Sorrow Page 2

  “Yes Papa,” he would weakly mutter in response.

  “Continue.”

  “A polar shift. Scientists believe the worlds magnetic poles can shift at any time, having done so numerous times, and regularly in earth’s history. The geologically rapid shift in the position of the geographic locations of the poles – or axis of rotation – would create earth-shattering floods and earthquakes due to the movement of the tectonic plates. Supposedly, we are three hundred thousand years overdue a polar shift.”

  “There’s no supposedly about it; we are overdue.”

  “Yes Papa, sorry, Papa.”

  Those times were always bittersweet for Isaac – he got attention from his father, but it wasn’t the kind of attention he craved.

  Ironically, the end of the modern world wasn’t a natural phenomenon – like his father so adamantly believed it would be – but rather the cause was China and North Korea.

  Working daily with the stock markets, Isaac noticed the Chinese buying up certain commodities and then stockpiling. At the same time, North Korea started opening up to the world. It seemed like their leader; Kim Jong-un wanted to make peace with the West. President Trump jumped at the chance to be the president who finally signed a peace treaty with the country.

  It was all a well-orchestrated ruse.

  Most people ignored the signs when the tension started to grow between China and America, in the summer of 2019.

  America’s national debt stood at sixteen trillion dollars. Just less than five trillion was owed to the Social Security Trust Fund and Federal Pension Systems. A staggering eleven trillion more was owed to foreign and domestic investors and the Federal Reserve.

  China owned a vast chunk of America’s debt – many people speculated that because they didn’t win the war, they slowly started buying up America’s debts – a subtle takeover strategy.

  In one fell swoop, China called in the debt America owed them – over six trillion dollars – creating a financial collapse of the economy. The world stock markets crashed.

  There was civil unrest as inflation skyrocket and everyday items became too expensive to purchase. People tried to cope the best they could, while struggled to feed themselves. Looting started to break out in every city and town across the country as people tried to stockpile food and water.

  Isaac used every dollar they had to make the bunker a reality.

  Then just when people thought it couldn’t get any worse; America and Europe were hit by dirty bombs – small suitcase-sized nuclear devices. Ten went off on the same-day – six across America, in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Houston, Philadelphia, and Phoenix – the six most populated cities.

  London, Paris, Rome, and Berlin were also targeted.

  It turned out it wasn’t the middle east, as expected. Rather, it was North Korea. The plan was China would destabilize the West, then North Korea would use their recently obtained nuclear knowledge to make the weapons, then use their new diplomatic positions to transport the devices into place.

  The attacked countries retaliated. Russia joined forces with NATOs twenty-nine countries in Europe and North America.

  China had the world’s largest army, and most had been moving into position for months.

  America’s army was spread too thin throughout the world, fighting a war on terror on many fronts, from Iraq, Afghanistan, the Horn of Africa, the Philippines, Trans Sahara, Pakistan, Yemen, and Kashmir, just to name a few. When the bombs went off, thousands of soldiers were outside America.

  All this played out on the news, as the stock markets were affected, and the armies positioned themselves. Most people panicked. Because of how his father raised him; Isaac didn’t panic; he started to plan, and dig.

  He could imagine his father nodding and grunting his approval.

  3

  Luckily, they had the resources needed to build the bunker, and the land his father left him when he eventually gave up waiting for the end of the world and put the barrel of his rifle in his mouth years previously.

  Isaac had converted all their assets into cash when the trouble started to get serious before the nuclear explosions rocked the country, and the world.

  He always resented his father for how he acted and treated him. Now, looking back, he could appreciate what was done for him – how his father prepared him. Without his upbringing, he would never have known where to start, or what to do.

  The land was forty-six acres up in the hills, miles from anyone, surrounded by Federal owned land, comprising of woodland, fields, and a natural spring, which ran into a river.

  His father made sure the land was in the perfect location. It was nowhere near any strategic missile sites or large military bases, any centers of government, such as state capitals, or any other major cities, important transport or communication centers, as well as important industrial, technology, or financial center, as well as major refineries, such as petroleum, electrical, or chemical plants. And lastly, nowhere near any major ports or airfields. Also, to make sure it wasn’t in the cold North, or too hot in the South. There was plenty of natural resources around, and he could be self-sustained and off the grid.

  Isaac remembered the road trip around the country, looking for the perfect location. At the time, he didn’t care about solar flares or super volcanoes or melting ice caps, but he did enjoy the long drives through the countryside, and no lessons.

  The best location, in his father opinion, and apparently many other preppers, is just outside Kansas City, Missouri, just on the border of Kansas. And even though it is the largest city in Missouri, it has the largest number of basements and underground bunkers of any American city and has the most solid stone structures, which could withstand a nuclear blast and would be good for scavenging through after everything settled down.

  On the downside, it has a military base called, Fort Leavenworth thirty-five miles northwest of the city, so his father purchased land to the southeast side.

  His father counted on the fact that the base was small, and of little strategic importance, and pretty much smack in the middle of the country – the arse end of nowhere, as he used to say.

  So that’s where Isaac found himself building the bunker, on land that was once roamed by the Cherokee and was now called Cherokee County, in the Flint Hills, in an area called The Ozarks.

  4

  There was not much time to construct a bunker from scratch, because the world powers were escalating to China’s stance. However, since the Cold War days, and massive concrete underground bunkers, more companies were constructing prebuilt shelters that are simply transported to the site, where the hole was ready, and it was a case of lowering the sections in, and connecting all the equipment, then covering the metal in a waterproof rubber coating, before pouring tons of concrete over everything, and then refilling the hole, leaving the main entrance and emergency entrance clear.

  Rather than go with a small prebuild bunker, they went with a company called Rising S and chose a shelter from their Xtreme Series called The Commander. It has four different sections; all joined to make just over sixteen thousand square feet of living space.

  There was a large section for the power room and a workshop and storage for water, in case the spring dried up. A master bedroom, with a joined kitchen and bathroom, and a separate bedroom for when Jessica got older. And even a spare bed in case another child joined her – a decade was a long time to spend together. There are two bathrooms and two kitchens, in case of breakdowns.

  His father spent only a few years in the military, but one thing he learned was redundancy; it was a famous military saying and practice – why have one when you can have two?

  The army’s wastefulness had its uses, and practicalities. Two is always better than one. In case something breaks down, or one is lost, two come in handy – always have a backup.

  There was also a large food storage section, and a living space with a small gym, as well as a gun storage area, and two exits.

  This was go
ing to be their whole world for at least a decade; they were going to be raising their daughter here, and they wanted as much space as they could afford.

  They also spent all their savings, because, after ten years, money may mean nothing. Their survival was more important than currency.

  And even with all this, Isaac mused, I still couldn’t save them.

  No tears rolled down his cheeks – he’d spent over a decade stewing in sorrow, regrets, and what ifs.

  “Maybe this is a good thing,” he said out loud. He found he needed to speak, to hear his voice. He often talked to himself.

  “This is no longer a sanctuary; it’s a tomb.”

  He stared at all the survival gear and then walked back to the kitchen. He scooped some powder from a large tub sat on the kitchen surface, and poured the remaining hot water over it. It was supposed to be porridge. After a decade of eating the same glop, it tasted like wallpaper paste.

  He knew it could be much worse aboveground, and porridge as he knew it, didn’t exist anymore. And at some point soon, when he was struggling to find anything edible, he would wish he has some porridge to fill his belly.

  He couldn’t help thinking what the world above was like, but he felt a stirring that hasn’t been there for years – hope.

  There was a collection of Ham radios and amplifiers in the communication nook – as the company he purchased the bunker from called it. The radios used to be connected to three different frequencies – 163.5125 was the Disaster Preparedness frequency used by all American armed forces. 138.225 was the Federal Emergency Management Agency frequency, used during hurricanes, earthquakes, floods and other catastrophic events. The third was set to 34.90 the nationwide National Guard emergency frequency. These used to be on 24/7. However, as the months passed the radios ran silent. He turned them off years ago.

  A few times he tried them but received either static or crazy people shouting the praises of the Lord. Nothing of use.

  He wandered back to the workshop while eating the porridge.

  Bat Out of Hell, by Meatloaf, started to play over the speakers.

  His eighty-litre backpack rested on the floor beside the gear. It was called a bugout bag. It had everything in it he would need to survive aboveground for thirty-six hours, food, clothing, a sleeping bag, as well as items of survival gear, which, even though they were over a decade old, had never been used.

  There was a bugout trolley with two long aluminium handles and two sturdy wheels, which held a large three hundred-litre, waterproof canvas bag. It could be pushed or pulled. There was also a harness so it could attach around his waist to keep his hands free.

  “All the gear, and no idea,” he muttered. It was something Natasha used to say all the time when she teased him about all the gear they had stored in the bunker for when they resurfaced.

  His father wasn’t into all the fancy survival equipment. He was more of a grow it yourself, and shoot anyone who wanders onto his land, kind of man.

  There were all kinds of survival gear spread out in front of him. A collection of four different size torches – two battery operated; another was solar powered, the last a wind up. A personal Geiger counter that clipped onto his clothing, to alert to any dangerous radiation levels. A handheld radio. A small Garmin GPSMap device that could pinpoint his location to a mere meter, anywhere on the planet.

  That’s if the satellites still worked? he mused.

  A LifeStraw personal water filter. A sturdy compass. A collection of knives. Survival blankets. A three-man tent. Cooking equipment. A small tool kit, comprising of screwdrivers, a mini chain-link saw, and pliers. Firelighters – some waterproof matches, a fuel-free windproof lighter that was charged via USB, and a magnesium fire starter and flint striker kit. A folding, flexible solar panel that stretched over the trolley to recharge. And lastly, a well-stocked survival medical kit.

  He also had an impressive collection of weapons.

  Natasha wasn’t too keen on having them in the bunker – she was always pro-firearms. But these weren’t normal circumstances. When they surfaced anything could be waiting for them. They needed to be prepared. They needed firepower.

  Isaac won the argument when he said, “What is the point of surviving ten years in the bunker, only to be shot dead as soon as we open the hatch?”

  5

  Isaac spent more time than necessary picking the right weapons. However, as he pointed out to Natasha when she started to moan that Jessica was getting tired, their lives would literally depend upon the weapons he picked.

  The large gun shop was crammed packed with people. Everyone was preparing for the worst.

  China and America were rallying their troupes, as negations were breaking down. Riots and looting were already hitting most major cities down the Eastern Seaboard, which were spreading across the country. A curfew was in place and was being regulated by the National Guard.

  The police and National Guard were spread too thin, trying to protect too many. Violence and death were everywhere.

  Society broke down long before the war even started.

  So, people’s mentality was, the only way to survive the rising crisis was to own a bigger weapon than your opponent.

  However, in Isaac’s case, he got the weapons best suited for their needs.

  First, he purchased a Remington 870 12-gauge pump-action shotgun. When he first picked it up, and pumped it, and heard the shhhick-shickt sound that he’d heard a thousand time in the movies, it made his heart beat faster. But the main reason for buying it was his absolute lack of firearm’s training, and he knew whatever he pointed this at – because of the scattering effect – he was more than likely to hit. And, because it was a common calibre, hopefully, when he ran out of shells, they should be easy to find.

  He had an attachment locked onto one of the long handles of the trolley, so the 12-gauge could slide in and be handy when needed.

  For his main sidearm, he chose the Glock 19, compact 9mm handgun. Mainly because it was the one most government officials and law enforcement organizations used. It was also the most common calibre, so hopeful it would also be easier to find. Isaac opted for the Gen 5 version that had upgrades to the slide, grip, and barrel. It fit snuggly into a shoulder holster.

  He also had a smaller, Ruger SR9c 9mm, all black with the ten round – plus one in the barrel – for backup, which was snuggly fit into a specially made pocket on the side of his backpack.

  The weapon he chose to look like he means business, and to carry as his main defence, is the lightweight, sturdy, Bushmaster Carbon 15 9mm semi-automatic, made mostly from carbon-fibre – hence the name. It has a thirty round magazine he could reload, with a black web sling to carry it around his shoulder. And most importantly, it was the same calibre as two of his other weapons.

  Ironically, in the background, on the speaker system, The Decemberists – The King is Dead album was playing the track, Rise to Me. The sentence: Rise to me and I will blow you down. I am going to stand my ground.

  He smiled at the perfectly timed lyrics.

  He turned his attention to his two main knives, a fixed blade and a folding. The fixed blade is a nine-inch KA-BAR BK9 Becker combat carbon steel blade, with zytel handle and a nylon sheath for his thigh. The whole weapon was black, so no sun would glint off the metal blade. He’d seen too many people give away their position due to glinting steel. And even though his only reference was all the movies he’d watched, one day it might make a difference.

  Isaac gripped the handle and felt its weight. A little on the heavy side, but he felt it would be sturdier than some of the lighter ones he picked up in the shop. Plus, the tang – or hidden section of the handle – was made of the same length of steel as the blade, so if the rubber handle came off, he could simply wrap something around it, and it will still be useable.

  He also had a smaller four-inch, Smith & Wesson, black tanto folding knife, which fit into a little pocket on his right walking boot, which would be hidden by his clothing.
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  Inside the bag on the trolley, there was also a twelve-inch Schrade hatchet, which would come in handy to build shelters, or, at a pinch, use to defend himself.

  There was also a folding spade in the trolley, that doubled as a weapon, due to the serrated edges that could decapitate a man – the salesman stated when he purchased it. At the time, Natasha rolled her eyes, as if to say, “Jesus, this guy.” But Isaac could see how that would come in useful. In survival, everything had to have more than one use, to warrant its weight.

  There were all kinds of other weapons in the shop, ranging from swords, crossbows, and bows and arrows. But they all seemed overdramatic and took up too much space. Besides, he could just about manage to point and shoot a gun, he would have no chance with a crossbow, and he would probably end up cutting his own foot off if he started swinging a katana around.

  He could imagine his father’s reaction if he could see all the gear Isaac had collected and was spread out in front of him.

  “It’s not about the equipment,” his father would say, “rather, you need to have the right mindset.”

  His father would set up scenarios for Isaac to get out of. He remembered once his father suspended him from his ankles from a tripwire trap.

  “You can have all the equipment in the world, but if you haven’t got the stamina or knowledge, it’s all for nothing.”

  And as the young Isaac swung in the cool afternoon breeze, trying to figure out how to escape the latest trap, his father’s voice droned on.

  “Skills trump stuff every single time,” he stated while pumping his arms for effect. “The skills I teach you now will travel with you for the rest of your days on this god-forsaken world.”

  Isaac listened to his father rattle on about the themes of home steading, home defence, wilderness survival, and food preservation floated around Isaac as the blood rushed to his head as he swung from the tree bough.

  It took Isaac two hours to swing himself up and untangle himself. He was too young to have the mid body strength to swing up and grip his legs. After, his father started him on a strict routine of daily sit-ups.