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Posts Tagged ‘apocalypse’

 In a few hours (here in the Pacific Northwest) it will be a new year. What are your Apocalypse plans?

We watched the Obama’s movie, “Leave the World Behind”. It stars Julia Roberts and is streaming on Netflix. It leaves you hanging at the end, which is very disappointing. What happens after New York City implodes? Do the families decide they can overcome race issues? Do they have the skills to survive in a new world? Why are they leaving us hanging?

I downloaded J.K. Franks’ Apocalypse series (there are four: three in the series and a stand-alone that ties into the others). Book #1 “Downward Cycle” is scary. The next three have a bit too much luck in the survival game, rather like “Zombieland” (with Woody Harrelson and highly recommended for the survivalist). No, wait: Franks’ books become almost as believable as John Cusack and his family out-running the earthquakes in L.A. and ending up in Yellowstone in the apocalypse movie “2012”.

I don’t want to give away any spoilers because I thoroughly enjoyed Franks’ books (and I recommend them to the next generation survivor), but sometimes help is a little too convenient.

Enter the current book I am reading “Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors” by Benjamin Wallace. It’s a farcical tale that draws a lot on the “Mad Max” movie series (starring Mel Gibson and Tina Turner).

Serious question: What are YOUR Apocalypse plans? Do you have any? What about Zombie apocalypse (less likely to happen because zombies are really a voodoo thing and don’t eat brains: they just haunt people who are cursed. People who are cursed by whoever raised the zombie from the dead, like some voodoo doctor).

Do you have a “bug-out bag”? What is in it? Do you have a place to land that is hidden, remote, and unlikely to be overrun by gangs of heathens when the world collapses? What about transportation in case of an EMP or a CME (Coronal Mass Ejection or solar flare)? Stockpiles of foods, preferable purchased from one of the many survivalist groups who advertise liberally on Facebook?

DO YOU HAVE A PLAN?

I used to have a plan in case of a Zombie Apocalypse: I would move in with my youngest. She disowned me sometime in the past six years, so I don’t really have that option. I do know you need a shovel, a machete, and a ladder: you can cut zombie’s head off and they lose all sense of smell and direction and you need the ladder to help you get onto the roof of your house because zombies can’t climb (until you watch “World War Z” and they just pile the bodies up until they can ascend to the top of the walls and fall over into the compound, ready to eat brains). I am woefully behind on zombie survival skills.

In the event of a CME or EMP, what are you gonna do? Banks won’t be able to dispense money. Money will be worthless. Food will be necessary, and clean water. Will you be able to trust the government? Will guns help you survive the threat of marauders and scavengers? What about ammo? Can you trust your neighbors? Can you drive a car with a standard transmission?

Can you trust the deer to warn you (as in the movie “Leave the World Behind”?)

How far away is your bug-out shelter? Is it really that remote that no one will think to look for you there? Or maybe you can hide under a silo like “Love and Monsters” where the hero travels above ground to find his high school sweetheart after the nuclear apocalypse? (Spoiler:Dylan O’Brien survives and befriends a dog).

For me, however, the biggest question is this: how old are you? What’s your health like? Are you on maintenance meds? Are you a member of a particular circle of people who might have enough survival skills to start a new society?

A friend of mine brought this up when we were camping this past summer: her genre happens to include people involved in Renaissance Faires. The Society of Creative Anachronism and other groups that aspire to the days of the past: black powder groups, rendezvous groups, and Ren Faire groups. Of course, they would have many of the skills to survive in a non-tech world. That’s what they have been play-acting at for the past few decades. The issue would be this: where do you fit into their structure?

I have herbal knowledge, although it is small. Edible plants and a few edible mushrooms. I have enough books to help guide us through any questions (but no way to transport my books). My husband is a hunter. My friend is a seamstress. Those are necessary skills, but they fall behind the basic skill of surviving marauding murderers and desperate scavengers. We’d have to rely on the swords-people and the black powder survivalists.

The truth is this: I am 67. I need certain medicines to survive longer than a few months. I can cook from scratch, drive a stick shift, handle a firearm, and hide in the woods. But the cold seeps into my bones and makes the joints ache. I have camped much of my life without potable water, ice, and a place to take a dump. I can sleep on the ground. But I am 67 years old.

The cars we own will be disabled. We might be able to rig up a radio. We have a store of food. Our children live far away. I’m an artist, a bird-watcher, and a gardener. My husband has heart issues. Were we younger, we could hike for miles and miles. But we’re not younger.

The reality is this: we would be a burden on society and the future. If mankind isn’t headed into a total extinction event, we would not be the people you would want to pin the future on. We would be the decoys.  

I have my post apocalypse plans. I won’t tell you what they are. But I really want to know what yours are? No need to tell me where you will bug-out to, just tell me what is in your survival arsenal? What advice would you give to those who survive (and are much younger than I am)? Do you have a shovel ready to swipe the head off of an attacking zombie?

These are important questions for 2024.

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Not “post- apocalyptic” as we are in the middle of the pandemic, or maybe still in the beginning, but being out certainly had the ominous feel of a bad post-apocalyptic film (ever see Zombieland, only we don’t have a shortage of Twinkies. Or maybe we do; I didn’t look).

There were aisles of empty shelves in every store I had to go to: canned goods, pre-made meals, paper towels, tissue, toilet paper, baby wipes… I didn’t look for hand sanitizers because I already had enough of those weeks ago. I could have used a package of TP, but we still have a week’s supply. My allergy-riddled sinuses screamed for tissues and I did score two small boxes of the precious nose-blowing material.

I went into the stores with latex gloves on. I keep them handy for certain art projects. No face mask as those are really only useful if you already have the virus and you’re trying to stop it from spreading to the people around you. A lot of people have this backwards or I shopped in a store with a lot of infected cashiers wearing masks. I did not go through their lines. I did note that most store employees wore latex gloves but scarcely any shoppers did. I don’t know what that says about people.

I did not touch my face once the entire time. I managed to not sneeze inside a store (in my car, yes). Hay fever was gracious to me today.

Some interesting takeaways: at a smaller chain store, they are refusing to allow you to bring in your reusable bags. This is interesting only in that our governor banned the use of  ‘single use plastic bags’ and mandated a five-cent per bag surcharge for any paper bags you need at checkout. Basically, this small chain is forcing you to pay the five cents or to carry everything out in your arms, Oregon style.

bags

Shoppers at the same store were less likely to distance themselves from everyone else, crowding the entrance. I grabbed the two items I went in for (no TP or tissue!) and got outta there.

It’s weird to watch cashiers and baggers sanitize everything between every customer, even yourself. Remember cooties? It’s like you have the cooties.

Most people have a “well, this is our new world and we’re going to smile anyway” attitude, but there were the odd grouches. No doubt they were completely out of toilet paper, in which case they may have had more success at a Plaid Pantry-type store than any of the major chains.

My biggest takeaway is how utterly bizarre shopping is right now. this is The Land of Plenty. The U.S.A. where we have grossly over-supplied the consumer with toothpaste flavors, strengths, colors, and brands. Where we sell generic and name-brand products side-by-side. Ten choices of rice. Twenty flavors of yogurt and at least ten brands of yogurt. Soap – the kind that comes in a bar – is not sold out, yet that is the one thing we’ve been told to use the most (I purchased a lot of soap from a crafter last summer and have plenty left).

We are utterly, woefully, underprepared should this pandemic run the long haul (which I think it will). We are utterly incapable of making do with what we’ve got. There are apparently a lot of people out there who think liters of soda pop are an essential to their survival. (Hm. Maybe the Twinkies ARE sold out.)

My last stop was to pick up my asthma medication. ASTHMA. That puts me right up in the “most-likely-to-die-from” category, compounded with my “advanced” age (hey, when did being over 60 qualify me to be called “elderly”? I resemble that!). Asthma meds are essential to my survival (believe me, you do not want to experience the horror of not being able to breathe that this novel coronavirus can cause. Asthma has its own risks and not being able to breathe is right up there). Anyway, the reason I went shopping today is because I don’t want my husband to see how much a two-month supply of a stabilizer inhaler costs – with insurance. He’d die of sticker shock.

In the pharmacy line where the other customers aren’t practicing a cool six feet of distancing.

bubble

I like social distancing. My “personal bubble” is about six feet around. I want to throat punch people who crowd me when we’re not on a lock down. Imagine how I felt today with my latex gloves. Hi-YAH! (No wonder the pharmacist’s assistant was grouchy. Not only does she have an essential job, but she deals with idiots all day long.)

I am finally home and safe in my own little world. My husband ranted over the lack of toilet paper, but – honestly – we have 12 rolls left. It’s not the end of the world as we know it. Yet. There are alternatives and I don’t know why that bugs him: I do the laundry. He cooks, I do laundry.

I leave you with this by REM:

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