21. Inventory Day
The Cough Is Loose
The morning after the confessions felt heavier than usual. The swamp air was already thick and warm, carrying the constant low chorus of frogs and the damp, earthy smell of rotting vegetation. I knew we couldn’t put it off any longer.
After the percolator had done its first round and everyone had a cup of coffee in hand, I pulled all the go-boxes out of the 4Runner and Tom’s truck. I started the full inventory right there on the tailgate. I had been dreading this moment.
Raych sat on the tailgate with her coffee, watching me work. Tom, Sarah, and Mikey gathered around as I went through every container, writing numbers on the back of an old range card. The sun filtered through the cypress and Spanish moss, throwing dappled light across the stacked boxes and our tired faces.
The truth was ugly.
We were down to roughly half of what I had originally packed for just Raych and me for four weeks, and this was even after the dangerous supply run we had made. Beans and rice were critically low. Canned chicken and other proteins were almost gone. Coffee, the one thing I refused to skimp on, had maybe five days left if we stretched it hard.
But bullets? We had plenty of bullets. Cases of 5.56, 9mm, .45ACP, 00 Buck, and .410. Enough to fight a small war. The Starlink kit and solar panel were still there too, packed carefully and in decent shape. I wondered if I would ever be able to talk to anybody again.
I sat back on my heels and let out a long breath. The weight of leadership pressed down again, heavier than the humid air.
“Well?” Raych asked quietly.
I handed her the range card. “We’ve got more ammunition than we’ll probably ever need, but we’re running out of food. Beans, rice, canned goods, coffee, all of it is a lot tighter than I hoped. I packed these boxes for two adults. We added two and a half more.”
Sarah’s face tightened. Mikey looked worried, his small hands gripping his cup a little harder. Tom just nodded slowly, like he had been expecting the bad news.
“We’re going to have to ration hard,” I said. “Smaller portions. No seconds unless it’s absolutely necessary. We stretch everything.”
Raych gave a soft snort. “So much for the bougie apocalypse.”
I managed a tired smile. “The bougie part is getting expensive. But we’re still here. Still human. That’s what matters.”
I looked around at my crew, my wife, our chosen family, and felt the weight of leadership settle again. We had bullets for days. What we didn’t have was enough food to stay comfortable in our green fortress much longer. The swamp might hide us, but it wasn’t feeding us.
Not anymore.
Bougie Apocalypse
A serialized military-flavored post-apocalyptic pulp story about heirloom beans, De Buyer carbon steel skull-crackers, good coffee, and refusing to let the apocalypse win.
#BougieApocalypse #TheCough #StayHuman
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