by Ian Daniels
“So everyone’s on board with these guys standing over you with rifles at the ready?”
“They’re a good and polite bunch. They mean well, work hard, and are helping to keep everyone safe in exchange for room and board.”
“Just the five of them?” Danielle tried to ask tactfully.
“Hmmm," Grant thought noisily and squinted an eye. "I think so, couldn’t say for sure though. Plus a few of our kids are lending a hand where they can; doing night shifts and stuff to make sure no one else comes looking to take without askin’.”
“Hey kid, what’s your background?” I turned and asked our one remaining guard.
“Eagle Scout and ROTC... cadet,” he said proudly puffing up his chest and placing a hand on the tomahawk at his side. “Woulda been starting my second year in school but they shut down for the winter. Couldn’t keep the heat on or pay the bills or something.”
Great, I was being held at gun point by the Boy Scouts of America.
“And who are you related to here,” I asked him again.
“The Greganiouses, on my momma’s side.”
I didn’t recognize the name, but Grant confirmed it with a nod.
“And while we're askin', who exactly are you... and who’s this, your hired muscle?” the Eagle Scout leered at Danielle.
“Absolutely, and you better watch your mouth. I don’t think your Captain or Commander or whatever he is would be too happy to hear you speaking out of turn,” Danielle rebuffed him easily.
Danielle had done a stint as a drill instructor not too long before she discharged and I could see some of that attitude was still available for her to tap into when needed. I also knew her well enough to know that she didn’t need me to come to her rescue. I had heard enough stories of her putting cocky and arrogant young soldiers in their place, but this kid was really rubbing me the wrong way and on the wrong day.
“Yeah I thought I recognized you from the description. Kind of a firecracker aren’t you? I hear I missed out on a good show out in the woods earlier today. Maybe we could find a place to go around here and have a private viewing?” he smirked again.
Danielle gave me a look to kill. I guess that answered the question about who the group with the drone was with. It also meant there were more than five of them, and they had comms.
I took a small step forward, slightly puffing up my own chest and putting my full size directly in front of him.
“Look you little pissant, I don’t want to hear anything like that again,” I warned him.
I didn’t throw my weight around very often and in fact, I usually forgot just how much bigger I was than most other people until I got right up next to them like I was now. At nearly six and a half feet tall and bulked up as I was, I didn’t mind having the imposing stature to use at certain times... like now.
“Or what?” he said, not backing down.
It was the five pound Chihuahua puppy testing himself against a bull mastiff and I really didn’t have the patience for it.
“Do I look like the type of person to ask ‘or what’ to?” my eyes burned into him. “Listen kid, I’m doing you a favor; I’ll hurt you, but she’ll bury your ass. You keep on talking and her and I will just flip a coin to see which one of us you have the bad luck to deal with.”
Over his shoulder I caught sight of the first camo man door guard returning to his place out front and three others closely in tow. One of them was a white haired older guy, then came a mean looking guy with black scraggly hair and beard, and finally one burly dude carrying a big gun and a hang dog expression bringing up the rear. All of which meant that the A Team was here and I was done screwing around with this little idiot.
“Now get out of here and go shine your boots or some other useless crap,” I berated him and stood firm, staring at him with unblinking eyes until he slunk away muttering something under his breath that I was probably just as glad that I didn’t hear.
Grant's eyes were wide as he stood by, waiting for a lull in the action to politely make his escape.
“I think I’ll mosey on in and find a seat, you two take care of yourselves ya hear?” he said and walked off, not waiting for a reply. He probably figured it was smarter to leave before the next round began.
“You two must be the new ones I hear are looking to see me,” the new older guy in woodland fatigues greeted us. He carried himself like he was of some importance, which really didn’t work well with the physical image that he portrayed.
His poorly trimmed white beard and small beer gut, when added to the thin and white complexion of an office worker type that never saw enough sunlight and the reading glasses perched on his nose, all combined for a slightly doofy appearance. He had a 1911 in a brown leather shoulder holster and thinning grayish white hair in need of trimming, peaking out from underneath his camouflage patrol cap. It all added up to complete and overall comical look. He did seem to be a nice enough guy though.
“I’m John Short, Captain of the Lightfoot Militia.”
My tight lipped smile and raised eyebrows poorly hid my amused dismissal of a self appointed Captain of his own little Militia groupies.
“That’s some hardware you’ve got there, impressive even for an inaccurate commie gun, I have to say,” he informed me after eyeing the AK slung at my back as if I should value his opinion.
It was a light hearted comment, common among gun guys to critique others choices. Generally speaking, I was not a typical gun guy; I was more about how they got used.
“Yeah well whatever works,” I dismissed his appraisal.
Talking guns with some traditionalist old coot was not on my list of enjoyable hobbies and I had other things on my mind at the moment anyway, but he again persisted.
“What, you didn’t like what Uncle Sam had to offer? At least your lady friend has the right idea,” he nodded in approval at my M1 Carbine hanging off of Danielle’s shoulder.
His question actually turned up my spider sense a little, wondering if this was maybe his way of feeling us out for our own experiences and background.
“They both seem to have worked well enough to win couple of wars,” I relented to his game.
“You sound like you’ve seen that first hand,” the posturing had moved to an obvious effort to find out some information about us.
“Yeah I worked at the McDonalds in downtown Kandahar," I said quickly. "Look if you don’t mind, we're looking for a family that attends here,” I tried to steer the conversation and started to take a step to walk past him into the sanctuary, only to have him block the way, feigning an attempt at being helpful.
“Maybe I can help, who is it you’re looking for again?” he asked politely.
“A friend,” I replied to him slowly. Also noting that the mini moron Eagle Scout from earlier had returned and was headed in our direction once again.
“Well you can see the dilemma I am in. We’re here to protect this place and these people and we don’t know you. I can’t allow you to just walk in here armed and asking questions.”
“And how long have you been coming to this church?” I tried turning the tables on him slightly. He wasn’t completely wrong or out of line, but some brother’s, uncle’s, cousin that I had never seen before was not going to claim more authority here than anyone else. Especially not against the long standing families that I did in fact know quite well... even if they weren’t speaking to me anymore.
“Is there a problem Sir?” The Boy Scout saddled up to his leader’s side.
“Sir…” I huffed sarcastically under my breath which earned me more than one black look.
“And just who the ‘ell are you?” the mean looking guy who had come in with the Captain asked, speaking for the first time and obviously sizing me up in a macho attempt at showmanship.
He looked lean, strong and crazy. It was a body type I recognized as being built inside a gym on machines and protein powder. In his hands was a neat little pistol caliber AR style gun fed by Uzi mags.
He
was the one who really caught my attention as a threat, although his partner was nonetheless an intimidating dude. He was taller and bigger than me by quite a bit. He had wide shoulders, a thick chest, trunks for legs and bulging arms. He also had a big HK G3 rifle slung on his back. He didn't have the same body language of the others and seemed curiously more shy and reluctant as well.
“You know, I always wanted one of those…” I looked at the mean guy and challenged dangerously. Danielle stepped in to calm the situation once again.
“We were just out this way and thought we’d stop in to check on some friends from here, It doesn’t look like they’re around,” Danielle batted her eyelashes an extra time I subtlety noticed.
“Did I hear you say you were looking for the Parvishs? Henry and his family right?” the gray haired door greeter interjected ever so helpfully from behind me and in turn causing me to rub the ever growing headache out from behind my eyes.
“Yeah,” I sighed with one less card to play. “Have you seen them?”
“Sure have, or did I should say. About three weeks ago. They stopped by to drop off some stuff at my house. Said they were buzzing out or some such. They seemed to be in an awful hurry.”
“Bugging out,” I corrected his terminology and shook my head in frustration at everything. The misuse of the phrase, the fact that they left, and the fact that I was here having this stupid conversation.
“Hmm, I guess you won’t be finding them here then,” the Militia Captain smiled oddly.
“So let me get this straight,” I closed my eyes to collect my thoughts. “They left; you guys are here just to be helpful, and I’m an idiot? Is everyone happy with that assessment?” I asked opening my eyes again and looking around at all the blank faces that were staring back at me. Danielle gave me yet another dirty look.
“Why in the world would they leave and where in the hell would they go?” I asked no one in particular and immediately regretted it because I just knew that in the very intellectual group I had here, it was inevitable that at least one of them would have an answer for my rhetorical question.
“May I remind you, you are in the house of the Lord. Please watch your language,” the door greeter reprimand me.
I had to physically close my eyes again to stop the first three things from escaping out of my mouth and finally just chose to ignore him completely from here on out.
“It sounds like your friends were smart ones to get out while the gettin’ was still good,” the mean looking black haired guy pontificated and somehow managed to redouble my irritation.
“Well since you won’t be finding your friends here, I guess you’ll be going along on your way then. I can have a man help you two get back out to the interstate if you’d like,” the Captain sounded genuine in his offer, but it struck me as strange, almost as if he were eager to be rid of us.
“I’ll go with ‘em Boss,” the burly guy with the HK finally spoke for the first time.
“I don't think so,” I caught Captain Short saying as he eyed the big man before I interrupted them.
“So I take it we’re not invited to hear the sermon anymore?” I implied.
“What? Oh sure, I mean I just figured...” the Captain stumbled over his words.
“What don’t you like about buggin’ out?” The Eagle Scout suddenly piped up.
“Sometimes leaving creates more problems than answers,” I replied simply after a short pause.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” the Captain arced an eyebrow at me.
“It’s kind of like being in a Militia," I smirked, "bugging out might be well intentioned, but it's ultimately ineffective. Even if you’ve prepped a place, how long are you really going to be able to stay there? What happens when that tooth ache starts getting worse? You have a dentist out there in a buried cache?"
“What do you need that nature cannot provide?” the Boy Scout tried his best to sound profound.
“You go running to the woods and expect what exactly?” I asked. “People think they’ll find a year round apple tree and squirrels roasting on a spit when they get there? Nuts piled up on logs and the birds leave them eggs to cook every morning? The trout will just jump out of the water into their outstretched hands... Well there aren’t any trout in these streams and Mother Nature is a mean mother-” I bit back the last part, remembering the previous scorn that we were, in fact, standing in a church lobby. “You know where the nearest stream feeds from around here? It comes from the sewage ponds this side of Wrangle. The others run through fields that have been dusted with chemicals so many times that you’ll grow a third… never mind,” I sighed and stopped myself again.
I knew I was lecturing now but this was relatively elementary stuff to survivalists, or so I had thought.
“But you can hunt in the woods,” the kid tried again, thankfully sounding less and less sarcastic.
“And probably get shot doing it,” I turned to him. “What was the country’s population the last time you heard?”
“Something just over three hundred million,” Captain Short answered after it was obvious the kid who had just recently attended an institute of higher learning didn’t know the answer.
“Right, and around the first Great Depression we were at a hundred and twenty five million… and wild game almost got hunted to extinction. So now you are going to go out and hunt with thousands of other people chasing the same limited food supply, the chance of actually being alone in the woods without a bunch of idiots with high powered rifles is tiny,” my own words were starting to trigger an alarm in the back of my head but I was too busy being annoyed to pay attention to it yet.
“Hunters are usually pretty careful,” the Captain rejected my opinion, scoffing at the notion of there being unsafe gun handlers in the world.
“True hunter’s maybe, but they won’t be hunters; they’ll just be someone in the woods with a gun. Hunters have skills. Once the normal people or even regular shooters who have never hunted before, once they start seeing how hard it is to feed their families, they will get desperate and start setting up just outside of town. They wait for the real hunters to return with their kill. One bullet later and it’s their kill now.”
“Sounds like a good time to bug out then to me,” The Boy Scout thought he had somehow scored a point with that little comment.
“Do you know how to preserve meat, or grow food, really? A single deer might feed a family for a little bit, but not if the meat isn't put up correctly. The average hunter has never smoked, jerked, or salted meat. I take mine to the butcher in town. How ‘bout you?” I turned back to the small group that was listening, “All I’m saying is that there is no one single answer and limiting yourself through isolation really doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Look in the mirror,” I heard Danielle mutter under her breath. I didn’t react and she said it quietly enough that she didn’t think even I would hear her, but if anyone had scored any points in this debate, she just had.
“After a while, the population will eventually die off… excuse me, stabilize,” I amended, “until then, this wont be pretty. That’s why I’m wondering if you really know what you’re getting yourselves into,” I told the Captain who narrowed his eyes at me, apparently not liking my tone.
“And just what exactly does that mean?” the contempt of my thought process oozing through in his tone. "We are here to help protect these people. There're wolves and there are sheep, then there are sheep dogs. We're here to protect the sheep from the wolves," he proclaimed as if I hadn’t heard that tired diatribe before.
"Yeah and sometimes the best way to fight a wolf is with another wolf," I muttered and stuck my hands in my pockets, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. “Talk to me about your militia,” I inquired.
“What would you like to know?” he perked up, happy to be the center of attention again and all too eager to tell of their greatness.
“Well we’ve all seen these groups come and go. Guys get together, pretend it’s
not about politics and they might last a couple years even, but the groups always fade away. So are you guys just all gung-ho now that you might actually get to play soldier for real?”
“Young man, the climate in this country is…” he started to say before I waved him off.
“No. No rhetoric, what’s your angle? I’m wondering just what side of the revolution you think you’re on?”
“What’da you mean?” the mean guy with the AR interjected hotly, letting a bit of a slurring back woods accent slip out.
“You guys are geared up for war, but we’re not at war. We’re just down and almost out, so who are you warring against?”
“If you haven’t noticed, this is no longer peace time,” the Captain conjured. “We are at war with those who brought us to where we are today. The Government became so corrupt; it ran roughshod over its own people until now. Picture just one patriot taking a single aimed shot at a uniform a couple of times a year on his way to work. You get fifty people doing that nationwide and you have a serious, serious problem. And if you get just one percent of gun owners doing that, well that’s a half million people. Suddenly they have a nightmare to deal with,” the Captain proclaimed.
“And how do you think that scenario will be dealt with at the local and national level?” Danielle questioned, unable to keep from finally joining the discussion.
“The people know who the real enemy is,” he proclaimed.
“So let me get this right, you don’t like the policies enacted in DC, so you’re going to assassinate the mailman because he is a federal employee? The economy crashed and the government went bankrupt and now you’re fighting mad? Well who are you fighting but yourself? You want to take shots at people in uniforms? Those are normal people just trying to do their jobs to feed their families, just like you.”
“If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem,” the Captain prophesied dangerously.
“That’s right! One man’s freedom fighter is another’s terrorist,” the irritating Boy Scout quoted.
I stared at him for a second in half disbelief before posing my own question “One guy pushes an old lady in front of a bus, another pushes her out of the way, are they both old lady pushers or does motivation come into play? It’s never that simple kid.”