by Glen Tate
“I’m driving,” Gideon said, winded. “I have just one more load and then I’m done. I knew this was dangerous, but the money was great. So I see a police car blocking the road up there,” he said pointing up the road away from the gate. “I slow down. ‘Great, some cops are gonna jack my load’, I say to myself.”
“Are the bad guys cops?” Grant asked quickly. He wanted to know who to be looking out for. He didn’t have time to chat.
“Kinda,” Gideon said. “They were in a cop car, but they had on BDUs” Gideon said. Using the term “BDUs”, which stood for “battle dress uniforms,” told Grant that Gideon had been in the Army or other military service in the 80s or 90s when that term was used to describe woodland camouflage fatigues.
“Did they have hard hats?” Grant asked.
Gideon’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! Yellow ones. How did you know?”
Grant yelled to the Team, “Be looking for a cop car with FCs in hard hats and fatigues.” He looked back to Gideon and said, “Where are they now?”
Gideon looked up and down the road and said, “I don’t know, man. They were here a few minutes ago.” Then he put his hand on his pocket. “The keys. I took the keys.” He thought a while.
“It happened so fast,” Gideon said. “Now I remember. One had a gun pointed at me and the other motioned for me to roll down the window. I did. The one without the gun said he was ‘commandeering’ the truck. I’m like, ‘hell no, you’re not’. So I took the keys out of the ignition, raised my hands, and got out of the cab.”
Gideon went on, “I knew these white boys—no offense—would shoot my ass once they got what I’m hauling. It’s pretty valuable,” he said with a smile. “So I had nothing to lose. Besides, my home is back in Philly so I’m pretty much dead here now, anyway. So I tell them, ‘It’s yours’ and I walk away with my hands up. Those dumb asses didn’t even realize I took the keys out of the ignition. They were high fiving each other just staring at the truck, like they won. Well, shit, they can’t move that trailer far without the cab running. So I start running down the road and I see the entrance to your place. Then I see your guards and I think, ‘Oh shit. They’ll shoot me too.’ That’s what happened.”
“Where is the cop car?” Grant yelled. He wanted to know right now.
“Dunno,” Gideon said. “They might have left when they realized that I had the keys. Or they might be going back to get some bolt cutters for the locks on the back.”
Grant realized they needed to get that truck moving and into Pierce Point. “Get it running and go across the bridge where the guards are. I’ll tell them to let you in. Move. I don’t want those FC coming back.”
“FC?” Gideon asked.
“Later,” Grant yelled as he ran toward the Team. “We’ll talk later. Move that thing now. We’ll cover you.”
“Roger that,” Gideon said. He jumped up in the cab and started it up.
Grant yelled to Pow, who was closest to the gate, “Tell them it’s OK for this guy to bring the truck in. And tell them to be ready to shoot up a cop car if one comes by.”
Pow yelled, “Roger” and started running toward the bridge.
Grant ran up to the rest of the Team, who had taken cover around the truck and were scanning the area, and told them what was going on. No sign of a cop car or any other car so far.
The truck slowly lumbered down the shoulder and turned onto Pierce Point Road. Grant motioned for the Team to come back. They retreated with one man closest to the threat—the road to Frederickson—covering the road while the others ran back toward the bridge. As soon as the last man got to cover, he yelled, “Set!” That was the signal for the man closest to the threat to turn and run back toward the bridge. A leap frogging retreat. They’d done this on the range a bunch of times. Special Forces Ted had taught them. They weren’t perfect doing it today, but they didn’t practice this for a living. Even with the flaws, Ryan was impressed. He fit right in, executing his cover right when he heard “Set!”
Grant was one of the first to the gate. The guards were looking at him like he was on drugs. Rich and Dan came running up and yelling, “What the hell?”
“FC tried to steal this guy’s truck,” Grant said, winded.
Rich and Dan weren’t sure that was a good answer. Why was Grant letting this stranger drive a truck—possibly filled with looters—through the gate?
Dan yelled to the guards, “Cover that truck. If people come out the back, shoot ‘em!”
This was the first action the guards had seen, and they were jumping around. Dan looked toward the hill where the snipers were and motioned with his arm.
Gideon parked the truck and put his hands out the window. Grant ran up and said, “Move this over there,” pointing to the volunteer fire station. “I don’t want people seeing that we have your truck.”
Gideon nodded. He started to drive. Some of the guards yelled, “Stop!”
Grant ran around the truck yelling, “Let him drive it! Let him drive!” The guards, too, assumed that Grant knew something they didn’t.
Finally, the truck was parked so it couldn’t be seen from the road. The Team was behind cover on and near the bridge, sweeping the entrance with their rifles. Any cop car driving down the road would be cut to pieces in seconds.
Grant ran back toward the gate and yelled to the guards, “Be on the lookout for a cop car. Shoot it. Got it? Shoot the cop car.” The guards slowly nodded. They were in shock. No one had ever told them to shoot a cop car before.
Grant yelled for the Team to retreat across the bridge while the guards covered them. The guards were clumsily covering the bridge as they started streaming back. The Team was definitely smoother than the guards, but there were way more guards.
Grant was at the gate, trying to catch his breath when the Team started coming up to him.
“What just happened?” Pow asked. “Who is this guy?”
“I dunno,” Grant said.
Chapter 118
The Spoils of War
(May 12)
“What?” Ryan said. “You dunno?”
“I dunno who he is,” Grant said.
“Why the hell did you let him in?” Rich asked as he came up.
“I felt like I should,” Grant said.
“What?” Several people said in unison.
Al, the immigration guy, the former Border Patrol agent from the meeting at the Grange, came up and angrily asked, “Who let this guy in?”
Rich pointed at Grant.
“Why did you let him in?” Al asked.
“I dunno,” Grant said.
Grant realized how stupid that sounded. He needed to give a better explanation. Except he didn’t have one. So he made something up.
“You’ll see,” Grant said as he walked toward the truck. “You’ll see,” he repeated.
Grant didn’t know for sure what was in there, but he knew in his gut that they needed to rescue the driver and bring the trailer in. He knew they needed to do this fast before they got caught.
Gideon was standing outside the cab with his hands up with about a dozen rifles pointed at him and the truck. He was starting to get nervous surrounded by all these rednecks with guns. Gideon was beginning to fear that he had walked into some white power compound. He had been told by his company and the news that these types of compounds were springing up everywhere and that the “Don’t Tread on Me” flag was a Nazi militia symbol. Other drivers said that was a lie, like just about everything else the company and the news were saying. Gideon hadn’t actually seen any signs of it out there as he drove across the country.
Just as he was getting really nervous about all the white guys in hunting clothes pointing rifles at him, he saw an Asian guy who looked like a tactical badass. Gideon scanned the guards and also saw two Hispanic looking guys. That was a relief. This surely wasn’t some white power compound.
Grant said to Gideon, “Open the trailer.”
“The keys to the padlocks are in the cab. Can I get them?”
Gideon asked.
“I’ll get them,” Grant said. He got up in the cab and found a key ring. He came down and asked Gideon, “These them?”
Gideon nodded.
Grant ran to the rear of the trailer and started to open the locks. There were three of them.
Grant opened up the trailer door and gasped. He could not believe his eyes.
Gideon came running to the trailer door. “I was bringing a load to a grocery store called Martin’s. This is a semi load of food. Non-perishable. Want to see the paper work on it?”
The guards exploded with whooping and hollering. They were jumping up and down.
Grant’s knees gave way. He fell to the ground. He was overtaken with emotion. They’d eat for weeks! The constant worrying about having enough food was over. He was ecstatic.
Everyone was screaming with joy. Rich yelled to Grant, “How did you know what was in there!”
“I didn’t,” Grant said as he shrugged. “I just knew it was stuff we needed. I just knew.” He wasn’t about to explain the outside thoughts and how they had always been right. No one would believe him.
Grant looked inside the semi-trailer. It was full of huge cases of beans, rice, biscuit and pancake mix, and stacked high with cases of canned meat , soups, and vegetables. Grant saw jams and cases of peanut butter, even cookies and crackers. He smiled and then he started laughing out loud.
There was so much food in there. Pierce Point could serve meals from this truck for…Grant had no idea, but it would be a long time. They would be able to provide food when the government couldn’t.
Grant realized that the FC would be coming back to get “their” truck. Let them. Let the first blood be those FC dickheads. Let the Undecideds realize who was feeding them and who was trying to take it away.
“Get that damned truck up to the Grange and post a guard,” Dan said. He was smiling. “Nicely done, Mr. Matson. Nicely done.”
Grant realized that the FC, or cops, or whomever would be looking for the black truck driver. “We’ll get Gideon to the Grange and have him hide out there,” Grant said.
Dan nodded and then asked, “What if someone asks who the new guy is?”
Grant smiled and said, “We’ll tell them he’s Chip’s cousin.” Chip, who was white, could actually convince someone of that. Dan laughed, and then turned serious. Grant knew what he was going to say next.
“Yeah, I know,” Grant said to Dan, “prepare for an attack.” Grant looked out toward the gate and said to Dan, “The FC will be coming to call. It’s not like we can have five hundred households here keep a secret like this. Well, Dan, we’ll see how good our defenses are pretty soon. What, you figure around night fall?”
Dan nodded. He started yelling orders to the guards to double up, be alert, and shoot any cop cars. “Shoot to kill anyone coming across that bridge until further orders.” It sounded so weird to hear someone actually say that.
Rich was on the radio, one of the ham radios instead of the CBs, calling in to Linda the dispatcher at the Grange. He wanted every able bodied and armed man to come to the gate. “Tell the Chief to be ready for an attack from the water, too,” Rich said into the radio.
Rich’s very serious look when he was on the radio changed to a smile as he was looking at the semi-truck full of food.
“You seriously had no idea what was in that truck?” Rich asked Grant.
“Kinda,” Grant said. “It’s hard to explain. Maybe over some Pendleton. It’s…hard to explain.” Grant hoped he didn’t sound too weird.
“I’ll bet,” Rich said. “Well, no meeting tonight. We’ve got an attack coming.”
“Could I respectfully disagree?” Grant asked. “Not about the attack. Yeah, we’ll see some action tonight. But I disagree about not having a meeting. We need to get the message out right now that we have secured a load of food and that the community will be deciding what to do with it. I don’t want people’s expectations to be that they’ll get a bunch of food. I want to hold onto the food as a reserve and only use it when people have exhausted their own supplies. Like around winter. I have an idea on how to do that I’ll tell you later.”
Man, this guy thinks of all the political angles, Rich thought. Not “political” as in “vote for me,” but as in getting people to work together as much as possible. Rich was very glad to have Grant around. He wasn’t a military genius, but those political and administrative ideas of his were solid.
“OK,” Rich said. “You go up to the Grange and give out the message you want to give out and then get back down here with all the guys as soon as you can. I’m staying here with Dan to coordinate our defenses.”
“We need to get that semi up to the Grange for safekeeping,” Grant said. “I’ll have Gideon drive it up there.”
“Who’s Gideon?” Rich said. Grant pointed toward him.
“Oh, yeah, do that,” Rich said.
Grant ran over to Gideon and told him to get in the cab and follow him. They went to the back of the trailer to lock it up. Some of the guards were concerned about why they were there to lock up the goodies. Were they jacking it from them?
Grant explained, “We’re just taking it to the Grange for safekeeping. Grab two guards and get in the cab.” Two guys jumped into the cab.
Grant told Gideon to follow him as he rode in front on his moped. He saw Pow and said, “Hey, we’ll probably be attacked tonight. You and one other guy need to go back to the yellow cabin and get all the ammo and magazines you can. Get all our spare rifles. AKs, shotguns, you name it. There will be some new guys on guard duty tonight. Bring all that shit. Get a truck to bring it down.”
Grant got on his moped and continued on toward the Grange with Gideon and the cab full of guards following him. They had to get there quickly. The attack might be minutes away.
On the five-minute ride there, Grant collected his thoughts. He would park the truck and have at least two guards on it. He’d have someone get Chip up there, who could manage the guards. Grant thanked God that Chip was out there. It was just one of the many things Grant thanked God for on that five-minute ride back to the Grange.
Grant wanted “his” guys to be in charge of the food and be seen by the community as in charge of it. Not that he wanted to take all the food; quite the opposite, he had enough food for his family and he wanted to distribute the food as widely as possible. But, he wanted the residents to see that he and his guys were the problem solvers, the people to go to and the ones who get things done. Guarding a semi full of food when the stores were closed sends a powerful “can-do” message, and would make them very popular. And Grant knew they would need all the friends and supporters possible for what was coming.
There was no way he could prevent a vote on how to distribute the food, although he wished he could. He was no dictator, but he was worried that people would want to divide it up among 500 or so households, which would be a pittance per person. However, there was no way to hide the food or convince people that Grant alone got to decide what to do with it. This was a difficult problem to solve. So he started thinking as hard as he could.
He knew that the first message that went out in the rumor mill—and news of a semi full of food would spread like wildfire—would be what people would assume the plan was. It was important to be the first one to get the message out. Just like in politics. Wait, Grant laughed to himself, this was politics.
Distributing the food made Grant momentarily wonder if he was becoming a socialist. Does the collective get to decide how to divide up other people’s property? Nope.
First of all, they were at war. Most people at Pierce Point didn’t realize it, but they were. An undeclared, informal low-intensity war. That semi was the “spoils of war.” It went to supplying the troops and the civilians supporting the troops. That’s how spoils work. At least, when the capturing force is decent instead of looters, who just take it for themselves. Captured goods go to support the military forces that captured it. It’s like paying for a military, but w
ith the other side’s stuff.
Second, there was the practical problem of who owned the food. The government? Who would it be returned to? The FC and the gangs? That would just get it back to the “government” or to the boss running Frederickson, if the FC didn’t steal it for themselves first. What if Gideon’s company owned it? How would he get it back to them? The truck would be hijacked a few miles down the road. At the gate to Frederickson, for sure. So there was no way to return the truck.
A final reason that distributing the food wasn’t considered socialism was…well, payback. Technically, the food belonged to the government, which had nationalized the food and trucks. Well, the government owed the people in Pierce Point several million dollars. The government had seized their bank accounts. The government had taken their property for years through environmental regulations. The government had taxed them at absurd levels. The government had taken way more than a semi of food from these people. Now the people were getting back some of what had been stolen from them. It could be considered “returning stolen property,” even though Grant just kind of stole it himself. Kind of, but not really.
The fact that the semi was the spoils of war explained why the food would be distributed, but not how. Grant remembered an ingenious solution for this problem from one of his favorite novels, One Second After. In it, the community had to decide how to distribute food. They wanted people to use their own reserves first before dipping into the community food. They also didn’t want to be an authoritarian government. So they came up with the meal card system.
Under the meal card system, a person was obligated to use up their own food first. If they chose to accept a meal card—and some did not—they thereby agreed to let the community come into their house and inspect it to ensure that they did not have any food. This was all voluntary. The meal card got them one good meal every day cooked at the community facility. They got a meal to eat there, not food to carry back to their houses where they could sell it.
