Tallahassee, United States
6:35 p.m., August 22, 2010
Before they left, Robert didn’t walk directly toward the exit.
Jason noticed when his father stopped at the shooting range counter.
The man behind it, who until then had merely watched them practice from a distance, looked up.
“Can I help you?”
Robert remained silent for several seconds, studying the firearms displayed behind the glass.
Until that morning, Jason had still seen his father as someone trying to decide whether he believed him.
Not anymore.
Something had changed in Robert.
There was a cold practicality to him now.
A silent resolve.
The same demeanor Jason imagined he had possessed in Iraq years earlier.
“I need to purchase a few things,” Robert said.
The clerk nodded.
“Anything specific?”
Robert looked at Jason for a moment.
Then he turned back to the man.
“Three nine-millimeter handguns.”
Jason stood motionless.
The clerk blinked in surprise but didn’t comment.
Robert continued.
“Two hunting rifles.
A shotgun.
A tactical carbine.
And two compact handguns, if you still have them in stock.”
The man behind the counter remained silent for several seconds.
“That’s…
a substantial list.”
Robert didn’t look away.
“I know.”
Jason slipped a hand into his pocket and felt the card he carried.
Most of that money didn’t belong to Robert.
It belonged to him.
It came from the investments he had sold in a hurry.
From the savings he had accumulated over the years, believing that one day he would use them to build a company, purchase his freedom, or shape his own future.
Now that future had been reduced to boxes of ammunition, canned food, fuel, and weapons.
Robert was making the purchase.
But Jason was paying for most of it.
It felt strange.
And heavy.
As though every dollar they spent were another confirmation that their ordinary lives were being left behind.
“I’ll also need ammunition,” Robert added.
“A lot of it.”
The clerk looked from Robert to Jason and then back again.
“How much is ‘a lot’?”
Robert answered without hesitation.
“As much as you can sell me today.”
A chill traveled across the back of Jason’s neck.
Until that moment, everything had still seemed somewhat distant.
Plans.
Purchases.
Supplies.
Possibilities.
But seeing Robert buy weapons with such seriousness transformed the fear into something tangible.
Jason was no longer preparing in secret.
His father was preparing too.
And Robert never did anything halfway.
The clerk began gathering boxes.
One after another.
Ammunition.
Spare magazines.
Cleaning kits.
Hard carrying cases.
The pile on the counter grew until it would have appeared excessive to any ordinary person.
Jason knew it wasn’t.
Not for what was coming.
When the clerk brought the final boxes, he released a nervous laugh.
“You’ve nearly cleaned me out.”
Robert simply signed the required paperwork and put the receipts away.
Jason watched everything in silence.
Part of him felt relieved.
Another part felt afraid.
Because if Robert was taking the situation that seriously…
There was no longer any way to pretend it might all be paranoia.
When it was time to pay, Robert took out his wallet.
Jason, however, discreetly placed his own card on the counter first.
Robert looked at his son.
For a moment, he seemed ready to refuse.
But he didn’t.
He simply understood.
The preparations had begun with Jason.
And whether Robert liked it or not, his son’s money was now one of the few advantages they possessed in their race against time.
“Use this one first,” Jason said quietly.
Robert held his gaze for several seconds.
Then he nodded.
“All right.”
The clerk asked no questions.
He merely processed the payment.
While the man prepared the rest of the order, Jason moved closer to his father and lowered his voice.
“Dad.”
Robert looked at him.
Jason hesitated.
“We also need suppressors.”
Robert’s expression didn’t change.
But his eyes narrowed slightly.
“For every compatible weapon?”
Jason nodded.
“Noise will attract attention.”
He didn’t say zombies.
Not there.
Not in front of the clerk.
But Robert understood.
His father remained silent for a second.
Then he turned toward the man behind the counter.
“Include whatever can legally be purchased today, and reserve the rest.”
The clerk nodded, now clearly convinced that asking questions wasn’t worthwhile.
Once everything had finally been prepared, he helped carry the boxes to the car.
Jason handled one of them carefully.
The weight was real.
Cold.
Undeniable.
As he placed the box in the trunk, he looked at his father.
“You really believe me now?”
Robert slowly closed the trunk.
For several seconds, he didn’t answer.
Then he looked at Jason.
“I believe you enough not to gamble your mother’s life on you being wrong.”
Jason couldn’t find anything to say.
Robert walked toward the driver’s door but stopped before getting inside.
“And listen carefully, Jason.”
The boy looked up.
“These aren’t toys.
This isn’t make-believe.
This isn’t some plan from a movie.”
His voice became lower.
Harder.
“If we reach the point where we have to use these against something that was once a person…”
Robert took a deep breath.
“Then it means the world has truly broken.”
Jason slowly nodded.
Robert stared at him for another moment.
“I hope you really do.”
They entered the car.
This time, the silence between them wasn’t the same as it had been on the way there.
Before, there had been suspicion.
Now there was confirmation.
In the back seat and trunk, heavy boxes reminded Jason of a simple and terrible truth.
They were no longer merely purchasing supplies.
They were preparing to survive what remained of people after humanity began to disappear.
It was already 6:35 p.m.
when Robert parked the car in the garage.
He turned off the engine, and father and son remained inside the vehicle in silence for several seconds.
The boxes they had purchased at the range seemed heavier than they actually were.
Jason stared ahead, still trying to process everything that had happened that day.
The conversation.
The training.
The weapons.
The way Robert had accepted the truth without falling apart.
Or perhaps he had fallen apart inside and simply refused to show it.
Before opening the door, Robert spoke.
“I’m going to call an old friend tonight.”
Jason turned toward him.
“A friend?”
Robert nodded.
“Someone who understands more than I do about maintenance, ammunition reloading, and storage.”
He briefly glanced toward the house.
“If what you told me is true, ammunition will become as important as food.”
Jason immediately understood.
His mind completed the thought before Robert could continue.
“We can reuse some of the spent components.”
Robert looked at him.
Jason lowered his voice.
“If we have the right equipment, supplies, and knowledge…
we can keep the weapons operational for much longer.”
Robert held his son’s gaze for several seconds.
There was pride in his expression.
But also concern.
“That is exactly why I need to speak with an adult who knows what he’s doing.”
Jason fell silent.
Robert continued.
“No improvising.
No blind experimentation.
Nothing that puts you or your mother at risk.”
His voice hardened.
“Understood?”
Jason nodded.
“Understood.”
Robert took a deep breath.
“I’ll try to obtain the proper equipment, components, and technical manuals.
We’ll handle the rest carefully.”
Jason understood what that meant.
Robert wasn’t thinking only about the next few days.
He was thinking months ahead.
Perhaps years.
The world after the collapse wouldn’t have open stores, functioning deliveries, or unlimited inventories.
Everything would need to last.
Everything would need to be reused.
Everything would need to be planned before it was too late.
They got out of the car.
Jason felt the pain from the game return as he stood.
His shoulders throbbed.
His legs felt heavy.
But he ignored it.
Together, they entered the house.
The moment they stepped through the door, both of them stopped.
Jennifer was sitting in the living room.
The lights were on.
Her arms were crossed.
Her face was serious.
She didn’t look angry.
She looked worse.
She looked calm.
Far too calm.
Robert understood immediately.
So did Jason.
Jennifer had been waiting.
And now she wanted answers.
“Where were you?” she asked.
Her voice wasn’t loud.
But it filled the entire room.
Robert slowly closed the door.
“Jen…”
She stood.
“No.
Not today.”
Her eyes moved from Robert to Jason.
“You both left after lunch.
You came back when it’s almost dark.
You’ve been acting strangely for days, and now you walk into this house looking as though you just buried someone.”
Jason felt his throat tighten.
Robert stepped forward.
“Jason, go to your room.”
Jennifer immediately turned toward him.
“Robert.”
“Please,” he said without taking his eyes off her.
“This conversation begins with the two of us.”
Jason remained where he was.
Part of him wanted to protest.
Part of him wanted to tell her everything immediately.
But when he saw the look in his father’s eyes, he understood.
Robert wasn’t trying to exclude him.
He was preparing the ground.
Jennifer needed to hear the truth from her husband first.
Not from the teenage son who had spent the entire week lying to her.
Jason slowly nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
He silently crossed the living room.
When he reached the stairs, he looked back.
Jennifer was still watching him.
There was no anger in her eyes.
There was fear.
And that hurt more.
“Mom…” he began.
But the words died before they were born.
Jennifer took a deep breath.
“Go upstairs, Jason.”
Her voice trembled only slightly.
It was enough to break something inside him.
Jason lowered his head and climbed the stairs.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
When he reached the hallway, he didn’t immediately enter his bedroom.
He stopped near the door, listening to the silence downstairs.
Then Jennifer’s voice rose from below, quiet and firm.
“Now tell me what’s happening.”
Jason closed his eyes.
The conversation he feared most had begun.
And this time, he wouldn’t be able to protect his mother from the truth much longer.
Hours passed.
Time seemed to move more slowly inside his bedroom.
Downstairs, Robert’s and Jennifer’s voices occasionally reached him, muffled by the walls.
Sometimes their voices grew slightly louder.
Then they fell again.
Jason didn’t try to listen.
He wanted to.
But he didn’t.
That conversation belonged to them.
Jennifer needed to hear the truth from her husband.
She needed to react, doubt, become angry, feel afraid, and perhaps accept everything in her own time.
Even so, every minute of silence tightened the pressure in Jason’s chest.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
He thought about the hospital.
Eleanor.
Donald.
Todd.
Todd’s mother trapped at Saint Augustine.
The purchases.
The warehouse.
The wetsuits.
The stormtrooper costumes.
Everything he still needed to do before the twenty-fifth.
Then someone knocked on the door.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Jason sat up.
“Come in.”
The door slowly opened.
Robert appeared in the hallway.
His face looked more tired than before.
Much more tired.
He entered the room and closed the door behind him.
For several seconds, he merely looked at Jason in silence.
He carried a small case and a holster.
Jason slowly stood.
“Dad?”
Robert walked to the desk and carefully placed everything on top of it.
Inside the case was a Model 1911 pistol with two spare magazines.
Jason stood motionless.
The presence of a firearm in his bedroom made everything feel even more real.
Robert kept one hand on the case for a moment before speaking.
“This isn’t a toy.”
His voice was low.
Firm.
“It isn’t a symbol of courage.
It isn’t meant to make you feel powerful.
And it isn’t something I ever wanted to give my fifteen-year-old son.”
Jason swallowed hard.
“I know.”
Robert looked directly at him.
“No, Jason.
I need you to truly understand.”
The boy remained silent.
“If you ever have to use this, it means every other option has failed.”
Robert took a deep breath.
“You only touch it if it’s necessary to protect your life or the life of someone who can’t protect themselves.”
Jason slowly nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Robert continued watching him for several seconds, searching for hesitation, immaturity, or anything else that might persuade him to change his mind.
All he found was exhaustion.
Fear.
And a seriousness that no boy Jason’s age should have carried.
At last, Robert pushed the case slightly closer.
“The holster stays with it.
Put everything somewhere your mother won’t see it for now.”
Jason frowned.
“She…”
Robert closed his eyes for a moment.
“Your mother needs time.”
The answer hurt more than Jason expected.
“Did she believe you?”
Robert didn’t immediately respond.
“She believes me.”
He paused.
“And she believes you.”
A knot formed in Jason’s throat.
“But she’s scared.”
“Very.”
Robert nodded.
“She has every right to be.”
Silence filled the bedroom.
Jason looked at the case on the desk.
Then at his father.
“Does she hate me?”
Robert appeared almost offended by the question.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
His voice hardened for a moment.
Then it softened.
“Your mother loves you more than anything in this world.
That’s precisely why she’s suffering.”
Jason lowered his eyes.
Robert approached and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You’ll talk tomorrow.
Tonight, give her room to breathe.”
Jason nodded.
“All right.”
Robert gently squeezed his shoulder.
“Try to get some sleep.”
Then he walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he looked at his son once more.
He seemed to want to say something.
Perhaps apologize.
Perhaps promise that everything would be all right.
But both of them knew that promise no longer meant anything.
So Robert merely opened the door.
“Good night, Jason.”
“Good night, Dad.”
The door closed.
Jason remained motionless for a while, staring at the case on the desk.
The pistol seemed far too small for the size of the approaching problem.
And far too heavy to be inside the bedroom of a fifteen-year-old boy.
After several minutes, he carefully put everything away and returned to bed.
He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.
The house was silent.
The conversation was over.
His mother needed time.
His father had given him a gun.
The world would end within days.
Then, in the middle of all those thoughts, his stomach growled loudly.
Jason blinked.
He remained silent for several seconds.
Then he turned toward the closed door.
“Okay…”
He looked at the ceiling again.
“But where’s my dinner?”
I’m using AI to translate this story.
English is not my native language.
If you would prefer to read it without an AI translation, you can find the original Portuguese version on this same profile.