by Tate, Glen
Chip looked at Grant and said softly, “It’s starting. You know it is.” Chip pointed to all the customers and whispered, “So do they.”
Grant nodded. “What’s selling best?” he asked.
“Pistols,” Chip said. “Lots of first-time gun buyers, so they’re taking forever to make a purchase, but I’m just glad they’re getting guns. We will raise the prices tonight after we close. Just a little. Chip smiled at Grant and said, “You, sir, as an esteemed attorney and a gentleman with shop privileges here, will continue to get things wholesale.”
Grant didn’t have the heart to tell Chip that he would be spending his cash on food for the foreseeable future. Besides, he had all the guns and ammo he’d need.
Grant asked, “Need any help?”
“Yeah,” Chip said, “you can answer people’s questions and get them pointed toward a gun that will work for them. I’ll do the paperwork.”
“No problem,” Grant said. He started helping people with questions about which gun to buy. He spent a couple of hours there, loving every minute of it.
When they had a spare moment, out of earshot of the customers, Grant asked Chip, “You think this is some serious shit?”
“Yep,” Chip said. “The Mexico thing is a big problem, but the bond rating is even bigger. We’re done for.”
“I know,” Grant said, “but I must say I’m off on my timing here. I would think people would be making runs on the grocery stores. But they’re not. Am I on drugs or what?” He asked.
“Nope,” Chip said. “Most people are dumbasses. They won’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late.” A customer came within earshot so Chip stopped talking to Grant.
Grant smiled at Chip and said, “Say ‘hi’ to Ted for me.”
Chip knew exactly what Grant meant. He smiled back and said, “Roger that.”
Grant was perplexed. Maybe the Collapse wasn’t coming. It was unfolding like Grant thought it would, but wasn’t happening as quickly as he thought. Maybe there wouldn’t be a Collapse. Maybe he was just overreacting.
He left the store and had another weird drive from Capitol City Guns back to his house. It was another period of time for him to transition from thinking about the end of the world to being a suburban guy. Grant hit the garage door button and put the happy face back on.
Lisa asked, “How was your day?”
“Oh, fine,” he said, lying. Of course. “How about yours?”
“Pretty typical,” she said. Amid all this news of what seemed like the collapse of the United States of America, Lisa managed to have a “pretty typical” day. Grant wished he could be as calm about this as she seemed to be.
“Kids,” Lisa asked, “what do you guys want for dinner?” Grant did not turn on the news. He knew Lisa would change the channel. She didn’t want all that doom and gloom to ruin her “pretty typical” day.
Chapter 38
Meant To Be
Grant was pretty worthless at work. He couldn’t concentrate on anything. He constantly checked the internet to see the latest news and thought of all the things he needed to do, which usually revolved around buying things like food. He’d sneak out at lunch and hit a drugstore for over the counter medications or hit the Dollar Store for miscellaneous things. He got some vegetable seeds at Home Depot for the vacant lot next to his cabin. He kept wishing he had some handheld radios but didn’t know where to get them.
It was Friday, and a shooting session with the Team was planned for the weekend. Grant called Pow.
“Hey, man, with all that’s going on, are we still going to the range?” he asked Pow.
“I dunno,” Pow said. “I’m kinda thinking about saving some ammo, just in case anything weird happens. We are so well trained now that we just need to maintain skills. We can shoot half as often and maintain them. I’m inclined to say we shouldn’t do it this weekend.”
Grant felt himself getting sloppy once again by letting people on to the prepping. But he knew he needed the Team to be part of the plan. “Hey, I’d like to show you something this weekend.”
“Sure, as long as it’s not in your pants,” Pow said with a laugh. “Nope,” Grant said. “I only show that to your momma. No, I’d like to show you something that could come in super handy if the shit hits the fan,” Grant said.
“Like what?” Pow asked. “A cabin,” Grant said.
“Oh, cool,” Pow said. “Who owns it? You?”
“You’ll see,” Grant said. They made arrangements to meet at an Olympia restaurant that was on the way to the cabin.
Grant was a little nervous about letting Pow know about the cabin. He trusted him, but he was basically showing the leader of several very well armed men a safe place stocked with food, guns, and ammo. Grant couldn’t re-take the cabin if the Team turned on him and decided to take it away from him. It seemed very unlikely, but it was still something Grant needed to think about.
Not much had changed in the news. California was still experiencing looting and scattered rioting. Texas was having major problems with all the refugees. Things weren’t escalating too much, though. Again, Grant was surprised that this was taking so long.
Sunday came and, after church, Grant met Pow at the restaurant parking lot. On the way out, they talked about the news.
Grant wanted to break it gently to Pow that he was a “survivalist,” although Pow was probably one too.
“So, Pow, I’ve been preparing for this for quite some time,” Grant said. “Shooting with you guys is more than just fun; I’m training for when I’ll need it.”
“Like now,” Pow said. “The cops can’t stop all this shit. There are going to be meth heads running wild. I hear you about preparing for shit hitting the fan. I’ve been doing it, too. We all are, Bobby, Scotty, and Wes too.”
Whew.
Grant continued, “So, I figure things will get weird in the city. We would be safer out here in the sticks.”
“Even an Asian guy?” he said with a laugh.
“Oh, yeah, even an Asian guy,” Grant said. “Well, I’ve got a place for us. The Team could come out and stay. You guys could use a safe place and I could use a team of very well armed and highly trained gun fighters. See where I’m going with this?”
Pow had a big smile. “I saw this coming when you called me and insulted my dear mother. This wasn’t hard to figure out. So, I’m in. But, I want to see this place.”
They were turning off the highway and onto the road that went to Pierce Point. The only road into Pierce Point had a bridge a 100 yards from the highway that went over a creek. One way in and one way out. Grant thought he’d test out Pow.
“So, what do you notice about this road?” Grant asked.
Pow looked around. “Well, very defensible. Easy to put up a barricade there,” he pointed to the bridge. “A natural choke point.” Pow pointed up the road from the bridge and said, “And a nice hill there with a clear line of fire to the check point. There’s even a little volunteer fire station or whatever right here for some guards. A perfect set up.”
Grant was impressed. He had noticed the same things when he first came out to the cabin. They continued on the road and Grant asked, “What else do you notice?”
Pow looked around and said, “Lots of farms. Lots of chicken coops, cattle, gardens, small tractors, barns, boats. These people know how to get by. They’ll be perfect neighbors.” Grant couldn’t believe his luck. Pow was awesome.
They continued driving and Pow kept pointing out features showing that the residents of Pierce Point were far more self-reliant than those in the city. They went by one house and Pow said, “Ham antenna,” meaning a ham, or amateur, radio. “Nice. Comms are key,” Pow said, referring to communications. Pow went on to remark on the terrain and how a strategic intersection of two roads could be easily defended.
While Grant was pretty sure he trusted Pow, he still wanted to take some precautions to make sure Pow and the well-armed Team didn’t decide they wanted the cabin for themselves.
It would be impossible to dislodge them from the cabin, so Grant wanted to make it hard for them to move in without Grant. He took Pow the confusing route to the cabin. He’d never be able to find it again without Grant or directions Grant gave him.
After the twists and turns throughout Pierce Point during the decoy route, they were finally heading toward the water. Once the water was visible, Pow said, “This is beautiful, man.”
They left the paved road and headed onto the gravel Over Road where the cabin was. They pulled up to the cabin. Grant pointed to it and Pow said, “Very, very nice. Is this yours? Whoa.”
Grant gave him the tour. He didn’t show him the food in the storage shed. That was the ultimate secret. Besides, Pow had probably figured it out by now. He was smart guy.
They walked down to the beach. “This is incredible, man. You are a lucky man.”
“Yes, I am,” Grant said. “And I want the Team to come here if shit hits the fan. Do you think they’ll want to?”
“Oh, hell, yes,” Pow said. “But where will they stay? Your cabin is nice, but I bet your family will want to stay in there.”
Grant had that all thought out, too. He pointed to a yellow cabin about 100 yards from his, down by where the paved road ended and the gravel road began. It was on the road before Grant’s cabin, the Colsons’, or the Morrells’. “See that. We would liberate that thing.”
“‘Liberate?’ As in, ‘steal?’” Pow asked. “That’s not my thing, man,” Pow said, confused that an honest guy like Grant would suggest such a thing.
“No, that guy hasn’t been there in a couple years,” Grant said. “He lives in California.” Grant pointed to Mark Colson’s house. “That guy lives here full-time and has a key to it. If the California owner comes up here, we move you guys to another place, or to my cabin, if necessary. Bottom line, there are lots of unused cabins and RVs here. We house you guys here until someone wants their place back, which might be never. In exchange for borrowing some unused shelter, the community gets a team of gunfighters to take care of security.”
Pow was taking all this in. “Are you sure people are OK with this?” he finally asked. “I mean, taking over people’s places and being an armed security team?”
“Nope,” Grant said. “I have no idea if they are OK with it. But they will be. If not, you guys stay with me.”
“What would we eat out here?” Pow asked.
It was time to show him the food. Grant took him to the shed and opened the padlocked door.
Pow’s eyes got huge. “Oh, shit, look at all that. You got any stir fry sauce?” Pow laughed his hearty laugh.
Grant showed Pow the adjacent vacant lot and explained the gardening plan. He pointed to the beach and described the clams and oysters, and the fishing in the inlet.
Pow was just taking it all in and nodding. “Nice, nice,” he said slowly as he was looking at the cabin and its surroundings.
“So,” Grant asked, “you think Scotty, Wes, and Bobby will be glad to come here if their neighborhood is on fire and zombies are running around?”
“Hell, yes,” Pow said. “But why didn’t you bring them out today?”
“Well, you’re the leader of the Team,” Grant said. “If you thought this was a stupid idea, it wouldn’t have worked. Besides, I don’t want to tell too many well-armed men about my little hideout, so I was keeping it on the down-low.” Grant knew Pow was a devout Christian and member of a Korean church. “Will you promise me — swear on the Bible—that you won’t tell anyone about this place. That you’ll only tell the Team if, and when, it’s time to bug out here. I’m serious, Bill.” Grant had never called Pow by his real name, “I’m trusting you with my life, here.”
Pow said, “Hell, yes, man. You’ve trusted me with your life during movement drills with live ammo. I’ve trusted you with my life doing the same. I really appreciate it. I feel much better knowing that we have a place to come and it is one that’s got so much stuff. Thank you, man.” Pow was getting a little emotional.
So was Grant. “No, thank you, man. This great cabin and all this food won’t mean much if some zombies try to steal it. Between the five of us on the Team, we can have one or two guards up at all times. It’s like we were supposed to meet each other.”
Pow looked very serious and said, “Yeah. I was just thinkin’ that.” Changing the subject before things got too emotional, he said, “Hey, Grant, you got any beer in your fridge?”
“Sure do.” They had a great afternoon, talking about all the things they could do out at the cabin if the world ask they knew it ended.
On way back to Olympia, they were still talking about ways to secure their area, gather food, and communications. Pow asked, “What about medical? The hospitals will be closed or whatever.”
Grant smiled. “Have I ever told you what my wife does?” “No,” Pow said.
“She’s an ER doc,” Grant said.
“No way,” Pow said. He thought Grant was joking.
“I ain’t shittin’ you,” Grant said, smiling. Having an ER doctor out there was the frosting on the cake.
“Wow,” Pow said. “This set up was meant to be. Meant to be, my brother.” Pow stared out the window.
“Yep,” Grant said. “Meant to be.”
Chapter 39
The Unraveling
Grant was still looking for signs that people were starting to comprehend what was happening. He wasn’t seeing many. Then something happened that surprised him.
Government started to make cuts. Real cuts, not the “reorganizations” of the past where promises were made to cut, but the total number of government employees and spending actually went up. These cuts were real. The Governor ordered a 10% across the board cut in most state programs. The unions and all the people with their hands out, from welfare recipients to the corporations, went ballistic. It was fun to watch.
None of the higher-up state employees in Grant’s neighborhood were getting laid off. The Baby Boomers about to retire kept their jobs while the younger workers making much less were largely the ones losing their state jobs.
Local governments were cutting even more than the state. The City of Olympia, which had one of the highest ratios of government employees to residents in the country, cut a staggering 20% of their workforce. It was unbelievable. A few years earlier, as a “stimulus” project, the city had built a $10 million city hall and now it was largely empty because the city couldn’t afford to hire any workers to fill the space. Classic government: spend like drunken sailors when the money is pouring in, and then drastically cut services when the money dries up.
The part of the city’s cuts that affected people the most were the layoffs in the police department. Not only were there 20% fewer patrolmen, but the fuel budget was severely cut. Those fewer patrolmen could drive around less. It became rare to see a police car anywhere. The criminals figured this out very quickly. Investigation of crimes that were hard to solve, such as an attack by a stranger or a burglary, were going by the wayside. White collar crime was no longer investigated, at all. Neither were DUIs. Crimes where someone knew who did it, like theft by former friends, were still being investigated.
They were half-assed investigations, however.
Of course, with the huge cuts at the Prosecutor’s Office, fewer and fewer cases were being prosecuted. Plea bargains were the answer, and the deals for criminals kept getting sweeter and sweeter. Predictably, the cops basically quit arresting people for property and drug crimes. There were only enough police and prosecutors to take care of easy-to-solve violent crimes. Many people who had never called the police to report a crime were shocked to learn that they needed to fill out a police report on the city’s website and that was it. No police officer would show up to talk to them. People were told to fill out a police report online; that was usually as far as the “investigation” went.
People like Grant, who lived in safe neighborhoods, started to hear about their friends getting burglarized, and even robbed. One of t
he support staff at WAB had a burglar come into her house late at night. Luckily, she had a gun and scared him out. He might not have only been looking to burglarize her.
Grant started to notice that petty criminals were hanging out together. It used to be common to see one or two dirtbags; now, they seemed to travel in groups. Lately, five or ten “youths” would mill about downtown by the WAB offices looking like they were ready to cause trouble. It would be a stretch to call them a “gang,” but they were the beginnings of gangs. “Gang seedlings” Grant called them. They were unemployed punks hanging out together and working together to steal and do worse. In the past, when Grant saw them they would disburse because they didn’t want the attention. But as time went on, they didn’t do that as much. They would stand there and stare as if to say, “Whatcha looking at, dickhead?”
Grant had a solution. Carry a gun. He had his concealed weapons permit, so he could. Although he liked his full-sized Glock 22 in .40, it was a little large for concealed carry. So he got a compact Glock in .40, a Glock model 27. Grant knew how to operate the Glock 27 because it was just a smaller version of the Glock 22 he had mastered. It was perfect. He carried two spare 10-round magazines because, with increasingly large packs of criminals, Grant knew that he would likely have to fight off a group of them.
When he couldn’t wear a Glock 27, he would slip his 380 auto LCP in a pants pocket. He was armed nearly all the time, even at work. No one knew. He didn’t advertise that he was carrying; he didn’t want people to think he was weird or, when they needed protection, come flocking to him. He wanted to just lay low and protect himself and his family.
He had to hide his gun from Lisa, of course. He kept it in the car, in a locked console that was legal under Washington law.
Grant constantly worried about Lisa being out and about with all the crime going on. She was a petite and beautiful woman. That thought was awful.
He tried once to suggest that she get consider carrying a gun.
