299 Days: The Collapse

Chapter 51 The Hideout (May 5)

When Grant got to the cabin, he wanted to make sure it was ready for Lisa and the kids when they came.

What a stupid thought. They weren’t coming. Grant felt foolish for even thinking that.

But he couldn’t deny that he was in a hurry to get out there. To get away from what was going on in the city.

He couldn’t get Lisa and the kids out of his thoughts. He had always thought he would be so glad to bug out to the cabin and arrive there after escaping from the chaos in the city. He would be arriving at an oasis of security in a violent world.

But that had always assumed his family would be with him. He had always envisioned that he could convince Lisa to come. He had tried to mentally prepare himself for bugging out without her and the kids but he must have done a poor job of it. Bugging out without them was a shock to him. He felt like his whole detailed plan for surviving a disaster was now thrown off. A key element—his family—was not going as planned. He had months of food, but no one to feed.

As he rounded the road that led down to the water, his tactical sensibilities took over. Were there cops there waiting for him? That was completely unrealistic, but he had to start being careful about things like that. He was in a fight right now. He had his fighting wits about him. Like when he was walking around the neighborhood after his dad chased him with the knife and he used that dog collar as a makeshift weapon.

This fighting mode seemed rather natural for him. It was like old times. As much as his childhood sucked, he was seeing that it had equipped him to do things that most other “normal” Americans couldn’t do.

He stopped his car at a safe and very dark spot a few hundred feet from the road that turned onto his cabin’s short private road. He was going to give this a look on foot. Should he bring his AR? Would that scare a neighbor that he didn’t know and…what? Would they call the police? Like the cops could leave the protests at the capitol and come zooming out to the sticks of Pierce Point because someone saw what appears to be the shape of a man with an “Army gun”? Nope, Grant was in a fight right now and wouldn’t show up to it without all the tools he had.

He got out of the car and quietly closed the driver’s side door. He did a press check of his pistol and checked to verify that he had his two mag pouches with two magazines each. That should get him through the next few hundred yards of road. He quietly opened the passenger door and retrieved his AR and shoulder mag bag. That had four 30-round AR mags and four more pistol mags. He did a press check on his AR. Even in the low light he could see a shiny brass cartridge case in the chamber. He verified that the AR safety was on. He ejected the magazine and checked it. It was full.

He carried the AR with his right thumb on the safety lever at all times. He could flip that off in a millisecond, if necessary. That’s how he practiced; he’d done it a thousand times.

He looked through his red-dot sight; it was still on. He hadn’t turned it off since the shooting. Oh well, the battery life was nearly 600 hours and it turned off automatically after twelve hours. Grant realized he’d be keeping this on most of the time, at least at night.

Grant charted out a course from his car to the cabin. He would hug the side of the road away from the water. It had the most trees and was the darkest. The lights were off in all the cabins.

He looked down at his feet to the extent he could see them. He had his good old hillbilly slippers on. And his 5.11 pants. Thanks goodness he had come from the neighborhood patrol a few hours ago and was in his “gun clothes.” He didn’t want to walk in the dark without proper footwear. What if he were in a suit? He laughed at himself. He wouldn’t be in a suit for a very long time, if ever again at all. He was living in a 5.11 and hillbilly slippers world now.

Grant started moving. He was surprised at how quietly he could walk. He was listening for any sounds. It was weird how heightened his sense of hearing was. He didn’t want any dogs to bark.

He slowly made his way to the county road. He had forgotten how long it took to go a few hundred yards when trying to be quiet. There was not a sound or sign of life from any of the cabins so far. Good. The place was probably abandoned, except for the Colsons and Morrells. He wouldn’t wake them up. They might shoot him by mistake. Let them sleep. He’d go over in the morning. He would need a story to tell them about why he was here without Lisa and the kids. He started to work on one while he moved slowly down the county road. He wasn’t coming up with a good one.

Grant got to the end of the county road where the gravel road to his cabin began. He saw his cabin. It was dark and empty. He didn’t need to move as cautiously now. He was almost there.

He walked up to the cabin and onto the deck to the front door. He let his AR hang on his chest sling, got his keys out, and slowly opened the door. He walked in. The kitchen light was on and it partially lit up the cabin. Grant thought he’d turned that light off when he left last time.

Who the hell was that?

There was a man with a pistol pointed at Grant’s head. Grant could see the shape of the man and the gun, but not the man’s face.

He knew he was captured at this point. He didn’t want to be tortured. It was time to die. Grant clicked off the safety of his AR and started to shoulder it at the man.

“Nope, partner,” the man said quickly and waved his pistol from side to side. “Not tonight.”

Grant knew that voice. Could it be?

It was Chip. What the hell was he doing here and how did he get in?

Grant was frozen with this AR halfway up to his shoulder. He didn’t want to shoot Chip, if that’s really who was in his cabin.

“That you, Chip?” Grant whispered.

“Yep,” Chip said, still holding a pistol to Grant’s head. “How are you Mr. Matson? Why don’t you lower that rifle so there’s no friendly fire here tonight?”

That was definitely Chip’s voice.

Grant lowered his AR and clicked the safety back on. He let the rifle go, but it was on a sling so it just dangled. Grant instinctively put his hands out to his sides.

“Where’s the damned light in here?” Chip asked.

“Behind you is a lamp,” Grant said.

After some fumbling, Chip turned it on.

There he was. Chip and his .45. In Grant’s cabin.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Grant asked.

“Storing some valuables,” Chip said, wondering why Grant didn’t know the answer already. “Just like we talked about when I was out here this summer. You remember, don’t you? I mean, it’s cool for me to leave some hardware here, right?”

Grant thought about it. Of course. Chip was stashing the guns here. Great.

“Oh, yeah,” Grant said. It took him a little while to recover from the shock of a man in is darkened cabin pointing a pistol at his head. “Sure, it’s cool,” he finally said. “I was just a little surprised by the whole guy-in-my-house-pointing-a-gun-at-me thing. How are you and what can I do to help?”

Chip smiled. “All the hard work is done. I pulled in after dark, after we hauled my load from the store. I came straight here. Sorry for telling you and the other guys that I was going somewhere no one knew of. This shit is worth some money and…well, anyway, your neighbors weren’t around so I unloaded this stuff in the dark. I got in with the key under the rock on the bulkhead. You know, the one you showed me. I moved my truck and the empty U-Haul to a spot no one would see about a half mile away. I didn’t need an empty U-Haul sitting at your place. Tends to lead to questions we don’t need.”

Chip sat down on one of the two couches in the living room of the cabin and continued. “Right after I walked back from my parking spot, I was getting ready to try to sleep and I heard you coming in. You didn’t exactly sneak quietly up on me. I figured it was you because you probably were the only one with a key. I had the bulkhead rock key with me so I knew it wasn’t someone else who knew about that key. But I didn’t want to be wrong so I had to draw on you. Sorry about that, but I’m sure you understand.”

“Yep,” Grant said. “I woulda done the same.”

“So what brings you out here without the family?”

Grant felt a sting go through him. He didn’t want to answer that question. He was ashamed that he’d abandoned his family. “It’s a long story and I’d rather not talk about it. Let’s just say that this place will be my…” Grant pointed at Chip and said, “… our home for a while. I guess we’re both hiding out.”

“From what?” Chip asked. “The riots?”

“Well, I kinda shot a dude,” Grant said with a laugh. A nervous, tension-breaking laugh. “Three, actually. Wounded some more. Looters. In my neighborhood. They were coming after me and my friend with rifles and clubs. About a dozen of them. I got the surviving ones to run away. I tried to get my family to come out, but my wife is living in a fantasy world of ‘everything is normal and just fine.’”

Chip just thought for a while. “Sucks to not have your family, huh?”

Grant realized that he and Chip were in the same boat. No family. Grant didn’t like that thought. But it was true.

“For a while,” Grant said. “I will go get them or they’ll come out. I hope.” Grant just stared for a while.

It was silent in the cabin. Just then the soft sound of the refrigerator kicked on in the background.

“Well,” Chip finally said, “now that there’s two of us, we can have a guard duty schedule. Let me go show you the stuff in the basement and you can show me the locks you have and how to secure this place.”

Chip put his shoes on and pointed out the door. He wanted to get this done and get some sleep. He was tired. He had been up all night. And, at almost sixty, his ability to pull all-nighters was waning.

“Let’s go have a look,” Grant said.

Chip was the first out the door and he carefully looked around before going outside. So did Grant. They tiptoed down the incline to the unfinished basement. Grant got his keys out and opened the door. He turned on the lights.

There in his basement were some of the tubs and gun boxes he had seen at the store. Neatly stacked. Cases of ammo stacked and sorted by caliber. Nice.

“Where’s Ted and his load?” Grant asked.

Chip looked around and lowered his voice, which was weird because they were all alone in the basement. “Ted is, um, talking to some people.” Chip was smiling. “That’s all I can tell you. Let’s just say there is some serious shit going down now. Very serious.”

Oh. Grant had an idea what that might be but kept the thought to himself. No need to speculate and blabber. That was not very professional.

“Professional?” Grant thought to himself. What profession was Grant now in? A gun runner? Harboring a fugitive? Oh, wait, he was a fugitive himself from the shootings. He and Chip were officially outlaws now. Wow. From respected attorney to outlaw in a couple of hours. Things were changing, and they could never go back to normal. This was the second Grant; the new and different Grant. He was an entirely different person.

Grant and Chip talked about all the stuff in the basement. Chip had a clipboard and looked at his handwritten inventory sheet.

“Let’s see,” he said, putting on his reading glasses that he kept in the front pocket of his t-shirt. Chip always wore a t-shirt with a front pocket. Tonight he was wearing his usual gray t-shirt with the logo of Capitol City Guns on the front pocket.

“I have twenty-nine ARs and two tubs of various parts,” Chip said. “I probably have enough parts to make two or three more; I think I only have that many barrels. I have most of my AR tools here. I have about 250 AR mags. Some red-dot sights—some Aimpoints and EOs, and some cheap Chinese knockoffs—and some mounts for putting them on carry handles. Some attachable iron sights. A couple of AKs and a handful of mags and parts.” Chip never liked the AK. Ever since Vietnam he didn’t like those things. He respected their durability, but he just didn’t like them.

He pointed at the stacks of ammo cases. “I have twelve cases of 5.56. Six cases of 9mm and three of .40. One case of 7.62 x 39 and some miscellaneous shit.” Chip smiled, obviously proud of the haul. “That about does it.” His smile got bigger when he said that.

“Wow,” Grant said, looking at all those weapons. “Wow.” That’s all he could say. This stuff was worth a fortune, but it wasn’t the money Grant was thinking about. Grant blurted out his first thought, “We can outfit a lot of guys with this shit. A lot of them.”

Chip grinned and said, “Roger that. That’s the plan.”

“What plan?” Grant asked.

“You’ll see,” Chip said with another one of his smiles. He took off his reading glasses and put them back in his t-shirt pocket. He rocked back on his heels and said, “I’m sworn to secrecy for right now. Don’t worry, it’s all cool and legal. Well, not really legal but we’re not going to go on a crime spree,” he smiled and added with a grin, “unless you want to.”

Grant thought he knew what the guns were for. It was on the path, the path of what he was doing and why he was put here. The path led to…it was too hard to believe, but he knew where it led. OK, society was melting down, he had this cabin, and now he had a basement full of guns. He also had a trusted friend with a plan, who had a friend who had even more friends and a bigger plan. It all made sense. To the extent something as insane as this could make sense.

But, things were different now. It really did make perfect sense. The old Grant would have never thought this was normal. But, now, those stacks of guns and cases of ammo were the new normal. And he was damned lucky to have them there.

“How do you want to secure this place?” Grant asked Chip. They talked for a few hours about the guard duty schedule, setting up noisemakers around the basement door, and other things to secure the cabin and the immediate area.

The sun was coming up. Whoa. Was it morning already? In early May way up north in Washington State, the sun rose at about 5:30 a.m.

“Care for some breakfast, my friend?” Grant asked Chip.

“Sounds delightful,” Chip said. He was a thin guy and didn’t eat often. But when he ate, he really ate.

From his frequent trips out to the cabin, which often included overnights, Grant had plenty of eggs and bacon. They fried up a big batch and talked about everything that had happened and how to hide out there. Grant was relieved to be talking to someone about how all the preparations they’d made were coming to fruition.

While they were serving up breakfast, Chip asked, “Do you have any orange juice?” Chip always had orange juice with breakfast. He had some during the day, too, and always brought some to have in the little employee refrigerator at the gun store.

“Nope, but I have a lot of beer,” Grant said. “Let’s kick off our outlaw lives with beer for breakfast.”

Chip got a beer out of the refrigerator, held it up, and said, “Why the hell not?”

This was kind of fun. Then Grant remembered that Lisa and the kids were back in the city. He had abandoned them. No, not really, he tried to…he kept running this loop through his mind of accusing himself of abandoning them and then justifying why he hadn’t.

Chip noticed the immediate mood change in Grant. “What’s up?” Chip asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Grant said. He didn’t want to be a cry baby. Besides, Grant had a family (or at least used to). Chip didn’t. Grant had it better than Chip so he shouldn’t whine.

“Just dealing with some shit,” Grant said. “Hey, let’s eat and then figure out how we’re going to do a bunch of stuff around here.”

After talking for a while, Grant realized he’d been up all night. He was getting tired, but he was operating on adrenaline. He was crashing now that he didn’t have that adrenaline running through his body after the day’s events. All of a sudden, Grant hit a mental wall of exhaustion. He couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Chip saw it and said, “Take a nap. I’ve got the first watch.”

All Grant could manage to mumble was, “Thanks, man.” He went into the master bedroom and fell asleep in his clothes, with his pistol belt on. He had never been this tired. He had never had a day like this.