299 Days: The Community (18 page)

The chicks and chickens were great, but they would only produce a meal or two per person each week, if that. A definite plus, but not a complete solution.

Gardening and permaculture, which was food that returns every year like apple trees, was great. It was only a supplement, though. It would take a few months for the crops planted now, in May, to mature in the late summer or fall. And, more importantly, there weren’t too many clear patches for crops. They were in a forested area that dropped into the sea. The few clear patches had houses on them or were overrun with weeds. Grant started thinking about some clear patches a few roads away. They should start a community garden on those patches. Pay the owner of those lots some rent in the form of produce. He would bring that up at the next meeting.

The stores in town. Grant kept thinking that the stores, with their virtually bare shelves, would still have to be the main food supply for most people. America wasn’t the rural, self-sufficient country it was even a few generations ago. Grant remembered hearing on the Survival Podcast that America was now a net importer of food. The country imported more food than it exported. That was unbelievable. When Grant was a kid, America fed itself and most of the rest of the world. But politicians decided it was better to give American farmers subsidies not to farm than it was to actually grow food. In the insanity of the pre-Collapse political world, that actually made sense to those in power. And the farmers, most of them working for giant agricultural corporations, didn’t mind cashing the checks. Everyone was a winner—except if the unthinkable happened and America actually had to feed itself. How is feeding oneself “unthinkable”? Besides, according to the pre-Collapse thinking, the U.S. could count on the Mexicans to send all the produce the country needed and save a dollar on each tomato. What could ever go wrong in Mexico that would cause a disruption in the United States’ cheap food supply?

Hopefully the government, as inept as it was, would figure out a way to harness the enormous potential food production America still had and get it out to the people. What an impossible task, even for competent and honest government. It would be even harder for this government. But the political pressure to feed people would be enormous. The government knew that if people were hungry and had nothing to lose, they would rise up and kill all those government people who were keeping them hungry. Feeding the people was a military necessity. Grant remembered reading Mao’s book on guerilla warfare describing food production as a military necessity.

Even if the government could pull it off, people would have much less to eat. They would have different food. No more tomatoes from Mexico for salads that people ate a bite of and then threw out. Now, a tomato a week might come from a neighbor’s garden. It would taste far better and not have who knows what sprayed on it, but it wouldn’t be as plentiful. All the junk food that sustained so many people would be gone. It cost too much to produce and required ingredients from all over the country, which couldn’t just roll down the road on semis now that gas was $15 a gallon today, and maybe $20 tomorrow?

Grant tried to go back to sleep. He started thinking about all the food his family had. All the various meal combinations they had. All the nutrition. All the vitamins he stored out there. He had done a hell of a job getting ready for this. A hell of a job.

He woke up when the sunlight came into the bedroom. He got dressed, which now included his pistol belt, and tried to get up quietly and start cooking pancakes. It was 6:30 a.m. He had some time before people started coming over.

Grant went out onto the deck and just stared at the water. It was perfectly quiet in the cabin. He thought. And thought. First he thought about the looters he had killed. He hadn’t thought about them since it happened. He wondered if there was something wrong with him for not worrying about them. He regretted having to do it, but he kept coming to the conclusion that he did the right thing. They were trying to kill him and Ron, and eventually others in the neighborhood. He hoped that he remained at peace about killing them. He didn’t want to have nightmares.

Then Grant thought about all the “coincidences” that led them all there. All the people he knew and trusted who had come together. All the skills they had out there. All the supplies and gear they had. Grant talked to God. He thanked Him. The conversation was private. Grant never talked about these things with anyone.

Drew and Eileen started to stir. The kids would be up soon. Chip came over with a cup of coffee.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he said. “This old man is looking forward to an audition this morning.”

“So is this slightly less old man,” Grant said.

Grant started making pancakes. People were trickling in. It was a happy scene.

They talked about the news. No one had been terribly interested in it lately, so they didn’t think about it, although, some things were happening of interest. Tammy said that some Feds had come to the power company and told them that the utility would be staying operational, no matter what. The power company had first dibs on supplies like parts for the equipment and gasoline. In fact, Tammy was happy to report, employees of the utility like her would get free gas from the company’s big gas tanks they had for the equipment trucks. The Feds said that “critical workers” like the power company people had to get to work so they would get all the gas they needed. The power company wouldn’t be using the gas to go out and read meters or clear brush around the lines anymore. They would just concentrate on keeping things running. The Feds told them not to even bill people for power anymore. No one could pay and it would be a waste of time to try to collect. The Feds explained that the government would be taking over the utilities and giving away power, water, and in some places, sewer and internet. Tammy, who was smart, concluded that in exchange for the Feds getting to own and control everything, people would get “free” necessities like utilities and, the Feds hinted, basic food once they got that production on line. She said food would be distributed by using something called “FCards.”

The “free” utilities, some basic amount of food, and a military (what was left of them) was all people would get out of the federal government. All the parks, NASA, historic preservation, and studies about the mating habits of blue winged pecker snapples would be gone. So would Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, and welfare. No one really was surprised at this forced paring back of the federal government. The budget cuts leading up to the Collapse made it clear that those things would be gone soon. They were gone, gone, gone now.

“They say this whole thing is temporary,” Tammy said softly and sadly.

“Yeah, right,” Manda said as she laughed. Everyone was thinking the same thing, but didn’t want to say it. Leave it to a sixteen year-old to just say it.

“Oh, one more thing,” Tammy said. “They said this situation is called the ‘Crisis.’ They said the terrorists are calling it the ‘Collapse.’”

“Then I’ll call it the ‘Collapse,’” Grant said. “That’s what it is. A ‘Crisis’ is just an excuse to give more power to the government. They created this mess and now they want...” He could feel a political rant coming on, so he stopped. This kind of politics was irrelevant now.

Paul chimed in. “I’ve been watching the news and it really seems like things are mellowing out a bit. Most people are staying in their homes. Lots of ‘neighbor helping neighbor’ stories. I’m not sure I believe everything I see on TV, but it doesn’t seem like a zombie apocalypse.”

“True,” Grant said. Paul was right: it was not a complete and total collapse. Grant realized that it seemed like more of a collapse to them, out there in Pierce Point harboring a POI fugitive and taking matters like getting food into their own hands. But, for most grasshoppers just sitting in their homes and watching TV, it was not a big deal. Yet.

Grant decided to be positive. No reason to shatter the hopes of Lisa and others. So Grant said, “Let’s hope this is just a temporary ‘Crisis.’ But we need to be prepared for anything. In fact, we have a meeting with Rich now. Mark and John, I’d like you guys to come because Rich knows you.”

Mark volunteered to drive. He loved hanging out with these guys. “I’ll get my stuff and get the truck started,” he said.

Pow said, “OK, gentlemen. Full kit and ARs and meet back at the yellow cabin.” “Kit” was a tactical vest with magazine pouches full of loaded magazines. For the most part, the Team had kit made by Tactical Tailor, which was located near Ft. Lewis. All the guys, except Chip, had tactical vests. Grant went into the master bedroom and got his kit out of the suit bag holding it. Lisa thought he looked weird in it, but it was seeming more and more normal.

Pow had a tactical vest with body armor plate inserts. They were the level IIIA ones that could stop an AK-47 round at point blank range. Pow was the only one with body armor. That had been on everyone’s list of things to get as the Collapse was nearing and they knew they’d need advanced gear like that. Body armor was totally legal to buy, except for felons. But it was expensive. Scotty had spent his money on radios and first aid equipment. Wes and Bobby got lots of ammo. Grant had the cabin. So Pow got the one set of body armor. “There has to be a door kicker,” he said. The door kicker should have body armor.

The pouches on the tactical vests varied based on personal preferences. But, each one held six AR magazines, each of which held thirty rounds. The tac vests also held varying number of pistol magazines. Each had a Camelbak water bladder with about three liters of water. A vital, and often overlooked item, was a drop pouch. It was a nylon pouch that opened up and held empty magazines. That way, they didn’t drop valuable empty magazines on the ground; they had a place for them in the drop pouch. Other items included flashlights and extra batteries, both for the flashlights and for the Aimpoint or EO Tech red-dot sights.

Rounding out the standard equipment was a Zero Tolerance folding knife and a Surefire weapon light mounted on every AR. It was a high-output flashlight mounted with a LaRue Tactical mount on the left side of the hand guard that allowed the Team to put a 110-lumen beam of light on whatever they were pointing their AR at. Each member of the team had a molded Raven Concealment holster for his pistol.

The knife, Surefire weapons light, and Raven Concealment holster were a “membership card.” Each member of the Team had them. It was a way to signify who was in the “club.” The Team never intended to have standardized gear to set themselves apart. It was just how things evolved: someone would get a good piece of gear, like a Zero Tolerance knife, and then everyone else would get one. Pretty soon it was a “membership card.”

The Team assembled at the yellow cabin. Dang, they looked impressive. ARs and kit. No one was in jeans. All 5.11s or, in Chip’s case, Carhartt pants. No one looked “mall ninja”; they looked like military contractors.

“Armed serenity” was what Grant called this feeling. He got that term from nutnfancy’s YouTube videos. It described when you’re out with your guys, armed to the teeth, and doing what you love. You’re calm and confident and know that what you’re doing is important. Armed serenity. That term was perfect for this moment—and for hundreds of other moments for the Team out there at Pierce Point.

Grant looked at his guys in their kit. They were bad ass, but clean cut. Exactly the two things Grant wanted to convey to Rich and the rest of the community. Effective, but controllable. That was the message Grant wanted to give to the Pierce Point people: the Team was effective, but not radical.

“Let’s go show them duck hunters how we do it,” Pow said when they were leaving the yellow cabin and heading to Mark’s truck.

Grant had to stop that.

“Hey, man,” Grant said, “I get the ‘duck hunter’ thing and totally agree,” Grant said in a rare public rebuke of Pow. “But the locals can’t hear us talking like that. This is their playground. We’re the guests. I don’t want the duck hunters jealous of us or thinking we’re mall ninjas. We need them as much, or more, than they need us. So you guys need to do what you did last night at the Grange, which was perfect. Lots of ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ and ‘how can we help.’ Does that make sense?”

Grant knew that the local boys and girls had skills and were a huge asset. “Many of those duck hunters,” Grant said, “are bad asses in their own way. They know this area like the back of their hands. They’ve been shooting since they were little kids. They have used the same rifle or shotgun for years and know it well. They can stay out in the cold and rain for hours waiting for something to move and then take it with one shot. That will make them great guards.”

The guys didn’t appear convinced. Grant continued, “So while we’re way better at many things, I don’t want you guys to write off the duck hunters. When you’re hungry and there’s duck for dinner, you’ll appreciate the duck hunters.”

The Team smiled. They got it. They could be very good at what they do, they just didn’t need to be dicks about it. Appreciate the help their hosts were providing. After all, the Team was out there to help people and not insult them.

Pow realized that Grant was right. The Team was…a team, and all suggestions were welcomed. Besides, Grant was kind of in charge out there. It was his place. He and his neighbors were feeding them.

Pow said with a smile, “No problem, brother. We’ll low-key it and then go do our thing. Frickin’ well, I might add.”

Grant smiled. Thank God the Team had been together for so long and knew and trusted each other so much. Grant couldn’t imagine a pick-up team of a some guys who just met trying to pull all this off. It took a seasoned team.

Grant knew how to motivate and manage an elite group. He did it with Squadron 3 back in Civil Air Patrol. Motivate the guys so they retain their swagger and want to stay part of the elite group, but at the same time, don’t alienate the regular units and make them jealous. Respect the regular units because they’re much better than the elite guys think.

Grant realized that the Team was Squadron 3 all over again. He had one of those funny feelings where he realized that all those seeming random life experiences he’d had, like Squadron 3, were actually forerunners for things he’d need to do now when it really mattered. Another “coincidence.”