299 Days: The 17th Irregulars 2d-6

by Glen Tate

  Rich explained how it seemed that the authorities didn’t have the resources to track down all the leads they had and, besides, Pierce Point’s guards could repel an assault by any force other than a professional military unit.

  “Hey,” Dan said, trying to be positive, “no one out here knows how you spell your last name. How about going with the Norwegian spelling of ‘Matsen’? Maybe we say that your first name is something like Herman and you go by your middle name of Grant.” These weren’t bad ideas, but they also weren’t enough to make Grant feel totally safe.

  “Snelling,” Rich said. “That’s your problem.”

  All three men nodded. They were thinking the same thing, but they didn’t want to say it.

  Finally, Grant spoke up. “Is it treason to do what he’s doing, if he’s the one snitching on me?” Just saying that out loud answered the question.

  Of course it wasn’t “treason.” Grant could not figure out a way to put Snelling in their makeshift jail. Besides, doing so would violate every constitutional principle Grant was supposedly all in favor of.

  “Wait, guys,” Rich said. “We don’t know if Snelling is the one. Let’s find that out first.” They all nodded.

  “I have an idea,” Rich said.

  Chapter 190

  “Lima Down”

  (July 12)

  Todd Snelling was enjoying lunch. Well, not “enjoying.” He was having lunch. That was more correct. He missed all the normal foods he used to eat; all the organic and foreign foods. The high-end stuff, not the hillbilly food he had out at Pierce Point. Cornbread? Seriously? Might as well have a chicken fried steak at a truck stop. What he would have done for some fresh feta cheese and Belgian endive.

  The internet was back up and he wanted to get online before it went off again. He was on the FCorps website getting updates. It looked like things were going well. The authorities were rounding up terrorists in big numbers. There were big raids in Denver and Boise. Not even redneck Idaho was a sanctuary for these teabaggers. Things were going well in Chicago. There were lots of stories about people there being thankful for all that the government was doing, like feeding people and protecting them. So much for those Neanderthals who thought all government was bad. Those limited-government types were so stupid. Everyone knew that there needed to be enough government to take care of all the hopeless people. That’s what government does. Look at all the happy people on the internet who were so glad to be taken care of.

  Snelling was startled by a knock at the door. No one ever came to his cabin, except Abbott, and that wasn’t his knock. It was someone else. What could they want, he wondered as he walked to the door.

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Rich Gentry.” It sounded like him.

  “Coming,” Snelling said. He unlocked the door and saw Rich. “What can I do for you?” Snelling asked, truly having no idea why Rich was there.

  “I want to talk to you about Pierce Point.”

  The teabaggers were coming to their senses, Snelling thought. They finally realized that his way was the right way.

  Snelling let Rich in.

  “What about Pierce Point?” He said, not even waiting to make small talk. Snelling was so excited to be having this conversation.

  “I think you have some good ideas, Todd,” Rich said. “I don’t think you’re being listened to and I want to see if I can get a better dialogue going.”

  “Dialogue?” That was a magic word. It meant that this was going to be done like things were done in Seattle: With dialogue, not guns. Snelling could barely contain his glee that the world was not upside down. There would be dialogue even out in hillbillyville.

  “I can’t get a word in edgewise with that Grant Matson,” Snelling said and rolled his eyes. “He’s such a bully. Shutting me down all the time. I had pretty much given up. I wasn’t even going to bother going to the meetings anymore.”

  “Oh, you should,” Rich said. “Mind if I sit down?”

  “Of course,” Snelling said. He was going to enjoy this. Rich, the apparent teabagger, was coming with his hat in hand, ready to call a truce. Or maybe better. Maybe he was ready to let Snelling run things out there.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Snelling asked.

  “Water is fine,” Rich said. As Snelling was bringing the water, Rich looked around the cabin. It was amazing, and must have cost a mint. Snelling even had some art. Weird art, but it was art. Foofy Seattle art. No one else had art at Pierce Point.

  When Snelling came back, Rich pointed to a copy of Architectural Digest on the coffee table. “I always wanted to be an architect,” Rich said. “What’s it like being one?”

  Snelling’s eyes lit up. He talked for about fifteen minutes about being an architect and his work. He was so happy Rich asked him about it.

  By now, Rich got up and was slowly walking and looking at all of the fancy art as Snelling was talking. He wandered from room to room looking at things and occasionally saying to Snelling, “Uh, huh. That sounds great.”

  Pretty soon, Rich had inspected the whole cabin, and went into Snellings’ office.

  Then he saw it. An old fax machine. It looked so odd—a 1990s fax machine there in the ultra-modern office. A copy of the newspaper with the picture of the hanging was next to the machine.

  Suddenly Snelling appeared to get nervous.

  “Let’s go back to the living room,” he said, realizing how defensive he looked.

  Rich nodded and motioned for Snelling to lead the way.

  “After you,” Snelling said. “You are my guest.” It was pretty obvious that Snelling didn’t want Rich walking around the cabin unescorted.

  “Thank you,” Rich said. “You were saying that architect school was particularly grueling...”

  Snelling started right back up where had left off. Something about how he loved to “express himself” in the buildings he designed, which was weird, Rich thought, because Snelling drew up the plans for a lot of post offices. There was not a lot of “expression” in those.

  This was the oldest trick in the book, Rich kept thinking as Snelling continued to yammer about architecture. Get a suspect talking about themselves, walk around, and look at things. All in plain view. No warrant required. It worked like a charm.

  Using this technique, Rich had now established that Snelling was the snitch.

  Snelling’s wife came up to the cabin, returning from some yoga on the beach.

  “Well, I gotta go,” Rich said. “I just wanted to encourage you to come to the next meeting and tell us your thoughts. I promise you that your opinion will be respected.” Rich hated lying to a guy, but this guy was trying to get Grant killed, and probably Rich, too. All is fair in love and war.

  “Oh, I will be there tonight,” he said with a smile.

  Rich thanked Snelling and his wife for the water and headed back to the Grange.

  The five-minute ride back to the Grange was unsettling as Rich thought some terrible things. He was making a terrible decision. He couldn’t believe he was actually thinking these thoughts.

  When Rich arrived at the Grange, he motioned for Grant and Dan to get into the truck.

  “It’s Snelling,” Rich said, once they were in the cab, away from the listening ears of other people. He started driving in the general direction of the gate. “I saw the fax machine and the newspaper by it. He got nervous and shooed me out of the room.”

  Grant had been quiet the whole time. He didn’t know what to do. He knew Snelling was basically trying to kill him. Now Grant was calmly debating with himself whether he should give his OK to kill Snelling. Grant kept thinking about what kind of example that would set: Mr. Constitution urging a political killing. Treason required two witnesses and a jury trial under the Constitution. There was nothing in that document that allowed offing a guy because he had a fax machine.

  Then again, as Ted and the others pointed out earlier, this was war. The rules were different. The Constitution contemplated war and
some extreme measures. Besides, they were in a survival situation. Snelling could kill them as easily as untreated water, lack of food, or lack of shelter could. A person is perfectly justified to overcome those kinds of threats. They would treat the water, gather the food, and build the shelter. However, overcoming those threats didn’t involve killing another human being.

  Rich stopped the truck at the clearing near the Grange where they were doing all this discussing.

  “Well?” Rich asked. They had all been waiting for someone to kick off the discussion. No one was too eager to start this conversation. It was still silent.

  “Well?” Rich asked again. “What do we do about Snelling?”

  “Something,” Dan said. “We can’t let him call the cops again. From what you described, Rich, we are stronger than the idiots in Frederickson, but…I don’t want to bury one of the kids at my gate unless I have to.”

  More silence.

  “I can see it both ways,” Grant said, realizing how weak he was being. “Can we think about it more? Give it more time? This is a huge decision.”

  Rich said, “I guess, but we need to act soon. What if he finds out you’re a POI? He was trying to get on the internet when I came over. He could find out and then fax that in, as well. A confirmed sighting of a POI. Think about that. You want to go to prison or get shot just to give Snelling another few hours on earth?”

  Right then, Mark’s truck with the Team went by. They saw Rich’s truck and turned around to join them.

  “What’s up, guys?” Bobby asked. He was driving. Mark wasn’t in the truck; he must have loaned it to the Team.

  Rich, Grant, and Dan looked at each other. Might as well tell the Team. They were part of this, too. They had to be trusted. Rich explained Snelling’s fax machine. Everyone was quiet. They all knew what decision they were making. It was one thing to get ready to kill people trying to crash your gate. But to murder someone? Over politics? Even someone who wanted to have you killed? This was hard.

  Finally, Bobby said, “I wonder what Ted would think.”

  “Oh, he was pretty clear,” Ryan said. “‘Kill him’ is what he said about Snelling.”

  “What about his wife?” Pow asked. “She hasn’t done anything. And there’s that Abbott jack off. What about him? How far does this go?”

  More hard questions. This guerilla shit ain’t easy, Grant thought.

  “We should get back,” Wes said. “Clean up before the Grange meeting.” Everyone agreed, not so much about cleaning up for the meeting, but wanting to have more time to think about this huge decision. Grant got in Mark’s truck and they went back.

  Everyone was quiet on the ride to Over Road. These young gung-ho ass kickers were mature enough to realize the significance and severity of the decision they were making. There was no going back. They could justify forming an armed guard and even hanging child rapists. If the Collapse ended today, they could explain what they did and why, and probably not be charged with anything.

  But the planned killing of a guy? That was not something that could be explained away if things went back to normal. Grant thought he had completely worked through the mental process of casting his lot with the Patriots when he agreed to join up with Ted. Now he was realizing that he hadn’t fully committed. Killing Snelling would be a full commitment. There would be no going back.

  When they got back to the cabins, everyone went off on their own. They weren’t talking, just quietly cleaning their gear. Grant went to his cabin to see his kids. He heard a moped take off. It was Wes. Probably going to Kellie’s. Is that all that guy thought about?

  Grant was quiet around his kids. He cleaned up. He hadn’t showered in three or four days. It felt amazingly good to be clean. He looked in the mirror. His beard was getting pretty full. His hair was getting long; he’d get a haircut. but the beard was staying. Shaving everyday seemed stupid, and wasteful.

  Grant chatted with the kids and Eileen. He wasn’t fully present for the conversation, though; his thoughts were elsewhere.

  “Time to go to the Grange,” Grant said to them. “I’ll eat dinner there,” he said to Eileen. “No offense to what you’re eating here, but being there and talking to people is part of my job.”

  “No offense taken,” Eileen said. “It means more food for the rest of us,” she said with a smile.

  Grant went out to round up the Team and pile into Mark’s truck. Wes was coming back on the moped. He had a weird look on his face, as if he had aged ten years.

  The Team quietly got into the truck without the usual “This never gets old” thing; the mood was too serious for that.

  Wes was the last to get into the truck. He had something in a towel. He looked around and opened up the towel to show the Team Scotty’s silenced .22.

  “Lima down,” Wes said.

  Chapter 191

  Pierce Point Truth

  (July 12)

  Everyone was shocked. This was so final. Wes had killed another human being. Snuck up on him and killed him. This wasn’t self-defense.

  No one talked much on the ride to the Grange. What little they said, they whispered to prevent Mark from hearing. Only the Team members would know about this. Grant wondered how Rich and Dan would react. Oh well. There was no way to undo this now, anyway.

  Grant felt even closer to the Team than before, and that was saying something. They had gone all the way and there was no turning back. They had already killed together as a team before this when Pow shot that guy in the raid. They had hung those two child rapists, but this was different. It was planned. This wasn’t reacting to a crime. It was committing one.

  “Thanks, Wes,” Grant finally said. He wanted everyone to know that he—the guy most troubled by this decision—was OK with Wes’s actions. . “It had to be done.”

  “Had to,” Ryan said.

  “Yep,” Pow said.

  “He tried to turn us in,” Bobby said. Scotty nodded.

  “Whadd’ya do with the body?” Grant whispered.

  Wes shrugged. “Just left him there.” Wes paused. “Musta been a break in or something. Snelling had nice stuff. Someone probably wanted to steal it, and knew that he wasn’t armed.” Wes smiled at that last part. He had been counting on the fact that Snelling wasn’t armed.

  As the Grange appeared, Grant started thinking about how they would explain this to the crowd. Everyone would suspect Grant. He would have to lie to everyone and deny any involvement. Then someone would find out. Grant would be a liar and his credibility would be destroyed, although he hardly cared about his image. He was more concerned about the diminishment of his ability to get things done at Pierce Point.

  When they got to the Grange, Grant motioned for Rich and Dan to come over. Grant found Chip, too, and the four of them went out to the parking lot, where Grant broke the news. They all just nodded. It was anti-climactic.

  The Team ate dinner together as usual and tried to talk about meaningless things just so people didn’t realize how quiet and serious they were.

  The Team Chicks came over and had dinner with the guys, which lightened the mood considerably. Whispers of much sex later that night were exchanged. Wes was hugging Kellie so hard it looked like he might hurt her.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” she asked him.

  “Tough day,” Wes said. “That’s all. Things are fine.” Wes looked her up and down with a gleam in his eye and said, “What’cha wearin’ tonight, darlin’?”

  She whispered something to him and he smiled.

  The meeting that night had all the usual reports. Things were going well; the community was humming along; things were tough but people were pulling together out of necessity. Rich listened to the reports and marveled at how much better off they were than the sheeple in Frederickson.

  Grant kept waiting for Snelling’s wife and Abbott to burst into the meeting and accuse him of the killing, but it didn’t happen. The meeting broke up early and everyone went home.

  The ride home was a lot more upb
eat than the ride there because the guys were talking about the Team Chicks.

  Grant had this overwhelming urge to go to Snelling’s house. He realized this was stupid, but he wanted to go to the scene of the crime. He thought others might have a similar urge so he said to them, “Everyone just stay home tonight. We’ll deal with the reaction to this tomorrow.”

  Scotty’s ham radio crackled. It was the Chief. He said that a small boat carrying two people had left Pierce Point. The boat left from area right around Snelling’s cabin, going at a high rate of speed and heading toward the inlet into the sound. The Chief tried to catch up with them but had no luck.

  “There goes our problem,” Grant said. “Good luck filing a police report. Take a damned number.” He was relieved. Snelling’s wife, and hopefully Abbott, had gotten the message and left.

  Grant slept well that night. He had already gone through the mental process of wondering if the police would arrest him, like he had when he shot the looters back in Olympia. From Rich’s description of the FCorps guy being too busy to care about a report of a POI at Pierce Point, there was no way the cops would even try to come here. What cops?

  Grant realized how much better Pierce Point would be without those Loyalist whiners. They were the only people getting in the way of making it a completely Patriot community. There were some of Snelling’s friends still out there, but they probably wouldn’t say much now that their leader was…no longer around.

  After a restful sleep, Grant woke and got ready for work. He was anxious to find out how the news of the “break in” and sudden departure of Snelling’s wife and Abbott would be received by the community.

  The Team assembled in Mark’s truck and went to the Grange. No one said, “This never gets old” or “beats the shit out of selling insurance.” Not this morning.

  The Team Chicks stayed behind. Gideon needed the night cabin to sleep in after his guard shift, so the girls who spent the night in the night cabin with their boyfriends went over to the yellow cabin with the other girls.