299 Days: The Community (16 page)

Rich paused. Grant couldn’t tell if he was thinking of all of this as he went or if he had thought it out in advance. Either way, it was impressive. This guy was a leader.

“Guards borrowing guns from the gun library is fine and I can’t fault those loaning guns to want to get them back,” Rich said. “But I have to say that my preference would be for direct loans to people. This way, people would have the loaned gun with them in their homes. Armed home owners will be our best defense against crime. Don’t forget, the majority of crime will be among neighbors, not from outsiders.”

It was silent. People either hadn’t thought of that or didn’t want to hear it.

“Yep, I know it sounds bad,” Rich said, “but it’s true. We need to keep bad people out and we need to have a plan for if a gang tries to breach the gate, but most crime will be internal.” Rich let that sink in. These people needed to know that. They needed to be realistic. These were the times that called for realism.

Someone asked, “What about communications?”

Rich smiled, “I expected that question from you. Ladies and gentlemen, Curt Copeland here is a ham radio operator. A very, very valuable person to have in a situation like this.” Grant wondered if this was the guy who lived at the house with the huge antenna array that he and Pow had noticed.

Curt just smiled. He loved that he was a valuable person right then. Ham radio operators often spent years at their hobby with no one understanding how important they would be in a disaster. Curt was glad he had a chance to shine. He wished things hadn’t broken down, of course, but since they had, he was glad to be there with many ways to communicate.

“Curt, what are your thoughts?” Rich asked.

“Well, I can keep in contact with the outside world with my various equipment,” he said, not wanting to bore everyone with the details of his various radios. He could literally talk to the space station with his gear.

“Curt has plenty of handheld radios that we can use. Isn’t that right, Curt?” Rich said. It was obvious they had talked before the meeting. Good.

“Oh yes,” Curt said, “I have about a half dozen handhelds that operate on the VHR and UHF ham bands. They’re easy to use. Very good reception, even with the highlands up here and the beach down there. Especially when we bounce them off the Frederickson repeater.”

Rich looked at the Team again. “Some of you have CBs, too. Raise your hand if you have one.” About a third of the room raised their hands, including the Team. “Great. CBs are fine for short range communication and getting info from nearby people outside of Pierce Point. They aren’t secure, of course, but I doubt the bad guys will be monitoring all 40 CB channels to hear us. Besides, all the stuff we need to have secure will be done on the ham bands and then we can relay it in some simple code via CBs.”

That reminded Rich, “Oh, if any of you are going into town anytime soon, please try to buy all the CBs and antennas you can. It would really help us out. If the stores are out, which is likely, then don’t worry about it. I just wanted everyone to know how valuable CBs are right now.”

Rich waited for another question. There wasn’t one. “OK, now we come to personnel,” he said. “This is the most important part. Equipment is great, but if we don’t have good people, none of this will work.”

Rich pointed to Curt. “We need lots of people with diverse talents, like Curt here. He isn’t prior military or law enforcement, but you can see how valuable he will be. So regular civilians are very much needed.”

Rich paused. “With that in mind, military and law enforcement experience is a definite plus. So who here is prior military?” About a quarter of the hands went up. Rich pointed at the first person he saw and said, “What branch, what did you do, and when did you get out?”

Men and a few women around the room described their service. All branches were covered. Lots of Army, but it was the largest branch. Some Air Force and a couple Marines, including Mark. Quite a bit of Navy and even two Coast Guard. None of the people in the room were active duty or in the Guard or Reserves. Two people said they had neighbors in the Army National Guard and one said her neighbor was in the Air Force Reserve, but that they weren’t at the meeting.

The veterans had done many different jobs in the military. Four had combat specialties in the Army: two infantry, a scout, and armor. Another, a Marine rifleman named Ryan McDonald, was a combat veteran from Afghanistan.

John raised his hand and said, “U.S. Navy. Machinist. Got out in 1968.”

Mark said he was a former Marine, a sniper, and left in 1975. He grabbed his belly and said, “I ain’t in Marine shape anymore. I couldn’t lie in the forest for two days and make a shot at 800 yards anymore, either.”

When it came to Chip’s turn to talk, he said, “I’m Chip. Army. Supply sergeant but saw some combat in Southeast Asia. Got out in 1970.” He didn’t mention the part about building ARs for a living and having a few dozen “assault rifles” in Grant’s basement. He knew it wasn’t necessary to mention that now. There was still too much at stake; too many unknowns. Not even to mention that Grant was a wanted man. Blend in whenever possible, Chip would always say. Be the gray man; a fighter or resistor who doesn’t attract attention so he can get the job done.

One veteran was particularly interesting. Rich smiled when it came to this guy’s turn and said to him, “Sergeant Morgan, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

The man, in his early forties with black hair and in great shape said, “I’m Dan Morgan, formerly of the United States Air Force. I was in Security Forces, which used to be called Security Police. We defended air bases and other sensitive installations, and conducted counterterrorism. I was MWD, or Military Working Dog. A dog handler. I retired as a Senior Master Sergeant. I am currently—or, I guess, formerly—a volunteer for the Sheriff’s Department’s K9 team. I say formerly since I don’t think there is a Sheriff’s Department anymore.”

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 firewood 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.