299 Days: The Collapse Read online

  He got the radios and went upstairs to where he kept his Glock. He tested the flashlight on the end of the barrel. He checked the magazine; full of self-defense rounds, the good ones that cost a $1 a piece. He wrapped the pistol in a hand towel to get it past Lisa, and went out to the garage where his gun stuff was and got his pistol belt, holster, and extra magazines. He had his holster that allowed him to put his Glock in with the flashlight on the end. He quickly loaded the extra mags, put on the belt, holstered his gun, put a light jacket over it, and got a big Maglight flashlight. He had done all of this without getting caught by Lisa.

  Grant popped his head from the garage into the house and said, “See you in a little while, honey. I’ll be at the Spencer’s.”

  “OK. Be safe,” she said.

  He went over to the Spencer’s, two houses away. Len came by, about twenty minutes late. He came with four other guys.

  “Sorry to be late,” Len said. “Us Navy guys hate to be late, but I thought you’d be OK with why,” he said motioning to the four new guys. Grant knew one of them, Dave Burton, because his daughter and Cole were in the same grade at school. The other three looked mildly familiar, but Grant wasn’t sure they lived in the Cedars. After some introductions, he found out they did.

  Grant explained about the radios. They decided to go out and test them. They did that for about an hour, trying from every corner of the subdivision. The radios worked well.

  These guys were pretty decent. The new guys owned guns, but weren’t hardcore “gun guys.” That was OK; at least they had concealed pistols and permits to carry. They were the kind of first-time gun buyers Grant saw all day long at Capitol City Guns. He was actually surprised that out of the fifty or so houses in the Cedars that even seven guys had guns.

  “We will have our pistols on us at all times, but will also have a long gun in the car,” Grant said. “Technically, it’s illegal but I’m doing it. Who’s with me?” They all nodded. When all else fails to motivate guys, try shaming them into being a bad ass.

  “I only have a pistol,” said Chris, one of the new guys.

  “Me too,” said Mick, another of the guys.

  Ron was a duck hunter. “You guys know how to run a pump shotgun?” They nodded. They had both hunted a little. “I’ll set you up with one of my Remington Wingmasters. I’ve…” he caught himself, but decided to trust these guys, “… got a couple.” He smiled.

  Now that the two guys without long guns each had one, no one asked each other what kind of long gun they would use. While they were all on the same team, there was still something about not blabbing about all your guns. Each one said they had an adequate long gun in the car, which was all anyone needed to know. Grant realized that an hour ago these guys barely knew each other. They all were a little afraid about the government trying to take their guns away. So they didn’t talk about them.

  Grant knew what long gun he would use—his AR with the EO Tech red-dot sight. It made it possible to aim in the dark. It wasn’t a night-vision scope. The target wasn’t lit up, but the place where the bullet would go had a bright red dot and a red circle around it. The street lights would provide the light necessary for identifying the target, hopefully, but they would not provide enough light to use regular sights. Grant was very glad that he had night sights, whether the glow-in-the-dark dots on his iron sights or a red-dot sight, on each of his battle guns.

  “Battle guns?” Did he just use that term in his head? Yep. It seemed to fit. This was serious shit.

  They came up with a schedule to provide a two-car patrol from midnight to 5:00 a.m. It was May, so the sun rose at that hour. This meant patrolling every third or fourth night and having his weapons handy when he slept in case he heard a car horn. This would suck, but it had to be done.

  For the first time in a while, Grant felt like he was doing something constructive out in the open. He prepped in secret and always knew he was doing something to deal with the problems that were coming, but he had never done them in public. Now he felt like he was publicly taking some actions to deal with the problems.

  It was public because everyone in the neighborhood knew that they were out “driving.” Most didn’t know about the long guns; certainly not Grant’s AR in the car. Nancy and the other weenies didn’t say anything because they knew the patrols were necessary. People like her, the people who ran the government, had always had it both ways like this: they relied on armed and brave men to protect everyone, but they still got to be in charge and talk about how they hated violence and aggressive men. OK, say what you will, Grant thought, as long as my family is protected.

  Over the next few days, patrolling was boring. Grant was getting used to the schedule. It was only every third or fourth night, so he could handle the loss of sleep. When he was on call, waiting for a car horn to blare, he had to be prepared to rush off to a gunfight. He had his pistol belt, with his pistol, in the trunk of his car, along with his AR. Lisa wouldn’t look in the trunk. And if she did? So what. He was protecting his family.

  Grant kept both guns loaded, but not racked with a round in the chamber. He always checked to see if a round was in the chamber before using a gun, so he wasn’t concerned that he’d forget to rack a round.

  Grant had a tactical vest, similar to those that soldiers and SWAT teams wore. He used it when he trained with the Team. However, he didn’t want to be seen with it by the weenies. Grant would lose all credibility if he were caught in that tac vest. But he had it. He kept it in a suit bag in the garage so no one had a clue what was in it.

  Instead of a tac vest, Grant used a small shoulder bag with extra AR and pistol mags. It looked totally normal to have one. He could jump in his car and be to most parts of the subdivision within a minute. He could also open his trunk, grab his AR and shoulder bag, and run to anything in his immediate area. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than calling 911 at this point in time.

  Grant didn’t just focus on the security of the neighborhood; he also had to worry about his house being broken into, which was his first priority. He kept his tactical shotgun under the bed. A few years prior, he had a shoe repair shop use their strong sewing machine to make a customized bandolier sling for the shotgun. The sling held twenty-five shotgun rounds. Grab and go. He wasn’t locking it in the case. He knew Lisa would flip out, but he needed to have it ready to go if he heard glass break. He didn’t load it, at least. He had practiced speed loading that shotgun so many times with the Team he could do it in his sleep.

  Grant really wanted Lisa to know how to use that .38 with the laser dot. He asked Manda if she thought Lisa was ready to confront reality in this way. Manda brought it up and Lisa said hell no. Manda reported back to Grant.

  “Well, Manda,” Grant said, “you can train Mom on this in a minute or two, can’t you?”

  “Yep,” Manda said. “But why wouldn’t I use it? I mean, I know how to shoot and she doesn’t.”

  Smart girl. “You’re right,” Grant said. “You will be responsible for home defense when I’m not here. Don’t store this thing unlocked. Use the padlock set one number off so you can get it quick. Hide it in your room where your Mom won’t find it.”

  “OK, Dad,” she said.

  Grant hated to sneak around Lisa like this, but he had to.

  Chapter 46

  Empty the Gun Store

  (First week of May)

  Grant headed off to work. No one was getting anything done, but the WAB guys were working hard on Rebel Radio. They put out a fabulous episode each week; there was a lot to talk about.

  At WAB, Grant spent a good part of his day reading the latest news and talking on the phone or texting Pow, Bill Owens, Steve Briggs, and others. Pow was patrolling his neighborhood, Bill Owens was doing the same down in Texas, and Steve said things were relatively calm in Forks, but people were openly carrying pistols in town.

  Not in Olympia, though. Life was going on as normal, which was really, really odd. Grant constantly wondered if he was overreacting
. How could all these people in Olympia be so oblivious?

  He would visit Capitol City Guns to quench his nervous curiosity about anything relating to the events that were unfolding. Capitol City was nearly cleaned out of handguns and shotguns. They still had quite a few ARs because the prices were so high; $3,000, or so. AKs were about $2,000. Ammo and magazines were through the roof, too. Grant was glad he had purchased his stuff long ago. And that he knew how to use it.

  The WAB guys were still concerned in varying degrees, but didn’t seem to be doing anything about it. One afternoon, Brian came up to Grant and said, “Hey, man, when the shit hits the fan, I’m coming to your place.” He smiled nervously.

  Grant didn’t know what to say. He wanted to say, “No, you’re not.” But Brian was a good friend. Grant thought about it and said, “I’ll do what I can but we all have to put our own families first.” He didn’t want to turn Brian away, but didn’t want Brian to rely on him.

  “Understandable,” Brian said. He didn’t seem to be as concerned as he was in the past. “I have decided to buy a gun. Would you help me pick one out?”

  “Hell, yes,” Grant said. This was more like it. Grant would be happy to help those who would help themselves.

  “Tom and Ben are getting guns, too,” Brian said. “Can we all go to the gun store? Like, soon?”

  “Hell, yes,” Grant repeated. Nice. These guys were taking some action.

  An hour later, Grant took them to Capitol City and helped each one pick out a handgun. Chip managed to find some in stock for friends of Grant.

  Ben pointed to a fifty-round box of ammunition and asked, “Should we get one?”

  Fifty rounds won’t get them through what’s coming, Grant thought. He pointed to a thousand-round case of ammunition and said, “Actually, get one of those and split it.”

  They all got 9mm Sig Sauers, which was all that was left. They were fantastic guns, but more expensive than most, so they weren’t sold out. At least Tom, Brian, and Ben could use each other’s’ magazines interchangeably.

  Grant pulled Chip aside so the other customers wouldn’t hear him, “Hey, Chip, could my friends get a case of 9mm?”

  Chip smiled. “Yes. And, you’re welcome.” Grant knew how hard a case of 9mm was to come by. “But, since they’re not you, they pay full price—$495. It’ll be $650 tomorrow.” Wow. Ammo prices were going crazy.

  “Thank you, Chip,” Grant said. He told the guys how lucky they were to have any ammo.

  Grant took them out shooting right after buying their guns. He showed them how to take apart their guns and clean them. They were OK shots.

  “We’ll clean these now since we’re all here,” Grant said. “But if you need to use these, don’t bother trying to clean them. They run just fine without cleaning them. I’d hate for you to lose a part and not be able to put them back together.” Grant said. They were soaking it all in.

  It was yet another amazing moment during a time that seemed to have several amazing moments every hour. There was Grant teaching Tom, Ben, and Brian how to shoot and clean pistols. This wasn’t for fun. It was for real. Everyone sensed how much things had changed.

  Chapter 47

  Never Let a Good Crisis Go to Waste

  (May 5)

  Things continued to get worse. Congress had been passing laws like Washington State; authorizing checkpoints, more draconian civil forfeiture laws, and authorizing more warrantless searches. This was on top of a previous law, the 2011 National Defense Authorization Act that allowed the military to detain or kill anyone—without a trial—who committed a “belligerent act” against the U.S. It was up to the President to decide what a “belligerent act” was. No charges, no jury, no civilian judges, no appeal, no due process. At first, Grant thought the NDAA was a made up internet rumor. Then he read the law. It was real.

  Even though things like the NDAA were on the books, America still wasn’t yet under “martial law.” It was not because the people running the government were such lovers of liberty that they wouldn’t impose martial law; it was that they didn’t have the ability to pull it off.

  Thank God, literally, for the Oath Keepers. They had announced that Oath Keepers members would not carry out these new laws. That was the only thing preventing the government from taking over. The only thing. The politicians wanted martial law and most of the sheeple did, too. It was the “middlemen”—the Oath Keeper soldiers and cops—who got in between the politicians and the sheeple and prevented it from happening.

  This was getting serious. Grant knew the Collapse was coming, and soon. The only question was when. The thing Grant was trying to figure out was when to bug out without overreacting, which meant bringing up the topic when conditions were clearly bad enough that Lisa would agree to go, but doing it soon enough that the roads would be safe enough to get out to the cabin.

  One good thing out of Washington, D.C. was that they quit spending money. Finally. When it was too late. Now that they could not borrow money and were massively creating it, they decided to start cutting programs. In one stroke of the pen, they got rid of the annual cost-of-living increase for Social Security. That was a big deal with a real inflation rate of about 50%. They also capped Medicaid and Medicare payments to levels that no doctor could take, which effectively eliminated those programs. Grant figured Lisa would now start to care about politics.

  Predictably, the tens of millions of people dependent on government programs came out of the woodwork. It only took a few hours for them to assemble. They protested like nothing the country had ever seen. Gigantic crowds surrounded federal and state office buildings in every major city. Since Olympia was the state capitol, it had massive protests.

  Olympia and cities like it were overrun with pissed off people. The Baby Boomers were the angriest. They had been promised an easy retirement and free health care. What had happened? Who had taken it from them?

  The protests in the other cities were getting ugly. Throwing bottles, breaking windows, riot police in every city, and clouds of tear gas. The vast majority of the protestors ran like scared children when the police showed up, but some stayed and fought it out. And lost. The police couldn’t fit all the arrested protestors into the existing jails. They just gave them stern warnings and let them go, which only encouraged them to come back the next day and do it all over again. The system could not remotely handle this level of dissent.

  The sheeple with their hands out weren’t the only ones protesting. The Tea Party and some large tax protestor groups also rallied. They had put up with giant government for years and had finally had enough. They were not violent, although some radical elements of these groups tried to fight the police. And lost. Of course, the news showed the Tea Party arrests, but not many of the welfare protestors.

  WAB’s office was a few blocks from the state capitol. When the protests started, Tom told everyone to go home. The traffic jams were horrible. Tom pulled Grant, Ben, and Brian into his office.

  “Given that WAB is a household name in this state with the libs, and how much they hate us,” Tom said, “I expect some protestors to vandalize our office. I don’t want our people here when that happens. Our insurance is paid up, so let’s get people out of here.”

  Wow. Another amazing moment. Tom was getting ready for WAB’s offices to get vandalized by a mob. This was really happening. Being a WAB staffer, and especially being on Rebel Radio, was a dangerous thing. Was Grant really thinking these thoughts? Oh, God.

  The WAB guys were leaving the downtown Olympia area as the protestors were pouring in. They had seen plenty of protests before, but there was something much different about this one. There was an uncontrolled feeling to these protestors, like they were angrily screaming “it’s finally happened.” The protestors were meaner than ever before; furious, and egging each other on.

  Grant got home early. Lisa, who hadn’t been going into work after her boss told her not to even try, was out running errands. Unarmed. Grant was terrified for her. He had t
o put a stop to this driving around town when riots were about to start.

  Manda was surprised to see Grant at 3:30 p.m. “What’s up, Dad?” she asked.

  “A bunch of dirtbags are protesting,” Grant said.

  “Oh.” She paused. “Hey, Dad, when are we going to the cabin? This is getting scary.”

  That pierced Grant like a knife. “Yes, honey, it is getting scary. Do you think Mom will want to leave yet?”

  “Nope,” she said. “But I do.” There was a long silence.

  Cole came in and asked if he could have some pancakes for an after-school snack.

  “Sure, lil’ buddy,” Grant said. How much longer would those pancakes be in the stores?

  Thinking about the stores, Grant decided to venture out and go get some food for the cabin. He told Manda to take care of Cole, and have her .38 handy.

  Grant headed to Cash n’ Carry with his Glock 27. He wasn’t the only one who had the same idea about stocking up while things were so crazy. The parking lot was full and shelves were getting bare. Everyone seemed a little nervous. Finally. People were finally getting it.

  Some of the staples, like beans and rice, were already gone. There was still a lot of mashed potato mix, oatmeal, and pasta. Everyone in the store had a big cart full of food. Some had two carts and were trying to push them both along. People were guarding the food on their carts so no one would try to take it.

  Grant got up to the cash register and the checker asked, “Have you heard about the bombing?”

  Oh, no. It was starting. “Where? Here?” Grant asked.

  “No,” the checker said. “In D.C. A big one. Some federal building there. They still don’t know what’s going on.” People around him started telling each other. This was what people were expecting, and news spread like wild fire.

  Grant paid for his groceries with some of the last of the cash he had left in the expense-check envelope in his car.