299 Days: The Stronghold

Chapter 129 Granny on Guard (May 13)

Guard duty was one of the things that was very different for the families on Prosser Road. They never had a need for a guard at the gate to Prosser Road before, but now they did, even though they didn’t have a lot of people out there. A few of them were Jeff Prosser’s older aunts and uncles so they weren’t much help on guard duty. Besides Jeff and the WAB guests—Tom, Ben, and Brian—the only other two guard candidates were Dennis, who was in his mid-thirties, and “Granny” as they called her. She was Jeff’s great aunt; in her sixties, but in good shape. She spent her whole life on the farm and could handle a few hours of sitting by the gate with a shotgun, especially if it wasn’t raining.

Besides, no one came to the gate on Prosser Road. They were way out in the sticks, several turns off the main road. People had to know where they were going to get there. Granny often took a guard shift in the morning. She liked it. She was outside where it was quiet. One of the guys would take the afternoon guard duty and then two more would split night guard duty. The WAB guests knew enough about guns to at least get a warning shot off to alert the others. Each home was like a fortress. It wasn’t exactly a “tactical” defense plan but, given that no one ever came out there, it was good enough. Probably.

As Granny was out watching some deer grazing across the road around 10 in the morning, she thought she heard the sound of a car. She did. A Prius, in fact. Coming down the road and slowing down at the Prosser Road gate. It had government license plates.

She picked up her shotgun, but held it to her side so the occupants of the car couldn’t see she had it. She hoped the car would drive past. Instead, it slowed down and stopped about fifty yards from the gate. Granny and the car just stared at each other for a while. She wanted to wave them in and chat with the visitors, which was her impulse. But, not in these times. Who knew who was in that government-looking Prius and what they wanted. Granny knew what they wanted. She was scared. Really scared.

Finally, the doors of the Prius opened up and two men came out. They were wearing pistol belts with guns and had their hands to their sides. They had hard hats. Granny recognized those hard hats from TV. They were the Freedom Corps.

The FC men were fat. They looked like they hadn’t been out of their cubicles in months. They seemed out of place with those helmets and pistol belts. They looked angry and uncomfortable.

The FC men started walking toward her. She had a little walkie talkie, but it was on the bench a few feet away. She didn’t want to look suspicious by talking on the radio. That was a tough decision: alert Jeff on the radio or just try to talk her way out of this? Her instinct was to not look suspicious. They were probably just lost.

When the men were about twenty yards away, one of them yelled—they were close enough that they didn’t need to yell—“Are you armed?” That frightened Granny. She nodded and turned so they could see her shotgun up against her side.

The FC drew their pistols and screamed at her, “Drop it! Drop it old lady or you’re dead! Drop it now, bitch!” The FC men had received a few hours of training about how most people out in the rural areas were teabaggers and probably a threat. Intimidate them, they had learned in training.

Granny was terrified. She dropped the shotgun. She put her hands up. These men were scaring her.

One of the men, the passenger, pointed his gun right at her and slowly walked forward. When he got to the gate, he grabbed the shotgun on the ground and took it. He walked back to the Prius and threw it in trunk.

“What’s your name?” the driver asked while the other one was taking the shotgun.

“Beatrice Prosser,” Granny said.

“Who lives on this road?” The other one screamed with his gun still pointed at her head.

Granny named off all the families.

“Do you know a Tom Foster from Olympia?” one of them screamed. There was really no need for the screaming, she thought.

“Who?” Granny asked. “Foster? I don’t know any Fosters and I know everyone around here. Are you sure you have the right address?” She was pulling this off pretty well, she thought. She was the most scared she’d been in her life.

The suggestion that they were lost only made the driver mad. “Shut up,” he said. “We’re not lost. We’re looking for someone. He’s a terrorist. Tom Foster of the Washington Association of Business. Do you know him or have you seen him?”

“No,” Granny said meekly. She started to cry. It was genuine. She was terrified.

It was silent for a while. The FC were deciding what to do. They would search the houses on that road. They had received a report that a few days ago that Tom Foster’s cell phone had been used in the farmhouse on the hill there. It turns out it was Derek Foster trying to call his girlfriend on his dad’s cell phone.

“Who lives there?” the FC passenger said, pointing to the house.

“Jeff and Molly Prosser,” Granny said. “Why? Have they done something illegal? They’re good people, they…”

“Shut up old lady,” said the driver. “Shut up, OK? We have to think, here.”

“OK,” Granny said. She had never been treated this way, let alone had a gun pointed at her. She was so scared. She started to shake.

The FC talked to each other and then the driver said, in a civil tone this time, “Open the gate.”

Granny went to the padlock and put in the correct combination. She wished she had radioed Jeff. Oh, God, would she be the reason they all got killed? She felt like she’d made a horrible mistake.

The lock opened and she opened the gate, and she stood there while the FC men were heading back to their car. She thought of the WAB kids. They were so sweet and innocent. They needed their parents.

That’s when Granny made a decision.