Paleo The Doomsday Prepper by David Liss

Author:David Liss [Liss, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JournalStone Publishing

* * *

I sat on Jeff Robert and Marissa’s check for days, debating with myself into the weekend. Notions of right and wrong were already eroding It was simply a question of what one could live with. But Monday afternoon I went back to the Beal residence.

The wait at the front door was considerably longer than on the previous week. I sweated through another shirt and suit, smoothed a different striped tie, and rapped the same briefcase impatiently against my leg. I noted a small fissure in the front lawn; molten earth was coming through it in slow bubbles. The Beals really ought to get that looked at.

I was on the point of pressing the bell a third time when Jeff Robert opened the door. He was wearing red pajama pants and flip flops, and his long hair, which I had never seen unponytailed, was hanging loose. It was well past noon, but he works from home. I suppose we keep different hours.

“Cousin! What can I do for you?” he said. The tone was neither hostile nor friendly. I had assumed he would invite me in—I’d been counting on that time to make my pitch—but he had no such intention. The hug was gone, too. He stood solidly in the middle of his door, waiting for me to declare my business and go on my way.

“Did I wake you?” I asked.

“No worries. What brings you by?”

“I’ve got to return this to you,” I said, passing back the check Marissa had written me. “I can’t in good conscience accept it, not from family.”

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Jeff Robert said, holding the check between his fingertips. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“This won’t be easy for you to hear.” I opened my briefcase and began to pull out the things I’d brought him, but he didn’t take any notice. He was holding on to the doorframe as if for support.

“Whatever you need—whatever needs to happen to get this policy through, say the word.”

“It’s nothing like that. As far as the agency is concerned, everything is in order. But I feel I’ve deceived you. I simply can’t live with myself.”

“I need this policy.”

“You think you do, but I assure you what you actually need are supplies. Drinking water or some way to get it. Foodstuffs. Weapons. Battery powered everything.”

“I want what you sold me.”

“You have the option of course to seek another broker, but I urge you not to do it. Under the circumstances, these policies will be worthless in short order. Spend your money on something useful—while money still has some value.”

“I don’t think you understand my situation. I’m in a time crunch here,” he said.

“Jeff Robert, I don’t think you understand your situation. We’re all in a time crunch, man. I brought you some reading materials.” I attempted to give him two books by my personal hero, Cody M. Johnson, but he wouldn’t take them.

“I don’t want to join your fucking church, Eric.” His mistake wasn’t uncommon. The Rev. Tiffany Buckle held services in a geodesic dome just down the road.

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