A new doomer story, I hope you enjoy!


It’s funny how things can change so fast, how event’s half the world away that seem so inconsequential one day, can come to mean so much to you now. Events happen, and the world seems to turn, changing everything in a fortnight.


John stared out his back porch window, looking at all the other townhome porches lined up the same way. He noticed his neighbor, Devlin, had a tarp up, covering his porch from view. John knew if he stepped outside, he would hear his neighbor hard at work, but no one knew what he was building or repairing. Whatever it was, Devlin did not want the rest of the world to see it. John, who was a live and let live kinda guy, decided that was ok. A few busy bodies had brought up the tarp at the last board of directors meeting, but John had voted not to do anything about it. Devlin wasn’t hurting anyone, besides, it never stayed up longer than a few hours. John did not feel it was any of his business, and there had been times he had opted for a fence covering his small patio. All the back porch areas were in clear view of each other, townhome living was becoming an acquired taste.
John folded up the classifieds, and placed them in the recycling bin. He walked upstairs, and began getting ready to go out. He had been out of work for six weeks, leaving a job he was making no money at, and he hoped to have the time to find something better. After six weeks it was straining his family’s savings, but he had faith he would find something better. He had been on the computer for hours, this morning, after getting his wife off to work and his son off to daycare. Needing a break, he ate alittle breakfast, and decided to head to the range. John was no big firearm collector, he had a belief in self defense, and being prepared. His firearms reflected that. He owned a Fn highpower, a Remmy 870 riot gun, and two M1 carbines. He wanted a good 308, but he had no access to a rifle range, and the pistol range was only down the road. He liked the AK and the AR, but had no use for them, since he could not properly shoot them at a range. So his collection reflected the realities of living in an urban environment. He grabbed a few boxes of ammo, and his handgun, deciding to leave the carbines in the safe. He didn’t want to waste any more 30 cal ammo, since until he began working again he would not be able to replace it. Since he had plenty of 9mm, he did not feel so bad placing 100 rounds downrange.
Before he left, he made a mental note of his “honey do” list, which included going to the bulk grocery warehouse, and get the usual. He knew he was going to add a few items to the shopping list, and he needed to write down what he thought he needed for the “emergency” larder. John was a closet preparedness geek. He had gotten into it before Y2K, and kept up some type of supply list since. It was that one thing that kinda made him different. His wife, Linda had chalked it up to “his thing” and she only focused on it during hurricane season. She never thought it was necessary, but never questioned her husband. It had become part of his “charm” and she just let him carry on. He had built up enough supplies, hidden in the nook and crannies of a three bedroom townhome, to last about three months. John would’ve felt better having enough for a year, but finances and room was the spoiler.
With his gear in hand he headed out the door, putting his key in the ignition of his six year old Mazda truck, and started the engine. He checked the radio for any decent tunes, finding none, he switched from fm to am, and began listening to the local talk station. Luckily, it was the top of the hour, and the news came on. “Today, Saudia Arabia admitted in a public statement that they had been through a four day battle with insurgents, in three different cities.” “Smoke could be seen rising from the lower income neighborhoods in Riyadh, and information is coming in that high explosives may have been found at the largest oil processing center in the country.” John visibly frowned, as the local talk DJ came on. “Looks like the Saudi’s are facing some unrest.” Then he moved on to the ongoing MinuteMan group operating in Arizona. John lost interest, and put a tape into the deck. Sometimes, nothing can compare to a little Bruce Hornsby.

Devlin simply spat in frustration. He had built four Fals, and thought that would mean the fifth one would be easier, but getting the receiver knub off of the barrel assembly was harder than expected. This was his third R1 kit, which was supposed to be South African, but actually had Rhodesian serial numbers. He was a military history buff, and the Rhodesian War was by far his favorite time period. Owning rifles that still had the paint scheme and shooting them, somehow brought Devlin closer to the conflict. He heard a car door slam, and listened for the engine. “It’s John, must be going somewhere”. Devlin had shared only a few pleasantries with John over the year’s, busy schedules and personal space had kept him from getting to know the family next door. He figured John was all right though, because he had gotten a few of John’s “Shotgun News” issues by mistake. Devlin believed in the second amendment like a Baptist in the second coming, and it had cost him socially whenever the subject came up. He had moved here from out west, taking a software position with a company in the triangle. He had been lucky enough to find a rifle range, about an hour and a half away, and he went there twice a month to keep his aim up. He was a FAL guy, and would accept nothing else. He owned a 1911 clone, which he had night sights added to the slide. But he was no pistolero, preferring a rifle to anything else. Apart from a few cases of MRE’s and bottled water, preparedness or end of the world scenario’s weren’t on his mind. As he was getting frustrated and hungry, he began putting everything up, deciding he should not have taken the day off. Going into the kitchen from his porch, he turned his radio off, just as the news about a new terror attack was coming on.

Most American’s, dulled by constant images from Iraq, ignored the days goings on. Most Americans would not even comprehend event’s as they happened. So who cared that a dirty bomb went off at one of the ports that oil was shipped out of. Who cared that it happened in Venezuela. As events cascaded into memory, who cared that a group of Mexican soldiers, thinking they were shooting at the Minutemen, instead killed a unit of border patrol agents. They had gotten lost in the wasteland, and seeing a group of armed Americans, assumed the worst and opened fire. Four agents were killed. But in the end, who cared?

In this story, I hope to talk about my perception of peak oil, and how it may effect our lives. Acts of terror, and the chaos that follows, the rising prices and how that may effect our cities and families. I hope this is a good read for all of us, and I hope it is enjoyable. Some of these events will sound familiar, but I at least hope to put a different spin on my own version of the Downgrade in our society. Hold on to your hats, and grab on to something stable, the winds of change are beginning to blow.