by Glen Tate
Grant saw some of the dead and wounded on TV. Even though he didn’t like politicians, he did not wish them dead. He especially didn’t like that now there would be a “crisis” that the feds would use to take even more power. Martial law hadn’t been imposed, but this might be the trigger for it. What was it that a previous president’s Chief of Staff said? “Never let a good crisis go to waste.” The Feds would not let this golden opportunity go to waste.
Grant decided right then and there: if there is a crackdown, especially if people like WAB staff are targeted, then it would be time to bug out. Lisa had better come, or else.
Grant had patrol duty that night so he tried to take a nap. He couldn’t sleep, so he just watched TV. There were more Red Brigade strikes. Chicago, LA, Miami. They were coordinated. No one had heard of this group before. How many more undetected groups were out there that would go on bombing sprees?
As Grant watched TV, the power went out. No; it couldn’t be. Was some terrorist group taking down the power grid? Grant felt terrified for the first time since this had all started. He was terrified. He gathered the kids together. It was still light outside so he could see around the house.
The lights were off in the rest of the neighborhood. It wasn’t just his house. Grant wanted to put on his pistol belt, which made no sense. A pistol wouldn’t make the electricity come back on. And he didn’t want to freak out the kids.
Grant just sat there with the kids. The house was totally silent, without the electrical gadgets emitting so much background noise. It was too quiet; terrifyingly quiet.
His mind was racing. He was thinking about all the things he needed to do to bug out. All the things to pack. How to tell—not ask, tell—Lisa they were going, and right now. Grant started to think about all the things that needed electricity. Everything. Life in America ends without electricity. No food storage, no gas pumps to fill up the semi-trucks, no medical equipment keeping people alive, no communications. Grant had planned for the things he could reasonably prep for; economic and political collapse. Those things could be handled with a cabin, stored food, guns, and a network of friends. But, no electricity? That was the one thing he could not prep for and expect a good outcome. Oh crap. He had prepped for everything except this.
Don’t worry.
Then the power came on. Grant and the kids cheered out loud. Thank God.
The TV came back on, and in a minute or two was airing reports of temporary power outages on the West Coast and the Northeast.
That was weird. Grant thought a person who wanted to cripple or blackmail the United States would screw with their electrical grid. Was it just a coincidence? Shut up, Grant told himself. There were no more “coincidences” lately. Not on a day like today. Someone had either tried to take down the power grid and failed, or, worse yet, had the capability to turn it on and off at will. Oh God.
Don’t overreact, Grant told himself.
Right about then, he heard the garage door open. It was Lisa. She came in and said, “The traffic lights weren’t working. What a mess. But I’m home. How are you guys?”
“Mommy, the lights went out,” said Cole. “We were scared but they came back on.”
“No need to be scared, Cole,” she said. “Everything is OK now.”
Grant wanted to just be with his family at this time. He wanted to forget about the electricity, the Red Brigades, WAB vandalism, and crime patrols. He just wanted to be with his family.
However, at the same time, Grant had a burning desire to get the family out to the cabin right then. He fought that urge, although he knew that every second they waited, the harder it would be to get through the traffic. But, he had to ease Lisa into this. He couldn’t be seen as overreacting even in the tiniest way.
“Let me cook you dinner,” Grant said to Lisa. They had a great dinner together. It had been a while since they did. They were always so busy. They all really loved just having a nice meal together. Things were surprisingly good in that moment.
Grant was getting ready to bring up the subject of going to the cabin. He winked at Manda to signal that it was time for her to play along with what Grant was about to say.
Then his cell phone rang. It was Pow. This wasn’t good.
“Yeah, man, what’s up?” He asked Pow.
“Come down to Capitol City right now,” Pow said. “Bring some heat. Discreet.”
“Roger that,” Grant said. Pow hung up. Grant assumed whatever he was going to do wouldn’t take too long and then he could bring up bugging out to Lisa.
“Who was that?” Lisa asked.
“Ron,” Grant said. “He needs me to go over to Len’s. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“OK,” Lisa said, “but try to be back to tuck in Cole. You know how he likes his dad to tuck him in every night.”
“You bet,” he said. “See you.”
Grant went into the garage and hoped Lisa wouldn’t follow him for some reason. He opened the trunk. It still had all that food from Cash n’ Carry. His gun stuff was on top of that. He put on his pistol belt, with a light jacket over it. He left the shoulder bag of magazines and his AR in the trunk. Pow said “discreet.”
Grant opened the garage door—yet another thing using electricity, he thought—and headed over to Ron’s house in case Lisa was watching. After a minute in front of Ron’s, Grant left for Capitol City Guns. He had no idea what he was heading into, but Pow needed him and he was very well armed. What could go wrong? He laughed.
The drive to Capitol City was a little weird. He did not see many cars on the road. He could hear sirens everywhere, especially off in the distance. Two police cars with sirens blazing were speeding toward the capitol, followed by a fire truck and ambulance.
The radio had news about massive protests and even small riots in San Francisco, Detroit, and Philadelphia. DC was a mess; it was totally paralyzed by protests and the bombing. Key government officials were being evacuated. There were lots of other amazing things that, in peace time, would have seemed like the biggest news of the decade. These included “lone wolf” terrorist attacks like mass shootings at airports and movie theaters, and the assassinations of various government officials and celebrities. Lately, however, they were just the latest headlines, soon to be outdone by the next hour’s headlines.
As Grant got closer to Capitol City Guns, there was more activity. The parking lot was overflowing. The street going into the store was blocked. Pow’s Hummer was there, as was Bobby’s truck. Wes was directing traffic. He had a pistol on his belt. He saw Grant’s car and motioned for him to come over.
“The store is closing and moving its inventory,” Wes said. “Things are too hairy right now. Chip is worried that looters will come for the guns and ammo. We’re putting up a discreet perimeter and getting customers out of here. Park over there and ask Pow what he needs you to do. You got a pistol on you?”
“Yep,” Grant said and patted his right side where his Glock was.
“Good,” Wes said. “No long guns should be visible. We don’t need the cops here.” Wes paused. “If there are any left.”
Wes went back to directing traffic and telling people the store was closed. There was no time to chat.
Grant parked and did a press check of his pistol. Round in the chamber and the slide was back in battery. Ready to go. He had a full magazine in and four additional fifteen-round mags on his belt. Plus the AR and mags in the trunk. OK. It was time to help Chip.
Grant jogged from his car to the store with his hands out to his sides so no one would think he was a threat. Everyone was armed, except the customers who were getting turned away. Most were OK with the news that the store was closing, but some were getting pissed.
Pow saw Grant and said, “Get the customers out of the store and out of the parking lot.”
Grant nodded. He was using his most polite voice with the customers. “Sorry, folks. The store is closed.” Most were leaving. One guy wasn’t.
“I have cash and want to buy a g
un,” the guy said. “Right now.” Grant sensed that the guy was a threat. He would try his voice first and then go to more drastic means.
“Time to go. Right now,” he said in his strongest command voice which he developed after becoming a father and had to use it to get the kids’ attention when they were about to do something stupid or dangerous. The guy stared at him, deciding what to do. Wait and see, Grant thought.
The guy just stood there; he did not comply with the order to leave. Time to ramp it up, Grant decided.
He moved his light jacket so his pistol was visible. In peacetime that would be the crime of “brandishing” a firearm. But this wasn’t peacetime, anymore.
The guy looked at the pistol, and then at Grant. His eyes got big. Without saying a word, he backed away from the gun counter, turned around, and walked out. Grant followed him out and watched him get in his car and leave.
When Grant was outside in the parking lot, he listened to the sirens in the distance. It seemed like every cop and fire truck for a hundred miles was downtown at the capitol fighting the protestors.
The customers were out of the store. Bobby was getting them out of the parking lot. When the store was empty, Chip came out of the back room which was where the inventory was kept, secretly. Special Forces Ted was with him. Chip looked around. He saw Grant, the rest of the Team, and Ted. All trusted guys. He came over to them. He had a pistol on his belt, too; a 1911.
“Thanks for the help, guys,” Chip said. “I need three or four of you to secure the parking lot. I will be bringing in my truck and Ted’s. We each have U-Haul trailers on them. We have a little inventory to move out tonight. Like, all of it. The rest of you can help us move some heavy things into the trucks. Be discreet. Those in the parking lot can have rifles handy, but not slung over your shoulders.”
Chip grabbed his gun inventory logs that ATF required him to maintain. He looked at them and laughed. “I guess I better have these in case things calm down and the law is enforced again.” Chip shook his head, indicating that he doubted things would return to normal and those laws would ever be enforced again.
He looked at the guys. They were risking their lives to help him. “Thanks, gentlemen. Let’s get to work.”
Pow asked, “Who has an AR with them?” Grant, Scotty, and Bobby raised their hands. “OK, you guys make sure no one gets within a hundred yards of here. Be on the lookout for anyone who seems to be watching us. They might be casing the place. Tell customers we’re closed. Cops can come here, but I’d rather they didn’t. I’m not going to ask you to shoot a cop.” Nice. This was for real.
Grant, Scotty, and Bobby went out to their vehicles to get their ARs and mag pouches.
Grant kept the safety on. He was pretty amped up, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone by mistake. He went around to Scotty and Bobby. “Safeties on, guys?” They both nodded.
Grant used his car as cover. It was on the street and he had a good view of anyone coming the main way down the street and into the store. He could keep his AR on the car seat and remain discreet.
Bobby had his truck across the street from Grant and was doing the same. Scotty moved his truck to the other side of the store entrance, which faced a back street, so he could get anyone coming from the other direction into the store. Grant and Bobby had a perfect crossfire set up. That was interesting because neither one of them talked about where to position themselves; they just naturally set up in a crossfire. And they both had a good angle on Scotty’s position to help him out.
Once they were set up, Grant was just watching. Everything. So were Bobby and Scotty.
Chip and Ted went out to their trucks with the U-Hauls, which were parked on the street a block away. They wheeled them into the parking lot which was finally empty. As soon as they pulled in, the door of the store came open and there were Wes and Pow with big plastic tubs. They looked like the tubs of parts Chip kept in the storage room. Grant focused on his job of watching the street to make sure no one came by.
After a few minutes, a car came down the back street toward Scotty. Grant figured that it could be a harmless guy or, because he was coming from the back street, it could be a decoy for an attack on the main entrance. Grant and Bobby grabbed their ARs out of their vehicles and got them ready. Scotty flagged down the car. He talked to the driver for a minute and then he turned around and left. Scotty flashed Grant and Bobby the thumbs up to show that everything was OK.
Wes, Pow, Ted, and Chip were loading Chip’s U-Haul like mad men. Then Chip moved his truck a little and Ted moved his into the front of the store. They repeated the loading. They now had fewer plastic tubs and more rectangular cardboard boxes which held a rifle. Finally, lots of small rectangular boxes which held pistols. Then cases and cases of ammo. They looked pretty heavy.
An SUV came down Grant and Bobby’s street. It was coming down Grant’s side of the street, so Grant signaled that he would talk to the driver. He also signaled for Bobby to hide in his truck for surprise backup, if necessary.
The driver of the SUV could sense that things were a little unusual. The wailing sirens added to the surreal environment. Grant signaled with his left hand for the car to roll down its window. He kept his right hand on his pistol, which was partially showing. Grant figured the odds of being prosecuted for brandishing were pretty low when what’s left of the police were busy fighting off protestors, and possibly rioters, three miles away at the capitol.
The driver rolled down his window. He didn’t look fazed by the sight of a man with his hand on a holstered pistol. He was probably a gun guy who knew that Grant was not some amateur. Gun guys aren’t usually scared of other gun guys. Someone with their hand on a pistol is not something unusual to them.
Grant used his confident, but not asshole, voice to say, “Where you headed?” He was trying to sound like a cop so the driver would assume he was and might listen more to what he told him to do.
“Gun store,” the guy said. He kept both hands on the steering wheel, yet another signal to Grant that the driver knew what he was doing; and knew how to avoid getting shot.
“It’s closed,” Grant said. “Try back tomorrow.” Grant stared at the driver as if to say, “Seriously.”
“OK. Thanks,” the guy said. The driver paused and looked at Grant’s exposed pistol. “Things hairy enough out here to need a pistol, huh?” He answered his own question by saying, “I guess so. Downtown near the capitol is a frickin’ mess right now. That’s why I wanted to come get a case of ammo.”
“You and lots of others,” Grant said. “That’s why the store is closed for a while.” Grant hated lying to people, but sometimes circumstances just called for it.
The driver nodded and said, “Have a good evening.” He then looked at how he would get out of there. He said, “I’ll turn around up there and come out the way I came in.”
Grant nodded. He looked over to Bobby and motioned that the SUV would go up the street, turn around and then leave. Bobby understood, gave the thumbs up, and then gave the signal to Scotty, who gave a thumbs up. Hours and hours on the range using hand signals to communicate allowed them to do this effortlessly.
Grant didn’t want to give away the positions of his two colleagues, but he didn’t want them to shoot this guy, either. When Grant got the thumbs up from Scotty, he turned back to the driver and said, “That ought to work. Have a good evening.”
The driver did exactly what he said he would do. The turnaround was smooth and careful. On the way back out the main entrance, the driver waved at Grant. He waved back.
Grant was glad he didn’t get shot or have to shoot anyone. Wow. This was for real.
He had a funny thought: How many other lawyers were doing this tonight? Actually, with all the protests and mayhem in the country, probably quite a few.
Chip came out of the parking lot and signaled that the trucks were loaded. He pointed to Bobby first, and then motioned for him to come into the store. He signaled for Scotty and Grant to stay put. Bobby walked in
to the store and came out a few minutes later. He signaled for Grant to go in next. Grant put his AR on the car seat, locked the door, and walked into the store.
Chip and Ted were inside with Wes and Pow standing guard at the door. The store was nearly empty except for accessories and cleaning supplies. There were a couple beater hunting rifles left on the wall, but no ARs or AKs. The glass pistol case was empty.
“OK, here’s the plan,” Chip said. “Me and Ted are going to go deposit this stuff in a safe place. A place none of you know about—no offense.”
None taken.
Ted said, “Me and Chip can unload it by ourselves because we’ll be in a much safer place and we don’t want to keep you gentlemen here when we might have visitors.”
That was appreciated. Besides, Grant had to get back home to start the process of convincing Lisa to go to the cabin.
“Thanks again, guys. Really appreciate it,” Chip said. He shook Grant’s hand and said, “Go tell Scotty to come in here so I can thank him in person. Then go home.”
Grant shook Chip’s hand. He shook Ted’s, too. “No problem, guys. Happy to help.”
Grant walked out quickly. This was not the time to chat. He motioned for Scotty to come in, and told him, “Chip needs to talk to you. I’ll take your position until you come back out.” Scotty nodded. “See you in a while,” Grant said to him.
It was still quiet out by Scotty’s truck. He came out of the store after a few minutes, and gave Grant the thumbs up, and Grant did the same. When Scotty got back to his truck, Grant said, “Keep your phone on.”
“Yep,” Scotty said. Grant walked back to his car. Bobby was gone by now. He turned around and drove home.
On the drive home, Grant started to wonder if he had just become an accessory to the illegal transfer of firearms. Yeah, probably. But the cops had other things on their plate right then. There weren’t any cops around waiting to arrest him. Or so he thought. He saw red and blue flashing lights in his rearview mirror, and then heard a siren. Oh shit. The cop was right on him. Grant had a loaded AR in the passenger seat. Oh shit. He got very nervous; shaking-hands kind of nervous. He started pulling over. His life might pretty much be over right now.
