299 Days: The Community

Chapter 88 The Big Meeting (May 8)

The drive back to Pierce Point was quiet. The roads were packed. There were many cars and trucks loaded up and leaving the town, heading out into the sticks where people had cabins. It looked like the Friday before Memorial Day, Fourth of July, or Labor Day, except it was Tuesday, and the people looked terrified instead of relaxed.

Still, the people on this road were a tiny fraction of a percent of the people back in Olympia and its surrounding towns. Only a very small number were bugging out. Most of the people were just sitting in their homes awaiting official instructions from the TV and internet. Almost none of them had ever experienced anything like this, so they had no idea what to expect. This was the first time stores had been out of things, the first time they had run out of cash, and the first time police were practically nowhere to be found. Most people couldn’t believe this would last long. Many thought it would be a few days off work or school, like a snow day that went on for a week, or so.

As the convoy reached the turnoff to Pierce Point Road, they slowed down to make it through the gate. Paul’s gate was up now and was a beautiful piece of work. It was a solid four-inch diameter metal pole with a solid anchor and lock. It was possible for a person to go under the gate, but it would take some effort and some time, which meant the guards would have plenty of opportunities to shoot anyone trying it. The metal pole gate would stop all vehicles.

Dang, Pow thought, this entrance to Pierce Point was made to be defended. The 100-yard stretch from the main road to Frederickson to the bridge gave entering vehicles time to slow down so they could be evaluated for entry. The two-lane bridge was just wide enough for a car parked sideways to block the entry. The volunteer fire station on the Pierce Point side of the bridge was perfect for stationing men. To top off the perfection of this defensible position, the road after the bridge went up a hill, with a beautiful treeline to pack full of snipers.

The road was the only practical way into Pierce Point. The rest of the development was surrounded by a small river in some places, and by steep hills on the rest of the boundary. Intruders avoiding the bridge and the guards would have to go from the Frederickson road, across a small river, across some open ground that had houses flanking it with fantastic fields of fire, and up the side of the hill. It was too steep for vehicles; intruders would have to be on foot. Then the intruders would have to go up Pierce Point Road for about a half a mile; a road with a treeline for that half mile that was perfect for ambushes. A well trained and equipped military unit could make it into Pierce Point, but no one short of that could.

Rich Gentry was making full use of the terrain he had been given. He had a half dozen well-armed and organized men. His hardest task was administrative: keeping track of who lived there and who their guests were.

As Mark’s convoy approached, Rich went up to greet them. He recognized Mark’s truck and the others in his group, but he checked them out in person, just to be sure.

“Hey, Mark, how were things in town?” Rich asked, knowing that all the other guards and everyone else would be interested in the answer. Rumors were flying like crazy. Who had gas and what things cost was a topic of constant conversation.

“Slippin’ a little,” Mark said. He described the surcharge and $200 limit at the grocery store and that gas was now $15 a gallon. He described the limits on ammunition. He didn’t mention the Mexican grocery thing since, technically, brandishing a rifle like that was illegal. Why tell an ex-cop that your friend just committed a crime?

“You have any additional riders from when you left?” Rich asked.

“Nope,” Mark said, glad that Rich was thinking of things like that.

“There’s a meeting tonight at 7:00 at the old Grange hall,” Rich said. The Grange was a farmers’ association that saw its heyday in the 1950s. They had buildings for meetings throughout much of rural America, especially in the West. Most of them were pretty rundown, since few Granges still met. They had a cinderblock building painted white in the middle of Pierce Point. The tiny Pierce Point Church rented it on Sundays, which is how the Grange paid the utilities. The building was run down, but always had a fresh coat of paint on it and was clean. A few elderly farm families took great pride in their Grange hall.

“I’m not a homeowners’ association kind of guy,” Mark said. “What’s the meeting about?” As if he didn’t know.

“Security,” Rich said. “We want to get some guards and patrol volunteers together. You and,” Rich pointed to the trucks driven by the Team, “your young friends are welcome. Bring John, too.”

Rich noticed the CBs they had. Those would be extremely handy to have. Rich was initially surprised that the authorities were allowing CBs to operate. There were probably all kinds of protests being planned with CBs and every other means of communication.

Rich, who was an active Oath Keeper, knew that CBs would eventually be used by the Patriots. Why wouldn’t the government jam the CBs? Then Rich realized that the truckers needed CBs, and the authorities needed the truckers. CBs meant supplies got to where they needed to be, and preventing the unrest that came from the population not having supplies was more important to the government than preventing people from communicating for anti-government purposes.

“See you at 7:00,” Mark said. He was glad that an old Marine like him could help out. He was really glad the Team was out there. He thought how much better they were squared away than the people in Frederickson, let alone what Olympia must be like. He didn’t even want to think about Seattle.

Rich waved them through, but he still looked into the trucks as they went by. He noticed the chicks and chickens Mary Anne had. Someone thought this little crisis was going to last for a while, he thought.

They pulled up to the Over Road guard shack. Paul was there with a shotgun and Chip had an AR. They waved them in. Everyone parked and started unloading the goods. They were telling everyone the stories and describing what they got. The chicks and chickens got the most attention. John started planning to build a coop.

Grant was disappointed that they only got $200 worth of groceries, and no staples, although, the jam and syrup would come in handy for the biscuit and pancake mix they had. Calories were calories. That was funny, Grant thought. He was thinking of food as calories now.

There was a smell; a BBQ. Chip had started it up around noon. Paul got some frozen salmon out and they were ready to cook it up. Everyone was hungry, especially the milk run crew. They realized that all the stress suppressed their appetites, but when the stressful event was over, their appetites quickly returned.

They ate and planned out what to do that afternoon. They would build a coop and inventory each household’s supplies. People were taking guard duty without being told; it was just something they instinctively knew to do. Everyone would meet back for dinner at 6:00 p.m. and then go to the meeting at the Grange.

Cole was the only one without any chores. He was enjoying it out at the cabin. His whole family was there and his sister was taking care of him. No school. That was the best part. He was in regular classes, but school was hard for him. All those people talking to him and making him talk. He wanted the quiet and to only be around people who knew him.

Grant realized that Cole also had to work, even though he had a disability. It would be good for him and everyone else would appreciate that Grant’s son wasn’t getting any unfair breaks.

“Come here, little buddy,” Grant said to Cole. Grant motioned for Manda to come over and join them.

“Yeah, Dad,” Cole said.

“We all have jobs out at the cabin. What could be a job for you, Cole?”

“Playing?” Cole said with a smile. He wasn’t dumb. He just couldn’t talk too well.

“Nice try.” Grant looked around. There were pinecones all around. They would burn nicely. It was May now, but would be cold in a while. They would need things to burn. “You can pick up pine cones. I’ll show you where to put them. We can use them to burn for heat in the winter.”

Cole nodded. He was happy to have a job.

“One thing, though,” Grant said. “You can’t leave the gravel road. You can’t go past the guard shack,” Grant said, pointing to the shack, “without your sister or one of us grownups. Got it?”

Cole nodded. It was so much easier to nod than to talk.

“OK, pal,” Grant said. “You can do a little bit of pinecones every day. You can still play, but just not all the time. Once the pinecones are done, we’ll have you do other things.” Grant thought about Cole gathering up all those apples that just fell onto the ground in the late summer. That was past the guard shack, but Manda could go with him. Armed, of course.

Cole would be the little gatherer. He could also run messages throughout the Over Road cabins. He couldn’t relay messages because his verbal skills were so low, but he could tell people to come to a certain cabin and talk to someone, or he could deliver a note. That kind of thing. Cole and Manda would also make beds, clean bathrooms, sweep, dust, and vacuum. They would set the table, wash dishes, and cook some meals themselves. They would also cut and stack firewood. They would assist with canning and dehydrating food.

Grant realized that Cole and Manda, the upper middle class suburban kids, didn’t really have any chores back at home. They sure would out there. It would be good for them. And it would be a real help to the grownups. The kids were open to doing chores. They both realized that their help was needed.

One thing the grown-ups would need to talk about was school for the kids. Abstract learning—calculus, comparative literature—would have to wait a future time. At least they wouldn’t be wasting their time with what passed for history before the Collapse. Grant had called it “Anti-American Studies.” It was pure indoctrination with no educational value. Out here, with no school and probably no internet or text books, they could maintain what the kids already knew with refreshers on the basics. Luckily, a year ago Grant had picked up an encyclopedia set for next to nothing. That had tons of great knowledge in it and it made for interesting reading for grown-ups when there was nothing else to do.

Grant realized how lucky they were that the kids were sixteen and thirteen. They already had a good chunk of their education. A makeshift school or semi-organized home schooling would be a topic for the next neighborhood meeting.

Dinner that night was deer steaks and some leftover salmon from lunch. Mary Anne and Eileen made biscuits. Everyone seemed to be getting along well. People were sharing things and offering to help each other. Grant hoped it would last.

“Time to get to the meeting,” Mark said, looking at his watch. Grant thought it was good that Mark was taking leadership on some things, like the meeting. It was also good that Mark, who was well respected by the Pierce Point full-timers, would be representing them at the meeting. John was liked, but not as well known. He and Mary Anne kept to themselves more than Mark and Tammy.

Grant thought about what to wear. That was such a pre-Collapse thought: dressing right for a meeting. But he didn’t want the Team to come across to the full-timers as too “military.” That would be a threat to them. The Team was wearing 5.11s and earth-tone t-shirts in colors like green, brown, and tan. Not camouflage, thank God. Actually, they didn’t have any camouflage, except for some outerwear. Their day-to-day clothes were 5.11s and similar things. They looked like military contractors. That was actually OK, Grant thought. Let the full-timers know that they have some skills—but not too many skills. Grant would wear 5.11 pants, but with a hunting t-shirt with a Mossy Oak camouflage pattern. Mark had hunting pants and a regular t-shirt. John had jeans and a hunting shirt. That was how guys out in rural areas dressed. Hunting clothes were a “two-fer”: clothes for hunting and for everyday wear. They only had to buy one set.

Grant needed to talk to the Team about the politics of the situation. This first meeting with the full-timers would be key. First impressions were everything, especially when the stakes were as high as they were right then.

Grant tagged along as the Team finished dinner and headed to the yellow cabin to get ready to go the meeting. He motioned for Chip to come with him. He didn’t want to have the political discussion in front of Mark.

When the Team was in the yellow cabin, Grant said, “Hey, guys, could I talk to you for a minute?” They looked like something was wrong or they were in trouble.

“Everything’s cool,” Grant said, “I just need to go over a plan with you. This meeting tonight is a big deal. It’s the full-timers’ first impression of us. We might scare them. We’re very tactical and they’re a little more on the duck hunter side.” Grant didn’t think his description was entirely accurate; these country boys were far more effective fighters than one might think. Grant wanted to compliment the Team and, at the same time, draw them the distinction between them and the full-timers.

“We are way better trained than these guys and way better armed,” Grant said with a “no duh” tone. “I don’t want them jealous of us or thinking we’re a threat to them. Remember, people aren’t sleeping, they’re afraid, and men are more aggressive during times like this. They might be looking for a reason to hate us. Now, at the same time, they need us and our gear, so they’ll probably be cool. Regardless, I did lots of big meetings at my old job and know how to handle these situations.”

The Team nodded. At some level, they were all thinking the same thing about easing into it with the full-timers. Watching Mark and Rich interact at the gate showed them that the Team was part of the larger Pierce Point security force, not a separate little unit.

“Here’s my approach,” Grant said, “Let me know if you agree. I think we should be ourselves. We are good at this tactical stuff. We don’t need to hide that, but we should respect the full-timers, especially their leaders, like this Rich guy who was at the gate. He’s an ex-cop. Mark said he quit about six months ago because of all the corruption. Mark is a leader, too. We need to take the lead from them, but we can be open about the fact that we know our shit. Let’s face it; we will end up being the SWAT team out here. But, we don’t need to throw it in their faces. Let them come to the conclusion on their own that we should be doing that shit.”

The Team nodded some more. “So I’m thinking that we go there tonight with just pistols showing,” Grant said. “Don’t even bring ARs.”

“Seriously?” Wes said. “What if we can’t trust these guys? I mean, I think we can, but I don’t want to take any chances.” The Mexican grocery store incident earlier that day had him thinking that long guns were pretty nice to have in an argument.

Grant thought about it. What he wanted was that the full-timers wouldn’t see a group of military contractor-looking guys show up with tricked out ARs. “How about if we keep the ARs in the truck?” Grant suggested.

“That will require one guy to stay with the truck and guard the ARs,” Pow said. “Hell, it would probably be a good idea to have someone doing that for all the cars there.”

Good point. “Sure,” Grant said. “Let’s do it. You can bring ARs, but keep them in one truck. One of you can stay with the truck. When it’s time to introduce ourselves, someone run out and get the truck guard.” Grant knew that specific duties instead of vague “somebody be the guard” plans were best.

“Who wants to guard the truck?” Grant asked. Bobby and Scotty raised their hands. They hated meetings.

“OK, Bobby it is,” Grant said. He looked at Scotty, “His hand was up slightly faster,” Grant said with a smile. He wanted to foster healthy competition among the guys on the Team. It kept people on their toes.

“I think you guys are dressed OK,” Grant said, looking at them in 5.11s and earth-tone t-shirts. “Here’s my idea on that. We can be a little different with 5.11s and that kind of thing, but no camo right now. That will freak them out. They might think we’re militia whackos. We don’t need that impression. Camo should be for outerwear when we’re going out to do something or are hiding in the woods. And by ‘camo,’ I mean military camo. These guys wear hunter camo, which is always going to be OK for us, it’s just that I don’t think you guys have any.” The Team nodded. They viewed hunting camo as “duck hunter” wear.

Grant went on, “Maybe after we have their confidence and respect, we can start wearing whatever we want, but that will take time. Do you guys think I’m crazy about this?”

“Nope,” said Pow.

Grant pointed to his own hunting camo tee shirt. “I will wear some hunting camo to kind of blend in with these guys.” They chuckled.

Grant pointed to Chip who had Carhartt jeans and a black tee shirt. “I think it’s great that Chip is wearing his working-man clothes, which is all he has.” Chip laughed. Chip never dressed like a “tactical” guy, even though he had all the tactical skills in the world. At his age, Chip would dress any damned way he wanted. And with all the guns he usually worked on, he needed clothes that he could get oil on and that wouldn’t rip.

Grant continued, “I’d like to take the lead with these guys since I’m the one who has a connection out here. I’m a resident, even if I’m just a cabin person. You guys, though, are total strangers.” And one of you is Asian, Grant thought. Probably not a big deal, but when it came to a first impression that the Team were outsiders, probably being the only minority in the room would be a factor. In time, everyone would love Pow, like everyone always did.

“You guys are doing great on the political stuff,” Grant said to the Team. “Mark and John love you guys. I just wanted to script this meeting a little bit. It’s what I do,” Grant said.

Chip said, “I can talk more than the young guys, if that’s OK with you gentlemen. I look like the full-timers. They’ll relate to me.” And Chip was one of the most charming guys around. He made a living selling guns. He knew how to talk to guys, especially rural, working class guys. He was one himself.

“No prob,” said Scotty. “We want to fit in out here. It’s our home now.”

Good. Grant was relieved.

“OK, boys, let’s go do this meeting,” Grant said.

Grant went over to Mark’s. “Ready when you are,” he said.

“Let’s go,” Mark said. “Take my truck?”

Grant thought it would be good if the well-armed strangers rolled up in Mark’s truck.

“Of course,” Grant said. He motioned for the Team to pile in. They had their ARs and tactical vests in their hands.

“You’re not bringing those, are you?” Mark asked, a little concerned.

“Not into the meeting,” Grant said. “We’ll keep them in the cab. My guys need to have their gear. You never know what can happen there, on the way there, or on the way back,” Grant said with a shrug.

“OK, as long as they stay in the cab,” Mark said. He and Grant were on the same page with concerns about introducing “militia”-looking guys to the people of Pierce Point.

“Oh, and Mark,” Grant said, as they got into Mark’s truck, “these people at this meeting are your guys, so please take the lead with them. I told the Team that we are guests out here and that we are volunteers to Pierce Point and that we will be a part of the group effort, not doing our own thing.”

That was music to Mark’s ears. “Thank God you said that,” he said. “I was just about to have a heart-to-heart with you and say the same thing. You boys are a little more tactical than we’re used to out here. That will be a big advantage, especially when it comes to scaring off bad guys, but tonight is not the time for it.”

“Way ahead of you,” Grant said. “That’s pretty much what I told them. They’ll just have pistols on.”

“That’s perfect,” Mark said, lifting up his shirt and showing his concealed revolver. “Let’s saddle up. It’s ten ‘till.”

The Team was in the back of Mark’s truck. John, Paul, and Chip got in the rear back cab. Grant was in the front passenger seat.

Drew stayed behind. They needed a guard. Besides, Drew was a retired accountant. This security stuff would be primarily handled by others. He could take care of himself and guard the place while they were gone, but he wasn’t trying to be a cowboy. Everyone had a role, an important role. It’s just not that everyone needed to be a gunfighter.

In fact, too many gunfighters would mean people weren’t eating, getting medical treatment, and things weren’t getting repaired. Having all the gunfighters in the world wouldn’t do much good if the tactical bad asses were puking their guts out from food poisoning because everyone was too important to wash the dishes. Every single person out there had an important role.

After a short drive on the beautiful May evening, they arrived at the Grange. The parking lot was full. Almost all the vehicles were trucks. Men, and some women, were getting out of their rigs and going inside. The men looked like rural guys; tough and self-reliant compared to the people in Olympia. The women looked like country girls who knew how to take care of themselves. A few were wearing pistols. Most of the men were. No one had long guns for this meeting.

The Team definitely stood out, but not too much. They were the only ones in 5.11s. They had tactical pistol belts with the same Raven Concealment holsters. A trained observer could see that their pistols had small lights attached to them; the outline of the lights was visible through the holsters. No one else had those. But the guys, especially having Chip with them, didn’t look odd. They just looked different.

As they went in, Mark realized that he didn’t know everyone, either. Some of the faces were familiar, but that was it. Most of the full-timers were like Mark: rural residents in hunting and work clothes. Some had jeans and tee shirts. There were even a few who looked like cabin people.

Seats were going quickly. The sign inside said “Capacity: 120” and it looked like the place was just about full. A dozen or two women were there. Pow motioned for the guys to yield their seats to the ladies. That got noticed by the crowd, as a positive thing.

Rich Gentry was at the front of the room with a little podium. He was comfortable there, as he had given many briefings before and this was like being back at work at the Sheriff’s Department.

“OK, let’s get this thing going,” Rich said looking at his watch. “Thanks for coming out tonight. This is a meeting of what I guess we’ll call the Pierce Point Security Committee. I hate committees, but I love security, as in I love not having thieves, rapists, and murderers in my neighborhood,” Rich said, deciding to shock people into the reality they were there address.

“That’s what all this is about. Keeping out bad people. This is not a militia or anything like that.”

Everyone nodded.

“First of all,” Rich said, “is there anyone here who disagrees that we need a guard and patrol?”

Silence.

“Good,” Rich said. “By the end of this meeting, I’d like to have some volunteers to man the entrance to the Frederickson Road on a shift basis and some men,” he looked at two women in the front row, “well, some people to patrol inside the development. Once we have enough guards, we can start working on training and communications.”

Grant knew that this meeting was about more than just guards at the entrance and a patrol. Leaders would emerge from this meeting. It would set the tone for the governance of Pierce Point. By “governance,” Grant meant how food was distributed and shared, how medical care was handled, communications, and, eventually, what side—government or Patriot—Pierce Point would take.

But first things first, Grant thought. Security first, governance second, and politics last, if ever at all. It was all about surviving out there. Politics was a luxury for people who didn’t have to worry about surviving.

Grant was itching to have a role in the meeting, but he didn’t want to overdo it. He was a cabin person and brought a group of well-armed strangers there. He was a lawyer and most people hated lawyers. Grant had to be careful. He’d been in some tricky political situations, but this one was the most important one so far. He had the oddest feeling that the politics of this meeting would be child’s play compared to what was coming in a while.

Grant knew that he had to get a big role for the Team. They were exactly what Pierce Point needed. He wasn’t going to let his Team just blend into the neighborhood. What a waste.

I put you and them here for a reason.

Whoa. He hadn’t heard the outside thought for a while. He understood it loud and clear.

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Rich Gentry. I was a sheriff’s deputy for eleven years until about six months ago. I left because some things were going on that I couldn’t be a part of. I’ll just leave it at that.” It was apparent that having to leave the force still pained Rich.

“I still have lots of friends on the force,” Rich continued. “They tell me that there basically is no more law enforcement out there right now.” He let that sink in for a few seconds with the crowd. No more law enforcement. Grant knew it, but suspected that most in the room hadn’t confronted this fact first-hand like he had. No more law enforcement was such a shock that it would take quite a while for most people to fully accept the new reality.

“We have to be law enforcement for ourselves until this all gets sorted out,” Rich said. “This doesn’t mean vigilantes. It means structured volunteers with some training and accountability to the community. None of you are expected to be like what law enforcement was. No six-month academy, but you need to know the basics. And you need to know when to use force and when not to. That last part is key. We are not a thug squad beating and killing people. I’ve seen enough of that in the past.”

Grant was so glad this Rich guy was laying the foundation for the neighborhood security force like this. Perfect.

I put him here, too.

Of course. Grant felt stupid for thinking this was pure chance.

“Here is my plan in a nutshell,” Rich said. “I’m not a dictator, so I want to lay it out, see what you think, and get started on putting a guard and patrol system together. To get boots on the ground tonight, as a matter of fact. OK, the nutshell.”

Rich looked at everyone in the room and continued, “We have at least a half dozen guys.” He looked at the women and said, “and when I say ‘guys’ I mean men or women. As long as people have some rudimentary training, they can volunteer for this. Anyway, we have about a half dozen guys, armed of course, at the entrance to Pierce Point Road. We have a car across the road. We’ll work on a real gate that can swing open and shut, but we can use a car for now. We need communications between the gate and a headquarters. We need enough people in reserve that we have guards to take shifts and to man the gate if someone is trying to shoot their way in.”

That thought caught a few people by surprise. They probably thought a “security” meeting would be like some homeowners’ association discussion of locking their doors and maybe some unarmed “neighborhood crime watch” crap that worked great when 911 answered calls in two minutes except, those days were gone.

Even out in Pierce Point, there were still plenty of people who hadn’t fully grasped that things were totally different now. They weren’t bad people, they just needed to process the changes. It was weird: back in Olympia, normalcy bias was the enemy. Grant fought against it. He was outnumbered by all the weenies who thought things were fine. He was in the minority there. But out at Pierce Point, he was in the majority. He didn’t have to fight as hard against normalcy bias, although it still existed.

For the first time since he fled Olympia, Grant realized he wasn’t furious at the people with normalcy bias like he had been in the past. As long as they didn’t cling to “normal” and let it affect their decision-making on important things, they’d be fine. If they did cling to it, they’d be dead, and get many others killed along with them. That’s the part that he would be watching for. Grant wasn’t on a crusade to have people think like him, but he was on a crusade to get through this, and people with normalcy bias would put him and his people in danger. It wasn’t personal. It was survival.

“There are two other things we need security-wise,” Rich said. “The first is a patrol that can respond to things door-to-door. These need to be the best trained because they are dealing with our families. This is where a no-thug requirement is key. The patrolmen need to be very well trained with firearms and tactics and respect for people.” Rich was looking directly at the Team. He had singled them out the second he saw them, but he needed to know if the well-armed guys in Mark’s truck were thugs or not.

“I will personally train and lead the patrol,” Rich said.

Grant wondered how Pow would react to that. Probably pretty well. Pow was glad to just be out in a safe place and having some training would only make him happier because he could do an even better job. It beat the shit out of selling insurance, which is what Pow had done during peacetime, just a few days ago.

“The second thing we need,” Rich said, “is a way to hold prisoners and, I guess, find out which ones are guilty.”

Here’s your role.

Grant suddenly knew exactly why he was in that room and in that neighborhood,. He had that odd feeling again that this was just the beginning of the role he was to fulfill.

“Chances are, we’re gonna need a judge, and a jail. At least some way to resolve disputes, and lock up people who are violent or thieves. As I see it, the jail won’t be fancy,” Rich said. “In fact, if you’re caught stealing from us or hurting us then I’m not real concerned that you’re comfy or even well fed. But we’re not animals. We won’t mistreat prisoners. This will mean a facility and some guards.”

Rich kept going. “The judge part will be pretty easy. Nothin’ fancy on trials. I just want someone or some people who can objectively look at things. I don’t want innocent people punished. Don’t worry. We won’t have lawyers and arguments and technicalities and week-long jury trials. Unless you guys want that, in which case we’ll try to make it happen.” Rich knew that the level of due process out there would be a topic of debate. He was hoping that if there were a lawyer in the room that he or she wouldn’t be a spaz who loved process over substance.

“Any questions?” Rich asked.

A hand went up from what looked like a cabin person. “What about the beach? That would be a way for people to come in and out.”

“Good point,” Rich said. “Well, we’ll need a beach patrol.” He pointed to the person asking the question. “You and me will get together after the meeting. You can coordinate the volunteers for what I’ll call the beach patrol. We’ll get some boats and some beach walkers. Thanks for bringing that to our attention.”

Another hand went up. “What kind of guns do we need for this?”

“Another excellent question,” Rich said. “We’re not a military force. We don’t need military weapons, although those are certainly welcomed,” he said looking at the Team. “If you’re familiar with your shotgun, hunting rifle, or handgun, then that’s what we need. I’d much rather have guys who know their weapon well than have people with the latest and greatest gizmos who are unfamiliar with those gizmos. People who haven’t shot ever, or in quite some time, will get trained. Some people probably have a couple extra guns. We could start a ‘gun library’ where people without a gun can check one out for a period of time. We would keep them in a central place, like a makeshift and secure armory. That way, the person loaning the gun to the community doesn’t have to worry about it walking off. Or, if people make arrangements to borrow a gun and keep it with them, that’s great, too. But it’s up to the person loaning the guns to loan them to the armory or directly to a person.”

Rich paused. Grant couldn’t tell if he was thinking of all of this as he went or if he had thought it out in advance. Either way, it was impressive. This guy was a leader.

“Guards borrowing guns from the gun library is fine and I can’t fault those loaning guns to want to get them back,” Rich said. “But I have to say that my preference would be for direct loans to people. This way, people would have the loaned gun with them in their homes. Armed home owners will be our best defense against crime. Don’t forget, the majority of crime will be among neighbors, not from outsiders.”

It was silent. People either hadn’t thought of that or didn’t want to hear it.

“Yep, I know it sounds bad,” Rich said, “but it’s true. We need to keep bad people out and we need to have a plan for if a gang tries to breach the gate, but most crime will be internal.” Rich let that sink in. These people needed to know that. They needed to be realistic. These were the times that called for realism.

Someone asked, “What about communications?”

Rich smiled, “I expected that question from you. Ladies and gentlemen, Curt Copeland here is a ham radio operator. A very, very valuable person to have in a situation like this.” Grant wondered if this was the guy who lived at the house with the huge antenna array that he and Pow had noticed.

Curt just smiled. He loved that he was a valuable person right then. Ham radio operators often spent years at their hobby with no one understanding how important they would be in a disaster. Curt was glad he had a chance to shine. He wished things hadn’t broken down, of course, but since they had, he was glad to be there with many ways to communicate.

“Curt, what are your thoughts?” Rich asked.

“Well, I can keep in contact with the outside world with my various equipment,” he said, not wanting to bore everyone with the details of his various radios. He could literally talk to the space station with his gear.

“Curt has plenty of handheld radios that we can use. Isn’t that right, Curt?” Rich said. It was obvious they had talked before the meeting. Good.

“Oh yes,” Curt said, “I have about a half dozen handhelds that operate on the VHR and UHF ham bands. They’re easy to use. Very good reception, even with the highlands up here and the beach down there. Especially when we bounce them off the Frederickson repeater.”

Rich looked at the Team again. “Some of you have CBs, too. Raise your hand if you have one.” About a third of the room raised their hands, including the Team. “Great. CBs are fine for short range communication and getting info from nearby people outside of Pierce Point. They aren’t secure, of course, but I doubt the bad guys will be monitoring all 40 CB channels to hear us. Besides, all the stuff we need to have secure will be done on the ham bands and then we can relay it in some simple code via CBs.”

That reminded Rich, “Oh, if any of you are going into town anytime soon, please try to buy all the CBs and antennas you can. It would really help us out. If the stores are out, which is likely, then don’t worry about it. I just wanted everyone to know how valuable CBs are right now.”

Rich waited for another question. There wasn’t one. “OK, now we come to personnel,” he said. “This is the most important part. Equipment is great, but if we don’t have good people, none of this will work.”

Rich pointed to Curt. “We need lots of people with diverse talents, like Curt here. He isn’t prior military or law enforcement, but you can see how valuable he will be. So regular civilians are very much needed.”

Rich paused. “With that in mind, military and law enforcement experience is a definite plus. So who here is prior military?” About a quarter of the hands went up. Rich pointed at the first person he saw and said, “What branch, what did you do, and when did you get out?”

Men and a few women around the room described their service. All branches were covered. Lots of Army, but it was the largest branch. Some Air Force and a couple Marines, including Mark. Quite a bit of Navy and even two Coast Guard. None of the people in the room were active duty or in the Guard or Reserves. Two people said they had neighbors in the Army National Guard and one said her neighbor was in the Air Force Reserve, but that they weren’t at the meeting.

The veterans had done many different jobs in the military. Four had combat specialties in the Army: two infantry, a scout, and armor. Another, a Marine rifleman named Ryan McDonald, was a combat veteran from Afghanistan.

John raised his hand and said, “U.S. Navy. Machinist. Got out in 1968.”

Mark said he was a former Marine, a sniper, and left in 1975. He grabbed his belly and said, “I ain’t in Marine shape anymore. I couldn’t lie in the forest for two days and make a shot at 800 yards anymore, either.”

When it came to Chip’s turn to talk, he said, “I’m Chip. Army. Supply sergeant but saw some combat in Southeast Asia. Got out in 1970.” He didn’t mention the part about building ARs for a living and having a few dozen “assault rifles” in Grant’s basement. He knew it wasn’t necessary to mention that now. There was still too much at stake; too many unknowns. Not even to mention that Grant was a wanted man. Blend in whenever possible, Chip would always say. Be the gray man; a fighter or resistor who doesn’t attract attention so he can get the job done.

One veteran was particularly interesting. Rich smiled when it came to this guy’s turn and said to him, “Sergeant Morgan, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

The man, in his early forties with black hair and in great shape said, “I’m Dan Morgan, formerly of the United States Air Force. I was in Security Forces, which used to be called Security Police. We defended air bases and other sensitive installations, and conducted counterterrorism. I was MWD, or Military Working Dog. A dog handler. I retired as a Senior Master Sergeant. I am currently—or, I guess, formerly—a volunteer for the Sheriff’s Department’s K9 team. I say formerly since I don’t think there is a Sheriff’s Department anymore.”

Dan paused. “Anyway, I train their dogs and kennel them here. I have several great dogs.” Dan smiled, “Defending an air base or an area like Pierce Point, it’s all the same. I got some tricks up my sleeve that Uncle Sam taught me.” He was beaming. He was so happy to show off his skills and save his friends and neighbors in the process.

Rich said, “Dan and I know each other from Oath Keepers.” No need to hide that anymore, Rich thought. He was off the force and, besides, the cops had enough on their plates. Arresting political people wasn’t high on their list of things to do. Rich smiled, “Welcome to the Security Committee, Dan.” Rich and Dan had obviously talked before the meeting.

Nice, Grant thought. He was feeling like he was in good hands. Could this set up get any better?

Rich asked, “OK, any law enforcement, past or present, here?” Grant winced at the “present” part; he was technically wanted, or whatever POI meant. He was hoping there were no cops in the room.

Four hands went up. One guy said, “I was a reserve Sheriff’s Deputy in the 80s but I haven’t done it in a long time. I wouldn’t count myself as ‘law enforcement.’”

A man said, “My neighbor is currently a county sheriff’s deputy. I haven’t seen him in about a week.”

Another guy, who looked like Jimmy Buffet, said, “I’m Dick Abbott. I’m a retired LA County deputy. Out on disability. Lost most of my hearing in a shootout twenty years ago. Don’t know that I’ll be much help, but I’ll do whatever is asked of me.”

The third hand was a woman in her fifties. “I’m Linda Rodriguez. I am retired from Seattle Police Department. I was a dispatcher.”

“Great,” Rich said. “Glad to have all of you.” He was, indeed, happy to have so many veterans and some law enforcement. “OK, any other people who have some unique skills?”

There were two nurses and an EMT. “Great. We’ll definitely need medical skills,” Rich said. Mark and John looked at Grant for him to announce that they had an ER doctor out at Pierce Point. Grant slightly shook his head to them. He wanted to talk to Lisa before he announced her occupation. He didn’t know why she wouldn’t want to be the neighborhood doctor, but he just thought he should ask her if she wanted a part-time job out there.

“There’s Randy Greene, the foot doctor,” someone said. “But he’s not out here. Yet.”

Rich said, “OK, any other skills out there that will help us out?”