299 Days: The Preparation

Chapter 32 You Done Good

In the middle of this budget crisis and political gloom, Grant had an escape; his cabin. He went out there every chance he got.

The only thing better than being at his cabin was being there with friends and family. Manda came out all the time and Cole was out there pretty regularly. Lisa came out when they had family friends out.

Grant loved having his friends out there, but limited the ones he invited. He didn’t want too many people to know where the cabin was. He certainly didn’t show them the food and ammo.

One of his first “guy’s weekend” guests was Steve Briggs from Forks. Grant wanted to show Steve how cool the cabin was, and drink a lot of beer.

Steve came out one glorious June day. It was seventy-five degrees and sunny.

When he drove up, Steve rolled down his window and said “Whoa. You done good.”

Grant gave him the tour and they sat in comfy lounge chairs on the deck and drank for a few hours. They had a long conversation about Forks, all the Civil Air Patrol stories, leaving Forks, and the time Steve saved Grant’s life on Goat Island.

During their conversation, the topic turned to the seemingly inevitable collapse. It all started when Steve said the same phrase he said in Forks years earlier that got Grant prepping.

“This is a false economy,” he said when he was talking about how all the car parts at his store were made in China and arrived through a just-in-time inventory system. This was Grant’s opportunity to have “the conversation” with Steve.

“What happens if the stock market crashes or whatever and people don’t have Doritos?” Grant asked.

Steve smiled. “If the shit hits the fan, and Forks isn’t safe, we come here. You probably have a firearm or two for me.” Perfect. Steve got it. “And if Olympia or this place isn’t safe, then you come to Forks. I’ve got a firearm or two for you.”

“Roger that,” Grant said as he finished off his umpteenth beer. God, it was great to have friends like Steve. The next day, when Steve left, Grant felt that they were even closer friends than when he had arrived.

Chip was another friend that Grant knew he could trust, and he wanted to invite him to the cabin.

He went into Capitol City Guns and, when Chip was out of the earshot of the others, Grant said, “Hey, man, you need to come out to my cabin. Free beer. There’s something I want to show you. How about Sunday?”

“Sounds great,” Chip said.

“Don’t let this out,” Grant said. “I don’t advertise that I have this place.”

“Why might that be?” Chip asked. “This wouldn’t be a hideout, would it?” He was grinning.

That Sunday, Chip drove up in his truck. “This is perfect,” he said to Grant. “How cool. Very nice.” That was music to Grant’s ears.

“Let me give you the tour,” Grant said.

Chip motioned to the back of the truck. “I need to get my friends inside.” Chip pulled out two cases of beer. “They don’t like the warm air. They need to be somewhere cooler.”

This was going to be a good day.

They brought the beer inside. Chip looked around. “This place is nice. A guy could live here year round no problem.”

“Yep,” Grant said with a big smile.

Grant opened a beer for Chip and one for himself. He looked Chip right in the eyes and said, “Can you keep a secret?”

Chip looked back at him very seriously and whispered, “You’re gay, too?” And then laughed.

“No, something even more socially frowned upon,” Grant said.

“I’m a ‘survivalist.’”

“No shit,” Chip said, pretending to be serious. “You mean all those ARs, AK, and Glocks. All the stories about how corrupt the government is. All your excitement about having a ‘bug out location?’” Chip faked surprise and said, “You are a survivalist? Who saw that coming?” He laughed. “So let’s see the stash, Bunker Boy.”

Grant showed him the food in the storage shed. “Impressive,” Chip said. “I recognize some of those cases of MREs. I’ll get you some more when Special Forces Ted comes by. I like to see that they have a nice home like this.”

Grant showed Chip the basement and took him down to the beach. They sat in the chairs on the bulkhead and drank beer. Grant brought down a half rack in an iced cooler. They peed off the bulkhead into the water. “That’s livin’,” Grant said. Chip nodded and concentrated on relieving himself.

After they were good and buzzed, Grant decided it was time to have “the conversation” with Chip. It would be the short version, since Chip already knew what was going on.

“Chip, when the shit hits the fan,” Grant started to say.

“I’m coming here,” Chip said, finishing Grant’s sentence. “I’ll bring all the food and gear I can. Done.”

That was easy.

“I will have a special role for you and this place,” Grant said. He pointed back up toward the cabin. “You know that unfinished basement. It could store a lot of stuff. If they ever try to outlaw guns and you ‘lose’ some of yours, you could keep them here.”

“Way ahead of you partner,” Chip said. “Already thought of that when you showed it to me. All I need is a spare key.”

“There’s one under that big rock,” Grant said pointing to a rock near the bulkhead.

“Roger that,” Chip said. He paused, realizing the implications of what they were saying. He didn’t want to dwell on it. He didn’t want to acknowledge to himself how serious this was. He wanted to think things would be OK and Grant’s cabin would just be a place to sit on the beach and drink beer, not a hideout when shit hit the fan.