by Glen Tate
Chapter 210
Handing Away the Keys
(August 1)
“Dad, what’s going on at the Marion Farm?” Manda asked Grant one morning. The two of them were having a late breakfast in their cabin after everyone else had left.
“What are you talking about?” Grant asked, not very convincingly. He couldn’t lie to his kids. Well, not easily. He’d been lying to his whole family for weeks about what was going on out at the farm.
Manda put her fork down and looked straight at Grant. “C’mon, Dad,” Manda said. “You know what’s going on out there. The ‘rental team.’ You’re training a second team and going to rent it out to another town.” She rolled her eyes like Grant was stupid.
Wow. The rumor had taken off pretty well. Good.
“Oh, OK,” Grant said, acting like he was letting her in on a big secret. “Maybe there is a rental team. But you cannot—I mean strictly cannot—tell anyone about it, or that I just confirmed it. Understand? People’s lives are at stake. This is serious, Amanda.” He used Manda’s full name for effect.
She smiled. She loved being on the inside of things. “Does the rental team need people?” she asked.
Grant put his hand up and raised his voice so loud he was almost yelling. “No way! Absolutely not. You are not joining the rental team. Don’t even think about it.” That was the most absurd thing he’d heard in quite some time, especially from a smart girl like her with good judgment.
At first, Manda was startled by her dad’s loud reaction. Then she realized he was talking about her. She laughed and said, “Not me, Daddy. Jordan.”
That was Manda’s boyfriend. They were getting pretty serious, although Grant consciously tried not to know all the details. He was afraid he’d shoot the young man. And out at Pierce Point…Grant could actually get away with it.
“He will turn seventeen next week,” Manda said. “He is just doing dumb stuff now at the Grange.” Grant knew that Jordan was waiting for a spot on the gate guard. They had enough people and, at seventeen, they had more experienced people. Judgment was a critical factor for a gate guard; shooting too early could start a war. So Jordan was in a holding pattern to be a gate guard. He was working hard at the Grange by performing miscellaneous labor.
“He’s a hunter and knows all about guns,” Manda said. “He wants to do something cooler than the Grange work. He wants to be on the rental team.” Jordan and Manda had talked for a week about how Manda would ask her dad to get Jordan a slot on the rental team.
Manda looked at Grant with her “please, Daddy” eyes, which had always worked on him. Not this time.
“Let me get this straight,” Grant said, which was a clear signal to Manda that the answer would be no. Anytime Grant wanted to demolish someone’s argument, he started with “let me get this straight,” reframed what they were saying, and then blew it away. “You want your boyfriend to join a very dangerous and sorta mercenary team of outlaw fighters to shoot it out with gangs and professional military and police?”
It sounded like a bad idea when it was put that way, but Manda nodded anyway. Jordan wanted on the rental team and Manda said she’d help him get on. She wasn’t afraid of Jordan getting hurt because she assumed her dad would have a fabulous team so they’d win every fight. She was sixteen and that seemed rational to her.
“Why?” Grant sarcastically asked. “So you can get him killed and hook up with your other boyfriend on the side?” He was kidding, but it was the only explanation that made any sense.
Manda rolled her eyes. “No, of course not. He wants to be a soldier and I want him to do what he wants to do.” Manda was clearly the opposite of her mother when it came to encouraging men to do dangerous things.
It was pretty obvious that Manda was using her dad to get her boyfriend a cool job. It was a common occurrence in cultures around the world since time began. Pierce Point was no exception.
“Hell no,” Grant said. “The rental team is very, very dangerous work. I’m sure Jordan is well qualified,” which was a polite white lie Grant was telling, “but I’m not putting a teenager in danger, especially one my daughter cares a lot about.”
Manda started getting mad and frustrated. Her dad didn’t understand what a great idea this was. Jordan would be on the rental team and would then be considered an adult and then they could get married. It was perfect. It made sense to them in their teenage minds. Perfect sense.
Grant realized that he had to be gentle. He didn’t want to alienate her and have her run off with this Jordan kid. That’s the last thing anyone needed.
“You have the kernel of a good idea here, dear,” Grant said as if he was deeply thinking about the proposal. “Jordan is nearly seventeen and if you say he has good firearm skills, then I believe you. You know what you’re talking about, because you have firearm skills.” Grant thought he’d lighten up the discussion. “Show me your G 27, honey.”
Manda pulled the compact Glock out of the cargo pocket of her shorts. She did a press check to show that a round was in the chamber. She kept the gun in a safe direction and her finger off the trigger the whole time. She looked like a pro.
“See,” Grant said, “you know guns and so you know if Jordan has skills.” This was all Grant could think of that was positive and complimentary while he was struggling to think of something more substantive to say.
“And Jordan seems like a great young man,” Grant said. He didn’t really know Jordan too well. He’d met him several times. Jordan always looked Grant in the eye, shook his hand, and called him “sir.” These were all great signs. Grant had been meaning to sit down and get to know the kid, but he always had work to do. Now that Manda and Jordan were getting serious, Grant would have to make time to get to know his…future son-in-law? At sixteen? Oh, no.
Before the Collapse, Grant had always thought of Manda getting married at about thirty, after getting her post-graduate degree and starting her important career, whatever that might be. Now things were back like they were fifty or one hundred years ago with people thinking of getting married younger and not waiting to start careers…because there were no more “careers.”
When Manda heard Grant say that Jordan “seemed like a great young man,” she perked up and smiled. That was the approval she’d been waiting for.
Grant could tell how important that approval was. This was a good sign. It meant she valued his opinion about Jordan. Now Grant had to use this advantage to make sure nothing bad happened to his little girl.
“You know,” Grant said, “I think I could get Jordan a cooler job. A gate guard.” He could ask Dan to create a “junior varsity” spot for Jordan on the gate guard. “That involves guns. He could prove himself at the gate and then try out for the rental team after a while.” After all this was over and there was no more danger, Grant thought to himself.
Manda thought about it. It wasn’t what she and Jordan had been talking about. But it made a lot of sense. Her dad was understanding that Jordan was a man and could do a job involving guns. Being a gate guard—Jordan would probably be the youngest one—meant that he would have a real job out there. It probably wouldn’t be the job that allowed them to get married, but it would be a real job.
All of a sudden, Manda realized how crazy the whole rental team and quickly getting married thing was. She had gotten caught up in it. A gate guard job would be OK.
“That makes sense, Daddy,” Manda said. “I’ll talk to Jordan and see what he thinks.” She knew he’d be disappointed, but would eventually see the wisdom of it.
“I have a better idea,” Grant said, realizing the opportunity he had. “You and I will talk to Jordan about it. Maybe the three of us can go shooting. Then I can give him a tour of the gate and introduce him to Dan. Maybe Jordan would like to watch the Team train today?” Grant was using his power to hook this Jordan kid into Grant’s world. He wanted Jordan to see that cool things happen via Grant, not around his back. Besides, this was the perfect setting for getting to know th
e young man.
Manda jumped up and yelled, “Yes! Today?”
“Today,” Grant said. “I’ve been meaning to spend more time with you and Cole. Today is Manda’s day. And Jordan’s.”
Manda was brimming with pride. Her dad was listening to her. And he wanted to involve Jordan in some of the cool things he did. Jordan would be thrilled. She was so relieved her dad seemed to approve of Jordan.
Cole had heard the conversation from upstairs in the loft. He could basically understand what they were talking about. He knew that dad and his sister were going to spend the day with Jordan. He was sad that his sister wouldn’t be with him that day. That was the routine. He came down the stairs.
“Sister, you won’t be playing with me today?” he asked.
Manda felt guilty. She loved taking care of all her kids, as she called them, but she so wanted to have this day with her dad and Jordan.
“Sorry, little brother,” Manda said to Cole, “Sister and Dad have some things to do today. Marissa will be playing with you guys today.” Marissa was a fifteen year-old who hung out with the kids. She was the second in charge of the kids, taking her lead from Manda. The kids called Manda and Marissa “M&M.” They thought that was the funniest thing.
“Only one ‘M’?” Cole said with a smile.
Whoa! Cole just made a joke. A play on words. That was supposed to be impossible for autistic kids.
“Yes!” Manda said, clapping at the joke Cole had just made. “Just Marissa for today, but Sister will be back at dinner time to help you and Grandma make dinner.”
Grant, too, was thrilled about the joke. This was a big improvement for him. He had been doing so well out here. Grant realized that the long school days and crazy pre-Collapse schedules were hard on Cole. But out here, he just played with younger kids and could relate to them because they could speak at his level.
Cole was smiling because he made a joke. He was proud of himself. He knew he had a hard time talking or understanding people talk, but he knew he wasn’t dumb. It was just the talking part that was so hard.
“OK, Sissy, just Marissa today. One ‘M.’” He was saying the joke again to get more attention. It worked the first time.
Manda and Grant clapped again and laughed.
Grant realized he needed to know a little more about Jordan Sparks and his family. He hated to use his power for his own purposes, but, hey, this was his daughter. “I need to run to the Grange real quick, but I’ll be back in a half hour.” Grant already had his pistol belt on; he always had that. He put on his kit and got his AR; the things he never traveled without. He was still a member of the Team and never knew when he’d be called out to go to a gun fight.
“OK,” Manda said, “See you then.”
Grant made a quick pit stop in the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. The beard. His beard was getting full now. He just stared. He looked so different. He’d lost a few pounds and was tan. He looked like a military contractor with that beard and full kit—but he was standing in the bathroom of his cabin. Contractors were only in Afghanistan, not Pierce Point. Grant stared at the military contractor in the mirror of his cabin. It was so unbelievable and totally believable at the same time.
He snapped out of it and left the cabin. He grabbed one of the mopeds—donated, he remembered, by the Sparks family—and zoomed to the Grange. He knew that since Drew wasn’t at the cabin he was up at the Grange. He needed to talk to Drew.
When he got there, Grant dispensed with the chatting he usually did. He was in a hurry. He went over to Drew and pulled him aside. “Sparks family. What do you know about them?”
Drew got out his map, verified the address, and then went to his index cards. “Good donors. Those mopeds we use all the time. A bunch of other stuff. Their oldest son, Jeremy, is a guard. Their younger son, Jordan, works here at the Grange. The dad is an ex-construction contractor. He helps with fix-it projects for people around here and gets paid in barter. He seems like a good guy. The mom is a former teacher. She is working for the school that they’re hoping to start up.”
“Politics?” Grant whispered. He was checking the political purity of his daughter’s boyfriend’s family. Not because he was close-minded, but because, in post-Collapse America, politics could get you killed.
“I have them down as ‘U/LP,’” Drew said. That meant Undecided but Leaning Patriot.
Grant smiled. U/LP was good enough.
Drew asked, “Is this because Manda is dating Jordan?”
“Yep,” Grant said. Manda was Drew’s granddaughter so he was part of this. “I’m meeting Jordan today, going to spend some time with him, and meeting his parents. I just want to make sure this is a family I can be OK about.”
“Anything going on with Manda and Jordan I need to know about?” Drew said. “I mean, I lost a daughter to a wild-eyed hillbilly,” Drew said with a smile. “I know how awful it can be for a girl to fall for a young man from a bad family.”
Grant smiled and thanked Drew. He jumped back onto the moped and headed home. It was another magnificent summer day. The weather had been unusually spectacular this year.
When Grant rolled onto Over Road, John was pulling guard duty at the guard shack with his lever action 30-30. He hadn’t been there when Grant left, but he was there now. Day guard duty had become pretty slack lately. There just weren’t the threats there were before, when Pierce Point wasn’t as unified and secure. Besides, Gideon was sleeping in the night cabin. If anything major happened and woke him up, he would be there to help. So now John, Mary Anne, and Mark did daytime guard duty when they wanted a break from whatever else they were doing. There were periods during the day when no one was on guard. Grant wished that wasn’t the case, but he couldn’t justify pulling a guard from elsewhere just to guard his road. In the past, the major reason, besides his family, to guard his road was all the ARs in the basement. Now those were at the Marion Farm so that reason for a full-time guard had gone away.
John waved at Grant as he rode past. Manda was waiting for him.
“I texted Jordan and he’s ready to go,” she excitedly said once Grant got to the cabin.
“His parents are home, too, if you want to meet them,” Manda said with a huge smile indicating how she wanted Grant to meet them.
“Great,” Grant said as he wondered how they would get there. Mark was gone; probably out hunting, fishing, or digging clams. How to get there and then to the Dayton place to go shooting?
My car, Grant thought. He hadn’t driven it since he came out to the cabin. His car—the “Tacura” as he jokingly called his “tactical Acura”—was parked up the hill in Mark’s empty lot by his house overlooking Grant’s cabin where they parked all the extra vehicles. He had been meaning to periodically turn over the engine to keep it in good condition. That way, he could drive it again when the gas supplies came back, assuming they ever would.
Grant got the key to the basement and told Manda to stay in the cabin while he went in there. He had become so accustomed to secretly entering the basement alone without any witnesses.
When Grant opened the door to the unfinished basement and turned on the light, he realized that all of Chip’s goodies were gone. They were safe and accounted for at Marion Farm. Chip was the only one besides Grant who knew where the basement key was hidden.
Now, just Grant’s stuff was in there. He went to the old glass-door gun display case Ed Oleo had given him when Ed’s dad passed away. The gun display case was where Grant kept his “butter knife” guns. That was a term Grant got from the novel Patriots. It described miscellaneous guns—usually old hunting guns—distributed to use on enemy forces. They were second-tier guns about as lethal as a “butter knife” compared to military weapons. The people with the butter knife guns would use them on the enemy and then take the enemy’s good guns. The shooter would pass the butter knife gun on to the next person to repeat the process.
Grant’s “butter knife” guns in the glass-door display case were basical
ly guns that he could live without if they got stolen. He had a .17HMR, which he called his “crow gun,” an inexpensive, but very accurate Savage 110 in .223, and a Remington 1153 in 20 gauge that Ed gave Grant when Ed’s dad died.
The display case also had Grant’s prized Ruger 10/22 in .22LR. It was the first gun he ever bought, back in the day at a gun show for $100. He had a Hogue rubber stock on it and a BSA rimfire scope. He could hit anything with that gun. It was very accurate, and pure fun. And cheap to shoot because .22LR was much more plentiful than larger calibers.
He got the 10/22 out of the case. Looking at it took him back to the “good old days” when guns were just for fun, not something his life depended on. He got the sense that things just might be back to normal someday. Maybe he could just shoot that 10/22 for fun again. Someday.
Grant went and got a brick of 500 rounds of .22 ammo from his two plastic tubs of .22 he had amassed before the Collapse. He still had about fifty bricks of .22. That was good; .22 ammo was like money now, traded like currency. A gallon of gas cost about a hundred rounds of .22.
.22 ammo had numerous uses. Because it was worth less than other ammunition, it could be used as “change” in barter. It was great for hunting small game, like squirrels, because it didn’t damage the meat. Another crucial use for .22 was training. Instead of shooting expensive combat ammo like 5.56, new recruits could train with .22. Grant had an AR in .22, a fantastic Smith and Wesson M&P 15-22 that operated exactly like an AR, but it used inexpensive .22. Before the Collapse, Grant would shoot a thousand rounds a month of .22 in his M&P 15-22. Those skills transferred perfectly over to his AR-15 in 5.56. Grant had given his M&P 15-22 to Ted for realistic, yet cheap, training for the unit.
But today, shooting .22 was purely for fun. Plinking. Socializing. And that was a very good use of a few hundred rounds. Grant locked the gun case back up, took the 10/22 and the brick of .22, turned off the light, and locked the basement back up.
