299 Days: The Community

Chapter 91 Show Time (May 9)

How would they get more food? Grant woke up at 2:30 a.m. wondering that. They, the Matsons, had months of food for themselves, but that wasn’t enough. The Colsons and Morrells had a month or so of food. The Team had practically nothing. Drew had plenty of cash, but would the stores have food to buy? Would the inflated prices mean the cash would be gone quickly?

Grant laughed at himself. Before the Collapse, he would wake up in the middle of the night on occasion worrying about a work problem. Back then, he thought that if work would just go away after society imploded, he’d be set. All his work problems would go away and everything would be fine.

He realized that wasn’t true. Now he didn’t have to worry about something at work, but he had to worry about getting food for his family. Not necessarily a good trade.

Well, look at your assets, he thought. You can offer security. That’s worth something. It’s worth more now than having a lawyer argue about the meaning of words. Lisa can offer lifesaving. That’s sure worth something.

“I have a new job,” Grant whispered to himself. That was it. He had a new job. He would hopefully get paid in meals and maybe some gasoline. His wife would similarly get paid. They had emergency “savings” in the form of the food in the storage shed. Not bad.

So how would everyone else on Over Road get food? Tammy had a normal job. People needed electricity. That would be a huge priority of the government. Imagine the political problem if a government supposedly in charge couldn’t keep the lights on and the water running.

The hunting and fishing was nice, but no one really expected that to sustain the seventeen people on Over Road. Everyone in the area would have the same idea. Game would get scarce fast. That happened during the first Great Depression. Old timers told stories of squirrels getting rare. The same with fish. The days of seeing closed oyster shells with live oysters in them on the beach would soon be over. The hunting and fishing was great for a meat “anchor” one meal, like the deer steak BBQs at the Colsons. Gas was in short supply, and travel was dangerous, so people in Pierce Point couldn’t just drive a few miles to a place with no people and hunt and fish there.

The chicks and chickens were great, but they would only produce a meal or two per person each week, if that. A definite plus, but not a complete solution.

Gardening and permaculture, which was food that returns every year like apple trees, was great. It was only a supplement, though. It would take a few months for the crops planted now, in May, to mature in the late summer or fall. And, more importantly, there weren’t too many clear patches for crops. They were in a forested area that dropped into the sea. The few clear patches had houses on them or were overrun with weeds. Grant started thinking about some clear patches a few roads away. They should start a community garden on those patches. Pay the owner of those lots some rent in the form of produce. He would bring that up at the next meeting.

The stores in town. Grant kept thinking that the stores, with their virtually bare shelves, would still have to be the main food supply for most people. America wasn’t the rural, self-sufficient country it was even a few generations ago. Grant remembered hearing on the Survival Podcast that America was now a net importer of food. The country imported more food than it exported. That was unbelievable. When Grant was a kid, America fed itself and most of the rest of the world. But politicians decided it was better to give American farmers subsidies not to farm than it was to actually grow food. In the insanity of the pre-Collapse political world, that actually made sense to those in power. And the farmers, most of them working for giant agricultural corporations, didn’t mind cashing the checks. Everyone was a winner—except if the unthinkable happened and America actually had to feed itself. How is feeding oneself “unthinkable”? Besides, according to the pre-Collapse thinking, the U.S. could count on the Mexicans to send all the produce the country needed and save a dollar on each tomato. What could ever go wrong in Mexico that would cause a disruption in the United States’ cheap food supply?

Hopefully the government, as inept as it was, would figure out a way to harness the enormous potential food production America still had and get it out to the people. What an impossible task, even for competent and honest government. It would be even harder for this government. But the political pressure to feed people would be enormous. The government knew that if people were hungry and had nothing to lose, they would rise up and kill all those government people who were keeping them hungry. Feeding the people was a military necessity. Grant remembered reading Mao’s book on guerilla warfare describing food production as a military necessity.

Even if the government could pull it off, people would have much less to eat. They would have different food. No more tomatoes from Mexico for salads that people ate a bite of and then threw out. Now, a tomato a week might come from a neighbor’s garden. It would taste far better and not have who knows what sprayed on it, but it wouldn’t be as plentiful. All the junk food that sustained so many people would be gone. It cost too much to produce and required ingredients from all over the country, which couldn’t just roll down the road on semis now that gas was $15 a gallon today, and maybe $20 tomorrow?

Grant tried to go back to sleep. He started thinking about all the food his family had. All the various meal combinations they had. All the nutrition. All the vitamins he stored out there. He had done a hell of a job getting ready for this. A hell of a job.

He woke up when the sunlight came into the bedroom. He got dressed, which now included his pistol belt, and tried to get up quietly and start cooking pancakes. It was 6:30 a.m. He had some time before people started coming over.

Grant went out onto the deck and just stared at the water. It was perfectly quiet in the cabin. He thought. And thought. First he thought about the looters he had killed. He hadn’t thought about them since it happened. He wondered if there was something wrong with him for not worrying about them. He regretted having to do it, but he kept coming to the conclusion that he did the right thing. They were trying to kill him and Ron, and eventually others in the neighborhood. He hoped that he remained at peace about killing them. He didn’t want to have nightmares.

Then Grant thought about all the “coincidences” that led them all there. All the people he knew and trusted who had come together. All the skills they had out there. All the supplies and gear they had. Grant talked to God. He thanked Him. The conversation was private. Grant never talked about these things with anyone.

Drew and Eileen started to stir. The kids would be up soon. Chip came over with a cup of coffee.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he said. “This old man is looking forward to an audition this morning.”

“So is this slightly less old man,” Grant said.

Grant started making pancakes. People were trickling in. It was a happy scene.

They talked about the news. No one had been terribly interested in it lately, so they didn’t think about it, although, some things were happening of interest. Tammy said that some Feds had come to the power company and told them that the utility would be staying operational, no matter what. The power company had first dibs on supplies like parts for the equipment and gasoline. In fact, Tammy was happy to report, employees of the utility like her would get free gas from the company’s big gas tanks they had for the equipment trucks. The Feds said that “critical workers” like the power company people had to get to work so they would get all the gas they needed. The power company wouldn’t be using the gas to go out and read meters or clear brush around the lines anymore. They would just concentrate on keeping things running. The Feds told them not to even bill people for power anymore. No one could pay and it would be a waste of time to try to collect. The Feds explained that the government would be taking over the utilities and giving away power, water, and in some places, sewer and internet. Tammy, who was smart, concluded that in exchange for the Feds getting to own and control everything, people would get “free” necessities like utilities and, the Feds hinted, basic food once they got that production on line. She said food would be distributed by using something called “FCards.”

The “free” utilities, some basic amount of food, and a military (what was left of them) was all people would get out of the federal government. All the parks, NASA, historic preservation, and studies about the mating habits of blue winged pecker snapples would be gone. So would Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, and welfare. No one really was surprised at this forced paring back of the federal government. The budget cuts leading up to the Collapse made it clear that those things would be gone soon. They were gone, gone, gone now.

“They say this whole thing is temporary,” Tammy said softly and sadly.

“Yeah, right,” Manda said as she laughed. Everyone was thinking the same thing, but didn’t want to say it. Leave it to a sixteen year-old to just say it.

“Oh, one more thing,” Tammy said. “They said this situation is called the ‘Crisis.’ They said the terrorists are calling it the ‘Collapse.’”

“Then I’ll call it the ‘Collapse,’” Grant said. “That’s what it is. A ‘Crisis’ is just an excuse to give more power to the government. They created this mess and now they want...” He could feel a political rant coming on, so he stopped. This kind of politics was irrelevant now.

Paul chimed in. “I’ve been watching the news and it really seems like things are mellowing out a bit. Most people are staying in their homes. Lots of ‘neighbor helping neighbor’ stories. I’m not sure I believe everything I see on TV, but it doesn’t seem like a zombie apocalypse.”

“True,” Grant said. Paul was right: it was not a complete and total collapse. Grant realized that it seemed like more of a collapse to them, out there in Pierce Point harboring a POI fugitive and taking matters like getting food into their own hands. But, for most grasshoppers just sitting in their homes and watching TV, it was not a big deal. Yet.

Grant decided to be positive. No reason to shatter the hopes of Lisa and others. So Grant said, “Let’s hope this is just a temporary ‘Crisis.’ But we need to be prepared for anything. In fact, we have a meeting with Rich now. Mark and John, I’d like you guys to come because Rich knows you.”

Mark volunteered to drive. He loved hanging out with these guys. “I’ll get my stuff and get the truck started,” he said.

Pow said, “OK, gentlemen. Full kit and ARs and meet back at the yellow cabin.” “Kit” was a tactical vest with magazine pouches full of loaded magazines. For the most part, the Team had kit made by Tactical Tailor, which was located near Ft. Lewis. All the guys, except Chip, had tactical vests. Grant went into the master bedroom and got his kit out of the suit bag holding it. Lisa thought he looked weird in it, but it was seeming more and more normal.

Pow had a tactical vest with body armor plate inserts. They were the level IIIA ones that could stop an AK-47 round at point blank range. Pow was the only one with body armor. That had been on everyone’s list of things to get as the Collapse was nearing and they knew they’d need advanced gear like that. Body armor was totally legal to buy, except for felons. But it was expensive. Scotty had spent his money on radios and first aid equipment. Wes and Bobby got lots of ammo. Grant had the cabin. So Pow got the one set of body armor. “There has to be a door kicker,” he said. The door kicker should have body armor.

The pouches on the tactical vests varied based on personal preferences. But, each one held six AR magazines, each of which held thirty rounds. The tac vests also held varying number of pistol magazines. Each had a Camelbak water bladder with about three liters of water. A vital, and often overlooked item, was a drop pouch. It was a nylon pouch that opened up and held empty magazines. That way, they didn’t drop valuable empty magazines on the ground; they had a place for them in the drop pouch. Other items included flashlights and extra batteries, both for the flashlights and for the Aimpoint or EO Tech red-dot sights.

Rounding out the standard equipment was a Zero Tolerance folding knife and a Surefire weapon light mounted on every AR. It was a high-output flashlight mounted with a LaRue Tactical mount on the left side of the hand guard that allowed the Team to put a 110-lumen beam of light on whatever they were pointing their AR at. Each member of the team had a molded Raven Concealment holster for his pistol.

The knife, Surefire weapons light, and Raven Concealment holster were a “membership card.” Each member of the Team had them. It was a way to signify who was in the “club.” The Team never intended to have standardized gear to set themselves apart. It was just how things evolved: someone would get a good piece of gear, like a Zero Tolerance knife, and then everyone else would get one. Pretty soon it was a “membership card.”

The Team assembled at the yellow cabin. Dang, they looked impressive. ARs and kit. No one was in jeans. All 5.11s or, in Chip’s case, Carhartt pants. No one looked “mall ninja”; they looked like military contractors.

“Armed serenity” was what Grant called this feeling. He got that term from nutnfancy’s YouTube videos. It described when you’re out with your guys, armed to the teeth, and doing what you love. You’re calm and confident and know that what you’re doing is important. Armed serenity. That term was perfect for this moment—and for hundreds of other moments for the Team out there at Pierce Point.

Grant looked at his guys in their kit. They were bad ass, but clean cut. Exactly the two things Grant wanted to convey to Rich and the rest of the community. Effective, but controllable. That was the message Grant wanted to give to the Pierce Point people: the Team was effective, but not radical.

“Let’s go show them duck hunters how we do it,” Pow said when they were leaving the yellow cabin and heading to Mark’s truck.

Grant had to stop that.

“Hey, man,” Grant said, “I get the ‘duck hunter’ thing and totally agree,” Grant said in a rare public rebuke of Pow. “But the locals can’t hear us talking like that. This is their playground. We’re the guests. I don’t want the duck hunters jealous of us or thinking we’re mall ninjas. We need them as much, or more, than they need us. So you guys need to do what you did last night at the Grange, which was perfect. Lots of ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ and ‘how can we help.’ Does that make sense?”

Grant knew that the local boys and girls had skills and were a huge asset. “Many of those duck hunters,” Grant said, “are bad asses in their own way. They know this area like the back of their hands. They’ve been shooting since they were little kids. They have used the same rifle or shotgun for years and know it well. They can stay out in the cold and rain for hours waiting for something to move and then take it with one shot. That will make them great guards.”

The guys didn’t appear convinced. Grant continued, “So while we’re way better at many things, I don’t want you guys to write off the duck hunters. When you’re hungry and there’s duck for dinner, you’ll appreciate the duck hunters.”

The Team smiled. They got it. They could be very good at what they do, they just didn’t need to be dicks about it. Appreciate the help their hosts were providing. After all, the Team was out there to help people and not insult them.

Pow realized that Grant was right. The Team was…a team, and all suggestions were welcomed. Besides, Grant was kind of in charge out there. It was his place. He and his neighbors were feeding them.

Pow said with a smile, “No problem, brother. We’ll low-key it and then go do our thing. Frickin’ well, I might add.”

Grant smiled. Thank God the Team had been together for so long and knew and trusted each other so much. Grant couldn’t imagine a pick-up team of a some guys who just met trying to pull all this off. It took a seasoned team.

Grant knew how to motivate and manage an elite group. He did it with Squadron 3 back in Civil Air Patrol. Motivate the guys so they retain their swagger and want to stay part of the elite group, but at the same time, don’t alienate the regular units and make them jealous. Respect the regular units because they’re much better than the elite guys think.

Grant realized that the Team was Squadron 3 all over again. He had one of those funny feelings where he realized that all those seeming random life experiences he’d had, like Squadron 3, were actually forerunners for things he’d need to do now when it really mattered. Another “coincidence.”

“Oh, hell yeah we’ll do it well,” Grant said, returning to the present moment. Grant looked around to see if Mark or any of the other locals were around. They weren’t. Grant said, “Let’s go show these duck hunters how we do it.” That fired everyone up. Which is exactly what Grant intended.

As they were walking to Mark’s truck, Wes said, “We need to live here, too. I’d much rather get along with everyone.” Wes had been looking for a place to fit in. That place hadn’t been his dad’s house. It hadn’t been all the different high schools. It hadn’t been his job with all those near strangers. It was the Team, and now it was Pierce Point.

Chip said with a smile, “Hey, I’m Uncle Chip out here. They love me. I can fit in with duck hunters just fine.”

Pow, who was a leader of this group, too, realized that he needed to have a role in this. He pointed to everyone and said, “We’re cool with the duck hunters, right?”

Everyone nodded.

“OK, let’s go. Show time,” Pow said with a giant grin.

They piled in Mark’s truck. Manda and Cole waved. Lisa had gone inside. She didn’t like to see Grant with all those guns. It reminded her that he had killed some people and he would be in danger. But she couldn’t stop him. She would if she could figure out a way, but she knew the “gun things” needed to be done. At least for a little while until everything got back to normal.

They went past the guard shack. Paul and Mary Anne were there, rifles in hand. They waved, and Mary Anne snapped a picture.

As they went down the road, Grant felt so alive. There was something exhilarating about riding in the back of a truck with extremely well-armed friends. It never got old. He had done it with the Team when they would drive down range to set up the steel targets that were too heavy to carry. He loved the truck rides with the guys. When Grant would see pictures on TV of military contractors riding together in pickups in Iraq or Afghanistan, or even the Somali men in their trucks, he understood the bond they had. He understood it. And he loved it.

A little way past Over Road, they saw their first residents. They were an older man and woman out walking, holding hands. Their jaws dropped when they saw the truckload of well-armed men. Each of the Team said, “Morning sir” or “Morning ma’am” and tipped their hats, which were the tan baseball caps with a Velcro patch on the front with an American flag. Any resident seeing this would be relieved to have these guys in their neighborhood.

Once they passed the couple, Grant said to them, “That’s exactly how to do it, gentlemen. Those people will go back and tell their neighbors that there is a team of nice SWAT guys here to help. Exactly what we need. Thanks.”

Grant hoped he wasn’t obsessing over this political stuff, but first impressions were everything. And they were dead if the Pierce Point people turned on them. The Team and Grant’s family would need support from the Pierce Point people. There was no way they’d make it through this without help from the community.

Grant decided to have some fun with this, and make a point at the same time. “You know, guys, the more buzz there is about the nice men in the truck, the more the chicks here will want to meet you.” Smiles all around. Chicks had been motivating young men for several thousand years. “Even for you, Chip,” Grant said. Everyone laughed, especially Chip.

As they went past the houses on the road to the Grange, Mark drove slowly. He figured the residents should get a good look at them. Mark loved being a part of this, even if he was only the driver. The guys waved and smiled at everyone. They tipped their hats and said, “Good morning.” They felt like heroes. All this training and expense was paying off. This is what they were supposed to be doing in a disaster like this. It’s what sheepdogs lived for.

They pulled into the Grange. There were several trucks there. The Team jumped out of the bed of the truck while keeping control of the ARs on their slings. They had done this plenty of times before. They’d never shot at anyone or been shot at, but they had the rest of this down. The locals looked at them in shock. Who were these guys? Were they here to help?

Mark was the guide. He was the connection with the locals. He looked for Rich. Rich was in the Grange with a clipboard. Ryan, the Marine, and Dan, the Air Force dog handler, were standing there talking to him.

“Hey, Rich, my guys are here,” Mark said. He loved calling the Team “my guys.”

Rich smiled as the Team walked in. They looked like the Sheriff’s SWAT team Rich had been on briefly, except that they didn’t have matching clothes. They also looked like they would follow orders. Perfect. Rich already knew that these guys would have door-busting duties, with some guidance and additional training from him.

“Great,” Rich said. “Thanks for coming by this morning.” He knew these guys, especially the young ones, were itching to come by and show their stuff so “thanks for coming by” was a little joke. “I’d like each one of you to tell me about yourself.”

Grant needed to start things off. This was a signal to Rich that Grant was the overall leader.

Grant said, “Sure. But first, I want to make an important point.” Grant looked Rich right in the eye and said, “None of us are prior military or law enforcement. We taught ourselves some things. We got to use the law enforcement range in Olympia. We had some military and other people train us informally. I think we’re really good, but we’ve been practicing on steel targets that don’t shoot back. I know it’s unusual for civilians like us to train themselves, but we did. We’re at the service of the community.”

Rich nodded slowly. So did Ryan and Dan. They were encouraged by the apparent luck of this, but they wanted to see if these guys were for real or just mall ninjas.

Grant pointed to Wes, who was next to Rich, and said, “Introduce yourselves.”

Each guy gave his name, where he used to live, what he used to do, and how long they had trained with the Team. The last guy to introduce himself was Pow.

“Pow,” he said. “That’s what everyone calls me.” He paused, not sure if he wanted to say the next thing. “I used to sell insurance.” Rich, Ryan, and Dan laughed. Pow laughed, too. It was totally at odds with the gun fighter standing before them.

“Hey,” Pow said, “there’s lots of crazy shit going on now. An ex-insurance salesman turned gunfighter is just one of them.”

Grant pointed to his AR. “We have standardized equipment, pretty much. All of us run ARs and most of us have AKs and tactical shotguns if we need them. Pow has a sweet bolt gun.” Grant was referring to Pow’s sniper rifle in .308. Pow could hit six-inch targets at 600 yards with that thing.

“We all run Glocks,” Grant continued. “I am the freak of the group in .40; everyone else is in 9mm. We have at least 10 magazines for every weapon. We have enough ammunition out here for…a while.” Grant didn’t want to describe all the valuables they had for someone to steal. But if he couldn’t trust Rich and the others, who could he trust? Chip looked at Grant. Of course the basement full of ARs and ammo would not be mentioned.

Rich smiled. “You guys know that, as of yesterday, all these guns are illegal.” The guys shrugged. “Yep,” Rich said. “Governor signed an executive order. For real.”

Rich smiled, “But I’m happy as hell that you have them and I’m no longer a police officer, so I don’t give a shit about any of that. Especially unconstitutional executive orders. Let what’s left of the police come and try to get them.”

Ryan whispered something to Rich. “Can we do a little marksmanship test with you guys?” Rich asked.

“Sure,” Pow said. Rich motioned for them to follow him. They went out the back door of the Grange. There were no houses around the Grange and there was a hay bale with a paper plate set up about twenty-five yards away.

“The residents know we’ll be shooting?” Grant asked. “I don’t want them to think there’s trouble and come streaming out to shoot us.”

Dang. This guy thinks of everything, Dan thought. “No problem,” Dan said. “We told them to expect some training fire. But that’s a good thought.”

“OK, how about five from each of you,” Rich said.

Bobby was closest to Rich, so he would go first. He yelled, out of habit, “The range is hot!” meaning they would be shooting live rounds. He effortlessly swung his AR up, clicked off the safety, and put five rapid-fire rounds right into the center of the paper plate. After firing he did a “search and assess,” where he kept looking through his sight and scanning the area around the target for additional threats, just like they had trained. After a few scans, he lowered his rifle and clicked the safety back on. Smooth as silk.

Each of the guys did the same until that paper plate was shot out in the middle. There were three holes a couple inches from the edge of the plate. Almost all holes were in the very middle.

Rich, Ryan, and Dan were impressed. Not in awe; they could shoot the same, but impressed that insurance salesmen, hospital techs, equipment rental guys, and especially a lawyer could do this kind of shooting.

Dan got another paper plate and, after making sure no one was still about to shoot, called out “range is cold” and went to the hay bale to change plates. As he was doing that, Ryan said, “It’s pistol time.”

They moved up to about ten yards in front of the hay bale and did the same thing. Every shot hit the paper plate. They shot their pistols with their ARs on their slings. They looked effortless when shooting and moving. It was obvious they had done this hundreds of times.

Dan said, “Show me dry how you transition from primary to secondary.” “Dry” meant no round in the chamber. This would be a test to see how they transitioned from the primary weapon, the AR, to the second, the pistol, in the event the AR ran out of ammo or jammed. Each of the guys made sure their weapons were pointed in a safe direction, removed the magazines, ejected the live round, and reinserted the magazines. They did a press check to ensure that there was no round in the chamber and put the safeties on the ARs (the Glocks didn’t have a manual safety). This test was as much about safe weapons handling as it was about marksmanship.

Each guy did a perfect or near perfect transition, letting the AR fall to his side while suspended on the sling and then drawing his pistol. It was obvious that they knew what they were doing.

Ryan dragged his heel in the gravel to make a line. “This is a door. Show me an entry.” Marines did a lot of urban training and clearing a room was a basic component of that.

Wes and Bobby were standing closest to Ryan, so they teamed up. They demonstrated a two-man stack and how to clear a room. When they wanted to come out of the room, they yelled, “Exiting!” Grant yelled back “Exit!” This was the command to prevent guys exiting the room from walking out of a room only to be shot by another team member. Their technique wasn’t perfect, but it was impressive.

“Where did you guys learn this?” Rich asked. He couldn’t believe they didn’t have any training on this.

Grant said, “We hung out at Chip’s gun store with a Special Forces guy named Ted. He came out to the range and taught us all kinds of shit.” Grant couldn’t help grinning. He was proud.

Rich, Ryan, and Dan were silent. They felt very lucky that these guys just happened to be living in the neighborhood. Rich wanted to see if he could get even luckier.

“So where is Ted?” Rich asked.

Grant was about to answer. Chip shot him a weird look. Grant paused.

Chip said, “He’s in Texas. That’s where he said he’d be going.” This was news to Grant and the Team. Chip had never mentioned this. Grant could tell this was something Chip didn’t want to discuss.

Dan asked, “Have you guys ever been shot at?”

They all shook their heads. Grant raised his hand. Oh crap. That was stupid—telling people about the shooting—but he’d already raised his hand. Might was well follow through.

“I had to defend myself and a neighbor a few days ago back in Olympia,” Grant said. “A group of about a dozen armed young punks were charging my friend, Ron, who was guarding the entrance to the neighborhood. I drove my car at them, got out, used the car for cover, and…I used my pistol. Three confirmed dead, not sure how many wounded. I didn’t enjoy it. Ron was pretty happy about it, though,” Grant tried to smile but he couldn’t. This wasn’t a joking matter.

Grant collected his thoughts. “I credit my training with these guys for getting me out of the situation. I knew exactly what I needed to do. I wasn’t afraid of gunshots because I’m around them every other Sunday afternoon with these guys. I was shooting at steel targets that night. They just happened to be people.”

Rich and Ryan had shot people. They knew what it was like. Even the most justified shooting wasn’t pleasant.

“Sorry, man, I’ve been there,” Rich said.

“Me, too,” said Ryan.

“Well, it’s over,” Grant said. “I don’t want to do that again, but I sure as hell will if more bad guys charge me and my guys. They had guns and clubs.” Grant shrugged as if to say, “What else can you do?”

Dan came over to whisper to Rich and Ryan. They nodded.

Rich said, “We think we have a role for you guys. I’ll want to see more of you and, quite honestly, get to know you. So you’re officially probationary. But I’m thinking of using you guys for SWAT, if necessary. Entries, that kind of thing. Would that be OK with you guys?”

“OK? Hell yeah!” Pow said, a little too excited. The other guys were elated. Mark was beaming at “his guys.”

Chip wasn’t smiling. “Thanks, Rich, that’s very kind of you, but I’m too damned old for this. I’m…well, I’m in my sixties. I’m in decent shape for an old man,” he said with a smile, “but my door-bustin’ days are over. I can patrol and train others, but I don’t want to slow these guys down.” No one disagreed. They all thought Chip was great, but if a guy thinks he’ll slow the team down, that needs to be taken seriously.

Grant, who was in his forties, wasn’t so sure about busting down doors, either. He’d have to think about it. But, man, he really wanted to do it. If there were bad guys threatening his people and he had a chance to stop it, he would. It was fighting bullies, something he’d been doing all his life. Plus, there was a little pride, perhaps even a little midlife crisis. He wanted to show everyone that a forty-something lawyer could take down bad guys like a twenty-something could. That kind of thinking would probably get him killed, but he was thinking it.

Pow said to Chip, “Well, you can do security onsite during an entry, at least. Make sure those bastards don’t run away from us. We need a guy we can trust out there for that.”

Chip couldn’t resist. “OK, maybe that kind of thing, but I’m not the first in the stack.”

Dan said, “We’ll have tons of uses for you, Chip. You worked in a gun store, huh? You know gunsmithing?”

Chip smiled, “A little. Do you need an armorer?” That was the military and law enforcement term for the person who maintained and repaired a unit’s firearms.

Dan nodded.

“OK, I’m your armorer,” Chip said.

Rich said, “I gotta be honest. There’s another role for you guys,” he motioned to Chip, “all of you guys.”

Rich pointed out toward the surrounding houses. “I want the residents to feel safe. You guys look like you know what you’re doing. Those ARs look pretty badass out here. I’d like to have you on patrol to let the residents know that they have some guys like you on their side. I want the shitbags or potential shitbags in Pierce Point to know that we’ve got some contractor-lookin’ men out here.”

The guys on the Team were loving this. Rich continued, “See, there are two threats here we need to deal with. The first is from outsiders trying to get in. Dan has the gate organized tight and those dogs will keep the gate sealed. The beach patrol will be good for keeping the beaches secure. But the second threat, and maybe the bigger one, is from our own people. The petty criminals out here, and maybe the masses once food gets tight.”

Rich looked at the guys and asked, “How would you feel about patrolling, interacting with the residents, and then being on call for SWAT duties?”

“Yes, yes, and yes,” Scotty said with a huge grin.

Dan said, “We’ll be working with you, accompanying you, and watching you. We have a lot of experience to show you guys. Let me be honest. If you guys suck, or are cowboys or treat the residents with any disrespect, you’re on guard duty at the gate. Or worse.”

They all nodded. They were being entrusted with a lot of responsibility. They felt honored and determined to do the best job possible to keep their jobs.

Rich was standing next to Grant. Grant pulled Rich over to him and whispered, “Are you giving us this role because we’re good or because we’re all you got?”

Rich smiled and whispered back, “Both.”