299 Days: The Stronghold 2d-4

by Glen Tate

  Grant thought about the events leading up to the Collapse and how they led people into the various four camps. Most people were furious at the government for being so inept like with the power outages and fuel shortages. They were furious at the government for being so greedy like all the spending that just went to cronies, but the debt went to them and their children. How could the government they had trusted let this happen?

  The furor only increased the determination and passion of the Patriots. It weakened the resolve of the Loyalists; they were loyal, but loyal to a crappy joke of a government. It was hard to root for a team that sucked so badly.

  The furor impacted the Undecideds the most. They muttered even more under their breaths at all the things that didn’t work. Every time food cost too much or wasn’t available, or when gas wasn’t available, or the power was out, another person in the middle started to think about being a Patriot. They wanted change. They wanted stuff to work. They weren’t quite angry enough to actually risk anything to get it, but they were angry. At some point, they would probably do something to change things. At some point.

  The Oblivious were furious, just not at the government. They weren’t furious at any particular group, they were just furious at the world. What do you mean the power is off? I want to watch TV. Right now. I want some Doritos! Why aren’t there any? I’m pissed. Once the TV came back on or the convenience store had some more Doritos, everything was fine again.

  Furor at the government manifested itself in various ways other than people being more receptive to the Patriots. People labeled by the government as bad—tax protestors, homeowners who had to shoot criminals but who themselves were prosecuted for owning an unregistered gun—became heroes. Even outlaws were viewed more favorably. Gangs, non-violent ones that were independently supplying much wanted items on the black market, like gasoline and luxury items were viewed with sympathy. They became “small businesses” sticking it to “The Man.”

  All this created a jumbled mess, but a mess with four rough categories. Recognizing these categories was critical to having a successful community versus just a group of people barely making it through the Collapse. The way to come out of the Collapse with a strong community was recognizing what motivated Patriots, what demoralized and defeated Loyalists, how to win over Undecideds, and how to pass off as many Oblivious as possible to the Loyalists to deal with. Most of all, having a strong community meant recognizing that the key was practical solutions to make people’s lives better, not political speeches.

  The “masses” weren’t really that important, Grant was realizing. People thought they needed to persuade the masses to get them to do big things. That might have been true when America was a functioning republic and the people’s opinions actually mattered. That was no longer true. Grant realized the Patriots didn’t need to persuade the masses in the beginning. In particular, Grant didn’t need to persuade the majority of the residents of Pierce Point. The support of the masses would be needed down the road to survive the shortages, fight any war that might develop, and, especially, to rebuild. But, at the beginning stages, a small group of leaders was all that was needed. Leaders to run things well and demonstrate to the masses that the Patriot way was the best way. The way to feed them, secure them, and to be fair. The masses would follow the way that works.

  Grant couldn’t shake the distinct feeling that he was one of those leaders. The path of his life, like the deer path that is hard to see but is definitely there, had been pointing toward this. He could see it for a long time. The events that shaped his life, his personality, his skills. The incredible people he met who were now helping him and helping the others. The experiences he had in his job as an attorney fighting corruption and navigating the old political system. His drive to physically prepare for this by, among other things, training to become a pretty decent gunfighter. Most of all, the outside thoughts. All these things made him into the leader who had exactly the right plan at exactly the right time in exactly the right place to show the masses what works and to then say, “Follow me.” People would follow a person like that and do incredible things they never thought they could do. A true leader brought this out in people.

  Chapter 116

  The Beards Have All Grown Longer Overnight

  (May 12)

  The next morning, Grant heard people stirring for pancakes. Amazingly, he fell back asleep, despite all the noise, and woke up around noon. Famished, he devoured some left over biscuits, but it wasn’t enough. He needed some protein. Alone at the cabin today, there wasn’t any deer meat being served up by anyone, so he went into the storage shed and got a big can of canned turkey which he wolfed down like some starving guy in a movie. He was finally full.

  Grant remembered he had a crock pot out there; he had purchased it used at a garage sale for $1.00 and took it out to the cabin before the Collapse and practiced cooking refried beans in it. Then he perfected cooking rice in it. Finally, after some trial and error, he perfected cooking crock pot red beans and rice.

  After eight hours slow cooking away in the crock pot, the beans and/or rice came out perfectly. The beans were creamy just like the beans at the taco truck he frequented before the Collapse. They were way better than canned refried beans. When he had perfected the crock pot refried bean and rice recipe, he went back to Cash n’ Carry and got another 100 pounds of beans and 100 pounds of rice. And more spices.

  The spices really helped make the beans and rice go from bland to awesome. He got a few pounds of garlic salt and onion powder. The bulk seasonings at Cash n’ Carry were amazingly cheap. The 100 pounds of beans and spices cost less than $100. It was about the same for the rice. One pound of beans or rice made about a half-gallon, enough to feed his whole family, even when he was hungry from all his physical activity and ate a ton in one sitting. So, $1.00 fed the whole family a meal. Well, the foundation of a meal. They added other things to it. But, in a pinch, that pound of beans or rice and sprinkling of seasoning could be a meal.

  Grant pulled the crock pot out of the basement and got some of the vacuum sealed bags of beans and rice from the storage shed. He gave the recipe to Eileen and she started up a batch.

  After lunch, Grant hung out with the kids for a while. They seemed to be doing fine. Cole missed Grant tucking him in, but he was getting better about it.

  Lisa was at work and Drew had ridden one of the mopeds to the Grange. Eileen said he really like riding it but she thought it was “dangerous.” A moped is dangerous? Grant got a kick out of that.

  Eileen had stopped asking if she could go into town to get some clothes for her, Lisa, and the kids. She knew it wasn’t safe. Grant felt bad because she was making a perfectly reasonable request. In peacetime, at least. But this wasn’t peacetime.

  Grant realized he hadn’t had a shower in…he didn’t even know how long. He was stunned that Lisa let his stinky carcass sleep in the same bed with her. But she must have been as tired as he was and just passed out in bed.

  For the first time in many days, Grant looked in the mirror. Whoa. He had a week’s worth of beard. He couldn’t remember when he last shaved. “The beards have all grown longer overnight,” Grant sang. It was a line from the song “Won’t Get Fooled Again” by The Who. That song described how a socialist revolution fools the people and how things under the new government don’t change much. “Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss,” was one of the other lines. That song perfectly described the United States…or whatever the country was now.

  Grant thought about it: The beards had grown longer overnight. Guys weren’t shaving regularly. The Team was looking pretty shaggy, except for Pow. Asian guys don’t grow beards as quickly as white guys.

  The Team looked pretty badass with beards. They truly looked like military contractors now. The beards on the constables of Pierce Point said something like “We’re too busy shooting looters to shave.” Grant thought that was a good image for others to see.

  As badass as the beard was, Granted wante
d to shave. It would make the shower complete. It would make the freshness complete. He started to shave. He hated shaving during peacetime, but suddenly found that now he loved it. Shaving, and showering for that matter, meant there was a lull in the work and he had shaving equipment and hot water. Those were luxuries now.

  After shaving, Grant took a shower. He felt like a new man; he felt… civilized... The shower washed away the stress and grime that had been his life for the past few days. He felt lighter, springy, floaty. Clean. Decent. Civilized. Normal.

  After taking the long and wonderful hot shower, Grant went into the master bedroom to get ready. He saw a pair of Lisa’s socks on her nightstand, which looked odd because she never left things lying around. He picked them up and, to his surprise, found the .38 underneath the socks. It had one of his trigger locks on it. Yep, sure enough the key was in the nightstand drawer. Not exactly Quick Draw McGraw material, but better than nothing. Lisa might be changing her mind about things.

  That reminded him that Lisa was at the Grange and going out on house calls without any guns. He needed to make sure the medical team had security. Some druggies or a crazy off their meds might want to storm the clinic. Or, maybe if a Patriot/Loyalist split got nasty, the Loyalists would want to bring down one of the most important services the Patriots were providing to win hearts and minds: the clinic. That was it–the medical team needed security.

  Just then, Chip came into Grant’s cabin. He was looking for his pocket knife. Grant realized that Chip would make a great security man for the medical team. He wouldn’t have to break down any doors, Grant trusted him with his life—and his wife’s—and he was great with close quarters gun fighting.

  “Hey, Chip,” Grant said, “would you be interested in providing security for the medical team? Hanging out at the Grange and going with them on house calls?” Grant knew the answer.

  Chip smiled. “That’d be great. But do you trust a handsome devil like me to be around Dr. Foxy all day?” He winked at Grant. It was impossible not to love this guy.

  They talked about the details. Grant wondered if Mark could take him and Chip to the Grange to talk to Rich about this, but Mark was out hunting with John, which was a better use of their time than driving people around and burning gas. They were going to have to come up with a better transportation system.

  Grant got on his pistol belt, put on his tactical vest, grabbed his AR, got on his moped, and headed to work. A tactical vest and moped. Two things not normally paired together.

  When he pulled into the Grange, Grant saw several other mopeds. Someone Grant had seen at the Grange meetings, but whose name he couldn’t recall, pointed to the mopeds and said to Grant, “Pretty cool, huh? Some people brought them by a few minutes ago. They’ve been donated for the constables.”

  “The what?” Grant said.

  “You know, the constables,” the guy said. “Your Team. You know, you said at the meeting that they were the constables.”

  Grant was embarrassed. He’d forgotten he said that. “Oh, right,” he said. “Of course. Cool.”

  Grant went in the Grange and looked for Rich and was told that he went to the gate because there was some big thing going on. Grant raced out. He saw Lisa and waved at her. She smiled but was busy, too; he wished he could have talked to her. Grant zoomed—to the extent a moped can “zoom”—to the gate, which took a few minutes. There was a commotion. A car was at the gate with several people standing around it.

  “What’s going on?” Grant asked a guard, a teenage kid with an SKS rifle.

  “Someone,” the kid said, “who lives over on Tamber Road,” which was in Pierce Point, “just came back from town and said things are pretty bad.”

  Grant went up to the crowd to hear the story. A man in his thirties and his wife were in one of the cars telling everyone what had happened.

  “The blue ribbon guys,” the man in the car said, “guarding the entrance to Frederickson now have some ‘FC’ guys. Some guys with military clothes and these yellow hard hats on. One of the blue ribbon guys said that the ‘FC’ was the ‘Freedom Corps’ sent in from Olympia. They’re a civilian auxiliary or something. The FC didn’t have guns but were telling the guards what to do.”

  “That’s good, right?” one of the Pierce Point guards said. “The authorities are here and helping.”

  Some guards shook their heads “no,” a few nodded “yes,” but most didn’t react. The idea of the authorities riding in to save the day seemed so unrealistic to them.

  “The Mexicans,” the guy said, “have blocked the west side,” which was the Mexican part of town. “The blue ribbon guys said not to go there. The gangs—I didn’t even know there were any major gangs in Frederickson, but I guess there are now—won’t let you in unless you’re Mexican. Except if you want to buy stuff. They have gas in gas cans they’re selling. For cash and those FCards that Martin’s is now taking,” he said, referring to the grocery store in town.

  The man perked up with some excitement. “Oh, speaking of that store, when I was in town there was a rumor that Martin’s was getting a load of food. People swarmed there. We went, too, and people started fighting for a spot by a truck that was docked in the back where they unload stuff. Some cops came along with some Mexican dudes. They beat back everyone and stood guard around the truck. It looked weird: the cops and the gang bangers were, like, on the same side or something. We left. It took us awhile to get back to the gate out of town. I shouldn’t be in town anyway, but my wife wanted to get some things,” the man said, looking at her. She shot back a cold glare.

  Then she yelled at him. “You wanted to get some cigarettes, you asshole. Don’t blame this on me, you son of a bitch.” It would be frosty at their house for a while.

  The man looked embarrassed. He continued, “Anyway, when we were at the gate going out of town, one of the blue ribbon guys said the cops—what’s left of them, which isn’t many—and the gangs took the food from Martin’s and now are selling it. The FC guy heard what the blue ribbon guy said and just shrugged.”

  Great. Gangs and rogue cops and the government were running a giant racket called the City of Frederickson. At least a truck of food got in. But, now the gangs had it. Nice.

  Grant wondered if the whole country was like this. He figured the bigger cities would be worse. Olympia would be bad, Seattle worse, and God forbid imagining what was going on in L.A. right now.

  Just then, Grant noticed some of the Pierce Point guards scurrying around. There was a black man with his hands up walking slowly toward the bridge.

  Grant looked at the man. He knew—he just knew—that this was important.

  I am providing for you.

  Chapter 117

  Gideon Arrives

  (May 12)

  Grant yelled to the guards, “Lower your weapons! Don’t shoot him.” Grant had no idea why he was yelling this. He just knew that they needed this guy walking toward them. It was like Grant knew the guy. But he didn’t.

  The black man got about twenty-five yards from the gate and, out of breath, yelled, “You need to come quick. Come quick. Before it’s too late.”

  Grant ran toward him. The other members of the Team followed Grant out of instinct. They didn’t know why, but they assumed Grant knew something they didn’t know. Which was true. Grant knew he needed to help this man, he just didn’t know why.

  The dogs were going wild and Dan yelled, “What the hell are you doing?” Grant and the Team kept running. Grant came up to the black man and said, “How can we help?”

  The man, a blue collar looking guy in his forties, was surprised these well-armed white militia-looking guys just ran over to him and asked how they could help. He expected militia types to not like people with his skin color much.

  “My truck,” the black man said. “My truck. Some guys are trying to steal it.” He started to put his hand in his pocket and realized that that was a bad idea. He pointed to his front pocket and said, “I have the keys in here. They’re co
ming after me!”

  “Who?” Wes asked.

  “Where?” Bobby asked.

  “How many?” Scotty asked.

  “Come on,” Grant yelled as he started running across the bridge and up the road where the man had just come down. “Let’s go!” Once again, the Team followed Grant, assuming he knew something they didn’t.

  Grant motioned for the man to take the lead and show them where the truck was, which he did. They came to the intersection of where Pierce Point Road connected to the road to Frederickson. The black man pointed to the right. Grant shouldered his AR and went around the corner. He paused and motioned for the others to come, too. They did, just like they’d practiced a million times at the range.

  Sure enough. A few hundred yards down the road was a semi-truck parked on the side of the road with its hazard lights on.

  The black man yelled, “There were two of them. They still might be around, but I don’t see their car. Be careful. They had weapons.” Grant noticed that he said “weapons” instead of “guns.” He must have some military or law enforcement experience to use a term like that.

  It was time for the Team to do its first SWAT work. Let’s see if we’re any good or whether we die right here and now, Grant thought. He was serious. They might die in the next few seconds.

  The Team fanned out and started looking for bad guys. There were no cars on the road, as traffic had been virtually non-existent. Grant stayed with the black man.

  “What’s your name?” Grant asked.

  “Gideon. Gideon Armstrong,” he said.

  “OK, Gideon, what happened?” Grant said, a little winded. He was in decent shape, but this sprinting and mentally preparing to be in a gun fight tired him out.