Bugging Out Read Free Page A

What you’re hearing now is what they want you to hear. The governments over there, our government here, they’re saying the situation is being managed.” Neil eased back a bit and chuckled lightly, no humor in the expression at all. Just comical disdain. “Managed.”
    What he’d said to me sounded more than vaguely like a warning. But a warning of what?
    “Okay,” I told him. “I’ll keep tabs on it. But what does any of this have to do with my property?”
    “How are you stocked there? Water, consumables, food? Not the perishable crap, but stable supplies. Things that will last. Things that will sustain you.”
    I saw suddenly where he was going with this, and it reminded me why we’d meshed so easily back in our younger days. We thought alike in many respects. Appraised the world and the ways of its various institutions similarly. We trusted ourselves, and expected others to earn the same. Be they individuals, or those elected to lead.
    “I started stocking up a while back,” I told him. “After that insanity up near Arlee, I knew things were going to hit a boiling point sooner or later.”
    “Sooner,” Neil told me. “Sooner.”
    I nodded. I’d suspected as much.
    “I laid in enough for a few months, just in case,” I explained. “MREs, barrels for water. I made sure the batteries for the solar system were good to go. And I picked up ammo. Lots of ammo. If things get dicey, I’ll be able to ride it out up there.”
    For a moment he said nothing. Gave no reaction. No nod of approval, or ‘ good thinking ’. He just looked at me, silent, as if he didn’t want to tell me what he knew he’d have to.
    “You’re not ready.”
    I let his observation hang for a moment between us, wondering how he could so openly state such a thing. Then, that which should have worried me became apparent—what did he know that made him offer such an appraisal?
    “Neil, what the hell is going on?
    “You need to think in terms of years, Fletch. Not months.”
    “Years?”
    He nodded. “Two or more.”
    “Years?” I pressed him, struggling to grasp what he was suggesting, or the reason behind it. “ Two years?”
    “At least.”
    It had to be plain on my face, that I wasn’t fully processing what he was telling me.
    “This isn’t some storm you’re going to just casually avoid by an extended stay at your getaway. Not just a few knuckleheads rioting until order is reestablished.”
    “Okay. Then what the hell is coming? You seem to be tiptoeing around it, whatever it is you’re trying to share with me.”
    This was the thing that worried me the most. We’d never been bullshitters, especially with each other. And we’d never pulled our punches, physically or otherwise. We knew each other could handle whatever needed to be done, or said.
    “It’s all tumbling down,” he said, almost matter-of-factly.
    “What do you mean ‘all’?”
    His gaze swelled a bit. “All. Everything. Government, countries, economies, societies.”
    It was my turn to lean forward. My stare narrowed down on my friend. The empty space around us outside the restaurant seemed suddenly claustrophobic. As if everyone inside was also leaning in for a listen.
    “What do you know, Neil?”
    “Six weeks ago I’m attached as a liaison from State to a team going down to Brazil.”
    “What kind of team?”
    He hesitated for just a moment as a car cruised slowly by, then turned at the nearby corner, disappearing around it.
    “A joint mission from Department of Agriculture and USAMRIID.”
    The glazed-over look I gave him at the acronym prompted some clarification.
    “United States Army Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases.”
    The expansion of the letter jumble into real world terms didn’t completely wipe the fog from my comprehension.
    “Agriculture and Army disease specialists?”
    “Yes.”
    “I was the go-between for them and the Brazilians.”
    “Okay...”
    Maybe Neil was waiting for me to come to an