by Glen Tate
The Over Road people hadn’t initially appreciated how far ahead of the rest of the population they were, but they were starting to appreciate it now. They knew the real situation that America was in. Many people out there—despite the riots, looting, terrorism, power and internet going off sporadically, and the government issuing all kinds of emergency decrees—still didn’t understand that they needed to stock up. The Over Road people understood that, when they went into town that morning, they would probably get the last of the stuff on the shelves and at the gas pumps.
They started to round up cash. They only had a few hundred dollars between them. The ATMs were out of order. No one carried huge quantities of cash anymore and prices would probably be outrageous. They quickly realized they would have trouble buying anything with the cash they had. A sense of doom came over the group. Everything had been going so well until now.
Drew got up and motioned for Grant to come with him outside.
Chapter 81
The Fredrickson Milk Run
(May 8)
Drew took Grant out to his car.
“What’s going on?” Grant asked.
He put his finger up to his lips to signal that Grant shouldn’t talk.
When Drew was at his car and where no one could see him, he unlocked his car and pulled something from under the driver’s seat.
Drew was holding a large mailing envelope. He smiled and handed it to Grant.
“Go ahead and look inside,” Drew said, still smiling.
Grant opened it. It was full of $100 bills. He couldn’t believe it. Drew kept smiling.
“I had a little account,” Drew said, “on the side for a big trip I was planning on taking Eileen on.” He paused and looked out toward Frederickson. “No use trying to take a trip now. I pulled this out of the bank about a week ago, when it was obvious that the banks would be closed soon. I didn’t tell Eileen. Do you think she’ll be mad?” Grant could relate.
“Yes, for about five minutes,” Grant said. “Then she’ll be glad - and, if she’s like Lisa, she’ll never tell you she’s glad. She’ll just be nice to you like nothing happened, like she had never been wrong.” The two men laughed because they knew it was true. Eileen and Lisa were so similar.
“Where should I keep this?” Drew asked.
“We have some other high-value items,” Grant said with a wink. “I can’t say right now what they are, but you’ll see in a while. I could keep your envelope with them.” Drew would never trust someone with tens of thousands of dollars of cash, but Grant was his son-in-law, and had basically sent an armed team to rescue him. Besides, what good is cash if you don’t have guards and a safe place to stay?
Drew pointed to the envelope of cash and said, “OK, but don’t lose this.”
Grant realized the politics of the situation. “Drew, this is very generous of you,” he said. “I want you to get the credit with everyone for this. You can hand out the money. A few hundred bucks a carload. I will put the rest of the money in the safe place first so they don’t see it.”
Drew nodded and smiled. He wasn’t looking for “points” with the Over Road people; he was just trying to get them supplies they’d all need.
Grant knew that Drew, who was a little older than the others and didn’t have traditional survival skills to offer the group, needed to have a role everyone would appreciate. Handing out $100 bills, especially in a crisis, was a good way to make friends.
“Sure,” Drew said. He started thinking about the insane inflation that would be roaring that morning. “I think with all the crazy prices, $500 a carload ought to work. I’ll take another $1,000 in case we need more. I have my gun and there’s all your guys with their guns, and there’s John who’s got a gun, too. We’ll be OK carrying around all that cash.” Grant nodded. Drew counted out a number of $100 bills and gave the envelope with the remaining cash to Grant.
“Don’t watch where I’m going,” Grant said, only half kidding. After Drew had gone back inside, Grant walked around the cabin a few times and then quickly disappeared into the basement and came right out, double checking to make sure the basement door was locked.
When Grant was done, he found Drew in the cabin chatting. He hadn’t handed out the cash yet. Grant motioned for him to come over. One by one, Drew handed out $500 to each driver. Eileen looked at Drew as if to say, “What?” Drew put his finger up to his lips to tell her not to say anything.
Each time Drew handed out $500, Grant would say, “This is one of Drew’s contributions to the effort.” Everyone’s eyes were wide. It wasn’t every day they were given a handful of $100 bills. They all thanked Drew. He was very proud that an old accountant was able to contribute to the effort.
“Now the hard part,” Grant said to Drew. “You have to go tell Eileen where the money came from.” Drew nodded and went to find Eileen.
She didn’t take it well at first, but, just as they predicted, she was OK with it after it sunk in. “I told her they were loans,” Drew said to Grant. “And I told her that I’m crazy. She seemed to accept that,” he said with a smile.
People gathered by the truck they’d be taking into town. The Team had a dog tag chain visible around their necks. They had their “badges” under their shirts. Those could really come in handy.
Everyone got in the trucks and headed out. They would be going into Fredrickson, the town a few miles from the cabin. The town had a couple of big stores, but was much smaller than Olympia.
Pow took Lisa. They would focus on getting medical supplies. And…feminine products. They would be going to the drug store first.
Bobby took Mary Anne. She would focus on canning and preserving supplies. She would also buy bulk food and gas. Everyone was trying to get gas and gas cans. Grant had two five-gallons cans at the cabin with gas, including Stabil, which was the additive that allowed gas to be stored for years without deteriorating. But that wasn’t enough. They would need more. Lots more.
Wes took John and Drew. They would focus on bulk food first, and building supplies second. Specifically, they were going to get pancake mix, biscuit mix, oatmeal, and any other items that were cheap and easy to store (and cook) that could be the breakfast anchor at Grant’s cabin. Let the grasshoppers clean out the Doritos; the Over Road crew would get the oatmeal.
Scotty took Mark. They would focus on hunting and fishing supplies. They would also get household items, like matches and Stabil gas preservative. Grant had printed out a list several months ago from the Survival Podcast forum and put it in the storage shed. It was called “The 100 Things to Disappear First in a Crisis.” It was invaluable.
Given the danger of the grocery store, Wes wanted to bring a rifle with him, but couldn’t walk around with it. He asked Grant, “Hey, man, you got that AK underfolder out here? It could go under a baggy shirt.”
Grant smiled. “Sure ‘nuff, brother.” He got his AK with the wire stock that folded under the gun so it was much shorter than a fixed-stock rifle. Grant called the underfolder the “checkpoint” gun because it was small enough to be hidden in a car and get past a checkpoint. When he started using that phrase it was a joke, but it was serious now.
Grant also got a big buttoned-front camouflage hunting shirt sized for his formerly heavy self. He handed Wes three extra 30-round loaded magazines. Wes put the underfolder on with the sling and threw the hunting shirt over it. Perfect. The AK was undetectable.
Drew just watched. He’d never seen an AK-47, and now a guy he’d known for a few hours was wearing one concealed, and Drew was getting in a truck with him. Drew had his revolver and a pocket full of shells.
This all seemed normal. Not normal in the sense of it being common, just normal in the sense that there was such a good reason to do it.
Mark brought his shotgun, which was a nice duck hunting gun. Scotty had a tactical shotgun that would work better. Scotty pulled Grant off to the side, explained that Mark was bringing a duck gun, and asked, “Shouldn’t I let Mark use my Benelli?” That
was his high-end tactical shotgun that looked like a SWAT gun. “It’s shorter and holds more rounds.”
Grant said, “Nah, I don’t want to overwhelm these guys with our tactical stuff. We need to integrate with them, and they’ll integrate with us, eventually. It’s just day two out here. Besides, I bet Mark has shot that thing hundreds of times. He’s probably really good with it. And, in a pinch, he could carry that around town and everyone would just think he’s a good ol’ boy hunter, not a threat like they’d think if they saw your tricked out Benelli.” Scotty nodded.
Grant had another idea. He wanted to get Mark into the effort instead of just riding along with the Team. He turned to Scotty and Mark and said, “Hey, how about if you two go in Mark’s truck instead of Scotty’s? It would make sense for the neighbors to see a familiar truck instead of all these strangers’ trucks driven by strange men.” Mark liked that idea.
Mark said, “I can take the lead, so the Pierce Point people can see me. I can wave like everything is normal. And I know how to get to Frederickson and,” he motioned toward Scotty, “you guys don’t.”
Scotty was realizing that there was a little politics involved in everything. “Good idea,” he said.
Mark was relieved that he was having a part in all this. He liked the young men on the Team, and was very glad they were there, but he didn’t want them running everything. Mark lived here. He knew the area, the people in Pierce Point, and the hunting and fishing. He was a country boy and a former Marine. He knew how to take care of himself. Grant could tell that Mark’s pride was a factor. Mark wasn’t a jerk about it, but he had skills. Grant wanted them to be utilized. All the tactical stuff of the Team was fine, but a local country boy is just as important of an asset. In fact, if Grant had to choose, he’d take all Marks over all Team members, when it came to generalized skills to make it through this. But Grant was lucky to have both local country boys like Mark and John—and the Team. This combination was the best of both worlds.
The Team would use their CBs to keep in contact with one another whey they were on the road. Scotty quickly detached the magnetic antenna on his truck and put it on Mark’s truck, which was a black Chevy four-door Silverado. They were good to go.
Grant and Chip would stay behind for guard duty. Paul was the backup guard. Chip probably could have gone into town, and he wanted to, but he realized that they would need at least three guys to repel anything that could come. There probably wasn’t enough, but it would have to do.
At 9:30 a.m., the trucks rumbled out of their little compound with Mark in the lead. Mark’s diesel truck made that distinctive pinging sound.
Once they got past the guard shack and onto the paved road, they were all on high alert. Not only for cops or bad guys, but also to see what life was like in a quickly collapsing America.
It looked like everyone in Pierce Point was home on this Tuesday morning. No one was going to work, which made sense. Other than for essential services, like Tammy at the power company, there wasn’t much point in people going to work with the internet down, gas in short supply, and everyone worried about their family’s safety. School had been cancelled days ago, so parents needed to stay home.
Families were outside talking to their neighbors with their kids running around. No one was visibly armed. It looked like a block party with everyone out and talking to each other, except there was no party atmosphere. It reminded Grant a little of 9/11. Back then, neighbors were out talking to each other; sometimes for the first time ever.
Many nice people waved to Mark and the strange collection of trucks and people with him. They went by the Pierce Point Store, a little country store the size of a convenience store with a gas pump. There was a sign on the pump saying, “Out.” The store was locked up; presumably with emptied shelves.
There were several cars in the parking lot, with people talking at one another from their windows. They waved at Mark and looked at the rest of the convoy of strangers. Some in the parking lot had been noticing quite a few strangers. They figured that people with cabins were coming out and bringing their friends. That was fine with the Pierce Point full-time residents. The “cabin people,” as the “full timers” called them, were usually nice and spent their money there. The cabins at Pierce Point weren’t so fancy that most of the cabin people were stuck up.
The three mile drive through Pierce Point was quiet. They noticed one guy going to his mailbox with a gun on his belt, which seemed odd. Not the gun, but the fact that anyone would be expecting the mail to be delivered. Mail service had been suspended days ago. It was probably this guy’s normal routine to check the mail in the morning.
As they came down the hill toward the turn onto the Frederickson road, there were a few pickups of men with rifles and shotguns guarding the bridge. There was a beater car parked sideways blocking the bridge and acting as a gate. This was the bridge over a little river that Pow had noticed when he came to see the cabin months ago. It was a natural choke point. A volunteer fire station was situated on the Pierce Point side of the bridge, where most of the trucks were parked. Nearly 100 yards of road and the turn off toward Frederickson was on the other side of the bridge. The 100 yards of road allowed those turning off the Frederickson road a chance to slow down and park before they were cleared to cross the bridge. It was an ideal checkpoint. Beyond ideal: absolutely perfect.
Mark recognized the lead guy at the checkpoint. It was Rich Gentry, a former county sheriff’s deputy. Mark had always liked Rich, who had quit the force a few months ago because of all the corruption. Rich was a very respected guy in the community.
The convoy slowed down, and Mark waved at Rich and his handful of men. One of them signaled for Mark to stop, so he did. Scotty grabbed the CB. Mark mouthed, “They’re OK” about Rich and his guards, and Scotty said into the radio, “Mark says these guys are OK.”
Rich came up to Mark’s window. He was in his mid-thirties and in good shape. He was part Indian, and had relatives on one of the nearby Indian reservations.
Rich said, “Howdy, Mark. How are things?”
“OK, given the circumstances,” Mark said. “Glad to see we have a guard set up. Been any trouble?”
“Nope,” Rich said. “Not so far, but there will be. Some druggies will try to get in here, including our local druggies.” Rich meant the Richardsons, a family of meth addicts and their shitbag friends. Pierce Point had been putting up with them and their petty theft for a while, but that had been when there was law around. Most people wanted to shoot the Richardson trash, but that wasn’t possible with the police there to apprehend “vigilantes.” However, things were different now.
Rich continued, “We’re also making sure people coming in have some business in here. We wave in the full timers and we ask the cabin people where their cabin is or the cabin they’re coming out to. So far, everyone has checked out.”
Rich, a curious cop by habit and training, looked at the other trucks full of strangers. “Who are these?” he asked Mark.
Mark trusted Rich, but didn’t want to go spilling the beans at the drop of a hat. “Friends of mine,” Mark answered. “They’re friends of Grant Matson, the cabin guy who has a place by me. They’re solid. Some young guys from the city who need a safe place. They’re a clean cut ‘yes sir, yes ma’am’ kind of guys. We’re taking Grant’s family into town to get some supplies. We’re carrying concealed, of course.” Mark didn’t think it necessary to mention Wes’s hidden AK or all the ARs in the trucks.
Mark pointed to his shotgun that was in the cab of the truck. Rich nodded. Scotty had thrown a jacket over his AR, which was between his legs. Scotty was glad that Mark had a “duck” gun in the cab of his truck instead of a tricked out SWAT shotgun. The duck gun looked much less threatening to the law, or whatever Rich was right now.
Rich said, “We hear things are pretty rough in town. Not full-on violent, just very tense. In fact, I’m surprised the stores are open, but they are. Most, anyway. Even some of the gas stations. My f
ormer colleagues,” Rich meant the sheriff’s department, “are pretty much gone. They’ve been working nonstop for several days. Most are back with their families. The single guys are sitting in grocery stores and trying to stop fights. There’s no law anymore.” Rich wanted to say more, but didn’t.
“There’s no law anymore” rang in Mark and Scotty’s ears. It sounded so weird for someone to say that.
Mark nodded. They needed to get going. “We’ll see you in a few hours.”
Rich said, “Beware of the Mexican gangs. They’ve always kept to themselves, but I’m hearing that they are starting to get aggressive now.” Frederickson, like many towns in the West, had a sizable Mexican population. The vast majority were hardworking families, but in every group there were always a few bad apples. The Mexican gangs were tolerated by the law-abiding Mexican populations, and the cops tolerated them too, making lots of “donut money” on the side for looking the other way. This is why Rich and all the decent cops had left the force.
“Will do,” Mark said. He looked at Scotty, who nodded. Mark waved and Rich gave the signal to move the car. A man jumped in and drove a few feet forward, opening up the bridge for traffic. The Over Road trucks drove past, each driver making sure to make eye contact with the guards and wave. Rich was writing down their license plate numbers on a clipboard.
Chapter 82
Drug Store and Gas
(May 8)
There was more traffic on the road to Frederickson than there had been on the previous day; quite a bit more traffic coming from Frederickson toward the other little communities on the water, like Pierce Point. There were at least a dozen of these communities, all with varying mixtures of full timers and cabin people. It seemed that quite a few cabin people had the same idea as the Matsons, and they were bringing out their friends and relatives.