299 Days: The Community

by Tate, Glen

  Dan paused. “Anyway, I train their dogs and kennel them here. I have several great dogs.” Dan smiled, “Defending an air base or an area like Pierce Point, it’s all the same. I got some tricks up my sleeve that Uncle Sam taught me.” He was beaming. He was so happy to show off his skills and save his friends and neighbors in the process.

  Rich said, “Dan and I know each other from Oath Keepers.” No need to hide that anymore, Rich thought. He was off the force and, besides, the cops had enough on their plates. Arresting political people wasn’t high on their list of things to do. Rich smiled, “Welcome to the Security Committee, Dan.” Rich and Dan had obviously talked before the meeting.

  Nice, Grant thought. He was feeling like he was in good hands. Could this set up get any better?

  Rich asked, “OK, any law enforcement, past or present, here?” Grant winced at the “present” part; he was technically wanted, or whatever POI meant. He was hoping there were no cops in the room.

  Four hands went up. One guy said, “I was a reserve Sheriff’s Deputy in the 80s but I haven’t done it in a long time. I wouldn’t count myself as ‘law enforcement.’”

  A man said, “My neighbor is currently a county sheriff’s deputy. I haven’t seen him in about a week.”

  Another guy, who looked like Jimmy Buffet, said, “I’m Dick Abbott. I’m a retired LA County deputy. Out on disability. Lost most of my hearing in a shootout twenty years ago. Don’t know that I’ll be much help, but I’ll do whatever is asked of me.”

  The third hand was a woman in her fifties. “I’m Linda Rodriguez. I am retired from Seattle Police Department. I was a dispatcher.”

  “Great,” Rich said. “Glad to have all of you.” He was, indeed, happy to have so many veterans and some law enforcement. “OK, any other people who have some unique skills?”

  There were two nurses and an EMT. “Great. We’ll definitely need medical skills,” Rich said. Mark and John looked at Grant for him to announce that they had an ER doctor out at Pierce Point. Grant slightly shook his head to them. He wanted to talk to Lisa before he announced her occupation. He didn’t know why she wouldn’t want to be the neighborhood doctor, but he just thought he should ask her if she wanted a part-time job out there.

  “There’s Randy Greene, the foot doctor,” someone said. “But he’s not out here. Yet.”

  Rich said, “OK, any other skills out there that will help us out?”

  Chapter 89

  Meet the Team

  (May 8)

  When Rich asked if anyone else had unique skills, the Team looked at Grant. Grant whispered to Mark, “Introduce me and I’ll take it from there.” Mark nodded.

  Mark stood up. “My neighbor here, Grant, has some guys to introduce. These guys are solid, I can tell you from personal experience.” That was a big boost from a local.

  All eyes were on Grant. He stood up and said, “I’m Grant…” Should he give out his last name? What if someone looked him up on the POI list? Well, it would get out some time and there weren’t exactly any cops around with time on their hands to take him in. He paused and thought.

  Grant decided right then and there that he would die with his boots on. If they wanted to come get him, he’d fight it out, so he might as well give out his last name now. He was betting his life on the fact that there wasn’t any more law enforcement left.

  “Grant Matson. I have a cabin out here but, as Mark Colson will tell you, I’m not exactly a city boy.” Mark gave the crowd a thumbs up. “I live next to Mark on the far north end. I brought some good friends out here with me. Actually, they rescued my family from Olympia and convoyed them out here, running into a sticky situation on the way out.” That was a bit of an exaggeration, but these people needed to know that the Team weren’t just Billy Bobs in a pickup truck. They weren’t military or law enforcement, either. Somewhere in between.

  Grant pointed to the Team. He introduced them and noted that another one, Bobby, was out in the truck guarding some valuables. John went out and got Bobby, who came in for his introduction and then left.

  Grant almost forgot Chip, who was kind of on the Team. Grant pointed to Chip and said, “We shoot a lot with Chip, too. He is very good.” Chip put his hand up in an “aw shucks” gesture.

  The next part was hard. How could he describe the Team so that people knew they could do things without being nervous about them? Grant didn’t want to seem like he was searching for the perfect words, which indicated he was holding something back or trying to spin something. So he just said what he meant.

  “We are…well, we train together a lot,” Grant said. “On the range. We have been lucky enough to get the law enforcement shooting range in Olympia on Sundays and we’ve made good use of it. The SWAT guys have taught us a lot. Bill here, or ‘Pow’ as everyone calls him, is a handgun instructor.” True, but he didn’t get paid for it. Grant was exaggerating a little to establish their credibility; it was a little risky, but he thought he had to do it.

  “We’ve been training together for two years,” Grant said. “We’re not formally trained law enforcement, but we’re pretty darned close. We don’t claim any super specialized skills, but…well, we’re pretty good. We will do whatever we can to help the effort here.”

  The crowd was looking over Grant and these young guys he brought with him. They all seemed clean cut and well spoken. They had given their seats to ladies. They called people “sir” and “ma’am.” They had guns and holsters that indicated that they were serious about this stuff. They didn’t have a “strut,” but they were confident. Grant sensed that the Team was initially making a good first impression with the crowd.

  Rich, always the curious cop, asked, “What do you do for a living?”

  Grant answered, “I am…well, I guess I was, a lawyer.” A few people looked like they hated him already. “Not a scumbag lawyer, like most of them are,” Grant quickly added. That got a couple of laughs. “Out here, with what’s going on, I’m not a lawyer. I don’t even like lawyers. My job now is protecting my family and feeding them, and helping my neighbors as best I can. I plan on spending a lot of time hunting and fishing and helping with things like guard duty and anything else that is asked of me.”

  In that moment, Rich realized who their judge would be, but he didn’t want to hand out that job until he got to know Grant. It was an important job; a bad judge would be horrible. Rich would keep his eye on Grant and these guys of his for a while.

  Rich said, “Welcome to you and your guys. I’d like to see what kind of skills you have and then we’ll see where we can put you.” Fair enough, Grant thought. He nodded at Rich.

  “Well, now you know the basic plan,” Rich said to the audience. “We also know some of the skills people have out here. You can go now if you want; I don’t want to keep you. I will be taking names for guard duty, beach patrol, and the internal patrol. When I know how many people we have for each, and the skills we have, then we can start doing more detailed planning and figure out what training we need and who will do it. This was just a meeting for the basic plan and introductions. The detailed planning will go on tomorrow and then we’ll meet back here at the same time, 7:00. I’ll take all the planning volunteers I can get. Come up and see me. Any other questions?”

  There weren’t any.

  “Good night and stay safe,” Rich said.

  People started milling out. There was a big line to talk to Rich. Rich saw Grant and said, “Can you and your guys stay for a while? I’d like to meet them.”

  “Sure,” Grant said. This was a good sign.

  “And I’d like Mark and John to stay with you guys, too,” Rich said.

  John said, “Which is good because we all rode together.”

  Mark and John were chatting with their neighbors, most of whom they didn’t know very well. Mark spent some time talking with Ryan McDonald, the Afghanistan Marine. Ryan was in his late twenties. He was a substitute teacher now, but had rarely had any work for the past few years. He cut fir
ewood and did odd jobs. He lived by himself in a mobile home in Pierce Point; a mobile home that was immaculate. Ryan looked like an ordinary guy; he didn’t have a crew cut or “USMC” tattooed on his arm. Grant overheard Ryan say to Mark, “Bronze star, sir.” He must have been in a fight or two and done nicely, Grant thought.

  Grant was sure to say hi to as many people as he could and introduce the Team. They were saying “sir” and “ma’am” to everyone and making a great first impression. This was key. Grant didn’t want his guys to be stuck doing menial things they were overqualified for. That would lead them to maybe want to go back to the city, as crazy as that would be. These guys wanted to use their skills. Grant needed his guys to be very happy where they were. He needed the Team to be the Pierce Point SWAT team, or at least to be on the SWAT team. They would share the cool roles with qualified people, like the Afghanistan Marine. But just about anyone could man the gate. Guys who had shot for a long time together, in semi-SWAT-like training situations, should be the ones knocking down doors.

  Knocking down doors? Grant realized that the Team had never actually done things like that. They’d cleared imaginary rooms where Ted drew the boundaries of the room in the dirt, but they’d never actually done it in a real house, or actually been shot at.

  Oh well. No one else had (except Ryan McDonald and maybe Rich Gentry). The Team, while inexperienced in some areas, was more experienced than almost everyone else, overall. This was a time to make do with what they had. Pierce Point had Rich Gentry, Dan Morgan, Ryan McDonald. And the Team. Not bad.

  After a while, Rich came up to Grant. “I’d like to meet your guys. Now, tell me how did you all meet?”

  Grant told Rich about Capitol City Guns and how they started shooting at the law enforcement range and the things they practiced.

  “What are their backgrounds?” Rich asked. Grant explained that all of them were civilians with no formal training. This was interesting to Rich. He had never run across civilians who just trained like this on their own. He had heard of militia wannabe guys who did this, but he could tell Grant’s guys weren’t like that. They didn’t wear military clothes and seemed eager to help instead of fantasizing about killing people like they were in a video game. Rich kept wondering what the catch was.

  “Can you guys come by the gate tomorrow?” Rich asked. “Maybe show us a bit of what you know. Bring your full gear.”

  “Sure,” Grant said. He looked Rich straight in the eye. It was time to set himself exactly where he wanted to be in the Pierce Point pecking order. He said to Rich, “You have things pretty organized out here. My guys want to be part of your system. Not some rogue group. We are an asset out here. We want to have a good role because we’ll do a good job. We’ve worked very hard and have some impressive gear that will help the effort. It would be a waste to put us on the gate, in my opinion, although we will honor your decision.” Grant owed it to his guys to try to get them the best jobs possible, but he also wanted Rich to know that the Team was not some rival, renegade group.

  This was politics; not the political party kind of politics that had driven the country into the crapper, but the kind that was about getting along with everyone in tough situations, while not selling out. Grant was good at it. He had to be. It was how people would survive.

  Rich smiled. He appreciated Grant’s acknowledgement of his authority, and he appreciated that Grant was trying to get his guys the best spots possible. Grant was a leader; a leader of a small unit that wanted to fit into a larger one. He was the perfect kind of leader to have within an organization. Rich also had a sense of how valuable the Team would be to Pierce Point’s security. He said, “I think I have an idea for your guys, but I’d like to see their stuff tomorrow. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough,” Grant said. He could tell this was going to work.

  Chapter 90

  A Case of Tuna, Big Boy

  (May 8)

  On the way back home, Grant told the Team that they would have a try out the next day. They were very excited. Mark and John were happy, too. Their friends would be contributing a lot to the effort. Paul was silent. He wasn’t pissy, just quiet. Grant assumed it was because he knew he was too out of shape to be doing the cool stuff.

  Grant asked Mark and John, “is there any way the Team can sleep tonight instead of doing guard duty? I want us to be rested for tomorrow.”

  Paul’s eyes lit up. “Hey, I can take guard duty tonight. No problem.”

  “Hey, that would be awesome, Paul,” Grant said. Paul was stepping up. He had been doing everything he could since they got out there. He had a heart of gold. He fought like hell to get his daughter from his druggie ex-wife, he worked hard around the cabins, and now he was volunteering for a boring night of guard duty. Grant made a mental note to find plenty of things for him to do.

  “We’ll brew some coffee when we get back,” John said.

  “I’ve got something better, at least something that won’t use up our coffee,” Grant said. “I’ve got some caffeine pills for just these kinds of occasions. One tablet is 200 milligrams of caffeine; about one strong cup of coffee. Would you like a couple?”

  “Yeah. Thanks,” Paul said. After a while he said, “With a serious guard station at the Pierce Point gate, I think we can go down to one guard at our shack. Besides, every cabin is full of well-armed people.”

  Everyone nodded. This was the first time they had thought that the community-wide security was making their individual security better. They didn’t need two or three guards in the shack all the time. There was a sense that the community was improvising and coming up with solutions to problems. They had all been immersed in chaos for the past week. Chaos they could not have imagined before all of this. But now things were slowly settling down. Finally, something was working out.

  They pulled up to their cabins and Drew was there with his lever action carbine. He waved them in. They hadn’t been overrun by biker gangs in the two hours they had a retired accountant with a cowboy gun guarding their families. Maybe things weren’t so dire.

  “Pancakes tomorrow morning at 8:00, gentlemen,” Grant said. It was getting dark now. He was tired. He had been moving and thinking all day, and was ready to take a load off.

  Grant walked into the cabin and Cole said, “Hi, Dad. How was your meeting?”

  “Nice talking, little buddy,” Grant said. He loved to hear Cole communicate so well. “I got home in time for tucking.”

  “Thank you, Dad,” Cole said.

  Lisa was getting the kids ready for bed, although it was still a little light out. It was hard to say they needed to go to bed so they could get up for school because there was no school.

  “How was your meeting?” Lisa asked. She was a little afraid her gun-loving husband would volunteer for some crazy militia thing.

  “Really well,” Grant said. He described the level-headed former cop Rich, how organized things were, all the military and law enforcement people involved, and how the Team had a try out tomorrow. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “So you’re going to the try out?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m part of the Team and our skills are needed.” He had decided on the ride back from the Grange that he was going to tell Lisa he was with the Team and would be patrolling with them. He knew she would flip out. A couple days of getting along with her would be over. He was trying not to get upset.

  “OK,” she said with a smile. “Just be careful.” She didn’t want Grant to do this, but she was trying hard to avoid getting into an argument. At the same time, though, she knew it made sense for him to do it. She was proud of him for taking such responsibility for everyone’s safety. She just wished it was someone else’s husband doing it.

  “The community asked if there were any medical people here,” he said. “I didn’t want to volunteer you without talking to you.”

  Lisa had been expecting this conversation. A few times, when they were driving on long trips for a vacation, they wou
ld come across a car accident before the ambulances got there. Lisa would get out and “go to work” as she called it. She had come to accept that as a doctor, an ER doctor no less, she needed to help people. But she wasn’t always exactly thrilled about it.

  “There’s no decent hospital or even clinic here and I don’t have insurance,” she said. “What am I supposed to do? Treat people with third world supplies and get paid in chickens?”

  Yes. Exactly. But Grant didn’t want to say that. “Well, you have skills. Life-saving skills. We can’t just let you sit it out while people die or suffer needlessly.”

  Lisa got mad. She didn’t want to go be a doctor out there in Hillbillyville. She wanted her old state-of-the-art ER back in Tacoma.

  But she knew she had to save all the people she could. Of course she would do that. But under primitive conditions. The whole situation sucked. Damn it. Nothing was right. She would have to treat people like they were in Haiti or something. Why couldn’t things be normal again?

  As mad as she was, she couldn’t come up with a solid reason to disagree. She wanted to help people—there was never a question about that—but treating people out there would be such a nightmare. She was insecure because she knew exactly what to do with all the equipment and supplies of a modern emergency room, and with all the help of a team of ER nurses. What if she didn’t know how to treat people without all that stuff? It was scary.

  “I could do a walk-in clinic,” she said after thinking about it for a few minutes. “Check-ups. That kind of thing. No organ transplants,” she said, laughing at that last part. The laughter broke the tension.