Prepare for the oncoming apocalypse

Canned goods.

Check.

The Machete.

Fathers handgun.

Check.

Ammunition.

Dammit. No ammunition. What would my scoutmaster, Mr. Scott have said? "Always be prepared" he would remind us, every day of our waking lives. Even if was completely off topic. I distinctly remember leaving a latrine and running into him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lewiss! Were you prepared today?" god, he was a character. And always with the Mister crap. It didn't matter who you were. I think he accidentally called my mom mister once. Or maybe on purpose? He had a lacking sense of humor.

So of the things I needed there was ammunition, and water purification tablets. Otherwise I wouldn't last a second. My chemistry teacher, who I totally Idolized, said iodine tablets would do fine. I wondered where I could get some? I could probably swipe a bunch from the chemistry cabinet. If I did it before the zombies started infecting people, I could take enough for several weeks, but I'd need to work fast. All the other stuff, including my dads gun, which he never even looked at, was already in the treehouse, as well as a bow and arrow I got for my 12th birthday, a heavy machete, rope, medikit, compass, and enough plastic disposable water bottles, full of water, to kill all of the sea turtles living to date. Seriously, a crap-ton of water bottles. I had elected not to join a group, simply for the reason that nobody takes me serious when I tell them that the apocalypse will begin soon. December 21st 2012. That's when they come. I rummaged through my papers and plans going over every drill, every self preservation excercise, mentally preparing myself to deliver the coup de grace to even my dearest friends without hesitation. So many factors, so manny... I checked all of the possible plans. I ran up and down the stairs, all kinds of crazy preparations. My family thought I was crazy. They still do. I'm not.

I am not crazy. Everyone else is crazy. And they'll pay, when the 21st comes.

I ran out to the backyard of my rural home. It's a good spot. Not too populated, but too open. The neighborhood covers several square miles, but there are only about three families per square mile. There's little snow this winter, only fields of dead grass. There is a more woodsy part, however, a quarter mile past the back of the yard. Deep within is where I have my treehouse, suspended twenty feet up in a tree, a picture perfect mass of factory bought timber screwed and nailed together by the strict application of included instructions. It was totally unmarked. I built it with my dad two years ago for this very purpose, when I was fourteen. Now I'm sixteen. For the ten billionth time that day, I went through my list of things to do. Iodine! my chemistry set! I remembered. I went to work at my chemistry set and in a few days I had a moth's worth of iodine tablets. I can do amazing things with that chemistry set. When I say Chemistry set, I mean that's what it said on the box. The "Box" it came in was as tall as me, and could've been a coffin for a person three times as wide as me, but I'm pretty slim. The "Set" was more like a state of the art laboratory, in which I could probably cure cancer. It was that crazy, and it costed my dad a fortune to buy me. I have a project going that should be done this friday. That reminded me; I needed to buzz my hair so I could see, and leave as little of a trail as possible. I'll tell them in the morning, I thought. It didn't matter that much. I focussed my attention on getting my hands on some ammunition. With a nagging conscience, and an empty bag labeled "ammo", I went to bed the day of the 19th. Soon, I thought.

The next day, I went to Walmart and got some ammo of the right caliber. This is Colorado, I can just do that. While I was at it, I went to the actual hunting store, and picked up a survival sheath knife, a fifteen inch beast that would look good hanging from a utility belt, which I also purchased. Colorado. Gotta love it. At this point, I was ecstatic, yet appalled that nobody seemed to be taking this as seriously as I was. My plans had plans. Nobody would survive except for me. That's how I wanted it. I went to bed early that day, laying a note on my door reading "NO BEEF" in all capitals.

I slept in that friday, and my mom gave me a lot of trouble on the way to school. I left her at the front door, and literally just walked back home. In my treehouse, I opened up the wardrobe from it, and pulled out the box in the corner, labeled DO NOT OPEN UNTILL 12/21/12. I hopped on my back and rode to the farm about five miles down. I picked up some latex gloves on the way there, especially for what I was doing. I covered my mouth with a wet cloth, and opened the box. Inside was a mass of horribly destroyed human brain matter, and a cloudy broth in an empty milk jug. Excellent, I thought. The virus has farmed nicely. I made a mental note not to be too happy when the company that made my chemistry set was overridden by the virus in the jug. This, I confirmed by testing on a hobo, (again, Colorado.) would successfully turn regular, good hearted humans into lumbering cannibalistic husks of rotting flesh. I tipped the broth-like solution into the water trough, where cows were already drinking voraciously. In about a week, these cows would be slaughtered. The virus wouldn't hurt them. But even better, the virus wouldn't be detected. I raced my bike back home, and gathered three duffel bags of all the things I would need and hiked to the treehouse, back for my bike, and biked to the treehouse. It was quite a trek, but I was fit for it. Besides I had time. Too bad nobody was prepared. I slept like a baby in my treehouse, making a mental note to go back for more ammo. And maybe some chewing gum. But no beef. I'm being prepared. I'm the only one that wasn't crazy... they'll know it before the end.