? Watching won’t do any good.”
Dorrie raised the hand holding the remote and turned the television off. “You’re right, it’s a train wreck. Let’s go to the dining room so I won’t be tempted to turn it back on. I should eat something. The agent showed up with the buyers an hour early. She called to let me know, but I didn’t have time to eat. They were here forever, had to look in every nook and cranny.”
Max followed her to the dining room. “You sit. I’ll make you something.” He went to the fridge and looked inside. “How does a toasted ham and cheese sandwich sound?”
“Like heaven. Make it two and a glass of milk and I’ll put you in my will.”
Max gathered the ingredients onto the counter and began preparing the sandwiches.
“You said the couple loved the place. Tell me about it.”
“They’ve been married a year. At first, th
e wife’s dad didn’t like her choice for a husband, but finally came around. He offered to buy them a home within a certain price range as long as it was near to his neighborhood. Turns out our home is within a half mile.”
“Why not one of the vacant homes. Surely they can be bought cheaper.”
Dorrie shook her head. “No, the banks are keeping the prices high. Also the father doesn’t want to deal with the potential baggage of a foreclosed home.”
Max nodded. “I can see that.”
“Our agent quoted them a hundred-thousand. What took so long is they loved it so much they called dad to come over. We had to wait for him to arrive. He’s a retired general contractor, and he spent an hour in the basement and up in the attic.”
Max placed the sandwiches on a cookie sheet and put them in the oven.
“I take it he was satisfied the house is sound.”
“Yes he was. He went outside with the agent to talk. She came back in with an offer of ninety thousand. She advised me to take it, so I did. Then, the husband wanted to know if we’d sell with the furniture included. After tomorrow, we’ll no longer own this house, or a stick of furniture. The father is meeting with us here Wednesday morning with ninety-five-thousand. Our agent is taking ten. We’ll have two weeks to move out. Oh, another thing, it took some doing, but I talked him into bringing cash.”
“Good thinking.” Max checked the oven and flipped the sandwiches over. “Eighty-five’s more than what you thought we could clear, but still a lot less than what we paid. I reckon the American dream is decidedly down the shit tube.”
“If what’s happening in Europe spreads to over here, this entire neighborhood may be ashes in the near future. Living close to a large city will not be a smart idea if things go south. The displaced will have no choice but to invade the suburbs.”
Picturing the crazed people they’d witnessed on the screen, Max shuddered at the thought of them in their neighborhood. He moved Dorrie’s sandwiches from the oven to a plate, poured her a tall glass of milk and brought them to the table, setting them in place with a flourish.
DISASTER: Too Late to Prep Page 4
