As promised, Russell appears again later in the afternoon to finish the ranch tour for the new arrivals. This time, he leads us through the various fruit and vegetable crops as he chatters on about the importance of a sustainable food supply during a collapse.
“We don’t just stockpile nonperishables here,” he says, turning to address us as we walk single file through a patch of raspberry bushes. Dad and April are at the head of the pack with Kendra and James behind them, baby Micah strapped to James’s back. Nick and his dog are in the middle, while I bring up the rear behind Dane and his parents. “The food we get from hunting and fishing and these gardens—plus our stores of beans and canned goods—would be enough to feed all our members for at least a year.”
Charlene raises her hand. “I have a lot of experience in canning.”
“Excellent,” Russell says, nodding approvingly. “Basic survival skills have all but disappeared in the modern age, but they still come in handy around here.”
As we emerge from the bushes, I spot April stuffing a huge handful of raspberries in her mouth as she skips along beside our father. Dane notices too and glances back at me with an amused smirk. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so disoriented by the sweeping vastness of this place.
We walk past the currently empty barn and corral and keep going to the livestock area, which seems to consist of several free-range chickens and a couple of goats in a fenced-off shed.
“We don’t currently raise cattle here,” Russell says, pausing to face us again. “We get most of our meat from a nearby farm, but we’re hoping to invest in a heifer or two in the next year or so.”
A disapproving look passes between Charlene and Kiana, the resident vegans of our group. Russell, oblivious, continues toward the chicken coops. As we approach, Max suddenly starts barking and straining against his leash. A few seconds later, a big black and white dog lopes toward Russell and almost knocks him over. He rights himself, laughing, and leans down to pet its shaggy coat.
“This is our guard dog, Juno,” he says, looping his fingers through the dog’s collar. “She protects the chickens from foxes and coyotes and other critters.”
Nick keeps a tight hold on Max’s leash as he inches closer to Juno. I assumed an animal raised by someone like Nick would be quick-tempered and ready to attack, but all Max does is sniff the other dog and spin around with a plaintive whine, like he just wants to play. April lets out a loud sneeze, her allergies no match for two dogs.
“Let’s move on,” Russell says. “I have one more place to show you.”
He leads us past the farmland to the very edge of the property, where the forest opens up to a narrow dirt road just big enough for one vehicle. We walk down it, not talking, our feet kicking up dust in the dry afternoon heat. Finally, after about twenty minutes or so, the forest opens up again into a huge grassy field. On one side, about a dozen wooden stands are spread out along the tree line, each one with a paper silhouette of a person’s head and torso attached to the front. Sweat drips down my back as I stare at the target—a small white x directly over the spot where the heart would be.
“This, as you can see, is our shooting range,” Russell says, hands on his hips as he surveys the field. “We offer defensive firearm training to all our members.”
I think of the pictures on the website—people aiming guns at imaginary threats, preparing themselves for a day when they might need to confront the real thing. A shiver runs through me despite the heat.
“But it’s not mandatory, right?” Kendra asks. She’s holding the baby now, patting his back as he dozes against her shoulder.
“Well, no, but it’s certainly recommended. Anyone over ten years old and licensed can learn to shoot. Should learn, in my humble opinion.” He smiles, his gaze sweeping over the rest of us. “‘By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.’”
Nick nods in agreement, eyes locked on the human-shaped targets in the distance like he’s imagining shredding them all with holes. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kiana toss Charlene another troubled glance as she threads an arm through Dane’s, nudging him closer. Even April is quiet, her hand clutching Dad’s as they both peer out at the range, her with curiosity and him with a pensive expression I can’t quite read.
“We should probably head back now,” Russell says cheerfully. “It’s almost time for orientation.”
Ranch orientation for newcomers takes place at the lodge in what Russell calls the “community room”—a small, stuffy space off the dining area with three rows of folding chairs, a big rotating fan, and a flat-screen TV on the wall. When we enter, Dennis and a stocky man in a baseball cap are already standing at the head of the room, along with—surprisingly—Jodi, the woman from the horse corral. I take a seat in the back with April and Dad, relieved to be out of the sun for a while.
“Have a seat, folks,” Russell says in his breezy drawl. “I’d like to introduce you to some of our wonderful staff.”
I peek over at Dane as he sits up front with his moms and wonder if he’s feeling as overwhelmed with this place as I am. He doesn’t seem to be; I caught him yawning twice on the tour, and now he’s slouching in his chair like he’s about to suffer through a boring lecture in class.
“As you know,” Russell says as he joins the others at the front of the room, “I’m Colonel Russell Pruitt, CEO and manager here at Endurance Ranch. And you all know Dennis Iverson, our assistant ranch manager.”
Dennis smiles and bows his head. Assistant manager? No one else in the room seems surprised about this former military prepper guy securing a leadership role already.
“The gentleman in the blue cap is Bryan Oakley, our construction manager.” Russell beams at his audience. “We have Mr. Oakley to thank for our log buildings and underground shelters, including the amazing five-thousand-square-foot shelter that’s currently being built.”
My father sits up straighter. This is his territory.
“And lastly, we have Jodi Akins, office manager and head of sales. Not only does Ms. Akins deal with memberships, but she’s also quite the skilled equestrian.”
Jodi smiles and gives a little wave. April waves back, excited to see the horse lady again. Jodi has traded her barn clothes for a tank top and denim shorts that show off her long legs, a detail not missed by Nick in the front row.
“Now I want to speak a little about the objective and function of Endurance Ranch,” Russell says, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. “What we’re doing here is fulfilling an unmet need. In a collapse, economic activity ceases. Daily food shipments stop, and people start getting hungry. They turn to theft and violence. There’s a widespread loss of law and order, high fatalities. Will the government save us? No. They’ll prioritize top leadership officials and leave the rest of us to fend for ourselves. And that’s what we’re aiming to do here—secure the survival of ourselves and our families.”
For the first time today, Charlene and Kiana both nod in agreement with Russell. When I glance over to gauge Dad’s reaction, he’s listening with the same expression he had last night when Russell mentioned the underground tunnels. It’s unsettling how captivated he already seems with this place.
“We’re programmed by nature to ignore the unlikely,” Russell continues. He starts to pace back and forth, hands still fastened behind him. “But you all know as well as I do that our economy is more vulnerable and unstable than ever before. The risk of bioterrorism and nuclear war is rising rapidly due to new technologies. It’s easier than ever for a terrorist group or even an individual to create a highly lethal virus that could potentially wipe out most of the population. And that’s just one example. Many events could trigger a collapse that lasts for years, and most people aren’t equipped to handle that.”
I squirm in my seat, glad that April’s distracted peeling the banana she got from the kitchen on the way in and doesn’t seem to be listening.
Dennis nods solemnly at Russell. “Home basements and backyard bunkers won’t cut it when the shit hits the fan, folks,” he says in his booming voice. “You need room to spread out, to quarantine against illness. You need several guards who work in shifts to protect the property. Unless you have the expertise and equipment required to fight and survive, your best bet is to join a large, organized community that works together and shares expenses. If you present a strong, fortified compound, marauders will look elsewhere.”
“Damn right,” Nick says loudly.
Russell’s eyes narrow slightly at the interruption, but he shakes it off. “We can’t predict the likelihood of disaster, but we can prepare for the impact. And that’s what this community is all about.”
He stops pacing and unclasps his hands, holding them out like he’s making an offering. Which I suppose he is. This entire orientation has been like a sales pitch for lifelong protection against every threat imaginable. As if any of that is guaranteed.
“Now,” Russell continues, his tone lightening. “I’m going to give the floor to Ms. Akins, who has a few things to say about our membership options.”
Jodi smooths her long hair over one shoulder and steps forward. “Hi, everyone. Welcome.”
Baby Micah, who’s been quietly lounging on his father’s lap since we sat down, suddenly lets out a squawk. Jodi flashes a smile at him before launching into her portion of the pitch.
“Survivalist communities like Endurance Ranch are an affordable way to survive a long-term disaster situation. In a declared emergency, members have access to our supplies and underground shelters. But in good times—like now—the ranch functions as an outdoor recreation facility. This membership model works because not only do you get a secure place to ride out a collapse, but you also get a vacation spot you can visit anytime you want.” She smiles again. “Of course, all members are expected to contribute to the property’s upkeep.”
Kendra raises a hand. “If the economy did collapse, I assume the demand for membership would surge beyond the ranch’s capacity. How is it decided who gets in and who doesn’t?”
“Members have priority when there’s a wait list,” Jodi assures her. “Now, the upfront fee is the same for everyone, but quarterly membership dues depend on the size of accommodation you need. The rooms in the new shelter will have the capacity to house anyone from a single person right up to a six-person family.”
“Sorry, I have a question as well,” James says, handing the whimpering baby to his wife. “Are members vetted? I mean, Kendra and I work in IT and even we had to go through criminal record checks before joining our companies. You spoke about how economic collapse would trigger a loss of law and order, but how would law and order be maintained in here?”
Russell steps forward. “All excellent questions,” he says smoothly. “Our members help keep this place running, but Endurance Ranch is always under the control of Dennis and myself. We’re both former military. I also have a degree in security management. Trust me…even if law and order fails out there, we’re both highly qualified to enforce it in here.”
The room grows quiet for a moment. Even Micah stops fussing. In the silence, I try to imagine what life would look like here after a collapse. Armed guards everywhere. Rationing food and water and medications. Possibly quarantining underground for weeks or months or forever, never knowing what horror waits outside. Always worried about poisoned air or some fatal virus breaching the walls and killing you and everyone you love. Spending the rest of your days fenced in and fighting to survive. Alive, but not thriving.
They’re already living half in this disaster zone, and it hasn’t even happened yet.
“Izzie.” April taps my arm with her slimy banana fingers. “I’m thirsty.”
I stand up and take her hand, glad for an excuse to get out of here. We’ve been here for less than twenty-four hours, and all I want to do is escape.