Come On Down and Meet Your Maker

Every year, about this time, I get a sudden metaphorical itch between my shoulder blades. There's a feeling like something should be happening, something major, something earth-shattering and utterly life-changing. As though the world as we know it stands on a precipise, just waiting to topple over.

And then I think to myself, "Oh, yeah, isn't it time for Captain Trips?"

I read The Stand by Stephen King almost every year about this time. I don't always even read all of it. I'll read the beginning. I'll read the end. I'll read one particular storyline through. I usually skip the parts about Lloyd.

And every year, after finishing the book, I make a plan. The post-apocolyptic plan.

I have a place to go in the event of a world-wide plague that kills off 99.9% of the population. I have a house all picked out, right on the shore. It is built like a bunker and even has a generator or two. There's a fireplace when it is cold and a beach when it is warm and a place to plant vegetables and a place to keep a horse, if necessary. It is close enough to a big town and closer to some small towns. I could store all kinds of necessities there in the various rooms of the warren-like basement. And, since it is a summer house, there would be few of the dearly departed around the area that I'd have to worry about running into.

I know how I'd get there. I have vehicles picked out to get to the place. I'd stop at the National Guard bunker on the way out of town in order to stock up on guns and ammo, not that I couldn't just loot the ol' Gander Mountain on the way out of town. I know where the good camping places are, so I could stock up on dehydrated food. And I'd be close to an unending water source.

I've spent hours upon hours since the age of 11, planning for the eventuality of the summer plague outlined in King's book. I've figured out how to strap the family pet to the back of a motor scooter, just in case. I know which books I'd take and which I'd leave behind. I have an envelope of photos that I could just grab and go, if necessary.

One might even say that I'm obsessed.

Of course, it has never even crossed my mind that I might not be one of the people who survives. What fun would that be?