299 Days: The Stronghold (27 page)

So Rich added, “John, I’m really proud of how the troops out at Pierce Point are conducting themselves. They listen to me. For example, I told them that we need to trade some guns for medical supplies with you guys in town and they were all for it.” Rich winked at Bennington said, “It’s kinda cool to be in command of all these guys.”

Rich decided to emphasize this next point so he looked Bennington right in the eye and said, “We’ll just do our own thing out there until this calms down. You won’t have any trouble from us.”

Bennington nodded. That’s what he wanted to know. He wasn’t sure he believed Rich, but at least he could report this back to Commissioner Winters.

Rich could tell Bennington was mentally preparing bullet points for his intel report to Commissioner Winters. Fifty fully equipped Marines, a dozen contractors, and lots of well-armed vets and hunters, but no treasure trove of extra ARs. Controllable troops under the leadership of someone they knew, like Rich. Pierce Point was pretty much self-sufficient, wanted to be left alone, and had plenty of force to repel a raid. That was the perfect impression to leave with Bennington.

Now that Rich had delivered his end of the bargain, it was time for Bennington to deliver on his end. Rich said to Bennington, “So, just to be clear, I have safe passage into and around town now, right?”

Bennington nodded. He really hated acknowledging the bribe, but it was how things were. “Yes. I’ve briefed my people that you and the people with you have safe passage when you come to town. That’s what one of the ARs was for. You’re Rich, the ex-cop, so people know you and recognize you. I’ll be with you this morning and make introductions. They will give you a safe-passage ID.”

“I won’t always be making the runs,” Rich said. “I’m running Pierce Point. Can my ID be transferrable to others?”

“Sure,” Bennington said. “The IDs are a piece of cloth in a particular pattern that can’t be duplicated. So the holder of the cloth has safe passage.”

“Can I start getting my people into town and registering for FCards?” Rich asked.

“Sure,” Bennington said. “Commissioner Winters encourages it.”

Rich was still amazed that there was at least some food in the stores. After the first two weeks with bare shelves, he assumed there would never be any again. It was a logical assumption.

But, somehow the government managed to get a trickle of food out to the stores. Forcibly taking over the trucking system and all the diesel fuel was what it took. And, as inept as they were, once the United States government decided to do one thing, they had enormous resources to pull it off.

The government learned some lessons from the Mexican refugee crisis. It no longer worried about environmental approvals; it just took food and shipped it. The trickle of food to the rural areas started to pick up. It would never be like before the Collapse, but it picked up. It was a “pretty much enough” level.

Rich knew that the FCards were just a supplement—a pretty big supplement—to the food that they were getting on their own out at Pierce Point via stored food, hunting and fishing, and gardening. So, Pierce Point wouldn’t be dependent on the FCards like the people in the cities, but the FCards would help.

Rich was a Patriot and despised the FCard system, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t use it to feed his people. As long as they weren’t dependent on the FCards, they were fine. That’s what it was all about: dependence. If you’re not dependent, you don’t have to do the other things the government wanted in return.

Rich realized that he couldn’t have all his residents come into town to register for FCards. They would be asked about the fifty Marines and say, “What Marines?” He needed to have only a small group of trusted people who knew the story to go into town.

“Hey, John,” Rich said to Bennington, “I can’t be hauling hundreds of people into town to register for FCards. I don’t have the gas to bring all of them in. And they’re doing work like gardening and hunting. The logistics of getting everyone organized and into town is too much for us. Could we…”

Bennington knew what he was going to ask and interrupted him with the answer. “Yep, we can give you applications to take back. Just bring them back. We don’t need to see the people applying,” Bennington said. There were a couple reasons for this.

First, the government didn’t have the resources to process all these in person. They just issued “basic” cards when they didn’t know the person. That is, a normal person got the basic card which had a smaller amount on it. People who were “critical,” which meant politically connected, got increased amounts which took more processing. Commissioner Winters’ people would just take all the applications and give out generic basic FCards. They weren’t tied to a particular person. They were like a $1,000 dollar bill: each person got one. Simple to administer.

Second, there was quickly massive corruption in the FCard program. Winters was creating false applications and selling those extra FCards, so the whole thing was riddled with imprecision, and that’s how Winters liked it. It would be no big deal to send hundreds of applications home with Rich and give him hundreds of basic FCards. Who cares if the people really existed or if they qualified. It was like voter registration in the run up to the Collapse. The more the merrier, and no one really knew who signed up. And no one had an incentive to care.

Rich was surprised that getting FCards was this easy. What a scam. FCards would be a huge boost to their food situation, he thought. They could have a daily run into town and get things. Not too much stuff, and not enough to live on, but some.

The FCard discussion brought up the topic of paying for things. Bennington paused. He really hated saying these things, but he had to.

“When you want to buy things that aren’t in the grocery store you make deals with me on those. I tell you the prices. You can get me on CB channel 9 and then we’ll switch over to channel 34,” he picked that number because that’s how old he was, “and I take your order, tell you if we have it, and we agree on a price. You come here to this gas station and we do the deal like we are now.”

“Besides guns and ammo,” Rich said, “what else works to buy things?” Rich asked.

“Gold and silver,” Bennington said. “Some people still take cash, but the amounts are so high it’s kind of impractical. Things like tools and machinery are valuable. You can let me know what you guys have to sell and we can get you FCards or whatever for them.”

“What about gas?” Rich asked.

“To buy or to sell?” Bennington asked.

“To buy,” Rich said.

“We have the only operating gas stations around here. You can buy gas with FCards or other things. But,” Bennington said very seriously, “we control the gas, alright? You don’t buy from anyone else.”

“OK,” Rich said. Message received.

“So what else works for payment of things we need,” Rich asked.

“.22 ammo, especially for small things,” Bennington said. “A box of fifty rounds is like change: fifty little pieces almost like pennies.” That made sense. Rich noticed that .22 rifles and pistols were coming out of the woodwork. Everyone seemed to have one that had been in an attic somewhere.

“Of course, booze and cigarettes,” Bennington continued. “We sell those, but you can also use them to buy other things.”

Bennington paused. He was embarrassed about the next part. “Drugs and young ladies. That works, too. Buy or sell.” Rich knew how hard the “young ladies” thing was on Bennington, who had always been a decent guy.

This was no time for loose ends, so Rich thought he’d clarify one more point. So he looked at Bennington in the eye and said, “Along with safe passage comes being left alone. I mean, Pierce Point won’t be causing Commissioner Winters any trouble. We don’t give a shit about politics. Patriot, Loyalist, whatever. We don’t care. We just want to get through this.” While it was true that they wanted to get through this; the part about not caring about Patriots was basically a lie, but Rich needed Bennington to report back that Pierce Point didn’t care about politics.

“And,” Rich said, “We don’t need anything from the government, really. So we’re not a drain on your resources. We’ll be our own little kingdom and come into town to trade. We want to be left alone. We have some assets that make any unwelcome visit a suicide mission. Understand?”

“Understood,” Bennington said. “I understood perfectly the other day when I saw that gate and all your guys. And those dogs. And now Marines and contractors. Oh, I’ll put out the word that you don’t fuck with Pierce Point,” Bennington said with a smile. The first one he’d cracked all morning.

That got Bennington thinking. Maybe Pierce Point would be a good ally in what he was considering doing.

Chapter 134

Like a Drug Deal

(May 14)

Pow and Ryan heard Bennington’s trunk door close and knew it was time to go. They did a final scan of the area and looked at Rich for a signal. Rich waved for them to get back in the truck. They did.

Cindy was glad this part of the trip had gone off without a hitch. Rich got back in his truck and said, “Time to go get some medical supplies.”

Rich followed Bennington’s police car. Pow and Ryan didn’t say anything in the back. They were busy scanning for threats. This was not the time for chatting. For all they knew, Bennington was stealing the ARs and driving them into an ambush to dispose of the witnesses.

There were almost no other cars on the road; they only saw one that morning. It was weird driving this formerly busy road now that they were basically the only ones on it.

It was dangerous to be on the roads. The police—what were left of them—and deputized civilians patrolled near the outskirts of town. Outside of town, which would include the route from Pierce Point to Frederickson, there were rumors of private roadblocks run by various local gangs. They would take whatever someone had. Except for government vehicles, which tended to be well guarded. Tammy, who still went to work every day toward town to her job at the electric company, had never reported any problems. The private roadblocks may have just been rumors or exaggerations of occasional incidents.

Rumors were running rampant during the Collapse. It seemed like people with time on their hands, because they didn’t have normal jobs to go to, just sat around and said to each other, “Well, I heard…” People loved to outdo each other by telling an even greater tale of how bad things were. Rich had learned that things were rarely as bad as the rumors said they were.

They started coming to the city limit and slowed down. Bennington pulled his car into the roadblock area which was manned by one other police car and about ten armed volunteers with blue ribbons tied around their left arms—the “Blue Ribbon Boys,” as they were known. They looked like decent guards, mostly young guys in hunting clothes. A lot like the Pierce Point guards, although Pierce Point had a greater variety of ages and some women. Three FC with the stupid hard hats were with the Blue Ribbon Boys at the city-limits roadblock. They had an RV there, which seemed to be the headquarters.

The guards were particularly interested in the two extremely well-armed men in the back of Rich’s truck. They were signaling to hidden people apparently on the sides of road out from the roadblock. They must have snipers in the tree line. Pow and Ryan had the distinct feeling they were being viewed through rifle scopes.

Ryan said to Pow, “Follow my lead. I’ve been through lots of checkpoints before.” Ryan put his right hand out to his side to show anyone looking through a rifle scope that he was not going to fire. With his left hand, he slowly cinched his AR sling so his carbine was tight against his chest and wouldn’t move around. This allowed him to have his hands free. Then he moved his left hand out to his side so now both hands were out as if to signal, “Yeah, we know your snipers have us scoped and we’re not going to do anything stupid.” But he could instantly pull on a separate flap on his SKT sling—the kind the Team all used—and his AR would be loosened and ready to bring up and fire. When Ryan was done and had his hands out, he said to Pow, “Now you do the same. Slowly.” Pow did.

Bennington got out and motioned for Rich and his passengers to stay in their truck. Bennington talked to his fellow cop at the roadblock. The FC came over and Bennington started to explain something to them. Then he came over to Rich’s side of the truck and said, “You need to get out and get your ID. The rest of you should stay in the truck.” Bennington looked at Pow and Ryan as if to say, “You jump out of this truck and you’ll be dead.”

Bennington walked to the back of the truck and told Pow and Ryan to stay put. They nodded. Their hands were still at their sides. They looked professional, like they’d been through roadblocks before.

Pow, who did not suffer from a lack of self-esteem when it came to his tactical abilities, was glad to have a combat Marine like Ryan on the Team. He realized he had plenty to learn from Ryan and others. Pow had never mistaken himself for a professional, he just played the part very well, which was important out there. Appearing to be a trained fighter could save his life and the lives of others.

Pow loved every minute of this. Even though he was literally in the crosshairs of a sniper, he thoroughly enjoyed sitting in the back of the truck with Ryan, armed to the teeth and out there helping people like Cindy and the people who needed the medical supplies. It took a different kind of person to enjoy this. And Pow, Ryan, and the rest of the Team were that kind of person. They were great people to have on your side.

The Blue Ribbon Boys and the FC did not appear to be loving this. It was another morning of work for them. They’d been standing there, bored out of their minds, for hours. They were just doing this for the FCards and their cut of the loot that came through.

It wasn’t clear what motivated the FC to be doing this. Maybe they genuinely wanted to save the town from Patriot “terrorists.” Whatever good Samaritan impulses they had were gone by now; about two weeks into the Collapse, the FC with the Blue Ribbon Boys were just doing it for the loot. It was amazing how quickly old ideals like “community service” disappeared from many people. This was a business now.