Surviving the Survivalists

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.

Surviving the Survivalists

By Plot Roach

There are gatherings that one does not advertise openly. For there is no appropriate stationary or proper timeframe for alerting one’s intended members to converge upon the land.

Survivalists may congregate in military surplus stores, wander through flea markets in search of old tools or meet at the edges of abandoned land in order to trade stories and show off skills. But one will never find a poster, an article or a flyer advertising such a meeting of the minds. Such get-togethers are often word of mouth, between already existing members. And often, anyone new, must prove their worth before being introduced to the rest of the group.

So, facing much criticism, Hank notified the rest of the Waiting for the End of the World Rangers that he had a friend he wished to nominate for membership. Word traveled through the group, and a meeting place and time was established. While not their usual spot, it would be good to test the new blood and see if he was worthy of their knowledge and time.

They met at a section of abandoned land that had been purchased for new homes, only to have the market fall through and the houses gather dust. The owner opted to burn the buildings instead of pay taxes on them, collecting the insurance money even as mother nature recovered the land that had been stolen from her.

The first of the vehicles, pulled onto the empty lot. Soon joined by a jeep and a motorcycle. Big John, the unofficial leader of their group pinned Hank down with a pained look when he saw Hank arrive alone.

“Where’s the new blood?” he asked.

“White Bob wanted to get here on his own.”

“’White Bob’?”

“It’s his Fair personae.”

“What?”

“I’ll let him explain when he gets here.”

“He better get here soon.” Complained one of the other men. “I didn’t get out of bed this early just to be left high and dry by some young blood who doesn’t know what’s what.”

“But I am here.” said a voice off and in the ruins of the abandoned houses. A figure emerged, one that had somehow camouflaged himself despite the tie-dye shirt, khaki shorts and sandals he wore. “I’m White Bob.” he announced.

“Huh.” said Big John. “So why do they call you that?” he asked.

“It’s because of my tail.”

“Your what?”

“My tail.” he said, and turned around to show them the fox tail pinned to the butt of his shorts. “At night all you see is the white tip as it bobs up and down in the darkness.”

Several of the men laughed, one cursed an spat into the dust at their feet.

“So you want to be a part of our little group, huh?” asked Big John.

“No, actually Hank asked if I would join and teach you my skills.”

The men laughed even heartier at this. Hank looked at his feet, but said nothing in his defense.

“And just what could you teach us?” Big John asked.

“Let’s begin with your beliefs and go from there. Why do you do this?”

“Because the end is coming!” one of the men yelled. “And we’ve got to be prepared for it.”

“Which end?”

“Excuse me?”

“Which end? Could you be more specific? Will it be death by rapture, radiation, super flu or maybe a zombie apocalypse?”

“Huh?”

“How are you prepared to live -and maybe to die?”

“Let’s say we’re invaded by terrorists…”

“Which ones?”

“I don’t know… Pick one.”

“The only ones who could get here easily by land are Mexico and Canada. It seems we’re already teeming with Mexicans and nothing has happened so far-”

“Except all our jobs are gone!”

“Did you really want to pick vegetables in a field all day for pennies per hour instead of collecting social security?” White Bob asked the old timer. “Most Americans have left them the crappy jobs to fill. So they seem to be more of a boon than a threat to the system. And as for the Canadians, I don’t think that they have world domination in them. Anyone else would have to immigrate here in large numbers, and I would think that the government would keep tabs on them should some problems arise. Next issue?”

“Okay, death by radiation.”

“Even if you could get to a bunker and live. You still need enough supplies to survive until the radiation clears. That could take years in some places. By then you’ll be street rat crazy from cabin fever. So why bother surviving?”

“Super flu.” offered another man.

“Well them you really don’t have to worry about having enough supplies, because everyone who would have hoarded them will be dead. Just wander the world with a can opener and you should be fine. You can pick up anything you need as you find that you need it. No need to hoard food because it will be in your dead neighbor’s pantry. No need for all the bullets, because there will be few people left to shoot and more than enough stuff to go around.”

Big John huffed at the thought. “Fine then, Zombies.”

“Ah, yes. That one is really going to happen…" he said sarcastically. "But let’s say that it does. How will you fight them? You’ll have to experiment on a few corpses first to figure out their weaknesses. And heavens help you if you get infected in the meantime. And what will you do if a loved one turns? Can you really kill your wife and kids?”

The men stood beside their vehicles, slack jawed. “All the stockpiles of food, ammunition and secret forest hideouts won’t help you if you don’t have the will to survive. And once the bullets and the medicine run out -how will you get more? Do any of you know how to forge bullets and make black powder from scratch? Do you know what ‘weeds’ are edible and which are medicinal?”

There was silence, as the men thought this through. Some left, then and there, not willing to be a part of the conversation any longer. But a few stayed, willing to listen to what White Bob had to offer.

“If you are really interested in surviving, learn about your world. Ban together, not to swap stories so much as skills you might need to use. And as for the ‘make believe’ of the end of the world -why not just go to the Renaissance Fair or a reenactment society. Plague was one of the biggest killers of man. And honestly…” White Bob said, leaning in and giving everyone a conspiratorial wink before he continued. “The accessories are cheaper and the role-play a hell of a lot more fun.”

“But I already have a ghillie suit.” one man said.

“So add horns,” White Bob suggested. “Encampments can always use a river troll.”