299 Days: The Visitors (22 page)

He wasn’t done yet, though. There were signs for the various other subdivisions along his path back to his own. He painted “Resist” and “We’re Everywhere” on each of them as he made his way back home. He spray painted a fence near another subdivision with “Tyrants fear us. The people cheer us.” He made that up on the spot and thought it sounded pretty good. It was painted in Patriot yellow so people would know who the tyrants feared and who the people cheered.

Ron purposefully didn’t paint the sign to his subdivision. On his way back from the intersection, he took a fake path back, as if he had come from another subdivision. This way, the spray painting of the signs of the other subdivisions would make it look like he came from another subdivision. He hoped some poor bastard in that other subdivision didn’t get falsely accused of this, but he had to do what he had to do.

The last subdivision sign he painted was one full of former state employees. That should throw the Freedom Corps off. Maybe they would start accusing each other of being a Patriot and start turning each other in. Ha!

Ron laughed at how great it felt to “neener neener” these bastards. He felt a little childish, but he was protecting himself and his family and fighting for freedom in a very real way. He felt elated. He was finally doing something instead of just sitting around complaining about how bad things were.

As he was half running, half walking back home, he realized he was getting careless. He slowed down to walk as quietly as possible. He would try to stay out of the street lights and stay in the shadows. He came into the Cedars and laughed when he saw that his own subdivision didn’t have any graffiti. He went a few blocks, saw his cul-de-sac, and then he saw his house. He was almost safe.

Bam! Bam! Bam! He instinctively ducked when he heard the gunshots. A dog started barking.

Ron grabbed his pistol and pulled it out from his jacket. He looked around. It was deadly silent, except for the dog. He realized he was out in the open, so he ran for cover behind some bushes. His heart was pounding so hard he thought anyone could hear it. He kept scanning around. So close to home! He had pulled all this off and was getting caught this close to home. He felt like a failure. He’d go to jail, his family would lose their FCards, or he might get killed. Now he might have to kill someone, or a bunch of people. OK. Too bad, but let’s get it over with, he thought as the jumped out into the open to see what was going on.

Nothing. There was nothing going on. He heard the shots again. They were several blocks away. He had been spooked by them and overreacted. Whew. He felt a little silly. Well, a lot silly, although he’d take being silly over being killed or captured any day.

Chapter 158

The Normalcy of “Your Honor”

(July 1)

Grant wanted to find out about the food situation. How was the Grange kitchen getting food for people? Was there more? Would there be a steady supply? What needed to be done to keep the food coming? He spent much of the afternoon talking to the Grange ladies trying to gather this information. He also finally got to meet them and thank them. He apologized for always eating and running in the past. They understood.

The discussion of food kept coming back to two things. First, how much could they count on from the FCards? Second, how could they grow enough food to get through the winter?

The FCard situation was a big unknown. They hadn’t started the FCard runs into town yet; there had been weeks of “administrative delays” getting the cards. Supposedly the FCards would be activated and ready for use starting tomorrow, but Grant quit believing anything he heard about the FCards. Even if the FCards were working, would the store in Frederickson always have food? Would Commissioner Winters cut them off?

The one thing he knew was that the FCard food wouldn’t be enough on its own. At best, it would supplement the gardening, hunting, and fishing. At worst, it would raise people’s expectations that things would be OK and then they’d be furious when it wasn’t. Gideon’s semi, as huge as it was, wouldn’t provide for several hundred people for too long.

No, they needed to count on gardening, hunting, and fishing to get them through. Winter would suck. Luckily, winters in western Washington State were rainy, but not particularly cold, although there wouldn’t be any gardens growing at that time. The fish and shellfish were still around in the winter. Game would be scarce. They’d have to make it on canning, drying, and freezing the food they got now and into the fall. What a huge task. Would they have enough canning supplies?

Grant thought about the food he stored out at the cabin. Thank God. That would go a long way toward getting his family through the winter. But stored food wouldn’t be enough for everyone.

Luckily, leading up to the Collapse, quite a few people out in Pierce Point started thinking about gardening again. Food prices were going way up so it just made sense to garden, as well as hunt and fish. He learned that some people started quietly buying food dehydrators secondhand. They bought meat smokers and canning supplies, especially when things were obviously going sideways a few months before the May Day Collapse.

They also bought Cash n’ Carry and Costco kinds of foods like Grant had. They saved a lot of money buying bulk staples like rice, beans, pasta, and biscuit and pancake mix. Money was tight. One takeout pizza was about the same cost as ten pounds of beans, which could feed a family for a week. One week versus one meal. It was a very rational economic decision. Although having lots of stored food when the world was spinning out of control was very reassuring, these bulk food purchasers weren’t exactly “survivalists.” They were just smart shoppers. And it was saving their lives now.

The majority of people in Pierce Point had not prepared like that, but a pretty significant minority had. That minority had a good chunk of their food needs all set for a few months. Not all of what they needed, but a very good dent. Some even had enough to give to others. Many would be able to make it through the year with the stored bulk food, plus the bartering for food, coupled with the FCards and the semi.

Side dishes like beans, rice, or biscuits would become the whole meal. Portion sizes would go down. Things that didn’t store well, like foods requiring refrigeration, became rare. Everyone was expecting the power to go off at any second and stay off for…years. A block of cheese versus a sealed bag of mashed potato mix was an easy choice when people were thinking that way.

Sweets were very rare. The government controllers of food production quickly ceased making things that had no nutritional value. Soda virtually vanished. Some sweets existed for the politically connected and rich. The government allowed Hershey bars to still be made, which the government would dole some out to an area to keep up morale. It reminded Grant of GIs handing out Hershey bars during WWII to hungry kids in Europe. Nothing tasted sweeter than a chocolate bar when you haven’t had any sugar in a few months. It was amazing how much support the government could win with just a chocolate bar, and they knew it.

With many people eating more homegrown foods and not having sugared things like soda, most were eating like their grandparents and great grandparents had, which wasn’t such a horrible thing.

Everyone was losing weight, and it was now starting to be noticeable on most people. Clothes started fitting more loosely. Before the Collapse, it was fair to say that the average American was overweight by at least a few pounds. Extremely obese people were not uncommon. They were now.

Grant spent the rest of the afternoon meeting people, chatting, solving small problems, and coordinating lots of self-help. The classified ads on the Grange bulletin board were a big hit, too. People could find someone to fix their small machinery and others could find who wanted to buy some deer meat. There was even the “liquor store.” A heavy drinker had recently died and his widow was selling off his huge stash. There was also plenty of moonshine, which was surprisingly good.

Grant saw Drew at the Grange. He had a crowd around him, as usual. He had several assistants and people wanting to talk to him. He was managing things well, as would be expected from a former senior partner at a large accounting firm. He knew how to direct people and get things done. Grant waved for Drew to come over.

“Hey, Drew, sorry to interrupt you,” Grant said. “You know we started the census a couple weeks ago? We had you and the Team going out and collecting information, which got put on the back burner now that the Team is doing full time law enforcement. Can you get a census crew working on this?” Grant leaned toward Drew and whispered, “Our little list only works if we know who everyone is and where they are.”

Drew nodded. He had 10,000 things to do right then, but he understood why the census was an important thing to get done. And it only needed to be done once and then updated. Drew thought for a minute.

“I have just the person who can spearhead that effort. I presume the census takers are now community volunteers and get to eat at the Grange?” Drew asked, already knowing the answer.

“Of course,” Grant said. Drew made a few notes and then called a helpful volunteer named Dutch Hillenburg. He explained that Dutch had a new job, “Director of the Census,” if he wanted it. He was happy to have something to do. And the meal card was a great thing, too.

Grant kept thinking of things to bring the community together and show the residents that Pierce Point had a functioning government. Well, a very small-scale one. Not the old kind of government, but a new kind, the Patriot way, where people did things for each other by choice instead of coercion. They might be motivated to do these things for each other out of a sense of decency or common interest, even profit. But not out of coercion. A flood of ideas came to him. He started writing them down. He would propose them at the Grange meeting that evening.

The rest of the afternoon flew by. Pretty soon, the Grange ladies were serving dinner, which smelled great. Barbeque salmon and home fries. Grant noticed that when he spent all day doing “office” things at the Grange, instead of going out in the field and walking and carrying his rifle and kit, he was a lot less hungry. He was still hungry, but not ravenous like when he was physically active all day and sometimes all night. That reminded him that he would need to address the issue of whether the guards and constables got more food than others. This wasn’t a problem now when there was enough food, but it would probably become an issue during the winter. Grant would deal with that when, or if, he ever had to.

People started coming into the Grange meeting. Rich and the Team came back from training. Grant grabbed Rich and told him about the ideas he’d come up with that day. Rich loved them and had a few suggestions.

Bobby told Grant about the training with Kyle and the dogs, which was going well. It was a new thing for the Team to learn. They spent a lot of time letting the dogs get to know and trust the Team. That night, after the meeting they were planning to finally give Kyle extensive firearms and movement training. He wouldn’t be a full Team member kicking in doors, but he had to hold his own on the perimeter when he was running the dogs.

With the new faces coming to the meeting came new conversations. Grant was getting to know as many people as possible. He was letting them know about the Patriot way. The Undecideds needed to not only understand with their heads why the Patriot way would work the best. They needed to feel with their hearts that a person like Grant was going to be the one to carry it out. They needed to know and trust Grant, Rich, and the others at the Grange. You couldn’t ask someone to bet their lives on some political philosophy, but people would bet their lives on a trusted person with a reasonable plan. They had to get to know the person, as well as the plan.

“Hello, your Honor,” one elderly lady said to Grant.

“Your Honor?” Grant asked.

“Yes, sir. You’re the judge,” she said.

Grant hadn’t really thought of it that way. He hadn’t had any trials recently and had been spending all his time on the administrative things. He didn’t feel like a judge; he didn’t wear a black robe. Judging wasn’t his career. Being the judge was just one of his many jobs in the overall task of survival out at Pierce Point. But, now being the judge had some social effect. People called him by a title. He didn’t want any social classes out there. Leadership, sure, but not classes.

“Oh, ma’am, I appreciate it, but you can call me Grant,” he said. “What may I call you?” he asked.

“Mrs. Otting,” she said.

She looked Grant right in the eye, like a grandmother does when she’s correcting you. She continued. “No, I can’t call you by your first name. You’re Judge Matson. We have a judge,” she said. She repeated, “We have a judge” and straightened her back to show her pride in that statement.

Grant now realized that she wasn’t calling him by a title for his benefit. She was doing it for her benefit. She needed the normalcy of having a judge. She needed there to be a judge because that’s what civilized societies have. This reinforced his ideas for later in the meeting that would help with the community and provide basic governance suggestions.

“Yes, ma’am,” Grant said. “I’m Judge Matson if that’s what you prefer. Tell me, is it good to have a judge out here?” he asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to verify his theory.

“Yes,” she said. She looked at him in the eye again in that grandmotherly way. “But if you don’t do a good job, we’ll vote you out.”

“Good,” Grant said. “That’s how it should be.” He started to tell her about the Patriot way. She wasn’t interested in that.