by Glen Tate
Rich came up to the gate. He waved and a guard ran up to open the gate. Rich pulled into the volunteer fire station.
He looked at his watch. It was 12:15 p.m. He was hungry and Mrs. Roth’s funeral was at 2:00 pm, but it was time to get some work done. He had to brief Dan and Grant on what had just happened. He asked Heidi to get Dan, Grant and the rest of the Team there.
Cindy was still sitting in the cab of the truck. She didn’t want to get out. She was frozen.
“You OK?” Rich asked her.
“Oh. Huh? Oh, yeah,” she said. She had been zoning out so hard that she was nearly in a trance. She had been thinking so hard about all that had happened and the nearly empty hospital. The diapers in the parking lot. Little Tony. She needed to snap out of it and get to work.
“We’ll get you and the new supplies up to the Grange,” Rich said to Cindy. She nodded.
Rich realized that Cindy knew some things that shouldn’t spread around Pierce Point. Like the fake fifty Marines and dozen contractors, and the awful conditions in town.
“Cindy,” Rich said to her in the privacy of the truck cab, “you saw and heard a lot of things in town that can’t get spread around. Please don’t talk about them.”
Cindy nodded. She seemed to have snapped out of her trance and was listening.
Rich went over all the things Cindy shouldn’t talk about. The bribe, the five squads of Marines, the corruption, and the lack of a real hospital. “We don’t want people in here to lose hope. Highlight the positive. We’re going to fill out FCards, that kind of thing. They…”
“I know,” Cindy said. “I know. They need hope. I know.” Rich could tell that she needed hope herself. And that was much harder now that she’d seen what was going on in town. She got out of the truck.
Rich noticed that Pow and Ryan were still sitting in the truck.
“You guys gonna get out?” Rich asked, puzzled at why they hadn’t jumped right out.
“Making some notes and maps,” Ryan said.
Rich grinned. Wow. He was so lucky to have all these amazing people here. What a treasure trove of human beings.
Rich thought about all the work he needed to do. It would be a few minutes before Grant and the Team got there. He was hungry. He headed over to the volunteer fire station to see if there was some food. Everyone was asking him how things were in town. “Fine,” he’d say. “We’re way better off in here, but there’s hope.” That’s all he’d say over and over again when he was asked the question.
Some people asked him what the purple and gold armband was for. He told them that it was safe passage into town. That was good for them to know: there was such a thing as safe passage, but you needed a pass. And only Rich had it so don’t try going into town on your own.
Rich ate some lunch. Beans and rice with some deer meat. One of the Mexican ladies in Pierce Point made lunch. It was fabulous. She was grinning from ear to ear; she loved to cook for people.
They had been eating traditional foods like hamburgers up until now. Rich could tell that the “store bought” kinds of food, like hamburger buns and cheese must be running out. It was back to basic staples now. Hopefully those FCards would arrive just in time. For the first time, Rich was getting a little worried about the food situation.
After a while, Dan, Grant and the rest of the Team showed up. Pow and Ryan joined them since they had first-hand accounts, and now notes and maps, to add to the debriefing. Rich took them out to his truck so the guards couldn’t hear. Rich told them about everything he learned on the trip into town. Getting FCard food from town quickly emerged as the most important item. They agreed to get working distributing the FCard applications. The next issue was who would go into town.
“How do we control who goes in?” Grant asked.
Rich pointed to his armband. “I got the only one.” That was a very effective way to control who went into town. They agreed that they’d round up any Marine fatigues they had out there—Ryan might have the only set—and get a few young “Marine looking” guys to be the ones to go into town. The “Marines” would have fake squad numbers and act like they were part of the “five squads.” They would be sworn to secrecy. The Team would go into town, too, in full kit. They would make up fake “contractor” personalities. Grant and Wes wouldn’t go into town because of the POI and AK things. They talked about gasoline and how to pay for it to go to town.
They decided that runs into town would only be for FCard food. No vice runs. If people wanted booze or whatever, they had to risk it on their own.
Actually, it was not OK for people to go do that. Pierce Point didn’t need people spending their gold, silver, ammo, eventual FCards, or cash on that stuff. They needed people to hold onto assets and spend them on food. They didn’t have the time or resources for that kind of stuff. They wouldn’t “outlaw” vice items at Pierce Point, but they would not give people rides to town to get them. The meeting out at Rich’s truck broke up. It was 1:30 p.m.
People were getting in trucks to go to the Grange for Mrs. Roth’s funeral. They left enough guards, but most people went to the Grange.
There were more people at the funeral service than at a typical meeting at the Grange. There were new faces there. Many people were more drawn to a funeral than to the “politics” of running the place.
Fair enough. Not everyone had to be interested in what happened at the Grange meetings. “Politics” had acquired such a well-deserved dirty name with all that happened, so people couldn’t be blamed for shying away from it. At least the new people were out of their homes and involved in a community event, even if the occasion was not a happy one.
Pastor Pete conducted the service. He kept it non-denominational and didn’t proselytize, but he acknowledged that Mrs. Roth was a Christian. Mary Anne told the story about Mrs. Roth’s absolute lack of fear about dying. That touched a lot of people. Several were crying. Many people at the service were strengthened by Mrs. Roth’s bravery. They knew they might be dying soon, too. They wanted the peace Mrs. Roth had.
When the service was over, most people stayed and talked. Grant had never seen this before. Sure people talked for a few minutes after a funeral, but not an hour. Grant reminisced that funerals during peacetime—Grant marveled that he was calling the past “peacetime”—ended at a particular time because people had to get back to work or pick up their kids and take them somewhere. There was a hustle and bustle to get back to. Not now. Almost no one had a “job.” In fact, Tammy was the only person Grant knew with anything like a real job. With the gate and Grange guard duties taken care of at the moment, there was really no reason anyone at Pierce Point had to leave. Most of them hadn’t seen anyone other than their neighbors for days.
People were talking about all the things affecting them. They were making arrangements to share and trade things. “Come on over and we’ll can those,” was something being overheard. Or “I’ve got some .22 shells. I need that old limb that blew over cut up and cut into firewood. Can you come over with your chainsaw?”
Not everyone was in the sharing and trading mood. Some people, almost all of them new faces who hadn’t been to the Grange meetings, just sat back and watched. Grant got the feeling that they were sizing it all up. They weren’t mentioning they had food or something of value. They either didn’t have much or they were afraid of letting people know that they had anything. Or both. Or maybe they were Loyalists who still thought their government would ride in and save the day.
Grant tried to mentally catalogue these people. He knew they would be trouble. Probably not violent trouble, but they would be the kind of people who looked to the community to support them without offering to do anything in return. This would be hard for them to pull off because if they wanted a meal card they needed to do something for the community. Grant smiled to himself. The meal card system was a thing of beauty. He was so glad he read that novel that provided the meal card inspiration. He would have never thought of that on his own.
Gra
nt noticed that a board had gone up at the Grange called “Wanted/For Sale.” It had index cards on it with things people wanted to buy and sell. Grant found Ken Dolphson and showed him the board. Grant suggested that Ken start putting the items on the board in the Pierce Point Patriot. It would boost readership. Ken laughed and said, “I can tell our little economy out here is taking off. I now have competition.” That was good news.
Grant noticed that more people were wearing pistols. Mostly revolvers and some in makeshift holsters. Others were tucked in belts. There were bulges in pants pockets that Grant surmised were small handguns. The people who had been at the Grange meetings seemed more likely to be armed. None of the new faces had a visible pistol. It was like people were realizing that other people were wearing pistols so it was OK for them to. It was taking time for people to feel comfortable carrying a gun. But they were.
Before the service, Grant asked the Team to store their ARs out with Chip. He thought it was somehow disrespectful during a religious funeral service to be sitting in the audience with a rifle. For many people, it was the first time they’d seen the Team without their rifles. It added a solemnness and respectful feeling to the service.
Grant saw Lisa there. She had lots of people meeting her and asking her medical questions. She and the rest of the medical team were giving people good information on the prevention of various things. Tim, the EMT, was organizing a first aid class. Grant would have loved to spend some time with Lisa because that had been so scarce lately. But people were talking to both him and her. And the topics were important. They were both working. That was still hard for Grant to fully comprehend. They no longer had traditional “jobs.” Their duties at Pierce Point were their new jobs.
Pretty soon, it was 5:00 p.m. The afternoon had flown by. Many of the people were still there. When people don’t have the gas to just drive wherever they want, whenever they want, they tend to stay at a location and get as much done as possible. At the Grange, that meant networking with their neighbors and, as it turned out, squeezing in a meeting while they were there. Several people asked Grant and Rich if they could just have the usual 7:00 pm meeting early so they didn’t need to go home for a while and just come back. Gas was at that much of a premium. If they had a 5:00 p.m. meeting, they could get people out before dinner time and free up the Grange space for the dinners for people working for the community.
Rich said in a loud voice, “If it’s OK with everyone, we’d like to have a meeting now instead of at 7:00.” Everyone seemed OK with that. It had been long enough since Mrs. Roth’s funeral service that it didn’t seem rude to turn the gathering into a business meeting.
Rich told the crowd the sanitized version of his trip into town. He kept it positive. He was proud to announce that they had some medical supplies out there, but that people shouldn’t expect the level of medical supplies they had before the Collapse. He asked Lisa to explain. She did, saying, “We have enough for some surgeries, but we will only use supplies on people who really need them.”
Rich explained about the FCard applications and handed them out. That seemed to brighten up the crowd. A little too much for Grant’s liking.
Grant, realizing the political implications of the FCards, felt compelled to remind people that the government wasn’t taking care of all their needs. “The FCards are nice, but understand that there isn’t enough on them to fully feed you. The FCards are a supplement to what you have or what you can grow or hunt,” he said.
That seemed to bother some people, especially the new faces. They initially thought the FCards were a magical solution. They were disappointed to find out they were not. Good. Better to lower their expectations now rather than have them rioting later.
Rich explained that it was too dangerous for people to go into town and, besides, he had the only armband ID. No one really had gas, either. Rich said a “town run crew” would be formed. They would be the only ones going into town, he said.
“Are you saying we are forbidden from going into town?” someone asked.
“Not at all,” Rich said, correcting himself. He didn’t want to appear to be authoritarian. “Be my guest. Burn up your gas. Try to get through the roadblock without one of these,” he said pointing to his armband. “If you get in, let us know how it went,” Rich said semi-sarcastically, which was unlike him. Later Rich would make sure the guards didn’t let anyone go into town except the town run crew. He needed to maintain the “Marines and contractors” story.
Rich made a mental note to start implying to Bennington and others in town that the Marines and contractors were training off in a separate compound and didn’t mix with the civilians. To further this story, Rich would try to find a piece of land out at Pierce Point that was far away from everyone else and call it the “Training Grounds” or something like that. This would explain why someone from Pierce Point, if they made it into town, might say to the townspeople, “What Marines and contractors?”
Rich explained that people needed to put in their grocery lists to one person who would pool the lists and come up with one big list for the “town run” people to take into town. Two people volunteered to coordinate the grocery lists for the town runs.
It was amazing how much administrative work it took to run things like this, Grant thought. Then again, the volunteers doing it spent about one percent the time the government had spent running every aspect of everyone’s lives. But still, administrative things are part of what it takes to survive when there is no government. It’s not all guns and gardening.
Rich said, “Don’t expect to get anything approaching what you put on your lists. First of all, the store may not have it. Second of all, we can’t spend the gas to go get a particular brand of something you like. When it comes to the FCards, you get what you get. Be glad you got it.”
“After all, those groceries cost you your bank accounts and 401(k)s,” Grant said. It was a little obnoxious on his part, but he felt compelled to remind people that they should not view the FCards as charity from a benevolent government trying to help them. The FCards were the scraps from all the wealth the government had stolen.
“Who goes first on getting their orders placed?” someone asked. Good question.
Grant came up with an answer. “We’ll have a lottery. That’s the only fair way.” He was determined to show that there was no favoritism in anything. That was essential to holding the people together. The slightest rumor of favoritism would tear them apart. “Everyone who has an FCard will get a number and then we’ll draw however many numbers to see whose order gets on the town run.” That seemed to make sense to the crowd.
Even people who didn’t contribute to the community would be eligible for the town-run lottery. This was because people with FCards who didn’t contribute would start to try to go town themselves and would either get shot or would blow the “fifty Marines” story. Grant didn’t want to push the community contributor thing too far; giving out meal cards was probably as far as he could take it without people getting too upset. Grant always had the ability to sense just how far he could take things politically before he had to accommodate the opposition. He had been doing it since he was a kid.
Grant figured that people who won the lottery and got their list submitted to the town run crew would not necessarily keep all the food for themselves. They might share some, but they probably would trade some. That’s fine. In fact, that’s the free market at work. It was amazing how capitalism sprung up everywhere, even in a place where the government supposedly controlled everything.
No government law can override the law of supply and demand. Supply and demand was a natural law, just like the law of gravity. Supply and demand is how the universe was set up to operate, just like gravity. The proof of this was a few feet away from Grant. The government outlawed bribery and the unauthorized selling of medical supplies, but a trunk load of now-illegal guns and ammo got all those medical supplies sitting a few feet from Grant in the locked room of the Grange. That’s all the
proof needed to demonstrate the law of supply and demand.
After discussing the details of the FCard lottery and the town run crew, Rich asked, “We have anything else to talk about?”
“Yes,” someone said. “Someone busted into my shed.”
Chapter 137
Tweakers
(May 14)
“Yeah, me too,” said another person after the first one said someone had broken into their shed.
“Yep,” said a third person. “They came into my house.”
Oh crap. It’s started, Grant thought. He was amazed that they’d gone two weeks without any crime out there. It was only a matter of time.
Rich, the cop, went into investigator mode. “Where do you guys live?” he asked. They all lived on Frog Lake Road. Right near each other. That’s what Rich feared.
It was the Richardson house. Those were the meth addicts and assorted “friends.” The Richardson house had been a constant problem for years.
“Damned tweakers,” someone said. “Tweakers” was a term for meth addicts. Apparently when they got on a multi-day speed high, they would take apart mechanical things and try to put them back together out of nervous energy. They would “tweak” with things, hence the name.
“What did they take?” Rich asked.
“Tools, generators, chainsaws, some gas cans full of gas,” the second man said. He realized after he said it that it might not be good to tell everyone at the Grange about the things he had. Or used to have. Oh well. He wanted to get them back and this was how to do it.
The third guy, who had them come into his house said, “They got my wife’s jewelry and two of my guns. They left the food, though.”
That figured. Only meth heads would steal things like that but leave the food since they had no appetite.
