by Glen Tate
Grant was in the front row, so he was one of the first to get up and talk. He thanked the community for being so squared away. “Lots of amazing things are happening out here at Pierce Point,” Grant said. “You know what they are. Many of them have made your lives better. They’ve sure made my life and my family’s life better. And for that I am amazingly thankful. Thankful like I’ve never been in my whole life.”
Grant paused and looked around. All those faces. All those people who he hadn’t known at all back in May. Now he knew almost every one of them. Closely. That person over there had helped him. Grant had helped that person. And so on.
“We can’t lose this,” Grant said, his voice quivering. “We can’t lose this—what we have right now. The whole community working together. We will make it through this together. We will die if we don’t keep this up. Sorry to get heavy, but the only reason we’re alive now and are going to make it is that we are doing this together. I am so thankful for the people here at Pierce Point. I am so thankful that God put me and my family here with you people.”
In the remarks that followed, many thanked Grant, Lisa, Rich, Dan, the Team, the gate guards, the kitchen ladies, and everyone else for all they’d done. But when people were thanking Grant, he would look at them and remember all things that person had done for the community. For the canning jars, for the smoked salmon, for the gas, for the moped, for taking in a kid who had lost her parents, for volunteering for guard duty or working in the Grange kitchen. He was thankful for the person who was thanking him.
Pierce Point was solid. They were cemented together. Cemented.
When the service was officially over, people stayed and hugged and continued to thank each other. The Matsons stayed an hour after the service. Grant was amazed at how many people thanked Lisa. He was usually out in the field and didn’t see all that Lisa and the medical team did. They treated people on a regular basis. They reduced pain. They told people that whatever it is they had was not as serious as the person thought. They provided comfort.
Grant was very proud of Lisa, and not just because of all the good doctor things she did. She had gotten over her normalcy bias. She had gone from not wanting to go out to the cabin to gladly living out there and helping people. Now the people at Pierce Point, who were a little too “rural” for the old Lisa’s liking, were her friends and patients. She had come a very long way.
When they got home, Grant tucked in Cole and asked him what he was thankful for. Grant didn’t expect much of an answer, but he always asked Cole questions to continually improve his talking skills.
“I’m thankful for you and Mom, Sissy, and Grandma and Grandpa,” Cole said. That was nice, but not as great as what Cole said next.
“And I’m thankful that we’re here,” Cole said. “Our old house was dangerous. Bad people were there. Like the mean lady who hit me. People are not bad out here. I feel safe here, Dad.”
Grant was overcome with joy. This was some of the best talking he’d ever heard from Cole. Even though he couldn’t say much and many people thought he was stupid, Cole was a smart kid. He knew lots of things, he just couldn’t say them. Cole knew that Olympia was dangerous and that Pierce Point was a much better place to be. He knew more than most adults back in Olympia. But most of all, Grant melted when he heard Cole say, “I feel safe here, Dad.” That was Grant’s job: to make things safe. And he was succeeding. He had lots of help, but he was pulling it off.
Grant cried. Cole sprang up in bed and asked, “Are you okay, Dad?”
“Oh, yes,” Grant said. “I’m fine. I just am so thankful that you are out here and know that you’re safe. It’s my job to make you safe.”
“I know,” Cole said in a matter of fact tone. “Thank you, Dad.”
Grant melted again.
He went to bed and told Lisa how thankful he was for her.
She looked at him and said, “I’m thankful for you, too. You know, for everything that’s happened.” She smiled.
Grant was speechless. He literally could not speak. Lisa’s “I’m thankful” was as close to a gushing thank-you as he’d get from her. That was okay. What she just said was heartfelt. It was just her way. He’d still marry her all over again.
They both fell asleep instantly.
Chapter 231
Thanksgiving
(Thanksgiving Day)
Grant got up early. He looked at the clock and it was 4:17 a.m. He felt fantastic. Rested and relaxed. That “thank you” last night from Lisa was the culmination of months of hard work out there. Finally, he knew that she was fully okay with being out there. Finally.
Maybe now she won’t leave me when she finds out I’ve joined the unit and I’m going into combat, Grant thought. Yeah, that’s it. She’s thankful for me, he thought. Maybe she’ll cut me some breaks. Maybe.
Then Grant started thinking about it again. He hadn’t been thinking about this topic constantly like he had weeks before. He realized he had worn out this mental loop in his head. He had been through this a million times. He came to the same conclusion he had the million previous times.
Lisa would still leave him, Grant realized. If anything, her happiness at all he’d done would just mean she would be more disappointed when he left to fight some stupid war over politics. “Disappointed” wasn’t the right word. She would feel betrayed because he had been lying to her constantly for months, telling her he was just working on things at the Grange and wouldn’t go play army.
Stop thinking about this, Grant told himself. Stop.
He was getting better at stopping the worry and the over analysis loop in his mind. That ability had developed out at Pierce Point. Back in peace time, when his worries were over little things, he couldn’t turn off the worrying very well. But now he could. He had to focus on things that directly related to living one more day. Directly related to it. He found it easier to turn off side thoughts and get down to what counted.
Grant got dressed as quietly as possible. Lisa was still out cold. She worked very hard at the medical clinic, and she knew that Thanksgiving would be a day off. She knew she didn’t have to set her alarm and that always let her sleep more soundly.
Grant put on his pistol belt, like always. The weight felt so natural on him. He couldn’t imagine not having his pistol. And he needed it. There were a million likely scenarios where he’d have to use it, when he least expected it. Even at something joyous, like Thanksgiving.
Grant put on his “uniform”: a long sleeved Mossy Oak hunting camouflage shirt and his trusty 5.11 pants. He continued to wear hunting shirts and jackets on purpose. He had—of course—a political reason to do so. He wanted the people at Pierce Point, most of whom had hunting clothes, to feel comfortable around him. He didn’t want them to think of him as a “commando wannabe” in military clothes. Although, Grant had to admit, when he went out to Marion Farm, he tried not to wear “duck hunter” clothes. Out there, Grant wore solid colored shirts in earth tones. When he wore those, he looked exactly like a military contractor, which was intentional.
Grant’s 5.11 pants were holding up fabulously. He only had two pairs, but that was all he needed. He hadn’t worn sweat pants or jeans the whole time since he bugged out to Pierce Point. His 5.11s were the ones with unobtrusive knee pads sewn right in. People made a lot of jokes about the knee pads but, after having to kneel for twenty minutes pointing a rifle at something during training, the jokes usually stopped. Grant would get the last laugh when those people got a rock jammed into their kneecap and limped around for a few hours. Having built-in knee pads was indispensable.
Grant got his AR and tactical vest. He couldn’t go anywhere without them because he never knew if the Team would get called out to a big fire fight, or if some crazed jackass would try to kill him at the Grange. Or if the gate was attacked and he had to rush down there with whatever he had on himself to endure a four-hour gunfight.
What a change in a short period of time. “Can’t go out of the house without an AR and ki
t” would have been an absurd thought before the Collapse. Now, leaving the house without them seemed absurd.
Grant tiptoed to the front door of the cabin. He got his slip-on Romeo boots from the shoe rack. Those hillbilly slippers were another thing that worked perfectly during the Collapse. Rugged as hell, water proof, comfortable to walk in, and easy on and off. He couldn’t have better general purpose footwear than those.
Grant quietly opened the door and went outside. It was raining. No surprise. It was November in Western Washington. He was wearing his old reliable dark green and black Gore Tex jacket.
As Grant walked over toward the night cabin where the moped was kept under cover, he noticed that the lights were on in the yellow cabin. It looked like the Team was stirring in there, getting ready for work. Things just kind of ran on their own now at Pierce Point. Grant didn’t know everything going on, and didn’t need to. Stuff just got done. The place was running itself.
Grant walked up to the guard shack. There was Gideon, awake and alert, standing in the shack and staying dry. That guy was awesome. He took his job very seriously.
Gideon was so thankful to be here in Pierce Point instead of…anywhere else. The people at Pierce Point had been so decent to him. Well, he did give them a semi-truck of food, so that probably made them a little nicer. But, as a black man, he had been worried about living out here in the country with all these hillbillies. It turned out that they were fine, and they weren’t as solidly white as he’d thought. There were plenty of Hispanics, some Indians from the nearby reservation, and a few Asians. Gideon had a home out here. And a family.
“Hey, Grant, you’re up early,” Gideon said. “Something up?”
“It’s Thanksgiving, man,” Grant said. “Be sure and come by the Grange about mid-morning. Seriously. You’re coming, right? I mean, mid-morning is late night for you.” Gideon always worked nights.
“Oh, I’ll be there,” Gideon said. “I’ve been thinking about that turkey dinner ever since I heard about it.” Gideon had a huge smile. This meant more than a great turkey dinner to him. He had a family. He had a home. He had a Thanksgiving dinner to share with his new family. It meant everything.
“I’m going out to watch the dinner preparations get underway,” Grant said. Gideon was one of the very few who knew what was going on at the Marion Farm. He was on guard duty when Ted and Sap originally came to the yellow cabin for the meetings. So Grant could actually talk about the Marion Farm with someone outside of the Team. Finally. What a relief.
“After I make sure things are rolling at the Grange,” Grant said with a wink, “I’m heading out to the farm to wish a happy Thanksgiving to the rental team.” Gideon was one of the indispensable assets that Rich and Dan said needed to stay with Pierce Point instead of joining the 17th. Grant supported that decision wholeheartedly. He wanted his family guarded and Gideon was superb at it. Besides, Gideon, the former Army MP, had no desire to join up with some irregular force. Looking for a fight with the Loyalist regular forces seemed like a big risk to him. On top of all that, Gideon had done all the good he needed to do by driving that semi of food into Pierce Point and giving it away. He’d done his good deed for the day—for a lifetime, actually. No one even thought of trying to talk Gideon into joining the unit.
“Turkey, stuffing, gravy …” Gideon said. “You cracker asses got any sweet potato pie?”
“Doubt it,” Grant said. “But, hey, it’s a potluck, so who knows what people will bring. People seem kinda appreciative toward you for some reason, Gideon. I bet you’ll get first crack at any sweet potato pie.”
Gideon laughed. He wanted to talk to Grant about Thanksgivings back home, but as he started to get into a conversation, he stopped himself. He didn’t talk much out on guard duty. It was a habit from his MP days. Talking just distracts you and lets any attackers know where you are—and that you’re distracted. So he merely said, “See you at the dinner, man.” He could talk to Grant then.
Grant got on one of the mopeds and headed toward the Grange. That thing was still on the same gallon of gas from three weeks ago.
Riding a moped in the rain was no fun. Grant got out the military poncho from the little storage compartment on the moped. That worked pretty well. It fit over his slung AR and kept him pretty much dry. He wouldn’t arrive at the Grange soaked, although things like being wet and a little cold were no longer the big bugaboo they had been before the Collapse. You got wet, cold, dirty, sweaty, thirsty, and hungry doing things. You just did. It wasn’t some horrible thing to be avoided at all costs like before the Collapse. People were tougher now. Way, way tougher. And wondering how they had ever been so soft.
The ride to the Grange was uneventful. It was dark out, so there was nothing really to see. Grant was almost at the Grange. He slowed down as he approached and flashed his headlight to the guards. The light stayed on automatically, so he had to put his hand over the light and then remove it to simulate flashing. The flashing light let the guards know that he was a friendly. They shouldered their rifles toward him, but did not aim directly at him. It was standard practice. They could squeeze off enough rounds to take out a suicide bomber. That was very unlikely, but their job was to keep the number of suicide bombings or other attacks at exactly zero.
Grant parked his moped in the nearly empty parking lot. It used to be, before the Collapse, that a nearly empty parking lot meant that there weren’t many people in a building. Not anymore. Almost no one drove their own car or truck. They carpooled or, more likely, walked or rode a bike. So a few vehicles in the parking lot could now mean a packed building.
Grant got under cover from the rain and took off his poncho. He shook it off and found one of the nails in the wall of the outside of the building that people put up for drying jackets.
From the entrance to the Grange, Grant could see the rotisserie off to the left side of the building. It had been going non-stop for a couple of days. A big bed of wood coals roasted the turkeys and would give them a slight smoke flavor. It smelled fantastic.
The rotisserie was massive; a steel flat box that looked about the size of a full size mattress. It was full of turkeys. It was enclosed with a metal cover to partially keep in the heat. The rotisserie slowly spun around with the help of a big electric motor.
Thank God, literally, that the electricity had stayed on for the most part during the Collapse. Grant thought about the survival novels he’d read like Lights Out and One Second After where a nuclear weapon, an EMP, wiped out all the electrical circuits and left America without any electricity. What an “end of the world as we know it” disaster. Everything ran on electricity. Like the freezers and refrigerators that allowed them to keep the turkeys for eventual roasting.
Grant noted the stunning contrast between the conditions outside and inside. Outside, it was cold, dark, and rainy. Miserable. But inside the Grange, it was warm, light, and dry. And the smells. The smells of Thanksgiving came pouring out of the door the second he opened it.
Turkey, stuffing, gravy, potatoes. Grant hadn’t smelled those smells in … a year. He assumed he would never smell those smells again. There is power in a sight or a sound, but smell is often underrated. A smell can communicate just as much as a sight or sound—sometimes more. And smells are linked to memories. You remember a smell and, when you smell it again, it transports you back to the earlier time you smelled it.
That was certainly going on with Grant. He was transported back to his house in Olympia with a big Thanksgiving dinner with his family. To wearing sweat pants and watching football as the turkey cooked. To a lazy day when eating and visiting was all he had to do.
There were fifteen to twenty people in the Grange working hard cooking and organizing. Kathy McClintoch saw him and smiled. “We’re not serving until about noon and only then if your last name starts with A through J,” Kathy said with a laugh. “You’ll have to wait out in the rain.”
“Can I help with anything?” Grant asked.
Kathy shook her
head. She had everything under full control. She had this thing so fully organized it was mindboggling. She’d spent a week working up the plan for cooking so much with such limited conditions before she even knew if dinner would happen. She’d been cooking since yesterday morning, with only a one-hour nap. The coffee, which was in very limited supply nowadays, kept her going.
Kathy pulled Grant aside to say something that others couldn’t hear.
“Rich is coming by at 5:00 with a truck to take ten cut up turkeys and all the fixings to the rental team,” she whispered with a smile.
Kathy was smiling because all the food was cooked and ready to transport. She’d overseen all of that. Yes, she was proud. She was thrilled that the brave men (and maybe some women) on the rental team out there volunteering for a dangerous job would have a nice Thanksgiving dinner.
Kathy took Grant into the kitchen and showed him the three extra refrigerators they had plugged in and sitting outside, under cover from the rain. There were also coolers. About a dozen big ones. All filled with turkey and side dishes. Amazing. It wasn’t just that they had all this food when things were so scarce. It was the organization it took to cook it and store it for transportation. People will work together after the war and do amazing things. You will be a part of it.
Grant got chills. He hadn’t heard from the outside thought in a while. Grant soaked it all in. Whenever he heard the outside thought, he would pause and just experience the moment. He looked at all the food and let his mind be amazed at how incredible this all was. If we can do this together, he thought, what else can we accomplish?
