299 Days: The Community (26 page)

“Dial 911, sir,” Grant said with an edge to his voice. “Go ahead.” Grant looked for a cell phone. Dan handed him one.

Grant—in full kit and with an AR slung across his chest—walked right up to the yuppie and handed him the phone. He was purposefully getting very close to the guy to show he was not at all afraid of him. The yuppie flinched when Grant got close.

“Go ahead,” Grant said. “Dial. See what happens. I’m serious. Put it on speaker phone so we can all hear.” Grant paused as the yuppie stared at him, afraid to take the phone from his hand. Grant decided to soften the aggression. He had made his point and asserted his role here.

“Sir, you raise a valid point that I’m sure others are wondering,” Grant said. “I sincerely ask you to dial 911 and tell us what happens.” Grant waited a few seconds. The yuppie wouldn’t dial, so Grant dialed 911 and put it on speaker phone.

A busy signal filled the air. Then a recording said, “All circuits are busy. Please try your call later.”

After letting the recording play a few times, Grant hung up. “This, sir, is why we’re doing this. Do you think criminals are going to take some time off right now?” He let that sink in.

“No, sir,” Grant said, “they are having a field day. In Seattle, Olympia, and probably Frederickson. Soon, if it hasn’t happened already, some criminals right here in Pierce Point will be seeing if they can get free stuff or,” Grant pointed to the yuppie’s wife, “worse.”

“I don’t think fear mongering is appropriate,” the yuppie said. He was pissed, but in a passive-aggressive way.

“What do you, or did you do, for a living, sir?” Grant asked.

The yuppie paused. “I am an architect. Henderson and Snelling in Seattle.”

“That’s what I thought,” Grant said. Some people in the audience clapped at Grant’s zinger. “I’m happy for you, what was your name?”

“Thomas Snelling.”

“Mr. Snelling, I am happy for you,” Grant said. “Know why? You’ve never had to deal with criminals. Let me guess, the last time you were in a fight was…kindergarten?” Grant was enjoying this. Maybe too much.

Snelling was silent. He did not expect to have this happen. He thought he would just throw out some questions and win the argument. It had always worked in the past.

“Sir,” Grant said, “Unfortunately, I have been in fights before. I’ve had to fight bullies my whole life. I understand how bad people think and act because, again unfortunately, I’ve had to be around them. Not by choice. In my professional life I fight bullies, too.” Grant felt like his whole life story was gushing out.

“Professional life?” Snelling sneered. “What profession?” he expected an answer like “law enforcement” or some “lesser” profession than architecture.

“I was an attorney, Mr. Snelling,” Grant said. “A damned good one. You see, sir, I fought bullies for a living in the courtroom. I would much rather keep the ‘fighting’ to a courtroom where we fought with words. But guess what? There are no more courtrooms, but there damned sure are bullies. And guess what else? They have guns. And knives. And broken bottles. And they want to take what you have. They’re hungry. They want what you have.”

Snelling was silent. This wasn’t going like he expected.

“Let me ask you, Mr. Snelling,” Grant said, “what kind of architecture do you do?” Grant bet he knew the answer.

“Public works. I design government office buildings, mostly,” Snelling said with pride.

Grant knew it. Yet another person living off the taxpayer. Yet another person who had a vested interest in government taking from the people and giving that money to important people like him. Another Loyalist.

“What a surprise,” Grant said and then realized he was getting far too political for this meeting, which was supposed to be about security. He decided to reel in the politics and get back to the topic at hand.

“Mr. Snelling,” he said, “I hear your concerns. We have taken measures to make sure our security personnel are top notch and accountable. You may not know this, sir, but most people out here are very well armed. If my guys decided to run amok, as you seem to fear, then some ol’ deer hunters would take care of business. We know that and welcome it.” Grant let that sink in.

“Mr. Snelling,” Grant continued, “my men and all the others here will risk their lives to protect you and your wife, and your property here. We’re not asking you to like us. We’re not asking for anything from you. We will give and give. How you respond is your choice. I trust I have answered your question?” Grant smiled.

He was in full control of the room and loved it. Dickheads like Snelling were everywhere, even in rural Pierce Point. They needed to be put in their place. No one was suggesting they be rounded up and shot; they just needed to stay the hell out of the way of the decent people trying to survive.

Good. That was necessary.
Grant felt the same way.

Rich decided to take back command of the room. “Thanks, Grant.” Rich looked at Snelling, “You are welcome here and we will do all we can to help you or anyone else. Are there any other questions?” A couple of the obvious cabin people sitting next to Snelling looked down at the ground. They knew they wouldn’t win another exchange like that.

The meeting turned to the details of neighborhood defense and the medical clinic. More volunteers signed up for guard duty. Rich said that a medical committee would be formed to work out the details of the clinic and would report back at tomorrow night’s meeting.

When the meeting broke up, dozens of residents were crowding around the Team and Lisa. They were offering to do whatever they could. Grant made sure to send offers of help to Rich. Rich, not Grant, was in charge out there. Grant was very conscious of that. He didn’t want to displace Rich.

When they were leaving, someone asked if he was afraid Snelling might be in the parking lot.

Grant laughed. “Attacked by an architect?” Grant said as he gripped his AR. That got a good laugh. Snelling was exactly the kind of person who had screwed up the country. Assholes like him had no place now that the people were trying to put the country back together.

Grant saw Lisa and Ryan talking. He thought it might be a good time to try out the new nickname.

“Honey, Ryan came up with a nickname for you and I want to see if it bugs you.” Grant already knew the nickname would stick whether Lisa liked it or not. So did Lisa.

“Doctor Foxy,” Grant said.

Lisa smiled then frowned. Then smiled. A forty-something woman usually didn’t mind being told she is still attractive.

Grant looked at Ryan and said, “Doctor Foxy it is.”

After about an hour of talking to people, Grant and Lisa finally headed out to the parking lot. There was no one around. As they were getting into the truck, Lisa stopped and hugged him. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “Now I understand you. Bullies. It’s all about bullies, isn’t it?”

Grant didn’t answer. He just hugged her. He started to cry. God. It was all about bullies. His whole life. Now he was able to protect people from bullies. It was what he was born to do.

Yes.

Chapter 100

Jobs

(May 10)

Grant woke up with the sunlight coming into the bedroom of the cabin. He always slept so well out there. It reminded him of the time he had to have a general anesthesia. He woke up so refreshed from the deep sleep of the anesthesia that it was hard to describe. That’s how it was out at Pierce Point.

His thoughts quickly turned to all the things he had to do and all the things he was responsible for. It was like a job. Hell, it was a job. His new job. He was starting to see this.

That was a good way to look at it, he thought. It would help make things seem “normal” because it was normal for Grant to have a job. Treating survival out at the cabin as a job would also make him focus his energies on it, like he did with a job. Treating his new duties as a job would also be a good example for the others, especially Lisa who needed the normalcy of a job. She might even put “Pierce Point Clinic” on her resume when this was all done, he thought. That’s how to think about it: things were pretty decent out there, this will be over, and we need to work now and to make it through this so we have some stories to tell the grandkids. That’s how survivors think.

There were signs of a routine developing out at the cabin. There was the morning “breakfast meeting” with the Over Road crew as he was calling his family, the Team, the Morrells, and the Colsons. There was supervising others, such as making sure Manda was getting chores done with Cole. There was making sure that others had what they needed to do their jobs, like figuring out how to get medical supplies to Lisa. There was motivating people and making them want to work. It was what he’d done his whole life in his other jobs. Now he was doing it for the most important job of his life and his family’s lives.

And thousands of people’s lives. People you will never meet.

Really? Grant thought. How is what I’m doing out here going to affect thousands of people? That had him puzzled. But, oh well, the outside thought had been right every time. Still Grant couldn’t wrap his mind around that. He could only focus on doing his new job the best he possibly could.

People started stirring at Grant’s cabin. Eileen came down the stairs.

“Good morning, Grant,” she said. “How did the meeting go last night?”

“Pretty well,” he said. “I think. This community is really forming up nicely. Lisa was very popular. Doctors tend to be, especially when there are no doctors or hospitals around.” Grant wanted to see how Eileen had been spending her time.

“So,” he asked her, “what have you been up to?”

Eileen described how she was working with Mary Anne on food and gardening. They were working on planning out, to the extent possible, how the various families would eat. For example, if the Colsons got a deer, who would butcher it, how it would be stored, how to preserve it, how to distribute it, and even recipes and ingredients for things like deer jerky.

Eileen was also working with Mary Anne on gardening. They were planning what and when to plant, finding seeds, and scouting out garden patches.

“Growing food is different than the kind of gardening I’m used to,” Eileen said, referring to ornamental gardens, “but the basics are the same.”

Eileen looked a little concerned and asked, “Can I go into town and get some things? We have the money.”

Grant was worried that people would start, just a few days into this, to miss all the things of town. Eileen’s question reminded him of this.

“I’ll ask the security people what the situation is like in town,” Grant said. “We also have to be careful with the gas. It’s a precious commodity now. It takes a couple gallons to go into Frederickson and back, but I hear what you’re saying. We need a way to periodically go into town. I’ll get an answer for you by tonight.” Grant realized that Eileen had not seen what the others who went into town had seen. Like pulling out an AK-47 or having punks follow you until you flashed a gun. Besides, not seeing the actual conditions in town, Eileen had the most normalcy bias of anyone on Over Road. She was rational, just clinging more to “normal” than the others.

“Thanks,” Eileen said. “I know it’s hard to do things now but I needed to ask.” Maybe that was it, Grant thought. Eileen was curious and just needed someone to tell her that it wasn’t possible to go into town.

Manda and Cole came down, sleepy eyed and yawning. They were getting plenty of good sleep out there, which suggested that they were doing OK. If they were terrified, they wouldn’t be sleeping.

“Can we have some pancakes with syrup, Dad?” Cole asked. Grant hadn’t seen him at all the day before. He missed the little guy, who wasn’t so little anymore at thirteen. His voice was changing.

“You bet, pal,” Grant said. “Let’s cook them up right now.” When Grant was cooking pancakes with Cole, he wasn’t a killer of looters, a POI, a SWAT team member, or a guerilla political organizer. He was a dad. It felt great.

Lisa came out of their bedroom. She looked well rested and a little disoriented. She was going to work this morning at a new job. “Morning,” she said. She seemed deep in thought.

Grant would try to find out later that day what was on her mind. She wasn’t a morning person, so, after over twenty years of marriage, he’d learned that deep conversations first thing off the bat were not wise.

Chip came over with his trademark, “Morning, sunshine” greeting to Grant. Everyone loved him.

Mary Anne followed. She explained that John was on guard duty last night and was sleeping. Grant thought that they needed a better guard arrangement. With the Team, Chip, and Grant about to do full time patrolling, it fell on Mary Anne, John, Paul, and Mark to guard, and that was on top of the gardening, fixing, driving the Team around, hunting and fishing each was doing. Drew was volunteering for guard duty, but he wasn’t a gunfighter. He could fire a first shot to alert all the armed people in the houses, but that was about it. Grant needed to get someone out there whose job would be night time guard duty.

You will have that person soon.

Who? Grant wondered who could possibly fill the role of a dedicated night guard. But he trusted the outside thought.

The screen door made its distinctive sound of being opened. It was Paul and Missy. Grant hadn’t seen much of Missy in the past few days. She mainly kept to the Colson house. She was only five and Paul kept a close eye on her.

“Hey, Paul,” Grant said, “Manda and Cole can hang out with Missy. Manda’s main job out here is watching Cole and she could easily watch Missy, too. I think Missy and Cole would get along great.”

Paul thought about it. “Missy, would you like to play with Manda and Cole?” he asked.

Missy was glad to get to play with the big kids. She was shy and said, “OK. What will we play?”

Manda lit up. “How about we play cooking? Then we can go to the beach and try to go find the duck family that lives down there. And there’s a secret waterfall down on the beach. Wanna go see it?”