299 Days: The Collapse

Chapter 50 Bugging Out… Alone (May 5)

Grant had all of his stuff in the car. All the guns, ammo cans, and his personal things. He had a list, of course, of all the critical things he needed when he had to bug out.

“Bug out.” Yep, that was what he was doing. He had always imagined a “bug out” would be with his family. He would be a hero leading them to a safer place. At least that’s how he imagined it.

But no. Now he was leaving them behind in a dangerous place. He was leaving them. Leaving them. His plan was failing. But what could he do? The reality was that it was dangerous in the city and his wife didn’t see it. That meant his kids needed to stay. He was temped once again to go and just take the kids. He decided to go get them. He got out of the car and checked that his pistol was on his belt. He was going to take them.

No. Don’t. Trust me.

OK. “I’ll trust you with my family,” Grant said out loud to no one.

Grant hit that garage door button and heard the familiar sound of the door going up. He’d never hear that sound again.

He backed out of the garage, like he’d done a million times before, going to work, running errands, taking the kids somewhere fun. No more. That was all over. He started to cry. Why couldn’t she see how much better things would be if she came with him? At the moment she heard the garage door go up, Lisa starting wailing. She fell to the floor and curled up into a ball, screaming.

He was actually leaving. He was really doing it. He was gone. Leaving them here all alone. Why didn’t he just hug her? She would have gone with him to his stupid cabin if he had just hugged her. But now he was gone. Probably going off to get killed or arrested. Who knows what would happen to her and the kids. Why didn’t that asshole just hug her? He would rather get killed than hug her?

It didn’t occur to her that he didn’t know that all he needed to do was hug her. She never told him. And it never occurred to her that maybe she should have hugged him first. She was far too emotionally wrecked to be thinking straight.

Oh, God, Lisa thought. Grant would be dead soon. He was probably part of some right-wing group and was off to fight the government. Her husband had left her for… politics. Of all the stupid things to be left for. Politics. Another woman or ambition would make sense; that’s what it usually was. But politics? The Constitution was a reason to leave a perfectly good wife? Lisa felt wounded. Betrayed. Traded in for something stupid.

The house was silent, except for her wailing. Pretty soon the kids were crying, too. It sounded like hell. The “wailing and gnashing of teeth” is how the Bible described hell. That’s what the Matson house sounded like. The former Matson house.

After he backed out of the driveway and got onto the street in front of their house, Grant snapped back into reality.

Oh, shit. He had to drive through a war zone to get to where he was going. He checked his gas tank. There was half a tank, which was easily enough to get to the cabin if there was no traffic. Given the protests, riots, and crime—looting, maybe even—he didn’t expect smooth sailing.

Grant drove past all the neighbors at the entrance of the subdivision. They waved him down. He just kept going. He saw the bodies of the men he’d killed. Boys, actually. When he got close enough, he could see they were teenage boys. White kids. They looked like dirtbags. They had those damned baggy pants down to their ass cracks. God, he hated that. Those baggy pants alone justified killing them. He chuckled to himself at the absurdity of that thought. He needed that humor to get through this. That chuckle broke up the mood so he could deal with all the things he needed to do.

As he drove close enough to see them, Grant looked at their faces. He knew he shouldn’t. They looked asleep. With blood everywhere. They were not nice boys. Thank God for that. At least he didn’t kill people who looked innocent.

Everyone tried to talk to him. He just kept the window up and kept driving, carefully so he didn’t hit anyone, including the dead bodies.

His neighbors were looking at him strangely. They were pointing and whispering. They were looking at him like…he was a killer. They were afraid of him. They had slight fear in their eyes. They were treating him like a killer. He wasn’t welcome in normal society anymore. He could feel it.

His neighbors looked like people he had known decades ago. His life as Grant Matson—family man, attorney, and resident of the Cedars—was over. These people had known a different Grant Matson. The first Grant Matson. The second Grant Matson was driving that car. He had business to take care of. He drove past like he didn’t know them. Because he didn’t. Except Ron. He had saved Ron’s life that night by risking his own. He nodded at Ron, who was trying to talk to him. Grant kept driving.

Once he left the Cedars, he didn’t see another car until he hit the freeway. As he approached the street that led to the onramp near the old brewery, he could see there was a big a backup on the freeway. It passed right by the Capitol. There were lots of police cars trying to get there and ambulances leaving. Grant had an alternate route planned. He got off the street before it fed onto the on ramp. He took a back street to get to an onramp to the highway leading to the cabin. No traffic at this entrance. Grant smiled. At least one part of the plan was working. So far.

He got onto Highway 101 and accelerated to cruising speed. He was staying at sixty miles per hour because he had a loaded AR in the seat and didn’t want to get pulled over. That was probably not a problem given that the police were all at the capitol, but why risk it.

Grant needed some music. He hit the play button and one of his favorite “survival” songs came on, Long Hard Times to Come by Gangstagrass. The lyrics seemed to be speaking directly to him as he left his family behind to go off to the cabin to… survive?

That summed it. Grant saw “them long hard times to come.” He was doing it by his “lonesome.”

The drive out to the cabin passed like the blink of an eye and felt like a lifetime at the same time. Along the way, he thought about his entire life. He thought about Lisa and the kids all alone in the house. God, he wanted to go back. But he couldn’t.

Maybe he could.

No, he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t.

You have a job to do out here. You would not be safe back there. You will be here.

What was this outside thought, anyway? Was it just Grant saying to himself what he wanted to hear? But it wasn’t him doing the talking. Actually, no one was talking. It wasn’t a voice. They were thoughts but not Grant’s. Oh well. The outside thoughts had been right so far. They had told Grant to do some things that seemed crazy at the time but now seemed very wise. Like getting prepared.

Grant thought about the sheeple back in town. They’d be clawing each other for the last Doritos in a few days. Maybe they already were.