Preppers: The Event (The Falling Book 1) Read online

  Chapter 1

  6:05 p.m. Tuesday.

  Dee is giving the kids their baths, and I am lounging on the greatest purchase I have ever made as an adult – a Sleep Number bed with all the extras. I was truly in my happy place…listening to my kids hollering and laughing and my wife telling them to stop splashing her… My happy place.

  My phone buzzed on the nightstand, the sound alerting me that I was the lucky recipient of a new text message. I really hate cell phones. I would give anything to be rid of the damned things. I sat up to check the message, but before I could grab it off the wireless charger to see who would dare to disturb such a perfect moment, the phone began to ring. The song “S.O.B.” by Nathaniel Rateliff and The Night Sweats started playing. I moved to answer with a smile on my face. It was good Ole’ Col. Michael Kuehl, better known as “Big Mike”, a long-time friend and someone I truly valued as a human being. I couldn’t wait to talk to the bald-headed, Mr. Clean look-alike son-of-a-bitch!

  “Hey there you bald-headed S.O.B.! What’s going on?”, I asked with a large smile on my face as I answered the phone.

  He immediately cut me off and said the only thing that could ruin my mood… Hell, ruin the whole damn century.

  “It’s snowing in Malibu…. They are expecting 20 inches. You should turn the lights off,” he said.

  I was stunned. Those were words I prayed to never hear. In the moment it took to register the phrase and key words it held allowing me to decipher the meaning, the deepest part of my soul knew that without a doubt, a waking nightmare was about to unfold.

  Shocked, I shook my head to regain my focus. I replied, “How certain is the forecast?”

  He answered in as serious a tone, as I’ve ever heard him use. “One Hundred Percent. Keep the kids and that wonderful wife of yours warm. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, I do… Thank you… I have something I need to tell you. Dee and I are expecting baby number four. She is three months along. We were going to surprise you when you came over for Christmas. But now seems like a better time,” I said.

  My friend was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “That is wonderful news. Keep them safe. You have errands to run now, my brother. Get to it.”

  All I could muster to say was, “Yes sir, I do. Thank you and be safe. You know where I am.” I hung up the phone and took several deep breaths and focused my mind.

  Big Mike was right. I had work to do. So, I sat up and put on my Five Eleven pants with matching tactical belt. I went into my closet and grabbed my favorite t-shirt and Wrangler long sleeved button-up shirt, solid grey in color. The real reason I grabbed that particular shirt was, it just so happened to be my lucky button-up shirt. And I could really use all the luck I could get right now. After putting on some Merino wool socks, I walked into the kids’ bathroom and watched my beautiful family for a moment. I wanted to freeze that moment of silliness and joy in my mind forever.

  After a minute or two I cleared my throat to say, “Dee, the Colonel just called.”

  Her response was predictable, “You know he hates when you call him that! You two act just like kids, I swear! Well, what did he have to say Honey?”

  There are many things I adore about my wife, but if I had to pick one…it would be her sweet, Southern accent. It is honey for the ears. Listening to her questions in that wonderful dialect and cadence, that seems so prolific among all Southern belles, I could barely muster the courage to respond. Yet, there were things to do, and the time was nigh, so I answered her.

  “He said, ‘it’s snowing in Malibu’. They’re expecting 20 inches, and we should turn the lights off.”

  She just stared at me for a long moment. Finally, with a quiet vulnerability I have never heard in her voice before, she asked “Is he sure?”

  “Yes, 100% sure.”

  Switching her mind to problem-solving mode she asked, “What is it? What do we need to do?”

  I replied, “It doesn’t matter what it is. We have a plan. We will stick to the plan… I’ll get started on the daisy chain. You finish with the kids. What do you think about just letting them stay up late and play in their rooms tonight to let them have one last night of normalcy? Maybe give them some ice cream? It’s not like they’re going to school tomorrow… now.” After a short pause, I added “I love you Wife. We will get through this.”

  She nodded and went back to bathing the kids, but now her Scotch-Irish features were flushed with sadness and apprehension that could be read on her perfect face from a mile away. I left her to enjoy the moment the best she could with the children before our work was to begin.

  Countdown – 19 hours and 45 minutes until the event.

  I grabbed my cell phone; I had to send some texts and make some phone calls. Although the daisy chain was efficient, it still required verbal communication for absolute confirmation. I need to give everyone as much warning as possible. The daisy chain was a group text message sent out to the right people, kind of like an old school phone tree. The text contained key phrases that would let the recipients know critical information. But just in case it was somehow intercepted, the message would appear benign to the uninitiated. My little circle of friends used this method regularly, as we all lived so close to Y-12 and Homeland Security offices, not to mention the government’s stockpile of nuclear material. With such highly monitored facilities nearby, it only made sense to be as innocuous as possible.

  Although, the real reason for clandestine communications was the Department of Energy (also known as the D.O.E.). They are a far more serious agency than most people understand. For one, the D.O.E. is responsible for all enriched nuclear materials and nuclear waste in the USA. Be it bombs or power plants, it’s the property of the D.O.E. They also run and sponsor the National Labs as well as fund the cutting-edge research taking place at those facilities. To ensure secrecy and security, they employ their own private armies at their facilities as well as having their own, very well trained, and extremely well-armed, federal law enforcement agents. These guys are more gun fighters than law enforcement. Due to all these factors, it is known to many that the NSA monitors all communication traffic within a 30-mile radius of their facilities. It’s my understanding that they simply run programs that hunt for key words in the area, hence our clandestine means of coded communication. All texts on the daisy chain are supposed to be followed up with a verbal confirmation, like a phone call, voicemail, or face-to-face meeting depending on the message.

  19hrs 40min until the event.

  Before I could begin messaging my friends on the daisy chain, I needed to call my mother. I put my Bluetooth headset in, so I could continue to get ready as I made my calls. She was the first call I made as I laced up my Danner boots. My mother lived in my neighborhood, about a block away. She moved there after she sold her farm in Middle TN.

  I dialed my mother’s number first, in order to ask her to come here quickly to watch the kids while Dee and I did what was needed to ensure the survival of our family unit. More importantly, I wanted the kids to have one last night of fun without worry or stress. I wanted them to enjoy movies and popcorn with their “Gram Gram”, blissfully unaware of what would be coming in the days ahead.

  I dialed her number then set the phone down as I finished up lacing my boots. Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long. “Henry, is everything alright?” she asked.

  I typically never call anyone after 5 p.m. She knows this. If I am calling at night, there is a damn good reason for it. “I need you to come over and watch the kids for a while. It’s urgent. I will tell you more when you get here.”

  She replied, “You know I don’t go anywhere after dark. Can it wait ‘til mornin
g?”

  “No! You need to come here now, as fast as possible as though your very life depends on it. This is an emergency! And when you arrive, I need you to park down on the street by the pillars. Do not park around back. We need that open. This is serious… So, get up and get moving…. Don’t forget to park in front.”

  “But Henry, it’s dark and cold. I don’t want to park in front. I can’t walk up those stairs. They are too hard on my knees…” She whined.

  I cut off her rambling, because given the opportunity she would go on and on about this. I don’t have the time to waste. “Mom! I am not joking. This is an emergency!” And with that said, I ended the call. I knew she would arrive in about 15 minutes. That would be enough time for Dee and I to finish getting ready.

  After I hung up with my mom, I typed out the text message for the daisy chain, “SNOWING IN MAILIBU… 20 INCHES EXPECTED… TURN OFF THE LIGHTS.”

  While waiting for my mother to arrive, I knew I needed to make my way down the daisy chain to call everyone and validate the text. But before I could hit the call button to dial Max, my phone began to ring. It was Magnus Johansson – owner of The Rock Shooting Range, a shooting range and training center in Oliver Springs, TN. I answered the call and waited for the question I knew was coming. “Hey Magnus” I answered.

  “How real is this?”, he asked.

  I knew what he wanted to hear, “Sorry Bud…accident, don’t panic.” Unfortunately, that was just not going to happen. I responded promptly, “Extremely… Big Mike called and verified.”

  There was a pause that felt like it could span the eons.

  “This is not good,” he finally replied.

  “No shit… Are your plans still the same? Wisconsin is a long way away Brother, and the thought of you and Carol stuck in Chicago makes me feel ill,” I urged.

  “Yes, they are still the same. My only daughter and my only granddaughter are there. With whatever is coming, they will need me.” Magnus answered.

  “You’re not wrong Brother. You are not wrong... Dee and I are following the plan. I was hoping to swing by the range. Would that be okay?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. What’s mine is yours, just keep those babies of yours safe Henry. The combination to the safe has not changed. I assume you still have your gate key but if not, just shoot it off. It’s not like any of that matters anymore anyway. But the last thing I want is that stuff ending up in the wrong hands. I wouldn’t be able to live with it,” Magnus said.

  I replied, “Thank you my friend. Truly, thank you. I know you have things to do and a 17-hour trip to make. Godspeed, and you will always have my respect and thanks.” There was another pause, not as long as the first, but close.

  Magnus broke the silence, “Same to you Brother. May your ancestors watch over your family and may Odin grant you wisdom. Goodbye.” Magnus hung up the phone.

  Before I was able to call Max, my phone started to ring again. It was Matt. I answered and spoke quickly as the initial shock of the current situation had begun to wear off, and my adrenaline had begun pumping. “Hey Matt! Before you say anything, YES! This is real. Now, are you following the plan or are you going off script?”

  Matt replied, “I am on task. I will be there in about 3 hours-ish.”

  I let out a breath that I didn’t even know I was holding, as relief began to wash over me. I could not afford to lose Matt. I said, “Good. Don’t forget to hit the GNC in Athens. I assume your bringing your covered Trailer?”

  Matt replied, “You bet, where do you want me to park it when I get there?”

  “Back it in where we normally park, in the back of the house. I am about to be on my way. I will be picking up the camper to use as a trailer to maximize the first run. Dee will be using the range trailer. Once you back in and park your trailer if I’m not there give me a call. I will let you know where I am so we can meet up. I don’t want Dee out in this more than is needed, just in case Big Mike was off in his time estimate,” I said.

  “Copy that. She needs as little added stress as possible. I will be out of the house in 20 minutes, and I will start making my stops. I do have one question though…what if he is wrong?” Matt asked.

  I answered, “If he is wrong, we all declare bankruptcy… then beat the ever-living shit out him. But this is the scary bit, what if he’s right? Better yet, do you think he would pull a false flag on us?”

  Once again there was a prolonged silence. Then Matt simply replied, “Fuck.” Not a shout or an over energized version of the incredibly diverse word, but a humble almost whispered statement of truth. We knew with certainty that every single person everywhere was fucked. We just didn’t yet know how or to what extent. We only knew that it was less than 20 hours away and involved the power grid. Matt hung up, and I knew without a shadow of doubt that he would be here in a few hours.

  Four more calls to make…After a few attempts, no joy. Max, Mike, Josh and Jamie didn’t answer. Maybe they are already following the plan, or maybe they are asleep and unaware? It doesn’t really matter. They are big boys and can handle themselves. So, I finished getting ready and preparing my mind for all that needed to happen in 19 hours, or less.

  I got up from my chair at the kitchen table, that I absolutely did not remember sitting down in, walked over to the back door and started getting my kit in order. I strapped on my Glock 23 in .40cal, with an inside-the-waistband, custom Kydex holster, as well as three extra Glock 22 mags that hold 15 rounds of 180 grain jacketed hollow point. They would work with the Glock 23 and had the benefit of holding two extra rounds. I slipped my micro-tech OTF (out the front) automatic knife in my pocket. I also clipped on my CRKT (Columbia River Knife and Tool) “Dragon” fixed blade knife to my belt on the front of my pants. The knife clipped on horizontal, allowing for a cross draw with my right hand or pulling it into a reversed grip for defense with my left hand. I have always been a very big believer in being able to access your blade with either hand, years of sparring, as well as heavy training in CQB (close quarters battle) had driven that point home countless times. I then grabbed my favorite “shacket”, a long-sleeved plaid fleece shirt with a fluffy liner that was on the inside made by Wrangler. It helps to tone down the tactical pants and fight off the cool November night air. My plan was to try not to draw too much attention, but I was very confident my actions would very soon, be doing that very thing.

  As I double checked my kit, Dee came downstairs. “The kids are playing in the girls’ room. Did you call everyone?” she asked.

  “I did, but only Magnus and Matt answered. The others will be fine. I’m sure I will get calls at some point tonight from them, morning at the latest.” I answered.

  She asked, “Is Magnus still going to Wisconsin after his daughter and granddaughter?”

  “Yes, he is” I replied.

  “That is so very far, and it’s winter. Still, I get it… We would do the same if our babies were there,” she added.

  “Yes, we would. I’m sure he and Carol will make it. He is a mean old bastard. I pity whoever gets in his way…” I replied as I watched Dee get her boots on. She let out a huff as she sat back in the chair. Her baby bump was definitely there for the world to see, this being baby number 4, it was barley 8 weeks before the bump was already making an appearance.

  I just stood there in a bit of a haze, lost in my thoughts when Dee broke in. “Earth to Henry. Come in Henry.”

  I laughed a little, and it felt really good to smile and feel some joy. With the unknown hanging overhead like a Sword of Damocles, it felt good to let a chuckle out. I smiled at my pregnant wife and said, “Dee, I don’t want you to go out. We don’t know how accurate Big Mike is. If something happens while we are out, I don’t know how I could find or get to you.”

  She calmly looked at me and said with absolute resolve, “No, this is not a discussion we can afford to be having at this moment. If we trust Big Mike enough to go through with the plan, then we should trust that he has given us the best possible informatio
n. This will take all of us, and there is a real possibility that it won’t be enough. I understand your concerns Honey, I do. But we need to do our best to maximize our time and existing resources. You know that.”

  I sighed loudly. “You’re right,” I said, not happy about it. But being happy or angry with life’s circumstances doesn’t change the circumstances in any way. No point crying about it. It’s time to get to work.

  While Dee and I were discussing the plan for the next 18 to 19 hours, a familiar loud knock came from the front door. It was my mom. She was finally here. I went and opened the door for her. As she walked inside, she immediately started complaining in rapid-fire cadence. “I do not understand what this is all about. What’s the emergency? I don’t see an emergency. Why did I have to walk up the front steps? They are steep, and I could have slipped and hurt myself. It’s cold and I could get sick! No one cares what happens to me. All I do is give and do for others, but when I want to rest…Just remember, I gave you, life, Henry.”

  As she finished her rant, I looked her right in the eye and said, “If you do what I ask, I will have our business lease you a car. Whatever car you want, we will go this upcoming weekend.”

  For maybe the first time in my life, my mother was speechless or at least as close to it as she can come. Then, she broke the silence, “Are you being serious? If you’re not, then this isn’t funny, and you should be ashamed of yourself for picking on an old woman. Why would you lie to me li…”

  I cut her off as we did not have time to wait for her to try and win an Oscar with more drama. I told her, “I am profoundly serious. Dee and I have some things to do, and we will be coming and going all night and into tomorrow morning. In fact, Matt Fairbanks will be here in a few hours to help us. What I need from you is to keep the kids happy and safe. Give them whatever they want…ice cream, cookies, whatever. I just want them to have the best time possible. Can you do that?”

  She finally looked at me with the suspicion I’d been waiting for and asked, “What’s going on?”