299 Days: The Community (28 page)

“There is one thing you can do for me, Mary Anne,” Mrs. Roth said.

“Of course, what?” Mary Anne asked.

“When my muscles won’t move anymore, I won’t be able to breathe. It’s already hard now. I don’t mind dying, but it will be scary to not be able to breathe. I’d like someone here with me when it happens. I don’t want any pain drugs or anything—you probably don’t have any out here—but I do want someone around. And I want to tell my stories to someone. I have a lot of time to think all day and to remember. I want someone around. Could you be here?”

Mary Anne started to cry. Lisa didn’t; she’d seen enough tragedy in the ER that things like this didn’t affect her like the first time she saw someone about to die.

“Don’t cry, hon. Don’t cry,” Mrs. Roth said. She was having trouble breathing again. She struggled to put up her hand for Mary Anne to hold. They stayed there for about twenty minutes. Mrs. Roth started to breathe well again. “Thank you, hon,” she said, her voice very weak. “Doctor, you’re welcome to stay, but I bet you have lots of patients to see. I appreciate what you’re doing for everyone out here. But all I need is for Mary Anne to stay.”

Lisa had never been kicked out by a patient. “Of course, Mrs. Roth,” Lisa said. “If you change your mind and need any medical help, tell Mary Anne and I’ll come and do all I can. Thank you again for all you’ve done for us out here. Mary Anne tells me the canning supplies and knowledge are invaluable. We will never forget you.”

Mrs. Roth smiled. It was the deepest, warmest, most satisfied smile they’d ever seen.

Lisa left. She’d watched so many people die, but this felt different. It would be the first death out there. But, she knew it wouldn’t be the last. That was the part that scared her the most.

Chapter 102

This Never Gets Old

(May 10)

It was time for Grant and the Team to go to work. Yeah, that’s right. Go to work. Grant thought about that. Go to work. It felt good to think that. It felt reassuring. They’d get through this. It’s a job. A damned cool one and one he was lucky to have. But, it was a job. He needed to treat it like one.

Grant wanted his guys to think of it this way, too. They were gathering by Mark’s truck getting their gear on. “OK, gentlemen, let’s go to work,” Grant said. They smiled.

Armed serenity, Grant thought. That’s what it was: armed serenity. That was how he described the feeling of being with his guys like this. Grant flashed back to his childhood when he went to sleep with the .22 rifle because he expected his dad to stab him in his sleep. That’s why, Grant thought, he felt so comforted by guns. He knew what it was like to need the protection. That’s why armed serenity made so much sense.

They would have a new guest in the truck today—Paul. He was very glad to be riding along. He had on a pistol belt; a regular belt with a cheap Uncle Mike’s holster containing a large revolver. Grant pointed to Paul’s revolver and said, “That works fine.” He wanted Paul to know that it didn’t take a Glock with a $300 Surefire light on it in a Raven Concealment holster to be equipped to defend himself. Revolvers had been defending people just fine for over 150 years.

Paul grabbed a shotgun and asked Grant, “Should I bring this, too?”

“Nah,” Grant said. “I think it will get in your way.” Paul would need his hands free for what Grant had in mind for him that day. Besides, the Team had plenty of firepower with them.

Paul and Grant walked out to Mark’s truck. Mark saw Paul going to the Grange and was proud. He was thankful that Grant was getting Paul involved. Mark was thankful for a lot of things lately.

Grant offered to let Paul ride in the cab since he’d probably have trouble getting up into the back of the truck. Paul shook his head and headed to the back. It was a few feet from the ground to the tailgate. He looked at the height he had to get up over, put his hand on the tailgate and threw himself onto the tailgate. The truck bounced up and down when he hit the tailgate. But he did it. He set a goal and did it. He smiled slightly. He had made his point: he would work his ass off to do what was necessary. Grant would rather have a guy with the right attitude than a perfect set of abs.

In fact, Grant noted to himself, it looked like Paul was losing some weight. His tee shirt seemed a little looser around the collar. Grant would pay attention to this and see if this apparent trend was continuing. It made sense, given the can-do attitude he’d just shown by getting into the back of the truck.

The ride to the Grange was spectacular, as always. Grant looked at the guys and said what was becoming another morning tradition, “This never gets old.” They smiled and nodded. They knew how lucky they were to be there instead of the city. They knew they had an important role out there, and that they looked cool doing it.

People were waving to them along the way, though it was less of a thrill for them to see the Team than the previous two days. Most had already seen them, so the novelty had worn off. But still, people were smiling and glad to see the volunteer police force protecting them. It was that gratitude that motivated Grant. That, and the fear of the bad people outside the Pierce Point gates. And probably a few within the gates.

They pulled into the Grange. There were quite a few people there, but only two vehicles. Grant assumed people must be walking to the Grange or sharing rides. Gas was short, very short. The idea of driving alone to go somewhere now seemed like a preposterous luxury.

Paul was the closest to the tailgate. He looked at the ground, put his hand on the tailgate, and jumped down, landing perfectly. It was hard for him to do, but he was going to do it. The rest of the guys jumped out of the truck effortlessly.

They went in and found Rich at a card table, looking at the plat maps. He was glad to see the Team and wondered who the fat guy was. Rich had seen him at the first Grange meeting, but didn’t know his name.

Grant made the introduction. “Rich, this is Paul Colson, Mark’s son.”

Rich shook Paul’s hand, “Pleased to meet you again.” Rich wondered why Grant decided to bring him along.

Grant said to Rich, “Paul is a metal fabricator. He has some equipment back at his house. I thought you could find a use for someone with his skill.”

Rich nodded. He and Grant thought the same way.

“Like,” Grant said, “how about a real gate for the entrance? Moving a car back and forth takes a ton of time and too much gas.”

Rich smiled. “Yeah, Dan wanted to get a swinging metal pole across there that we could open and close with just one person.” He looked at Paul, “Is that something you could build?”

“Sure,” Paul said with a smile. “Piece of cake. It’ll depend on what kind of materials we have.” Paul was thrilled about making the gate. He had a purpose now. He’d show everyone how useful he was.

“Well,” Rich said, “Dan is down at the gate and I need to get you guys coordinated with the gate guards. Let’s go down there.”

They piled back into Mark’s truck. Paul jumped up into the back. This isn’t so hard, he thought. It felt good to be outside doing things and being with these guys. It sure beat sitting around the house thinking about how much he hated his ex-wife. And eating.

Rich grabbed his handheld CB radio. He told the gate they were coming. Scotty had his CB, too. They talked about what channels they’d use.

Scotty told Rich, “I have a ham handheld, too.” Ham radios were far more potent than CBs but, before the Collapse, required an FCC license to operate. The licenses were pretty easy to get; it only involved a simple test. “Hams are way better for longer range and more secure communications,” Scotty said. “Let me know how I can help with that.”

“I keep meaning to hook you up with Curt Copeland,” Rich said. “I think we can use ham units for those kinds of communications, but use CBs for routine stuff.” Rich thought, in a perfect world, everyone would have a ham license and a ham handheld radio in their preps before the Collapse. But this wasn’t a perfect world. CBs were a decent alternative.

“I’ll get with him,” Scotty said. He wanted to show off a little. He asked Rich, “What’s his call sign and what frequency is he on?”

Rich told him. Scotty got on his ham handheld and, in a few seconds, was talking to Curt, who was two miles away and behind a slight hill from the Grange. Everyone had thought they’d have to wait until the end of the day and then drive over to Curt’s house in order for the two to talk. Nope. It took ten seconds and not a drop of gas to talk using the ham units. Grant realized that, with the distances involved, Scotty and Curt could have probably talked on the CB, but the ham was pretty cool. And secure. Well, not truly secure, but not as easy to listen in on as a CB. Sensitive communications couldn’t be blabbed on a CB when bad guys could be listening. Odds were that criminals didn’t know how to run a ham radio, or if they did, that they didn’t have the exact frequency the good guys were talking on.

Mark’s truck with the Team, Paul, and Rich came down the hill to the entrance to Pierce Point. There were several cars and trucks parked at the volunteer fire station about a hundred yards from the bridge that had the car across the road. There were about fifteen armed guys and few women there. Mostly shotguns and hunting rifles, although one guy had an AR and another had a Mini-14. They were talking, but were clearly paying attention to the gate and bridge. While people were chatting and social, it wasn’t a BS session. It was a serious job.

Grant thought about how much things had changed. Ten days ago, a group of armed people guarding a community would have seemed hugely out of place. In fact, Grant had never seen it before, except when watching footage of Hurricane Katrina. He more recently saw it on TV down in Texas and California with the Mexican refugee situation. Then one amazing day he saw it with his own eyes in his own neighborhood. He saw it again a few days ago when he came to Pierce Point. Now it was starting to seem normal.

The gate guards were happy to see the Team, who, with their ARs and gear, looked much more professional than the rag-tag gate guards. But, the gate guards looked like a badass group of good ol’ boys (and girls). What they lacked in gear, they made up for in attitude. Perfect, Grant thought. All these guys need is a basement full of ARs and they’d have a pretty decent fighting force.

Exactly. Now you see what’s going on.

Grant started getting this strange sensation that he could predict what was going to happen in the future. Seeing the guards, a prediction formed in his mind, but he didn’t want to say it out loud because it seemed outlandish.

Rich found Dan and Ryan and motioned for Paul to come over to them.

“Paul here is a metal fabricator,” Rich said to Dan. “Would you like a nice metal swing-out gate instead of that piece of shit car?”

Dan grinned. “Hell, yes.”

Rich asked Dan, “What kind of gate materials do we have?”

Dan and Paul talked about the materials they had and how to make the gate. Paul was in heaven. He was needed. This was one of the best days of his life.

While Dan and Paul were coming up with a plan for the gate, Rich was introducing the Team to the guards. Many had already met them at the Grange meetings, but some had been on guard duty and hadn’t had the chance. The guards were less wowed by the Team than the civilians were, but they were glad to have the well-armed and seemingly well trained Team around. Everyone was getting along well. The Team realized that these gate guys, with their duck hunter guns, would be the first line of defense if Pierce Point were attacked. These guys were putting their lives on the line to protect everyone, just like the Team was. They had different jobs and gear, but every one of them was equal. They were all risking their lives for others, which is all that mattered.

Scotty was talking to the woman who appeared to be in charge of communications. They were working on which CB channels to use. Grant took the rest of the Team to the gate and talked to the guys behind the car about the defenses there. They had a great field of fire into the road that fed onto the bridge. They had guards and patrols along the “river,” which was actually a large creek.

One of the gate guards pointed up the hill to the treeline and said that they had snipers up there.

“How many?” Grant asked.

“Enough,” the guard said with an evasive smile. “Some of my hunting buddies who like to sit in the forest for hours at a time and watch things. Their old ladies aren’t around to nag at them out here so this is like a vacation for them. A couple of them are older guys who can’t walk around and stand all day. They can find a comfy shady patch up there and hunt for anyone who somehow makes it past us, or who tries to get across the river. They’ve got a CB so we can talk.”

Grant asked the guard, “How far of a shot is that?”

The guard pointed to his hunting laser rangefinder. “217 yards, more or less.” He smiled.

Hunters concealed on a forested hill with a CB; low tech, but extremely effective.

Some dogs started barking. It sounded like they were in the volunteer fire department building. Bobby motioned for Grant to come into the building.

When he walked in, Grant saw Dan with his AK slung over his shoulder and something far more ferocious: three German Shepherds. Grant surmised that these must be the K9s Dan was training. They were impressive animals. Dan calmed them down quickly. He knew these dogs well and they knew him.

“Dan, tell the Team about your dogs,” Rich said. Rich was very proud of his friend, Dan, and the dogs.

“Well, I run three dogs at the gate here,” Dan said. “These are attack dogs. I have detection dogs at home that are trained to sniff for drugs and explosives, but we don’t need them here. We need attack dogs.”

Dan pointed to his three dogs. “They’re named Cairo, Boris, and Adis.” Each dog looked with approval at Dan when he said its name. “We patrol the river. These guys can pick up the scent of anyone coming, or attempting to come, across the river. If I release one and tell it to ‘fetch!’ it’ll go after whoever is unlucky enough to be hiding or running away. There is nothing more terrifying than an eighty pound snarling German Shepherd coming at you doing about twenty miles an hour. I’ve seen Taliban shit their pants, literally crap their drawers, and throw up their hands when they hear and see a dog coming. The bad guys weren’t afraid of men with guns. It was the dogs that got them to surrender.” Dan was smiling.