Prepper

Chapter One

The apocalypse happened on a Tuesday. I always hated Tuesdays. So it was only fitting the end of times fell on a Tuesday. It wasn't a movie apocalypse however, I mean, no asteroid, no solar flare, no biblical God's wrath crap, no far fetched disaster of any kind. For all intents and purposes it was just another Tuesday, with the exception of the whole apocalypse thing.

Turns out the apocalypse was more of a slow burn than a hot flash. Everyone knew the world was a mess, we'd known for years and in that time we became very, very good at ignoring the inevitable. The economy, the climate, the environment - they all seemed to have negative trajectories. I guess what happened in the end was that we reached some kind of tipping point, the kind of thing well-spoken orators had warned us about on a hundred different TED talks over the years. Not that any of them were one hundred percent right, but together, the collective message of impending doom, well, it was dead accurate.

Somewhere out there, there must be a big ass sign that says 'I TOLD YOU SO.' I think David Suzuki painted it. Al Gore bought the paint.

* * * * *

From my office window I can see the contrails of a passing airliner. Three-hundred mortal missiles scream across the sky at 900kph, every one blissfully oblivious of the unfolding cataclysm, same as me. Albeit with a better view.

They are mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, children and parents, travelling for business and pleasure en route to God knows where. I don't really care about the travellers or the airliner, except, well it makes me think about jet engines, which makes me think about GE, which makes me think I should check my stocks. Or should I say "my investments"? No, that implies some kind of multiplication of wealth. What I have is a cuck-filled cistern I toss money into, never to be seen again. Why the hell do I even bother to look?

So I look.

Most of my portfolio is tanking, it's like a car crash - you don't want to look, but you do anyway. I used to think my portfolio was strong, well-diversified and bolstered against market fluctuations. Doesn't matter, the European Union is a hot mess, a forth member just fell off the face of the financial planet. Apparently a workforce full of people on ten week vacations does not do much to drive an economy. Who knew?

Poor Germany. Sure they were the sonsabitches of the first half of the twentieth century, but at least they are going to work and producing something to sell these days. I don't begrudge them their beer steins, schnitzel or the dimdl-clad wenches serving Lowenbrau with a copious side-order of cleavage. They're entitled to all of it.

It doesn't take long to skim the page, lots of little red arrows pointing down, same as last time.

I curse out loud and punch the ESC key so hard that I break one of the feet on my keyboard. My RRSPs are down forty-seven percent so far this year, they were down last year too and the year before that. I get that sinking feeling I will never retire. The economy is in the shitter, has been for years and I have to keep telling myself I am lucky enough not to be part of the nineteen percent who are unemployed.

It is actually closer to twenty-four percent in the region that I call home. An economic shithole. My wife is still working too, thank God. We have cash flow, but our savings ebbs away daily due to market conditions. A few years back I had moved a fifth of my portfolio to precious metals - bullion, something of value I could actually hold in my hand. Now I'm wishing I had moved half or more.

The phone rings.

God I hate the phone. Just send an email for God's sake. I answer, on speaker.

"Connor Killoren, what can I do for you?" I give my canned response. I do nothing to hide the disdain in my voice.