Duck and Cover!

A couple weeks ago, I was talking with my aunt. Or more like I was talking to her, and she was listening. I was blathering about bomb shelters, for whatever reason, and my aunt goes, “I have one of those.” Yes, Aunt Kristen has a bomb shelter. But I’m getting ahead of myself. A few years ago, my Aunt Kristen and Uncle Kevin moved to the middle of Nowhere, Pennsylvania. Kevin likes to remodel old houses as a hobby, and so the house they moved into is indeed interesting. For starters, it’s from the 1800s. And has an outhouse. And if you want to go outside, you have to wear an orange vest or else you’ll get shot by hunters. The house is near a barn that’s infested with raccoons. Uncle Kevin’s already had to shoot one raccoon with rabies, so nobody’s allowed around or in the barn. The house is on more than thirty acres of property, and the road leading up to the house seems to be that extensive, too. The first time my family visited the house, we joked the entire way up about Jack Torrance and axe murderers. Despite what I think is its inherent creepiness, the house appeals to my relatives for some reason. Now I know that its major selling point was its location. Aunt Kristen and Uncle Kevin are entirely convinced that a pandemic is going to sweep across America and kill a large number of Americans. Their farmhouse will be their haven. A bomb shelter is apparently nearby in the woods, stocked with water and food. Aunt Kristen even invited me to stay at the house when the pandemic begins its spread. Now that the swine flu has emerged as a lethal disease, perhaps I should start packing. Or not.