When the world ends, Stuey Bailey will be sitting in a tent upstream of a river in the Australian outback sipping a cup of coffee. Maybe the financial markets will have collapsed and, with them, any semblance of humanity; maybe a fleet of nukes will have swarmed every country, leaving behind naught but rusting metal skeletons of infrastructure; or maybe a conflux of zombies will have descended on our homes in search of our and our loved ones’ tasty, tasty brains. No matter how it goes down, Bailey will leave his home in Werribee, Victoria, trek 50 miles north into the bush, and take shelter in a remote spot on the edge of civilization. Once Bailey reaches his “bug-out location,” he’ll unpack his supplies and fashion a suitable shelter out of tarps and ropes—something that can be easily dismantled in case Bailey needs to hide. He will make a cup of coffee and massively increase his chances of surviving in the process.

Barring aqueous contamination, there will be plenty of wildlife along the river, so Bailey will bring a fishing rod and animal traps. He says he’s “a crack shot with a slingshot”—just as useful for whacking prey as predators. He knows which riverside plants won’t kill him. He’s been preparing for the end times for 40 years, and he’s done this before. Five days last year for fun, and also for practice. So he’s ready for whenever SHTF—survivalist lingo for “shit hits the fan.”

As you’d expect from anyone forced to flee their home, Bailey’s nerves will be shot. He’ll be tired. He will, as the saying goes, need his java. “[Coffee] would give you a moment to think in a stressful moment like bugging out,” Bailey tells me. He will need food, water, and shelter, obviously, but he will also need coffee. When survivors and non-zombies pass through Bailey’s makeshift camp, he’ll offer them a seat and some coffee. Sometimes the real stuff made out of beans, but other times he’ll make it out of dandelion roots. Bailey says the stuff “tastes very similar to real coffee” and does just as good a job of springing you into alertness. It’s also a natural diuretic and Bailey says it’ll detox livers, strengthen immune systems, and relieve gas. A “cuppa,” he says, “is a good way to make peace and meet strangers in the bush.” Also, he adds, a “great wood stain.” The topic of trading will likely come up. Eyes will linger over water filters, alcohol, pelts, cigarettes, fishing lines. “In an SHTF situation,” Bailey says, “cash will be worth toilet paper.” Coffee will be worth a lot. Bailey might trade a bit of it for a few pounds of fresh meat. Bailey’s stack of coffee packets could be the reason he survives.

Jingles don’t just stop ringing true in a crisis; even when you’re trying desperately to save your own butt, the best part of waking up is still coffee in your cup. The website Happy Preppers includes coffee on its bartering list and advises that preppers should put a premium on coffee for the same reason the United States military does: It keeps soldiers alert. “Think how we coffee lovers are on a regular day when we somehow don't get coffee, and then add zombies, nuclear radiation, a hurricane, or the pneumonic plague,” says Daisy Luther, a coffee lover and prepper blogger. “Talk about making a bad day even worse."

If it sounds far-fetched to think that you’ll be concerned with your Venti half-caf caramel double-pump no-foam extra-hot latte when your first priorities should be finding food, water, and shelter, consider the bare minimum you require to function in a non-disaster scenario: Many Americans can’t, or at least won’t, get out of bed in the morning without the promise of caffeine delivered by way of coffee. We guzzle 587 million cups a day, and 62 percent of Americans drink coffee every day, according to the National Coffee Association. To stop drinking coffee on a dime because you’ve been driven from house and home is a recipe for destruction—especially if you’re already in the midst of a global-scale disaster.