When being the coward of the county works out well.
There’s always that one weirdo in every town. That’s me. I try not to let on, because this is redneck country, but I’m scared of just about everything. Fortunately, since redneck country is also survivalist country, nobody bats an eye at folks ordering food by the pallet. With GPS co-ordinates instead of a delivery address.
I don’t have a bank account. Not since I saw what was happening with the housing bubble and switched to cash-only. I only keep my drivers’ license because some folks need to see ID before they let you buy certain things.
People thought I was crazy for moving into the old silver mine. Building a house in the warren of tunnels that had been abandoned before electricity stretched its wires across the country.
I don’t let any of my programs use my location.
And I spend a majority of my time extracting the silver that the mining company was too cheap to bother with. Smelt it myself. Make my own coins, in quarter-ounce, half-ounce, and one-ounce lots. I raise my own food. Vegetables and meat alike in lit galleries I re-enforced myself against every kind of possible attack.
About the only thing my place won’t withstand is a direct nuke. And frankly, I don’t want to live through one of those.
I got everything the whole town could need. Food, water, shelter and even entertainment. For years. Because if a disaster happened, I’d be called on to look after all those other idiots or they’d shoot me and wreck everything I’ve worked for.
I was prepared. Because I was scared.
I felt the explosion more than I heard it. Something big had gone wrong down in the town. I loaded my truck with the emergency gear, and more than my usual amount of first-aid and went looking.
Some idiots had managed to blow up the hospital.
The fire department used city water to try and put out the flames. I hadn’t trusted city water since they started fracking in the area, and it turns out I was right. Fire department set themselves on fire. People were trying to use more water to stop the flames and just spreading it further.
Right.
Time for some judicious sabotage.
I went the long way around and shut off the pumps. There wasn’t a lot of guard-dodging because everyone and their kid brother’s dog was going towards the smoke. By the time they worked it out, it’d be too late.
I loaded up my buckets with sand until the truck could hardly move and headed for the fire. They’d be running out of death-water by now.
Good timing. People were screaming about no water, so I just handed them some sand.
I hate public speaking, but this time… it had to be done. “Get Jim’s crew and all the movers he’s got to bring more sand in,” I hollered. “The water’s full of gas! We can’t use it. We gotta smother the fire.”
The pet store across the way started a chain with all their kitty litter sacks. The garden place let us have all the soil. After that was gone, and my sand was gone, Jim’s crew saved the day.
Then it was all triage in the street and getting folks to help where they could. I knew most alternative and emergency medicine than anyone since I’m terrified of getting hurt.
Town’s honey stocks went to zero, and the potatoes have to be et up after using the skins on all the burns… but lives were saved.
You won’t believe the headline it made in the local rag.
Survivalist Wins Bravery Award.
Now there’s some irony for you.
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