by Glen Tate
Grant liked this “new economy.” Feed me and I’ll protect you. It beat the shit out of working in an office and paying almost 50% of what he made in taxes to a corrupt government.
Throughout the day, various curious residents came by the Grange. Rich would introduce them to the Team. The guys were doing a great job of “sir” and “ma’am.” They were being humble, yet confident.
When one of the first groups of residents came by and asked Rich what the guys were called, Rich looked at Grant and said, “That’s a good question. What do you call yourselves?”
“The Team,” Grant and Pow said in unison.
“Not real imaginative. But it works,” Grant said.
Rich simply said, “This is the Team.”
In just a few hours, Pierce Point was buzzing about “the Team.” Some speculated they were a SEAL team, which would have made the guys laugh if they’d heard that. The day flew by. The guys were in heaven. This was what sheepdogs like them were made to do. Things didn’t seem so bad when nice ladies were fixing them lunch and everyone thought they were cool gunfighters.
In the late afternoon, they had gone over about everything they had to go over. “Come back here for a 7:00 meeting,” Rich said. “I want to introduce you to the community and to do a bunch of other things.”
The Team and Mark got into the truck and slowly went back. Once again, Grant thought about how fantastic it felt to ride in a truck with his guys and an AR. He felt so alive. People were waving on the way back. The Team was loving it.
Let’s see if Lisa is loving it, Grant thought. Now the hard part of the day began. Training to run into houses full of well-armed drug dealers? No, that wasn’t the hard part. Grant telling Lisa he volunteered to be on an amateur SWAT team—that was the hard part.
Oh well. He had a job to do and his wife’s approval couldn’t be the determining factor. Her approval might have been required when things were going fine. But not now. You’re the man, he remembered the outside thought saying back when he decided to prep. You have to protect them. Don’t worry about being popular. The outside thought was right.
They pulled up to the guard shack. Paul and Mary Anne were there and waved.
Grant took the magazine out of his AR, made sure there wasn’t a round in the chamber, and locked the bolt open. He unshouldered it and carried it carefully with the barrel down as if to show Lisa and the kids that he was being especially careful. Waving an AR in the house would piss off Lisa, and it wasn’t safe, anyway.
Lisa was sorting the kids’ clothes. “Hi,” she said. “How was your stuff?”
“Great,” Grant said. “How was your day?” Just like he used to say back when they had real jobs.
“Got lots done,” Lisa said. “The kids have enough clothes, but not as many as they did back home. They have enough for normal human beings, but not for their old selves,” she said with a smile. This was good. An acknowledgment that they had unnecessary stuff in their old suburban life.
Lisa looked at the clock. “It’s 4:00. Aren’t you hungry? You didn’t come home for lunch.”
“Some ladies made us lunch at the Grange,” Grant said.
“Oh, nice,” Lisa said. “Why did they do that?”
Because we’re protecting them, Grant thought. Here goes the pitch about the SWAT thing.
“My new job,” Grant said.
That surprised Lisa. A “job” meant a new law firm or something like that and there weren’t any law firms out here.
“Job?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s cool,” Grant said with a shrug, downplaying how awesome he thought this all was. “I’m getting fed and the guys are, too, so we don’t need to draw on the food we have out here.” So far, so good.
“What’s your job?” Lisa asked, skeptically.
“I’m helping that cop, Rich Gentry, with law enforcement,” Grant said. “The guys and me are patrolling. We’re basically for show. Our scary guns scare off bad guys.” She might believe that. It was what she wanted to believe. She was extremely intelligent, but people could be counted on to believe things, even unlikely things, if it’s what they wanted to believe.
“Really?” Lisa asked. She’d have to think about this for a while. Her husband as “law enforcement?” He is a lawyer. Or was.
After a few seconds, she asked, “Are you guys deputized or whatever?”
“Nope,” Grant said. “There is no functioning police force to deputize us. We’re making citizens arrests, if it ever comes to that and it probably won’t. Again,” he pointed to his AR, “it’s the scary guns that scare people.” He hated to lie, but it was for the greater good.
Grant continued, “We’ve heard that some of the petty druggies have already left Pierce Point. See, in the past, when it took the sheriff’s department a half hour or more to respond to a call out here, the druggies weren’t too afraid of the ‘law.’ Now that there are no criminal defense lawyers or the ACLU to protect them, they’ve decided to go to the city where all their druggie friends are, anyway.” Sounded plausible.
“Oh, OK,” she said. “But you’re not going to be shooting at people. Right?”
“Oh, no,” Grant said. “Hey, most cops never shoot their guns in a twenty or thirty-year career. Except, you know, practicing at the range.”
Lisa had heard that statistic somewhere. It was what she wanted to believe here. “OK,” she said. “But don’t volunteer for anything dangerous, OK? The kids need you and…I need you.”
She was starting to tear up. This had been a very stressful time for her. Her perfect life had been uprooted, and was probably over forever. Her beautiful home had been destroyed, a neighbor had attacked her and her son, people with assault rifles were all over the place, her autistic son was out in hickville during what felt like a war, they couldn’t go to the grocery store, and… he had to go to the next house to do laundry. Everything was upside down. Now her prestigious lawyer husband was an unpaid cop or something. The possibility of him getting shot was too much.
“I won’t, honey,” Grant said. “I’m just doing this for the few weeks or whatever until things are better and we can go home. We’ll fix the house up. I’ll sue the shit out of Nancy Ringman,” he said with a big smile.
Lisa burst out laughing. That was her old husband. Suing people. Things were normal again. Kind of.
Chapter 93
Steve’s Vacation
(May 9)
Steve Briggs was on his way home. His cell phone rang. Interesting. Cell service had been very intermittent.
It was Todd at corporate. He was a good guy, with an MBA on his way up the ladder at Ready One Auto Parts. Steve realized he better take the call.
“Hey, Todd, what’s up?” Steve said.
“Steve, how are things in Forks with all that’s going on?” he asked.
“OK, I guess,” Steve said. “The credit card system isn’t working and we haven’t had a shipment in about a week. People are having less and less cash to spend. But, everyone is calm. No angry customers or thefts. How are the other stores doing?”
“Terrible,” Todd said. “Shipments aren’t coming from our suppliers, most of which are in southern California. It’s beyond bad down there. I-5 is a mess, but it’s getting better. The cops are preventing people from driving cars. All that’s getting through is food and medicine and some military vehicles. Auto parts are a low priority compared to that, so we have basically realized that we can’t supply our stores. The internet isn’t reliable enough now, so we can’t reorder inventory even if we could pay for it and have it shipped. Oh, and the whole credit and debit situation makes it worthless to stay open. So we’re shutting down the stores. Sorry, man, but we have to.”
Steve knew this was coming. He was surprised it had taken over a week. He had a plan, though.
“Of course, Todd,” Steve said. “Understandable. I’ll shut ‘er down. Lock it up tight. That kind of thing.” He paused, “Let me guess, me and all my employees are laid off as of
now.”
Todd was silent for a while. “Yes,” he finally said. “Sorry.”
Steve was not too concerned, actually. He had plenty to get by on so he was actually OK with a little vacation. The collapse of the United States was a “vacation”? Well, it kind of felt that way when you had enough to get by, although it was hell on earth for most people. Steve tried not to think about them.
“Understandable, Todd,” Steve repeated. “No hard feelings. We’ll be back in business in a few days, or weeks, or whatever. Hey, look at the positive side: cars break down. In a while, when we’re back in business, people will be lined up at the store to buy parts.” Steve knew this wouldn’t happen anytime soon, if ever at all, but he wanted to make Todd feel better. Poor guy. Todd was making these calls all day long.
“Yeah, I hadn’t thought of that,” Todd said. “OK, Steve, we love you up there in Forks. You’ve done a hell of a job for Ready One and we appreciate it. Hey, is your family OK?”
“Oh, yeah, we’re fine,” Steve said. “Lots of deer meat in the freezer. I’m eating more smoked salmon than ever. Not a bad way to go. What about you guys there in Bellevue?” Steve asked. Bellevue was the wealthy suburb of Seattle where Todd and lots of other executives lived. Steve had been to Todd’s house once for a company event. It was an amazingly beautiful home. Todd’s wife, Chloe, wasn’t bad, either.
Todd was silent again. “Things could be better, but they’re not terrible. The stores are running out of things, but people are pretty calm. There’s lots of money in this town. Most people can pay ridiculous prices for things. The lack of ATM cash and the on-and-off credit card system is making buying things hard, but it’s not impossible. Chloe is freaking out about all the things that are closed like school and, get this, soccer practices for the girls.” Chloe was a little on the yuppie side for Steve’s tastes. Freaking out over soccer practice being cancelled. That sounded about right for Chloe.
Steve decided to raise a controversial subject with Todd. He figured he’d probably never work with Todd again, so what the heck. “Hey, Todd, you got a gun? Just sayin’.”
Todd got defensive. “No. I never thought…well, Chloe doesn’t like guns.”
Steve normally wouldn’t get on a guy about things like this, but he knew that Todd really needed a gun.
“Can you get one?” Steve asked. “I hope I’m not sounding like I’m on you about this, but, Todd, you need a gun. Things will get nasty pretty soon.” He didn’t say what he really wanted, though, which was “think about Chloe and the girls.”
Todd just sighed. He knew he was screwed. His chance to get a gun was down to about zero. There weren’t any gun stores around Bellevue. One had tried to open, but the city council wouldn’t let them because it wasn’t “the kind of thing we like to have here.” There were plenty of porno stores, but a gun store didn’t meet “community standards.”
Even if there were a gun store, Todd was still screwed. With the Governor’s executive order, guns were illegal. Todd didn’t know anyone who had a gun, either. He’d never fired one, so he was afraid they would blow up in his hand or something.
“We’ll be OK without one,” Todd said. “We have the best cops in the state. They make over $100,000 a year here. We’ve paid good money for them to protect us. They will. Besides, not to be a dick, but you’ve seen my neighborhood. Not exactly a high-crime area.” Todd was doing a good job of convincing himself that they’d be fine. Just like they always had been. Crime happened elsewhere.
Steve knew he couldn’t help Todd. Steve finally said, “Yeah, you’re right. Didn’t mean to scare you. You guys will be fine.” He wondered if he sounded convincing. At this point, all Steve could do for Todd was try to convince him that nothing bad could happen.
Todd had to go. He had a bunch of other calls like this. He didn’t look forward to them. “You take care now, Steve.”
“You bet, Todd,” Steve said. “A country boy can survive.”
Todd had no idea what Steve was talking about.
Chapter 94
Hoarders
(May 9)
Nancy Ringman was a piece of work. Two days ago, immediately after Ron Spencer had seen the Matson’s trashed house and heard what his wife, Sherri, had told him about Nancy’s odd behavior, he had gone to Nancy’s house to confront her. She denied doing any of it. Flat out lied. And she acted like Ron was the crazy one for suggesting that she’d do something like that. Her voice was dripping with condescension. He wanted to punch her in the face. He’d never actually done that to a woman before. He’d never had a reason to.
The final straw came when Ron was leaving Nancy’s house. She actually said, “Ron, I’ll bring up your concerns about whoever vandalized the Matson house at the neighborhood meeting. We are getting a Freedom Corps group together. Maybe you’d like to serve on it. The Freedom Corps would find the vandal or vandals. Oh, and perhaps you can help us catch Grant Matson. He’s on the POI list, you know.” She was actually smiling when she said that. She was a crazy, crazy bitch. Ron had never used that word before. It wasn’t worth his energy to use it now.
Ron walked out. He wouldn’t take the POI bait from her and get mad, which was just what she wanted. She would use him being mad to convince everyone that she was the calm one who they should listen to.
On his walk from Nancy’s house to his, Ron started to realize how outnumbered he was. Nancy might just succeed in turning the neighborhood into her fire-wardens-with-funny-hats Freedom Corps group. Most people in the Cedars were government workers. They were used to some government structure for anything to get done. They didn’t have many independent thoughts. They had never relied on themselves for their own safety. This Freedom Corps thing was perfect for them. Taking direction from an aggressive and manipulative political hack. They did that all day at work. It would be “normal.”
For the first time, Ron realized that the greatest threat to his family might not be from the looters outside the Cedars, but from his neighbors inside the Cedars. He could see how this would play out. He needed to suspend the fight against the looters and start it against Nancy. He hated politics and neighborhood meetings, but he had to do this.
He told Sherri what had happened. She said, “I’m coming to this meeting, too. I won’t let her treat us that way.” Sherri knew that Nancy would claim Ron and his “testosterone” were trying to intimidate poor little Nancy. Sherri could say things that Ron couldn’t because she wasn’t a man.
Ron talked to Len before the meeting, who, along with some others were feeling the same about Nancy. This meeting would be a showdown.
They assembled for the meeting at Nancy’s house. There was some guy there with a funny hat. It was a hard hat with a “FC” sticker on it for “Freedom Corps.” Oh, God. Were they serious? Funny hats and everything. Ron actually laughed out loud when he saw it.
Nancy started. She absolutely loved having a crowd and power. “OK, thanks for coming,” she said. “I have a special guest with me. He’s Clint Peterson of the Freedom Corps. He is our official Freedom corps, or “FC” as we call it, representative. I know Clint from our work on the Governor’s campaign. He’s at Revenue,” meaning the Department of Revenue. “He’s here to tell us about the FC and how we can all help get this situation back under control so we can return to normal. It’s all been so hard on everyone.”
Clint Sillyhat, or whatever his name was, droned on for a while. Ron kept thinking about his great grandfather’s description of the American Protective League during World War I. Most people had no idea how bad the government, and lots of willing citizens, infringed on civil liberties during World War I. The APL was a group of hundreds of thousands of citizens who worked closely with the government to “keep an eye” on undesirables, such as those opposing President Woodrow Wilson. The APL had semi-official status. Federal authorities bragged about having a cadre of Loyalist APL people helping the government. Some APL members carried badges. The FC was the APL all over again.
When Clint was done with something about “neighbor helping neighbor” and asked if there were any questions, Ron’s hand shot up.
“How,” Ron asked in his nicest voice, “in specific ways, not platitudes, will your little Freedom Corps protect us from the looters that came here a few days ago and tried to kill me?”
That surprised Clint. In his world of polite bureaucratic meetings, people didn’t talk that way.
Nancy answered Ron’s question. “Oh,” she said sarcastically, “your way worked so well, Ron. How many died? Three, at least. And there were bullets flying all over the place.” Nancy’s voice changed to her concerned mother tone. “Ron, you are brave and all, but you’re not a trained professional. You need resources. The FC has resources.”
“Like what? Tell me the resources,” Ron yelled. “Tell me, Nancy. Tell me.”
Silence. Ron was on a roll. He went on. “Does the FC have the resources to catch the Matson vandal, Nancy? Gee, who could have done that? Maybe the person who attacked Lisa Matson and her special needs son right before the place was trashed? I hope the mighty FC catches him—or her.”
People were stunned. They’d never seen mild mannered Mormon accountant Ron so angry. Sherri just glared at Nancy. No one had ever seen Sherri angry.
Clint started to talk, but Nancy put her hand up to him. She’d handle this.
“Well, Ron,” Nancy said coldly, “I can understand why you’re so concerned about security here. You have a lot to lose, don’t you?” She pointed in the direction of Ron and Sherri’s house, and then she pointed to Ron and Sherri.
“You know what you have there, don’t you?” she said to the audience. Nancy looked like she was about to punch Ron and Sherri.
“Tell us what you have in your house, Ron,” Nancy yelled. “Tell us.”
