We’ve all played the hypothetical game while downing a cheese burger at a local diner: What would you do if the world ended tomorrow? But if the emergency broadcast system actually started blaring across Central Iowa today, the playful theories would go right out the window.
If the cornfields suddenly started spitting out walking corpses this afternoon, there’s no time for cinematic heroics. It’s all about cold, calculated, and slightly panicked survival. Here are the exact first five things I would do to make sure my family makes it through day one.
1. Secure the Teenagers (And Pray for Cell Service)
Before a single door is locked, my absolute, non-negotiable priority is making sure my 15 year old son and 17 year old daughter are safe. If this hits during the school day, I am channel changing into full action movie dad mode. The immediate hurdle? Actually communicating with them. Trying to text a 15 year old and a 17 year old on a normal day is a masterclass in frustration, but with cellular towers overloading, it's an Olympic sport. While frantically spamming their group chat with "GET HOME NOW, THIS IS NOT A DRILL," I’d sprint to the garage, fire up the SUV, and prepare to actively dodge whatever infected chaos is wandering down Jordan Creek Parkway to pull them back under our roof. At their age, they are old enough to help fight, but they are still my kids. I need them within arm's reach.
2. The Girlfriend and Mom Check-In
Right alongside locking down the kids, I’d be burning up the phone lines reaching out to my girlfriend to make sure she and her family are safe, closely followed by a frantic call to my mom. If the local networks are completely fried, I’m jumping onto every alternative communication method left, hitting up old school Facebook Messenger and trying Wi-Fi calling. The plan for my girlfriend is simple: ensure her perimeter is secure, make sure her family has a baseline survival plan, and coordinate a secure rendezvous point.
If I have to plow through a minor horde of Midwestern zombies to get to my girlfriend’s side of town and rescue Mom, so be it. Love and filial piety in the time of the undead require a heavy foot on the gas pedal.
3. Fortify the West Des Moines Fortress
We aren’t running out into the open immediately. That's how you get trapped in a horrific bumper to bumper gridlock on I-35 with panicked drivers. Instead, we are bugging in.
The moment the kids and I are through the door, we go full tactical. I’d have the teenagers haul our heaviest furniture against the ground floor doors and windows while I deadbolt everything in sight. We’d pull down every blind to hide our silhouettes from the street. The goal for the first 24 hours is absolute invisibility. If a stray zombie wanders into our yard, they should think nobody is home except a very quiet, very armed family.
4. Fill Every Container with Water (Fast)
The municipal water grid will likely fail within days once the power plants go offline. Before the water pressure drops completely, we are turning our house into a water reservoir.
I’d line up the kids and start a high speed assembly line: cleaning and filling every single bathtub, sink, storage bin, and empty Iowa State tailgating cooler we own. Clean drinking water is infinitely more valuable than gold in an apocalypse. You can survive weeks without food, but without water, you’re done in three days. Plus, a bathtub full of water is a great reality check for teenagers who think the internet going down is the worst part of the day.
5. Weapon Check & The Silent Protocol
Once the house is secure, it’s time to see what cards we are holding. I’d gather the kids in the kitchen for an immediate inventory check. We aren't just counting canned goods, we are looking for anything that can double as a quiet, reliable defense weapon. Since firing off loud guns is just a dinner bell for every walker between here and Ames, we are looking for stealth. I’m talking baseball bats, golf clubs, and heavy duty tools from the garage. I would sit down with my son and daughter to establish a strict, silent communication plan. We’d choose a specific "fallback room" upstairs if the lower level is breached, and agree on hand signals so we don't make a peep.
What about you? If the outbreak happened right now in your neighborhood, what would your very first move be? Hey, it could happen!
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