A Time to Die Read Online Free PDF Page B

beans were on sale and he possessed two combinable coupons. He stopped to scowl at the stock, there were only forty five-pound bags left on the shelf. With a sweep of the arm, they went into the first cart and he quickly moved on.
    The clerk glanced at his watch again, forty minutes later (half an hour after closing) as Vance deftly maneuvered his two carts up with a smile. The manager spotted his arrival from the office and came out to assist. “Afternoon Mr. Cartwright,” he smiled.
    “And to you too, Mr. Owens.” Vance liked the older man, he ran a good store. He only wished the guy would hire more amiable cashiers. The young man glared at him as Vance began unloading his heavily laden carts.
    Twenty minutes into ringing up the load and scanning coupons, curiosity got the better of the kid. “What do you do with all of this stuff, anyway?” The store manager grinned as he placed a huge bag of rice into an empty cart. He knew what was coming.
    “Tee-aught-wawki!”
    “Huh?”
    “T-E-O-T-W-A-W-K-I,” Vance spelled out the acronym. “Stands for the end of the world as we know it.” Another blank look. “The government is conspiring with foreign mega-corporations to strangle our food supply and kill 99% percent of all humans on the planet.” The kids look turned from confused to bemused, then horrified.
    “Oh, man, really?!”
    “Without a doubt,” Vance says and fished in his pocket for a card. On it was printed an endorsement to support Ron Paul for president, and a number of internet links that would educate the kid. The store manager just chuckled and kept the goods moving. He'd taken a card that first day Vance came in during an After-Christmas sale. Within a few minutes of checking links he'd realized the 'prepper' was as crazy as a loon. But his money was just as green as any other big customer’s, so he made sure to stay open for him whenever he showed up.
    Vance whistled as he loaded his ten year old Jeep Grand Cherokee, emptied of most of the usual accoutrements of his lifestyle just for this trip. The clerk was finishing locking the door and trying to not glare at Vance as he grumbled and headed for his car, a full hour after closing time.
    The drive out of suburban San Antonio in the early spring evening was enjoyable. The weather was clear and the temp under eighty degrees. Vance had a well-played cassette of Boston, Don't Look Back playing on the venerable Jeep's stereo and the back of the car was stuffed full of what he estimated to be three months’ supplies.
    The sun was getting low to the horizon when he glided down the exit off Hwy 90 just west of Hondo. Another twenty minutes brought him to within view of Flag Mountain off State Road 462, he turned into an unmarked dirt road. His retreat driveway.
    The cabin had been originally built in the 1930s. Abandoned in the 1960s, his father had bought it for next to nothing in 1982. Over the intervening decade the elder Cartwright spent many weekends restoring, upgrading, and loving the four room, seven hundred square foot cabin. The three hundred surrounding acres were partially wooded and teamed with wildlife. However, just as he was finishing his restoration, Vance's father had succumbed to a sudden heart-attack. His mother had left years ago, so Vance inherited the cabin.
    Vance had left Texas and made a success of himself by selling software in California, but when he sold the company five years ago he found himself back in Texas, and began spending way too much time on the internet. A few conspiracy theories later, and he was a born-again doomsday prepper.
    Now, five years later, and considerably poorer than when he started, Vance had recruited a small number of like-minded families, expanded his once small cabin, and stocked it with everything he would need to survive the end of the world, as he knew it anyway.
    He gave a little honk as he pulled into the covered space next to the cabin. Lexus, his five year-old Doberman/Shepherd mix came