When the Power Is Gone: A Powerless World - Book 1 Read Free

windows and taking other people’s stuff. So we bought guns. Handguns, both revolver and pistol; shotguns, in 12- and 20-gauge; rifles in just about every caliber there is. And ammo – oh, the boxes and boxes of ammo. Thousands of rounds, hundreds in each caliber, at a minimum. And of course, Bob and Janet did as well. We had multiple firearms that would shoot the same bullets among all of us.
    Everybody learned to shoot. We spent hours at the range with different handguns and rifles, until all of us, including the boys, were comfortable, loading, unloading, shooting, cleaning, safety application – the works. All of the adults had handgun carry permits as well. We didn’t go anywhere unarmed. We also didn’t go anywhere that posted “No Guns Allowed”. The world is a dangerous place, and the cops get there in time to draw chalk outlines and take witness statements. We would not willingly put ourselves in a position to be victims, because here’s the problem: bad guys don’t care if you have a sign. They still come in, with guns, sometimes out and shooting, and all the law-abiding citizens didn’t bring their lawfully owned and legal-to-carry side arms in with them because of your stupid sign, so there’s no one to shoot back. And now, they are among the wounded or dead, as well as your other customers and employees. Dumb asses.
    The biggest part of our survival plan kind of happened by accident. Janet’s uncle was getting on in years, but wouldn’t leave the farm. As Janet was his only surviving relative, Uncle Monroe Warren signed over the deed to his 20-acre farm to Janet and Bob a couple of years ago. His only stipulation was that he and his wife Millie get to live out their days on the farm, and that they be buried side by side on the hill behind the house. For that, they would keep the farm going, with our help and a couple of the neighbor boys. We went to the farm at least every other weekend. We made sure we had established gardens, with every vegetable we could think of to grow. Millie had always lived on a farm, and lived off of the land as a child, with her family. She knew how to grow and store pretty much anything we planted. We had all kinds of livestock, both for food and working animals, and a herd of big dogs, who loved us all and were fiercely protective of the folks and the place.
    We kept the large farmhouse in good order. Monroe had built the house when he was young, right after he and Millie got married, expecting a large family. Fate kept that from happening. Monroe was kicked by a horse he was trying to shoe, and the wound left him sterile. He and Millie never had children, but they filled that big six-bedroom house with love. As a child, Janet begged to spend the whole summer out there. Aunt Millie kept her busy, but Janet didn’t see it as work. She thought it was fun. Ah, kids. Millie was still quite feisty, and when we first started going out there with Bob and Janet on the weekends just to get away, she mothered and grand-mothered all of us. I couldn’t have loved and cared for them more if they had been my blood. They were country people, who had lived through hard times, and were a wealth of knowledge on what we were doing. Millie had a root cellar filled top to bottom with home canned goods, root vegetables, old metal cans full of flour and sugar, boxes of salt, the list of food items was long. They also had kerosene lanterns, candles, cast iron cookware that had seen more than its share of open-pit cooking, as well as country hams hanging and a butter churn. Seriously, a for real pump-the-dasher-up-and-down butter churn. Millie said it had belonged to her mother, and that yes it still worked.
    When we told them what we were doing, they smiled at us, then each other. Millie said, “Well, it sounds like we’ve been preppers for a long time.” She was right. If everything went down, the only way they’d know is the lights wouldn’t work. They had a wood burning stove,