“Hey, girls.” Dad pauses at the threshold to the living room, where April and I are stretched out on the rug making friendship bracelets. “I need to run into the city for a bit. Back in a couple of hours.”
“But Dad…” I say as he turns away. “I have homework. I can’t watch April all afternoon.”
He pauses, frowning. “Oh. Well, this is kind of important, so—”
April jumps up. “I want to go with you, Daddy.”
“Oh,” Dad says again, this time hesitantly. “I don’t think so, Sunshine. You’d probably get bored.”
I put down my embroidery floss and peer up at him. What’s with the secrecy?
“Please?” April dances around, arms flailing like one of those inflatable tube people in front of car dealerships. “I’m bored now.”
I frown at her barely started bracelet. Unlike me, April likes to be in constant motion, dancing and making messes and running around outside. But it’s been raining nonstop for six days, and Rana’s off somewhere with her family, so she’s been stuck inside with me and my desperate attempts to keep her entertained.
Dad smiles, relenting. “Well, I suppose it’ll be okay. There might be other kids there too.”
“Other kids where?” I ask.
His eyes take on that increasingly familiar gleam. “Weldon Preparedness Group is having their meeting at the library downtown. I missed the last one, so I’d really like to catch this month’s.”
April jumps up and down, excited at the prospect of a library trip.
“Weldon Preparedness Group?” I ask over her squeals.
“People get together and discuss how to prepare for disaster situations.” He goes to the hallway closet and takes out April’s raincoat. “A lot of places have groups like this now. I found them online.”
A disturbing image pops into my head of my little sister surrounded by a bunch of gloomy people discussing things like catastrophic storms and tsunamis.
Nope. Not on my watch.
I don’t have the heart to make April stay at home with me and my crafts, so I grab my raincoat too. Homework can wait until later. At least at the library, I can distract her with books.
The library is packed. Dad grabs April’s hand as the three of us head for the stairs. Weldon Public Library is massive, with three floors and several meeting rooms. Dad leads us up to the top, where there’s a wall of windows overlooking the city. April catches sight of the colorful children’s section in the corner and lunges toward it, but Dad pulls her back.
“Hang on a sec, Sunshine. I want to introduce you guys to some people first.”
Oh God. The last thing I want to do is have a meet-and-greet with a roomful of doomsday preppers. But I have to stick close to April, so I don’t object when my father ushers us into one of the meeting rooms.
At first, I assume we’re in the wrong room. When Dad mentioned the preparedness group, I pictured dozens of people, mostly guys my dad’s age who look slightly mountain-man-esque like he does, with his beard and ponytail and tattoos. But there are only ten adults here, some mingling and others sitting on folding chairs that have been arranged in a circle around the middle of the room. Out of all of them, Dad’s the only one who looks like he could be cast on a doomsday prepper reality show.
When did he join this group? It’s like he has a whole other life that I know nothing about.
April and I get introduced around. We meet Gail and Stuart, a white-haired elderly couple. Charlene and Kiana, two middle-aged hippy-ish women. Nick, a pale, thirty-something red-haired guy. Kendra and James, a young Black couple, and their baby boy Micah. Jun, a grandmotherly-looking Asian woman. And Dennis and Roberta, a white couple who appear to be in their fifties. They’re all vastly different, yet ordinary, the kind of people you’d expect to see in the library on a Saturday afternoon.
“You have beautiful daughters, Gabe,” Gail, the white-haired lady, tells my father. She looks at April as she says it, so I’m not sure why she pluralized daughter. “I hope you bring them to meetings more often.”
Dad just smiles serenely while I stand there awkwardly and April twirls around my legs. Luckily, the fifty-something guy—Dennis—chooses this moment to step forward and clap a few times, commanding everyone’s attention.
“Okay, folks, let’s get started.”
I’m not surprised that he’s the leader of the group. He’s tall and imposing, with ramrod-straight posture and a neat buzz cut. His vibe screams ex-military. Everyone in the room, including his tiny wife, looks at him with a hint of awe. It’s creepy.
“It’s good to see you all,” Dennis goes on, smiling as the rest of the group—minus April and me—takes a seat. “Now, today will be a fairly standard meeting, but I urge you to stick around until the end because Roberta and I have some big news to share.” He winks at his wife, who beams up at him. “Okay, first order of business. Has anyone learned anything new that might be useful to the group?”
The redhead—Nick—raises a hand. “As you guys know, I’ve been working on building a Faraday cage. At first I was using a standard bird cage, but the holes were too big. So I ended up building a wooden frame and attaching aluminum screen mesh to it. I’m really pleased with how it turned out.”
Dennis nods at him. “Excellent, Nick. Solar flares and electromagnetic pulses are a legitimate threat to civilization. We should all have a protected space for our important data and electronics.”
April tugs on my hand. When I look down, she whispers, “What’s a solar flare?”
I take this as my cue to get her the hell out of here. I’m not exactly sure what a solar flare is either, but it’s probably not something a small child needs to worry about.
Dad’s completely riveted to the Fara-whatever discussion, so it takes a few seconds to get his attention. I signal to him that we’re leaving, then take April’s hand and slip out as quietly as possible. No one seems to notice.
Stepping out into the bright, airy main section, I feel like I can breathe again. April and I make a beeline for the children’s area. She marches directly toward a display shelf and grabs a book with a cartoon horse on the cover. If there’s anything my sister loves, it’s horses. And unicorns. And elephants. And most other large animals.
“Izzie, can you read this to me?” she asks, already flipping through the pages.
I always melt a little when she calls me Izzie. That was Mom’s name for me. “How about you read it to me?”
We find a vacant chair by the window and settle in. April’s short attention span isn’t made for quiet activities, but we manage to make it through three books before she gets bored. We visit the bathroom, then gaze out the window for a while until April loses interest and starts zigzagging through the stacks.
“April,” I whisper-scold when I finally catch up to her in nonfiction. “You need to stay where I can see you.”
She nods and skips to the end of the aisle. I’m torn between watching her and checking out the arts and crafts books in front of me. The books win. I spot a large, full-color book on jewelry-making and slide it off the shelf.
I’m engrossed in a page about wirework techniques when April bolts away again. I shove the book back into its slot and hurry after her. If she escapes down the stairs, who knows where she’ll end up. I find her a few aisles away, standing at the opposite end and grinning like we’re playing a game. In my haste to reach her, I bump into some guy who’s crouched in the middle of the aisle, perusing the bottom shelf.
“Oops, sorry,” I say. My gaze is immediately drawn to the tan-colored bracelet on his wrist. Hemp, I think.
“It’s okay.” He looks up and smiles. His eyes are a deep liquid brown, and I forget about the preparedness people, and April, and everything else.
“Izzie.” Sweaty little fingers curl around my hand, snapping me out of my daze. “I want to see Daddy now.”
I shift my gaze to April’s face, now flushed from running. Mine’s probably flushed too, the result of colliding with an attractive boy. “Let’s go,” I say, taking her hand and leading her away. As I do, I peek at the section he’s in. Medicine.
The doomsday gathering is still going when we get back to the room. Someone propped the door open, so no one notices as April and I slip inside and move toward the back of the room. Content now that Dad is in her sight, April sits cross-legged on the carpeted floor and pulls Twilight Sparkle, the purple My Little Pony toy she takes with her everywhere, from her sweatshirt pocket. I yawn and lean against the wall. This meeting has got to be over soon.
“That’s a great point, Kendra,” Dennis is saying. “An international cyberattack could wipe out the financial industry. We rely too much on technology these days.” He glances at his watch, then at his wife, who gives a slight nod and stands up to join him. “Now. As promised, Roberta and I have some big news.”
Everyone watches him, waiting. Most of them have their backs to me—including my father—so I can’t see their faces. I imagine they’re all giving him that deferential gaze.
“We’re leaving in three weeks,” Dennis announces.
There’s a chorus of protests and questions. Dennis just smiles, his eyes sharp as he assesses their reaction.
“You mean for good?” someone asks.
“Where are you going?”
Dennis shifts closer to his wife and wraps his arm around her shoulders. “Roberta and I have joined Endurance Ranch.”
“Endurance Ranch,” Nick exclaims. “The survival community out near Westlake Forest?”
“That’s right,” Dennis says. “You’ve heard of it?”
“Hell yes. That place is equipped to withstand almost anything. Marauder threats, natural disasters, radioactive fallout, you name it. Believe me, it’s the place you want to be when the collapse happens.”
When? Is this dude psychic? Can he see into the future?
My snarky thoughts are interrupted when someone walks in the room. To my shock, it’s the boy I almost plowed down in the stacks. He notices April and me as he passes, and a flicker of surprise crosses his face. Then he looks away again and goes to sit in the empty chair next to the hippy women. One of them—I forget their names—reaches up to brush a wayward lock of hair off his face, a parental gesture. They look alike, with similar olive skin and thick black hair.
“Couldn’t agree more, Nick,” Dennis continues. “Endurance Ranch is a sixty-acre compound that backs up to a fifteen-thousand-acre forest. Fully sustainable with crops and livestock and a year’s worth of stockpiled food and supplies. There’s even a medical clinic.”
“What about lodging?” the man with the baby asks.
“There are several log homes with basement shelters,” Roberta says. “And they’re currently building a big underground shelter with over a dozen rooms.”
Underground shelter. So it’s not just my father who’s into the whole bunker idea. I peek over at him. I can’t see his face, but he’s stroking his beard like he does whenever he’s thinking.
“A brand-new shelter means a lot more room,” Dennis adds. Then he pauses, his eyes shining in a way that reminds me of Dad’s. “Which means the community is currently open to new members.”
“How many new members?” the elderly man asks.
“Dozens more. They’re looking for people like us, folks who see the world clearly and will do whatever it takes to protect our families.” He runs a hand over his buzzed hair. “Survival communities aren’t just for the wealthy anymore. The ranch is designed for intelligent, working-class people who are willing to chip in and keep the place running. It’s the only place of its kind in the entire country.”
“Exactly how far is it from here?” asks the blond hippy woman.
“About two thousand miles. And if you’re thinking that’s too far away, then you’re absolutely right. That’s why Roberta and I are moving to Holcomb, the closest town to the ranch. There’s no point in joining a survival community if you can’t get there quickly when the shit hits the fan.”
Everyone nods, like moving halfway across the country to be near a doomsday ranch makes perfect sense. Who are these people? I stand up straight, feeling more uneasy by the second.
“The new shelter is going to fill up fast,” Dennis goes on. “So if you’re interested in securing a spot, you should act soon. Just make sure you know what you’re getting into before you make the commitment. This could mean a significant lifestyle change. We’re talking about uprooting your entire life here. Dropping everything and moving your family halfway across the country. And once you’re in, you’re not going to want to give up your spot.”
The room goes silent as everyone mulls over Dennis’s words. I look down at April. She’s playing quietly with her pony, seemingly oblivious to the conversation.
“So,” Dennis says after a moment, “how about we see a show of hands? Who here thinks they might be interested in joining Endurance Ranch?”
There’s another, longer pause, and then hands slowly start to rise, one by one. My body goes cold when I realize that one of them belongs to my father.