by Glen Tate
There was another important feature of the meal card system: they had to work for the meal card (except if they were disabled or elderly). They had to do something for the community for their meals. There were no free loaders.
Yet another important feature of the meal card was that there was no favoritism to it. If a person worked (or was disabled) and they agreed to allow inspection of their home, they ate. Period. There were no political tests or some families getting more, or girlfriends eating without working—none of that. If they contributed to the community, they got to eat one meal a day. Period.
There was a subtle, but important, political component to the meal card. While everyone who worked and allowed inspections got one, the community could yank the card if people broke the rules. If a person was hoarding food, the meal card was taken away for a period of time (roughly until their hoarded food was exhausted). If someone stole, their card was yanked. Grant thought this was a great system.
As he came up on the Grange and saw the Grange, he realized he had another problem: where to store the truck. Grant wanted it to remain a secret that they had all this food, and especially where it was located. This would make it harder for someone to steal. But it was too late to stop the word from spreading about the truck. The rumor mill would be on overdrive. Two dozen guards had seen the truck. Besides, if they hid it, people would accuse them of stealing the food.
No, the existence and location of the semi full of food needed to be totally transparent, which meant that hiding the truck somewhere wouldn’t work. Besides, the Grange was emerging as the headquarters with many assets to be heavily defended, like the medical team and, now, the semi of food. Grant quickly decided they would keep the semi at the Grange. Chip’s guards could secure it there. Besides, the political symbolism was perfect: Come to the Grange, be part of the community, and see all we have to offer those who cooperate with the community.
Racing to the Grange—well, “racing” on a moped—made Grant realize they needed to have a better alert system for mobilizing troops for the gate. They’d work on that. Grant had big thoughts like this constantly zooming through his mind. He was thinking so clearly it was spooky. He felt so alive. He was meant to do this.
Grant arrived at the Grange and pulled into the parking lot. He got off his moped and ran in to get some help. He explained what was going on and told someone to drive to his cabin and get Chip, and to tell him to command the guard of the truck. “Chip’ll know what to do,” Grant yelled to the person who was going to get him.
Grant was explaining to everyone what had happened and that no one could touch the food. He looked at the two guards who rode there in Gideon’s cab and, in front of everyone, told them they were authorized to shoot anyone who touched the truck. Grant had the padlock keys, but he didn’t tell anyone that. He asked Gideon for the keys to the ignition. He was happy to turn them over so no one would try to beat them out of him. Gideon was still a little leery of this gated white community he had just driven into.
Grant made sure people knew that Gideon was a welcomed guest. Grant said, “Mr. Armstrong here is a crime victim, a victim of attempted robbery, so please extend him every courtesy.” Grant wanted the first version of the rumor mill story to be “this guy got his stuff stolen and our guys rescued him.” He was conscious that every single thing he said would be repeated dozens of times, so he needed to be very careful to think of the impact of his words. This was serious business.
Then he had an idea. A pretty damned good one.
Chapter 119
Operation Head Fake
(May 12)
A crowd had gathered around the semi and the black stranger. Grant asked the assembled people, largely the Grange ladies and the medical staff, “Who here in Pierce Point has a semi-truck or trailer? Do we have any truck drivers out here who have their rigs parked at their house?”
“Doug Smithson out on Frog Lake Road,” one of the Grange ladies said. “I saw his rig there this morning.”
Grant motioned for Gideon to come over to him. He whispered something to Gideon, who laughed and nodded.
“OK,” Grant said, “slight change in plans. I need someone to drive me and the guards to the Smithson place. Gideon, you follow us in your truck. I need one person in the cab with Gideon who knows where the Smithsons live in case we get separated.” A Grange lady raised her hand and walked up to Gideon. They shook hands, which seemed strangely formal but normal at the same time.
They took off. Grant was in someone’s truck. They drove a few miles to the far eastern end of Pierce Point, to the Smithson place. Grant got out at the gate and motioned for the guards to keep an eye out for anyone who might have been following them. There were dogs. Grant waited until someone came out. It was a man with a shotgun. He looked like he’d been sleeping. Oh great, Grant thought. I’ve pissed off a tired man with a shotgun—and a guy I’m about to ask if I can have his truck. Not a great first impression.
Grant put his hands up and yelled, “Mr. Smithson? We need your help. I’m Grant Matson. I’m with the Pierce Point constables.”
The man seemed to recognize the term “constables.” He came up to Grant and looked at the semi idling on the road outside his gate. He noticed the guards. He seemed to recognize one of the guards. He lowered his shotgun and came over to Grant.
“I’m Doug Smithson. What do you want?” He was not happy to be awoken by men with guns.
“Do you have an empty trailer we could borrow for a little while?” Grant asked.
“For what?” Smithson asked.
Grant motioned for Gideon to come over. Grant explained that they had a semi-trailer full of food, which made Smithson smile, and that they needed to hook up Smithson’s empty semi-trailer and take it down to the gate.
Grant said, “We’re calling this Operation Head Fake.” Smithson smiled again.
Smithson asked, “So who owns the food?”
Grant said, “The government, I guess. But it’s ours now. You OK with that?”
“Hell yes,” Smithson said. “Those bastards have stolen from me for years. Do you know what I’ve paid in fuel taxes? I’m happy to help get a little back. Bastards.”
Subverting the government was so much easier when they’d been dicks to so many people, Grant realized.
Gideon and Smithson worked on the plan. Smithson had the room to switch the trailers on their trucks right there at his place. With Grant riding along, Gideon would drive his cab and the empty Smithson trailer back to the gate. Smithson would drive his cab and the trailer full of food back to the Grange, which would be protected by the guards.
“One more thing,” Gideon said as the trailers were switched. He looked at Smithson and asked, “You got some paperwork on this empty load?”
“Sure do,” Smithson said. He went back into the house and came out with some papers. “Looks like you got a legit empty load.”
Grant got on the CB in Gideon’s cab. He called the Grange and asked if Chip was there yet. He had just walked in. Grant said, in semi coded language, that Smithson and two guards would be coming to the Grange and that Chip was to command the guard of that truck. If Smithson didn’t get there in a half hour, Chip was to radio Grant on that same channel.
Grant wanted Smithson to go first and for Gideon to follow them. He basically trusted Smithson and the gate guards riding along, but not 100%. He wanted to watch them roll up to the Grange and for Chip to take over. Then, and only then, would Grant feel comfortable leaving the trailer full of food there. People would literally kill for that truck load of food—and probably would later that night when the attack came.
Smithson pulled into the Grange, and Chip, with full kit on, waved to Grant and gave him the thumbs up. Gideon and Grant kept going down the road toward the gate. It was actually going pretty well, so far.
As Gideon’s cab came up to the gate, the guards were puzzled. Dan ran up with his hands in the air, screaming, “What the hell?” Was Grant trying to return the truck and
food?
Grant wasn’t going to get on the CB and tell them about Operation Head Fake. And he didn’t have a ham radio, although he probably wouldn’t have discussed the topic even on that radio.
He jumped out of the cab and motioned for Gideon to park the rig in plain sight of the gate. Dan and Rich ran up to Grant, with the Team close behind. It looked like the Team had all its extra gear there and had handed out some AKs and tactical shotguns to some of the new volunteers. Once again, Grant felt so alive.
“OK, here’s what’s going on,” Grant said to everyone. “Now before I tell you about this, I need all of you to swear not to talk about this. You understand? Talking about this will get people killed. Who here wants to get people killed?”
No one said a word.
“That’s what I thought,” Grant said. “OK, see that trailer? Looks like the one we rescued, right?” Grant said this loudly so everyone could hear.
Most nodded.
“Well,” Grant said holding the paperwork up, “I have documentation that this trailer is empty. You see, it was an empty load last week from Tacoma. Anyone want to see?”
Everyone looked puzzled.
“Go ahead and look in the back. It’s empty,” Grant said with obvious pride. “Yep, it looks like that black guy had an empty load. He brought it in here, parked it, and started to walk down the road toward Frederickson. Right? Right, guys? Some mystery man abandoned his empty rig here and left.”
Gideon waved at them and started laughing. “I ain’t here. I’m a ghost,” he said.
“So there’s nothing for the government or the gangs to come and get,” Grant said. “Just an empty truck. Hell, they can have it. Then they need to go back to Frederickson and start looking for a black man. You guys see what I’m sayin’?” Grant had a huge grin on this face. The only thing better than capturing a semi load of food was making the government look stupid in the process.
Everyone started to get it. Many were laughing and high fiving. Someone asked, “Where’s the real trailer?”
“At the Grange under guard,” Grant said. “Where it will stay. Just so everyone knows, I have hidden the keys to the trailer padlocks in a safe place.” Actually, Grant had the keys on him, but with an AR and a pistol, his pocket was a “safe place.” Later he planned to tell Rich that he had the keys. The guy in charge needed to know everything.
“I left instructions at the Grange for how we’re going to handle the food,” Grant said. “We’ll have a vote to approve this plan, but the plan is the plan for right now. You gotta act quick to take advantage of these things,” Grant said with a smile.
It had only been an hour and half since Grant saw Gideon walking across the bridge. They had done a lot in that hour and half. They had secured a semi load of food and set out a distribution plan. All this quick action was possible because, when Grant saw Gideon, the outside thought told him to help a complete stranger. The ideas about the meal card came from reading a book, years earlier. The idea about the empty trailer came from…who knows where, but there it was. Operation Head Fake was off and running. Now it just had to work.
Chapter 120
Preparing for Attack
(May 12)
It was late afternoon and Grant knew the day was just beginning. He would be up all night again. He was glad he got all those caffeine pills a few years ago when he was storing away supplies. They had a shelf life of several years and were cheap, back then. Good luck finding them now. When he was preparing for all of this, he had a feeling he’d be pulling long nights on guard duty, and tonight was one of them. Well, not guard duty. Probably actual fighting.
Operation Head Fake, phase one, was complete.
Dan’s dogs were well behaved, which wasn’t a surprise. Dan had them tied up in a shaded area of the fire station. Despite all the activity and noise, they just sat quietly. Every once in a while Dan would come and pet them.
Cars and trucks started heading down the road from the Grange to the gate. The Grange ladies—Grant needed to learn their names, but he was always so busy when he saw them—were bringing enough food to choke a horse. They were loving this, getting to cook for all these people. It was like having all the grandkids over, except people were about to try to kill all the “grandkids” they were feeding.
“Eat up,” Dan yelled. “It’s going to be a long night.” He said it like he’d said it many times before in the Air Force.
Next, a car came to the gate with the medical team. There was Lisa. Some of the guards hadn’t seen her yet and they were gawking. A couple made comments about the hot chick. It didn’t bother Grant. In fact, he found having twenty-something guys think his forty-something wife was hot was quite an honor.
Ryan looked at Grant and said, “Dr. Foxy is here.” That nickname spread among the guards. It was all good fun, Grant thought. Besides, these guys were about to be in the first gunfight of their lives, so they deserved a light moment. Reflecting on the gunfight he was in with the looters back in Olympia, he knew how much they would change after this.
Lisa found Grant and came up to him. She was a little bewildered. She’d seen Grant and the Team walking around in kit and with guns, but she’d never seen anything like the gate. There were about two dozen armed men, some looking very military. There was a seriousness in the air. There was a gate over a bridge that she used to drive across on leisurely trips out to a cabin. Now it looked like a war zone. There was a bustle and hubbub of military preparations that was unmistakable. Lisa had never experienced it, and never expected to experience it. She was a nice girl who became a doctor and expected to live an easy suburban life. Now she was at a soon-to-be battlefield preparing to treat gunshot wounds. Lots of them. She was concerned about the teenage kids with hunting rifles who didn’t seem to know what they were doing.
She also worried about Grant. She was terrified that she would watch him get shot and would have the image burned in her memory forever. It was hard enough to be a suburban mother turned battlefield doctor, but worrying about having to watch her husband get killed or maimed was too much.
For a second, Lisa thought that this was all Grant’s fault. There probably wasn’t a battle like this back in Olympia. The stores were probably open and the police were keeping order there. It was stupid to be out here in Hillbillyville.
Then she remembered how things were when they left Olympia, and she knew that it had only gotten worse since then. No, she was actually glad Grant had this cabin out here and stored up all that food and even had those horrible guns. She knew she was lucky to be out there with everyone, but she resented it at the same time. Why couldn’t things just be normal again?
She was busy making sure the nurses and EMT had what they needed. They were really short on medical supplies. Tim, the EMT, had two really good full trauma kits and a few medium-sized first aid kits. Other people, including the Team, had small first aid kits. It would do for this one battle, but they’d be out of medical supplies for the next one.
Oh, God, Lisa thought: a battle. This was horrible. There would be a next battle. Is this how life would be from now on? War and battles and shootings and amputations?
Tim, the EMT, was talking to Dan when Dan motioned for Lisa to come over. Dan and Lisa had met at the Grange a few days earlier. “Doctor,” Dan said, “Tim and I were trying to make sure as many guards as possible have first aid kits. Tim will find out which ones have first aid training and get kits to them, but we need a field hospital. Do you have a preference on which building to use?”
“My ER back in Olympia,” Lisa said. She realized that wasn’t a constructive comment, so she pointed to the volunteer fire station and said, “Well, I guess that will do.” It was made of cinder blocks and was partially shielded by a dirt berm. It would be “bullet resistant,” but not bullet proof.
“That’s what I thought you’d say,” said Dan, who had already decided that’s where the field hospital would go. The fire station was crowded. That’s where people were eating and s
toring gear. Dan motioned for Ryan, who was nearby.
“Ryan,” Dan said, “Take Dr. Matson and go clear out all the space she needs in the fire station for her field hospital. Obviously her use of space takes precedence over any others.” Ryan nodded and started running over to the fire station.
Everything happened quickly, with a hustle at the gate as they were preparing for the attack. For the arrival of the gangs, or FC, or cops or whoever might be coming any minute.
Truckloads of volunteer guards started showing up; mostly guys of varying ages, but some women, with hunting rifles. Some had pistols, too, and a few had shotguns. They had extra ammunition in plastic Target and Wal-Mart bags. Not exactly “tactical,” but effective.
The next truck that drove up had a beautiful sight in the bed: a pallet of empty sandbags and a bunch of shovels. Perfect.
“Where did you get those?” Grant asked the driver.
“County DEM,” the driver said with a smile, referring to the Department of Emergency Management. “I volunteered for the floods every year and they put a pallet out at my place. Never thought I’d need them. Bet they stop bullets real good.”
Grant realized that time was running out to fill and place the sandbags. He ran over to Dan and told him what was in the truck. Dan grinned. “Thank God,” he said.
Dan started grabbing guys and telling them to get as many men as possible together to start filling sand bags. Luckily, the guy who brought the sandbags had a dozen or so orange traffic cones with the tips cut off. When they were tipped upside down, they worked perfectly as funnels for filling sandbags.
Dan knew exactly where to place the sandbags. In a few minutes, the beginnings of sandbag bunkers started to appear; a crossfire directed at the gate and a series of bunkers toward the creek. Dan was loving this. He never thought he’d get to use his base-defense skills in the states. He wished he didn’t have to, but if he did, he was glad he knew what he was doing.
