Chapter 1

I guess you could call me a ‘loner’, because I am just as happy being alone as when surrounded by crowds. A big part of that may be due to my having grown up a long time ago, when self reliance was popular because it could be (and frequently was) critical to survival. I don’t depend on others for my survival or my happiness.

On the other hand, I can enjoy a group of like-minded individuals as much as anyone--provided I can find them. Most people don’t think like I do. Witness the fact that the great majority of Americans equate nudity with Devil worship and I spend as much time as possible among committed nudists. I don’t find these people to have any more or less sexuality than non-nudists and they are certainly no less moral, but they have learned that nudity and sexual activity are separate concepts. Sometimes I wish this were not so, especially when strolling among 10,000 or so naked Europeans on a Mediterranean beach and wishing that there were some way to make closer contact with them.

Needless to say, my loner personality also leads me to live in places where many others would be concerned with their safety. In the recent past, I have lived in the Arizona desert, miles from civilization, on an isolated mountain top in the Smokies, as well as on a nude beach in Europe. Interspersed with these locations have been apartments in large cities as well as smaller towns and villages in various continents.

In each of these locations, I have found enough things to do to keep my mind occupied, while enjoying whatever uniqueness might be offered by that location. In every case, it would have made the experience more enjoyable if there had been a suitably minded companion to share the experience with, but there wasn’t, so, “Oh, well”. At least solitude was far preferable to being there with my last wife, but enough about her.

My present status resulted from a decision I made to investigate off-grid life and survival. Many of the recent events in America have made me have less confidence in the system and it seemed appropriate to hope for the best, but plan for the worst.

Accordingly, I set out to plan ways to overcome the difficulties of life in the raw, if it came to pass that survival depended on my ability to return to the lifestyle in which I was reared. Younger people seem to take it as some sort of insult when I talk about not having the things as a child on which they are so dependent. Not only do I have no need to remain in continuous communication with my peers, but I actively detest such arrangements and regard them as an intrusion on my privacy.

Younger people seem to interpret my choice as an inability to operate the mechanisms of constant communication. In fact, my career was spent in the development of the technologies that they like to think are beyond my ken because I do not choose to function in the same way as their peers.

My first priority was to find an adequate location, followed by the provision of adequate housing. Food would become important as soon as my immediate stash was consumed and protection of all sorts would become increasingly important if the world did, indeed, hop into the handbasket headed for Hell, as seemed to be a distinct possibility.

Some groups approach the concept of survival by storing food, fuel or ammunition. Regardless of the amount stored, there will come a time when it is used up. Rifles become poorly balanced clubs when there is no more ammunition. Generators have no value, whatsoever, without fuel. Stored food does not last forever, regardless of the amount stored.

My goal is to become entirely self sufficient, as my family was during my childhood. Yes, I can now fly across the Atlantic in less time than it took me to walk twenty miles when I was a kid. Yes, I can now instantly communicate with someone anywhere in the world and have the entire knowledge of the world at my fingertips. Has either of these advances made me more happy? Could I be as happy as I was then if I no longer had the trappings of modern society? I think so. It beats the hell out of fighting over the last can of soup in a world filled with starving people.

Do I have the right to plan for my own survival when most everyone else is likely to perish if the possible societal breakdown does occur? I don’t know whether I have the right, but I have the will and the ability, so that is my intention.

I was putting the finishing touches on the pedestal for the wind turbine when I heard the crash.

I grabbed my jacket and headed toward the source of the sound. At the last second, I decided to take my rifle along. Yes, I know it will be useless after the ammo is gone, but I am very sparing with the ammo and hope to be completely competent with the bow before the ammo is gone. Until I know these woods better, it may be a good idea to always carry my rifle when out and about.

As I approached the road, I saw a horrible sight. A small bus loaded with Girl Scouts had run off the road and was canted toward the edge of a steep drop of several hundred feet. The girls were screaming and crying in panic.

Closer inspection showed that the driver appeared to have been the victim of an air bag deployment that went horribly wrong. Her head lolled at an unnatural angle, as if her neck were broken, and there was a huge pot hole in the road several feet behind the bus that could have caused sufficient impact to set off the air bag.

My immediate concern was in getting the girls off the bus before it went over the edge of the precipice. However, no amount of calling and whistling could penetrate their panic and I could see the bus teetering as if it might go on over the edge very soon unless something was done very quickly.

In spite of my desire to conserve ammo, this looked like one of those times when there was little choice. I fired off a round into the air.

At least it shocked them enough to focus their attention on me long enough for me to get through to them that I was there to help them.

Adopting my best command voice while the echoes of the rifle shot were still reverberating, I yelled, “Shut the fuck up!”.

They were probably unaccustomed to adults speaking to them in that manner, so they stopped screaming and looked at me to see what the crazy man would do next. Ok, so I wasn’t exactly dressed for company and hadn’t bothered shaving or cutting my hair in some time. Why bother? It’s just me out here. Well, it was just me. Now it seems that it is me and a gaggle of teenaged girls.

“Shut the fuck up and do as I say or you will all die.” That worked well. Several of them started to wail again and more were joining in.