Grant wasn’t downstairs. She went into the garage to see if his car was there. His space was empty. It was real now. He actually left. In the space where his car belonged was a pile of food, a black square case, and green metal box. Those were the green Army boxes he put his gun stuff in. She looked at the sturdy shelf in the garage. It was empty. It used to have those green metal boxes—Grant called them “ammo cans”—stacked up and some big gun cases. They were gone. They looked like missing front teeth.
Why did he leave bulk food? She could go to the grocery store and get things, so why did he do that? The big box of pancake mix—twenty-five pounds—wasn’t the same brand as the pancakes Cole liked. What was Grant thinking? Was he just running an errand for her by getting this stuff? But, he wasn’t getting the stuff they ate. What was wrong with him? He got it during the day and didn’t flip out after the shooting until the night. So he got this stuff when he was thinking clearly. Why didn’t he just go to the grocery store? What was wrong with him? Why was he acting so weird?
Lisa went back into the house and turned on the TV. She needed some noise. The silence of the house was too quiet. It only reminded her of how empty the house had become.
The news was on. Grant must have left it on that channel. She hated the news. But, when she started to see everything on the screen, she couldn’t change the channel. She felt herself enter a trancelike state.
Things were going crazy on the news. There were suicide bombings in Atlanta, Miami, Detroit, and Des Moines, Iowa. Des Moines? What did they ever do to anyone?
It appeared that China had caused the electrical grids in the West and on the East Coast to fail. The U.S. Government was denying it, but the news said that numerous sources “who wished to remain anonymous” were confirming it. They said that China could take down the power in any region of the country any time they wanted. Any time. Without warning. It was a computer thing. Lisa thought that the lines would need to be cut to lose electricity. There was a computer that controlled all this? That could be hacked? Who let that happen?
The news kept getting worse. The stock market had crashed. Again. Actually, the stock futures market in overnight trading had crashed, which meant that the stock market would crash when it opened that morning. If it opened at all. They said that the stock market probably wouldn’t open in the morning. She started to think about their—well, now her—401(k). It was gone. All that work. Poof. Gone.
The next story on the news was about California. LA was overtaken by riots. There were fires everywhere. Soldiers and police battling with crowds. Lots of people with guns shooting it out with each other and with police and soldiers. People were running wild on Rodeo Drive, smashing store windows and taking everything. Hollywood stars were leaving LA in their private jets.
The government was trying to do something about all this. The Vice President came on live, in the middle of the night, and said that the President was invoking some emergency powers and would get things back to normal. The military was called into their bases. The reserves and National Guard were called up. The Vice President said that all police and emergency personnel were supposed to report to their stations. He said that Congressional leaders had called him and told him the President could do whatever it took to restore order. Then he said that America had been through hard times and always come out of it stronger. The Vice President seemed very confident when he spoke. That’s because he actually believed it.
Lisa tried to absorb all this bad news. Everything seemed to be out of control. Then she got mad at Grant.
He knew this was coming and didn’t do anything. He didn’t insist that they come with him. He should have been more forceful. He should have just hugged her and they would be safe. One hug and they would be together. But he wouldn’t hug her. She hated Grant. For the first time in her life, she hated him.
There was noise outside. People were talking and moving around. There was a loud knock at the door. She jumped. It was Ron. He wanted to talk to Grant about the shootings.
“He’s gone,” Lisa said. “Went to the cabin. Without us.” She didn’t want to admit it.
“What cabin? Whose cabin?” Ron asked. Lisa realized that Ron didn’t know about the cabin; Grant had always been weird about not telling too many people about the cabin. She realized she shouldn’t tell people about the cabin in case they wanted to go get Grant for the shooting.
“Oh, a friend’s cabin,” Lisa said. “Down in Lewis County. I don’t know where exactly,” she said, wishing that she didn’t have to lie to her neighbors. But that asshole Grant was making her.
Ron said some more things, but Lisa couldn’t really hear him. She couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying; she was in a daze until he left.
Maybe she should take Manda and Cole to the cabin? No, that would be crazy.
She went up to the kids’ rooms and hugged them. They were awake and very scared. Grant was awful. Why was he doing this to them?
She turned off the news and sat on the couch and cried until the sun started to come up.
Chapter 53
Uncle Chip
(May 6)
Grant woke up. He was in the cabin. Daylight was coming through the window shades in the bedroom. What was he doing there? Then he remembered that he had come there last night. He was in his clothes and had his pistol belt on. He couldn’t believe he could sleep with a pistol belt on, but he had been so tired that he slept fine with it.
Grant got up and looked for Chip, who was outside. He was watching everything. Grant came up to him.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” Chip said. He pointed at Grant’s pistol belt. “Sure you want your neighbors to see you have that?”
“Oh, they’re cool,” Grant said. “In fact, we should go meet them. They need to know why an ugly man is hanging out at my cabin.” Grant motioned for Chip to follow him. As they walked, Grant asked Chip, “What do you want the story to be? They’re cool and all, but you can’t tell them about the inventory.”
Grant stopped walking, turned, and looked at Chip. “Of course, man. No one—not a soul—will hear about the basement from me.” Chip nodded. He knew Grant was serious.
They resumed walking toward the Colsons’, which was about fifty yards away.
“I’m your uncle,” Chip said. He was in his early sixties and Grant was in his forties. The uncle story would work.
“OK, Uncle Chip,” Grant said. He noticed the pistol tucked under Chip’s shirt. “You might want to lose the pistol when you make these first impressions with the neighbors.” Chip nodded and went into the cabin and then came out without a pistol.
They walked up the stairs to the front door of the Colsons’. Paul, Mark’s son, answered the door. He was so overweight that he was breathing hard just walking. It was daytime, so Tammy must have been at work. Mark came to the door.
Grant said, “Hey, Mark, I wanted to introduce you to my Uncle Chip. He’ll be out here for a while. Things are pretty hairy in Olympia. He and I came out to get the place ready for Lisa and the kids.”
Mark looked at Grant’s pistol belt. Mark had a revolver on a belt holster. Mark grinned and said, “Come on in, gentlemen. It looks like we have some things to talk about.”
Mark had the news on. Grant and Chip just stared at the TV. The shit had, indeed, hit the fan. This was it. Wow. Things were coming apart at the seams.
Mark let them take in the headlines for a minute or two. “Yep, the shit has officially hit the fan as we used to say in the Marine Corps.” They all quietly took in some more headlines. This was unreal.
Mark asked them, “How’s Olympia?” Grant told him about the protests and that the cops were too busy to do anything. He didn’t tell Mark about apparently killing three guys and wounding a couple others. Grant knew and trusted Mark, but why confess to what some might call murder? Besides, he didn’t want Mark to think he was a killer. He didn’t want Mark looking at him that way, like his neighbors did last night. He also didn’t tell Mark about evacuating the guns. That would be stupid.
Mark pointed out the window toward the other cabins. “How are we gonna secure our places? I mean, there is basically no crime in Pierce Point, but things aren’t normal right now. In normal times, the cops would take a half hour to get out here if someone called them. Now it will take a day, if they even come out, which I doubt they would. I think we need to carry at all times. What about a guard at the end of the road?” He pointed to where the county road turned into the gravel road. “You know,” he said with a smile, “keep the riff-raff out. So, for guard duty that would be me, Paul, and you two. I bet John Morrell would do it, and hell, probably Mary Anne. That’s six people. Four-hour shifts. Not bad.”
Chip just listened. He knew the less he said, the less of a chance the “Uncle Chip” story would unravel.
Mark said, “Let’s go talk to John and Mary Anne.” They walked from the front door of Mark’s house, which was up on the hill, down to the gravel road below where Grant’s and the Morrells’ cabins were.
As they came up to the Morrells, Grant looked up to the second story window and saw Mary Anne up there with a shotgun. He was reassured by that. She waved. They knocked on the door and John answered, also with a shotgun.
“Figured you’d be coming around,” John said. “We have some things to discuss.” He looked at the stranger, Chip.
“Hi, John,” Grant said. “This is my Uncle Chip. He’s helping me get the cabin ready for when Lisa and the kids come out. He had to bug out of Olympia, too. It’s pretty bad there.” Grant retold the same stories about Olympia that he told Mark and Paul, except for the part about killing guys and evacuating the gun store. And about abandoning his family.
John thought the guard idea was great. So did Mary Anne. They planned a guard shift schedule. They would do the first few shifts in pairs so they could go over things like code phrases for family and friends who arrived and were OK to have out there. They had one Pierce Point full-time resident with Grant or Chip since the full-time residents knew things Grant and Chip didn’t, like who the neighbors down the other roads were.
The Morrells, Colsons, Chip, and Grant spent the next few hours picking guard spots and fallback positions, alarms, hastily building a little guard shack for when it rained, coordinating which guns people would use, and generally going over all the details of the very important topic of guarding their homes.
The whole time Grant was thinking about Lisa and the kids. He was trying to use the work of preparing the guard system to take his mind off his family back in Olympia. It would work for a while and then his mind would drift back to his family.
He needed a plan to get his family out there, as unlikely as it seemed that it would be possible to pull off. He found that the best way to deal with a problem was to plan for it and work the plan hard. That’s what he had done with preparing for the Collapse and, for the most part, that was working very well. There was just one piece missing: his family.
Grant came up with a plan while he was making the guard shack. It was risky, but just might work. He kept refining it in his mind until it was pretty solid.
By late afternoon, the guard system was set up. Grant and Chip went back to the cabin. They were very hungry. Grant fired up the grill and grilled some of the frozen hamburger patties they had. He had gotten a bunch of them a few days ago because it was early May and the summer BBQ season at the cabin was just beginning. He was glad he did; hamburger would be a rarity soon.
Damn. Those burgers tasted good. Three of them, apiece. They washed them down with a beer. Those would be a rarity soon, too.
Grant was tired and couldn’t stop thinking about his plan to get the family out there. He was ready to get it going.
“Hey, Chip,” Grant said, “I have some shit in my head to deal with. I’d love to hang out and have some beers with you but I need to be alone right now. No offense.”
“None taken,” Chip said. “I felt the same after a fire fight in Vietnam. You’ve been through a lot the past twenty-four hours. Take care of your head, my friend. It’s what will get you through this. Remember that.”
Grant nodded and headed into the master bedroom. He got into the bedroom, closed the door, and took off his 5.11s and his t-shirt. He stank. He had plenty of work clothes to change into because he had been bringing his old work clothes out to the cabin for some time. He got into an old pair of shorts and an old t-shirt that said “World’s Best Dad.” It had a handprint in paint from both Manda and Cole. They got him one of those each Father’s Day when they were little. He didn’t wear them often, but had brought them out to the cabin. Now they had a meaning. He was wearing that shirt to remind him of the good times.
Grant activated his plan. He found Manda’s phone that he had taken. He had thought clearly enough to also take her phone charger and had been charging the phone all day while he worked on the guard project. Grant knew that in emergencies, when everyone is calling, voice calls take lots of bandwidth, and often go down. Texts take a fraction of the bandwidth, and can often still be used.
He had his phone with him too, but he had turned it onto “airplane mode” so it did not transmit and then he turned it off, altogether. While he didn’t think the cops had the time to be tracing cell phones right now, why take the risk? He thought he’d use his phone for the contacts in it, but then he remembered he had made a hard copy of his important contacts, like the Team, and the copy was out there. That way he could keep his phone off permanently.
Grant grabbed Manda’s phone and sent a text to Pow. It appeared to go through fine. His text described the plan.
Grant could finally relax a little. He had launched his plan. At least he had done something about getting Lisa and the kids out there. He went out to the living room and saw Chip getting his pistol belt on. “Time for my first guard shift. I’m with Mark tonight. See you in eight hours. Stay plenty armed. We’ve got invaluable treasure down in the basement.”
“Roger that,” Grant said. Then they went over the codes they would use to identify themselves and to give each other basic coded instructions. “Break!” meant someone was trying to break into the basement. Chip picked up one of his personal ARs, which was leaning against the wall by one on the downstairs couch. He had four extra magazines in the pockets of his Carhartt work pants. That AR leaning on the wall looked so weird, yet so natural at the same time.