299 Days: The Community

Chapter 92 What Do You Call Yourselves? (May 9)

The Team and Mark stayed at the Grange the rest of the day. They went over the one map of the whole Pierce Point development that someone had found. They talked about the locations of the few known druggies. They talked about how Dan was running the guard station and went down to get a tour.

The Team would be the “inside guys,” meaning security inside the gate. Of course, the largely well-armed residents would have a big role in their own defense inside Pierce Point.

Dan led the “outside guys,” who were the guards at the gate and the beach patrol.

Around lunch time, something a little strange happened. A couple of ladies came to the Grange and started cooking in the kitchen. The Grange had a large kitchen for feeding many people.

The ladies had sandwiches for the guys and fresh baked bread, which smelled amazing. It was whole wheat, which most of the guys didn’t like before the Collapse, but, now, it was great. Some of the nearby families had small farms, and though they didn’t grow wheat, they had been buying and storing it for a few years, expecting something like this. They were happy to feed the guys who were protecting them.

Grant recognized that as long as the residents had food, and there were several little farms out here, the Team would be fed. The same was true of having an ER doctor. This was a big relief to Grant. He didn’t have enough food for his family and the Team. He had a good bit and it could stretch through shortages from other sources, and the hunting, fishing, and gardening would help, too. But if he and his guys were spending all day patrolling, they couldn’t be gathering food. They needed to be fed. It was a fair trade. Those farms the ladies in the kitchen came from wouldn’t last long without security.

Grant liked this “new economy.” Feed me and I’ll protect you. It beat the shit out of working in an office and paying almost 50% of what he made in taxes to a corrupt government.

Throughout the day, various curious residents came by the Grange. Rich would introduce them to the Team. The guys were doing a great job of “sir” and “ma’am.” They were being humble, yet confident.

When one of the first groups of residents came by and asked Rich what the guys were called, Rich looked at Grant and said, “That’s a good question. What do you call yourselves?”

“The Team,” Grant and Pow said in unison.

“Not real imaginative. But it works,” Grant said.

Rich simply said, “This is the Team.”

In just a few hours, Pierce Point was buzzing about “the Team.” Some speculated they were a SEAL team, which would have made the guys laugh if they’d heard that. The day flew by. The guys were in heaven. This was what sheepdogs like them were made to do. Things didn’t seem so bad when nice ladies were fixing them lunch and everyone thought they were cool gunfighters.

In the late afternoon, they had gone over about everything they had to go over. “Come back here for a 7:00 meeting,” Rich said. “I want to introduce you to the community and to do a bunch of other things.”

The Team and Mark got into the truck and slowly went back. Once again, Grant thought about how fantastic it felt to ride in a truck with his guys and an AR. He felt so alive. People were waving on the way back. The Team was loving it.

Let’s see if Lisa is loving it, Grant thought. Now the hard part of the day began. Training to run into houses full of well-armed drug dealers? No, that wasn’t the hard part. Grant telling Lisa he volunteered to be on an amateur SWAT team—that was the hard part.

Oh well. He had a job to do and his wife’s approval couldn’t be the determining factor. Her approval might have been required when things were going fine. But not now. You’re the man, he remembered the outside thought saying back when he decided to prep. You have to protect them. Don’t worry about being popular. The outside thought was right.

They pulled up to the guard shack. Paul and Mary Anne were there and waved.

Grant took the magazine out of his AR, made sure there wasn’t a round in the chamber, and locked the bolt open. He unshouldered it and carried it carefully with the barrel down as if to show Lisa and the kids that he was being especially careful. Waving an AR in the house would piss off Lisa, and it wasn’t safe, anyway.

Lisa was sorting the kids’ clothes. “Hi,” she said. “How was your stuff?”

“Great,” Grant said. “How was your day?” Just like he used to say back when they had real jobs.

“Got lots done,” Lisa said. “The kids have enough clothes, but not as many as they did back home. They have enough for normal human beings, but not for their old selves,” she said with a smile. This was good. An acknowledgment that they had unnecessary stuff in their old suburban life.

Lisa looked at the clock. “It’s 4:00. Aren’t you hungry? You didn’t come home for lunch.”

“Some ladies made us lunch at the Grange,” Grant said.

“Oh, nice,” Lisa said. “Why did they do that?”

Because we’re protecting them, Grant thought. Here goes the pitch about the SWAT thing.

“My new job,” Grant said.

That surprised Lisa. A “job” meant a new law firm or something like that and there weren’t any law firms out here.

“Job?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s cool,” Grant said with a shrug, downplaying how awesome he thought this all was. “I’m getting fed and the guys are, too, so we don’t need to draw on the food we have out here.” So far, so good.

“What’s your job?” Lisa asked, skeptically.

“I’m helping that cop, Rich Gentry, with law enforcement,” Grant said. “The guys and me are patrolling. We’re basically for show. Our scary guns scare off bad guys.” She might believe that. It was what she wanted to believe. She was extremely intelligent, but people could be counted on to believe things, even unlikely things, if it’s what they wanted to believe.

“Really?” Lisa asked. She’d have to think about this for a while. Her husband as “law enforcement?” He is a lawyer. Or was.

After a few seconds, she asked, “Are you guys deputized or whatever?”

“Nope,” Grant said. “There is no functioning police force to deputize us. We’re making citizens arrests, if it ever comes to that and it probably won’t. Again,” he pointed to his AR, “it’s the scary guns that scare people.” He hated to lie, but it was for the greater good.

Grant continued, “We’ve heard that some of the petty druggies have already left Pierce Point. See, in the past, when it took the sheriff’s department a half hour or more to respond to a call out here, the druggies weren’t too afraid of the ‘law.’ Now that there are no criminal defense lawyers or the ACLU to protect them, they’ve decided to go to the city where all their druggie friends are, anyway.” Sounded plausible.

“Oh, OK,” she said. “But you’re not going to be shooting at people. Right?”

“Oh, no,” Grant said. “Hey, most cops never shoot their guns in a twenty or thirty-year career. Except, you know, practicing at the range.”

Lisa had heard that statistic somewhere. It was what she wanted to believe here. “OK,” she said. “But don’t volunteer for anything dangerous, OK? The kids need you and…I need you.”

She was starting to tear up. This had been a very stressful time for her. Her perfect life had been uprooted, and was probably over forever. Her beautiful home had been destroyed, a neighbor had attacked her and her son, people with assault rifles were all over the place, her autistic son was out in hickville during what felt like a war, they couldn’t go to the grocery store, and… he had to go to the next house to do laundry. Everything was upside down. Now her prestigious lawyer husband was an unpaid cop or something. The possibility of him getting shot was too much.

“I won’t, honey,” Grant said. “I’m just doing this for the few weeks or whatever until things are better and we can go home. We’ll fix the house up. I’ll sue the shit out of Nancy Ringman,” he said with a big smile.

Lisa burst out laughing. That was her old husband. Suing people. Things were normal again. Kind of.