Is There a Future in the Doomsday Economy?
When it comes to surviving the apocalypse, you could do a lot worse than the West Virginia branch of Fortitude Ranch, a constellation of five survivalist compounds across the United States and one of a growing number of businesses aiming to seize on Americans’ deepening anxieties about the future.
Set on a rise above the lush valley cradling the Lost River in eastern West Virginia, about two hours from Washington, D.C., the 50-acre property backs up against the George Washington and Jefferson National Forests. A handsome guesthouse, built of dark timber slats, anchors the property. Two large, boxy dormitories, also timber but more rustic, as well as a bare-bones bunker, are designed to house more than 100 members. They are each expected to pay $2,000 to $20,000 (depending on the level of accommodation) to join Fortitude Ranch, and another $1,000 per year per person in dues to call this their “home fort,” meaning they will head there when catastrophe strikes.
Some of the rooms, which vary in size and luxury, are stocked with plastic bins and duffel bags, as if awaiting a college student. But there is a more serious purpose at work here: survival. A spacious underground shelter protected by layers of concrete, steel and wood connects the two residential buildings, its walls lined with cans of coffee and tuna, as well as enormous buckets of ready-to-eat meals. (There are also underground living and meeting rooms.) Inside a locked armory, assault rifles and crossbows repose on wall pegs. On a tabletop sits a 50-caliber rifle, which could be used to take out the engine block of an approaching vehicle. An inert radiation detector is positioned nearby. (There are two at each compound.) Guard towers ring the property. The dormitories have balconies with clear, continuous sightlines along the edge of the forest.
Outside, pens hold chickens, sheep and rabbits. Their meat and eggs are intended to supplement the 2,000 calorie-per-day diet that all members are guaranteed for at least a year. “We’ll be eating a lot of kebabs,” said Steve Rene, who manages the West Virginia compound and also serves as the company’s chief security officer; he is one of three workers who currently live on the property.
