Free Republic

Hardcore survivalists cherish what I call the "George Romero Scenario." It goes like this: The proverbial poop has hit the propeller. Cities collapse into chaos. But we, the prepared, are...well, we're prepared. We hunker in our rural bunkers, clutching our Super Whiz-Whacker 3000 combat arms, eagle-eyed and ready for any eventuality. We boldly fend off wave after ravenous wave of starving city folk who stagger at us like unstoppable zombies in a Romero horror flick. These zombies crave not our living flesh, but our six-gallon, mylar-lined superpails of dried lentils, our root cellars full of last year's carrots, and our...

He was in the other office when I heard his voice. But he was getting closer and closer and then he came through the door into the editorial offices. “Hey,” he said when he spotted me. “Mac,” I said, surprised he was there. Mac, of course, is O.E. MacDougal, our poker-playing friend from southern California. We exchanged pleasantries and I asked, “What are you doing here?” “I’m on my way up north to meet some friends I’m going fishing with. Anything happening here?” “Nope,” I said and just as quickly added, “But there is one thing, a few readers wrote...