Outside the Fire

by Boyd Craven

  A PERMUTED PRESS BOOK

  ISBN: 978-1-68261-766-3

  ISBN (eBook): 978-1-68261-767-0

  Outside the Fire:

  An Economic Collapse Story

  © 2018 by Boyd Craven

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  Permuted Press, LLC

  New York • Nashville

  permutedpress.com

  Published in the United States of America

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  “Dad, why can’t we just stop at the mall?” Amber asked.

  “I need to hit the Costco before picking up your little sister,” Steve told his very opinionated sixteen-year-old daughter.

  “More beans and rice?” she asked with a big sigh.

  “Beans, bullets, and Band-Aids,” he told her with a grin and tried to poke her in the side.

  She twisted at the last second and looked out the passenger side window. Steve had gotten out of work early and picked his daughter up on his way to get some preps. His wife had a surprise planned for later on, and usually, Amber would have been happy to skip sixth hour and go home early, but she looked at her father’s prepping as something that was slightly embarrassing. She didn’t have to worry about breaking her dad’s “OPSEC,” because she didn’t want to even talk about the nested wooden crates in the back of the garage or the shelter built into the back of the garage floor.

  “Great,” she said, the sarcasm evident in her tone.

  Steve was used to it, though there were plenty of days he’d have gladly traded in his daughter for a boy. He understood boys, though he’d never had any himself, just two daughters: sixteen and nine. As soon as the hormones kicked in, or they became a teen, a switch had been thrown, and his daddy’s girl turned into a raging snark machine able to cut deeply with her words and body language. He knew she didn’t like his prepping and thought he was a little touched in the head, but she wasn’t overtly hostile. For a while, his wife Angela had been, until she saw that TSHTF didn’t have to be a zombie invasion.

  It was early on in their marriage before Amy had been born and Amber was two years old. His partner in his software company died suddenly, and Steve found himself unable to buy out his partner’s half from the widow. She’d offered to buy him out, and he had refused, and the lawsuits had started. Almost fourteen years later, he knew it was a mistake to have tried to fight them, because he’d ran himself almost into the poorhouse trying to keep a business running and deal with angry heirs who wanted all of their shares but do none of the work.

  Money had gotten extremely tight, and when the business finally folded, Steve and Angela Taylor found themselves scrimping and scraping just to make their rent on their small two-bedroom apartment in Cleveland. It had been Steve’s obsessive food storage that kept their heads above water, and instead of being hostile, now his wife just did what her daughter Amber did, rolled her eyes and prayed it would never be needed again.

  “You know, Amy would love to come with me to get this stuff. You used to like helping me out too,” Steve said after a few moments of silence.

  “That’s because she’s a little weirdo,” Amber told him turning to face him, “but I guess…Dad, it’s just that it’s Friday. You guys have something planned and won’t tell us, and Jennifer and I were trying to go to the mall.”

  “Sorry, your mother has had this planned for a while. It’d hurt her feelings if you don’t go,” Steve told her seriously.

  “I know but…can I go see her tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Tell you what, if you help me get the shopping done quick and give us no problems tonight, I’ll let you take my truck tomorrow.”

  “What?” Amber asked, her mouth dropping open, “Daddy….”

  She pulled tight against her seatbelt and hugged her father as much as the restraint would let her. He gave her a one-armed hug back and fought down the emotions. His little girl was growing up. She’d gotten her license and had been working on learning the main streets of Macon, Georgia, a city they’d lived in for a year and a half now. They were still the Yankees of the area, but everyone had treated them kindly and with a terror on wheels…Steve worried more about what people would do if they knew Miss Mouth had a license. The sidewalks would never be safe again.

  “Hey baby, I know you’re not crazy about going tonight. It’s a three-day weekend, so as long as we don’t have another meltdown like two weeks back, I don’t have a problem with you taking my old beast out.”

  “I’d rather take Mom’s car,” she said after a second.

  “You’re pushing it,” Steve told her.

  “Ok, ok, I had to try. It’s just that everyone down south here drives a truck. It’d be fun to drive the BMW once in a while.”

  “You remember the last time you tried to drive it? I thought we were going to have to put in a new clutch,” Steve told her, poking her in the side.

  She wasn’t expecting it and squeaked as he hit the tickle spot. She slapped at his hand, and it turned into a one arm tickle fight. She laughed, and the world was fine again.

  “I’ve been practicing with Mom; I’m a lot better than you last saw.”

  Steve grinned back at her. She had no idea what she was in for.

  “Daddy, there’s no room for me to sit,” Amy said looking at the back seat of the crew-cab pickup.

  It had been piled high with bags of dried beans, lentils, rice, and underneath it, covering 2/3 of the floor between the bench seat and the front seats, were the squared buckets of Augason Farms emergency supply foods. He’d saved a ton of time by placing his order online, going to the kiosk, paying there, and wheeling things out. He thought he had enough room for little bit but….

  “I got it squirt,” Amber said and pushed on a large bag of rice that had slid over, exposing the seat right behind her father.

  “I’m not a squirt,” Amy said angrily.

  “Hey now,” Steve said, “we’re not far from home. We’re going to park the truck in the garage and head straight out with your mom, so let’s not ruin this, ok?”

  “I wasn’t—” Amber started.

  “What’s the surprise, daddy?” Amy asked.

  “It’s your mom’s surprise. I helped, but it was her idea.”

  Steve knew he shouldn’t be sucking up to the kids so much, but he had started feeling like an outsider in the family. He was constantly worried about things he couldn’t control, and his wife had quit her job at the vet after the doc made a pass at her. Angela hadn’t told Steve about the first two times she’d been propositioned,
but when she quit after the third time, he didn’t know what he was more upset about: the doc being a letch, his wife from keeping it from him, or the fact they had been using his wife’s paycheck to save up for Amber’s car.

  With careful planning and a surprise Christmas bonus from IT Bytes, he was able to come up with what he needed to. There had been a Jeep dealership that referred them to a small garage that restored old Jeeps, and it was the only thing that Amber and her parents could seem to agree on. Early on, Angela Taylor had gone in and bought a barely-there frame and body and had been making sizable payments as the restoration was going on. It had taken almost a year and close to ten thousand dollars, but the Jeep was almost as good as brand new. Steve just hoped she appreciated the sacrifice that both of them put towards it, hence the reason that Amber wasn’t allowed to skip tonight.

  The girls started talking about Amber’s guy friend, and Steve winced and tried to ignore it. His first instinct was to find a hole somewhere in Mr. Abbott’s field and bury the boy there, but he knew he was being overly protective, so to drown out the uncomfortable discussion, he turned on his radio, twisting the tuning knob until he found his favorite AM talk-radio station. This time of day, it was Larry Lars, a guy who reminded Steve of Don Imus from back in the day. It was a right-wing talk show for conservatives, and in Steve’s opinion, one of the better places for him to listen to the news.

  Today’s episode was discussing the election of the new president and the protests that turned into riots in some of the larger cities. They had seen protests in downtown Macon, but they had all stayed peaceful and their family actually lived North West of town, in the suburbs. Civil unrest was what had concerned Steve the most, and since the previous November, he’d been stocking up more than usual. He didn’t quite have as much of a stockpile as he wanted, but he had a lot more than his wife and daughters knew. Nobody went in the storm shelter that had the door against the back wall in the garage, and he’d been slowly building up his food and medical supplies there as well as a gun safe that his wife did know about. Just not that there were a couple more pieces and ammunition….

  “…and in an effort to curb the out of control spending and deficit, the president has ordered an audit on the fed. Anybody want to guess how much of the money is left? I tell ya, it’s probably gone, leveraged six ways to Sunday. Our gold reserves? Gone. All that fancy jewelry and electronics the world seems to enjoy? That’s where our nation’s gold supply disappeared to, loaned to the big central banks as collateral in an effort to—”

  “Dad!” Amber said, shocking him out of his concentration.

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  “Amy was asking if Joseph could come over tomorrow, and you were zoned out.”

  “Sorry Ames,” Steve told her, “when did you want him to stop by?”

  “After lunch? He has to help his dad move something at the church,” Amy said, her voice serious.

  “I don’t mind. After all, he’s a preacher’s son,” Steve told her.

  “Yeah, an octopus. He’s all hands,” Amber said.

  Steve looked at her questioningly, his face starting to turn red.

  “She’s messing with you, Daddy. He’s my friend, but he knows he’s too young for Amber. She already told him no.”

  “Told him no to what—”

  The phone interrupted the silence, and Steve turned down the radio and answered it.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey there, how much longer till you get here?” Angela asked, her voice sultry in her husband’s ears.

  “A minute, I’m almost past Clay Drive.”

  “Ok, just wanted to make sure you weren’t late. Dave’s isn’t going to be open too much later.”

  Steve looked at the clock and saw it was 4:40 p.m. They had a good twenty minutes to get there.

  “We’ll make it. Just have your car running, and I’ll park the truck and run like hell.”

  “Daddy!” Amy scolded.

  Angela laughed and got off the line as they pulled into the subdivision. Their house was most of the way back, in the northeastern portion, and after a couple of turns, Steve stopped and let the girls get out. He hit the garage door button, and while the girls started getting into Angela’s car, Steve parked the truck and took the garage door opener with him. He hit it as he walked out, and jogged the rest of the way to the sixteen-year-old BMW, Angela’s pride and joy. It was a car she bought with her own money long before the business had been in financial trouble. She kept it immaculate and rarely drove. It had a sleek class that wasn’t matched by Steve’s F150, but both were diesel and part of that appealed to the prepping nature of Steve’s hobby.

  He got in and closed the door. He leaned over and kissed his wife deeply before she could say something and ignored the puking noises from the back seat. Angela pushed him back a little breathlessly, making a slapping motion towards him.

  “Good afternoon ma’am, we best get a move on, if’n we’re gonna make our appointment in time,” Steve said, in his best imitation of a southern accent.

  “You goof, how was work?” Angela asked.

  “Let’s go first, I’ll talk to you about it after dinner.”

  “What’s for dinner?” Amy asked.

  “Where are we going? Somewhere that we can have steak?” Amber piped up.

  “Your dad is cooking chicken on the grill,” Angela said. “Right?”

  “Yup,” Steve told them. “And Mister Abbott is coming over.

  “I thought we were going for a surprise?” Amy asked, a little crushed and confused.

  “We are, and your sister is going to need these,” Angela said handing back a set of nondescript keys.

  CHAPTER 2

  Steve had seen the word “squee” on Facebook and in text messages from his daughter. When she saw the 1990 Jeep YJ Wrangler, she educated him on what the proper usage sounded like when spoken aloud. She almost tackled her mother to the ground, her hug was so fierce. Steve watched her as Dave of Dave’s Garage watched on with mild amusement. Both ladies were similar in height and build, but with his daughter growing up, Steve still heard strangers ask if they were sisters. His wife had long flowing brown hair that had loose natural curls, whereas his daughter kept hers shorter.

  Still, her excitement was enough to almost knock her mother on her butt before she turned and squeezed the air out of her father and promptly burst into tears.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Steve asked Angela.

  “She’s overwhelmed, you caveman!” she chided.

  “Daddy doesn’t understand women. That’s what Uncle Dewey says,” Amy piped up.

  “It’s Mister Abbott,” Steve told her.

  “Nuh uh, he told me I can call him Uncle Dewey,” Amy told her dad defiantly as Amber untangled herself and wiped her eyes looking up at her dad’s face.

  “I’m so sorry I’ve been a pain in the—”

  “Don’t ruin it,” Angela interrupted and Amber’s hand flew to her mouth.

  She made a hiccupping noise and laughed, wiping her eyes again before turning to Dave.

  “Is it…I mean…can I?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah, got her finished for ya a week ago. I kept onto it to work out the bugs. Old girls like this, even when they get good works under the hood, they are finicky beasts. How about you let me show you what we did to her before you go cross country racing with this bad boy, huh?”

  “Racing?” Amber asked.

  They walked over and watched as Dave unlatched the hood and propped it open. A new motor gleamed in the sunlight. They had opted to go without the flash, because it was form over function, but a new engine and transmission had been the foundation to the powertrain.

  “Is that a new Chevy three-fifty?” Amber asked.

  “What’s this witchcraft? How does a girl know this?” Dave asked, in mock horror.

  Amber smiled at him, knowing he was baiting her, “I watched a lot of YouTube videos. I’ve been dreaming of having a jeep for almost three…�
� She started crying again and ran over and gave Dave a crushing bear hug. He held his arms out awkwardly for a second and then patted her back, giving Steve a confused look. Steve shrugged, and when Amber broke free, she didn’t bother to wipe her face and turned to almost crawl into the compartment.

  “It’s got a carb, but I don’t know which one without taking off the air filter,” she said, not turning to talk to her parents, “and I think it’s got either a Turbo Trans three-fifty, or a seven-hundred R4 transmission.”

  “Good eye,” Dave told her.

  “What’s that?” Angela asked Steve.

  “Good stuff,” Steve whispered back.

  Angela popped back out and closed the hood and then took her sister’s hand and started walking around the Jeep. The rims and tires were new and although they hadn’t put mudding tires on it, they were wide and fat enough with knobs that Steve knew she wouldn’t stand out when they finally let her drive it to school.

  “…and you’re going to let me sit up front?” Amy asked her sister.

  “Yeah, for sure squirt…and then we’ll go to the mall and—”

  “She can’t sit up front,” Angela said.

  “No air bags,” Dave reminded her.

  She nodded, and then both girls opened the passenger side door and crawled in.

  “So, Dave, how much we owe to finish this off?” Angela asked.

  “How’s about a hundred bucks?” Dave asked.

  “I know we owe at least another three hundred or more, you put in the new instrument cluster…” Steve started saying.

  “Naw, I got me a daughter. I wish she loved this kinda stuff as much as yours seems to,” he said in a hoarse voice and cleared his throat a couple of times.