by Tate, Glen
Grant also got fifty pounds of pancake mix. Cole would love the reassuring sameness of a morning with pancakes. Pancakes need syrup. The Cash n’ Carry was out of gallon jugs of syrup. On a hunch, Grant went to the dollar store. He’d never been to one before; he’d never had to because he could afford the regular grocery store.
Grant found the dollar store to be a prepper’s paradise. Everything was truly one dollar; they didn’t even have price tags.
Most things were off brand, but who really cared. The food aisles were amazing. He quickly realized that the grocery stores were charging double or sometimes triple what the dollar store was. And the neat thing about the dollar store selling something for a dollar was the unit size. It was smaller than normal. It made for handy small packages that could be stored and used one by one. For example, Grant got sixteen- ounce glass bottles of syrup for a dollar. He got twenty of them. The smaller bottles would be better than a gallon jug of syrup; easier to pour, less mess, less waste. Smaller bottles could also be given away to needy neighbors. That’s harder to do with a gallon jug. Grant looked closely at the sixteen-ounce syrup bottles. They were glass and had a decent screw-on cap made of metal. They could be washed out and used to store lots of things when the syrup was gone.
Grant got almost $100 of food at the dollar store. That was two shopping carts brimming to the top. He got boxes of tea bags, big cans of spaghetti sauce, flavored mashed potatoes, and cases of canned vegetables.
He got lots of cheap housewares there, too. He got ten can openers. What good is canned food without a can opener?
Grant started thinking about can openers. A can opener would be worth its weight in gold in a crisis, when fresh food would be hard to get. There would be warehouses of canned food. A can opener was another thing that could be handed out to a needy neighbor. The dollar store had cheap toilet paper, toiletries, over the counter medicines, work gloves, bungee cords, and just about everything else. For a dollar.
After learning what the dollar store had, Grant went back to the Cash n’ Carry to finish off some meal ideas. Now that he had two cases of big cans of spaghetti sauce, he got some twenty-pound boxes of spaghetti noodles. They would go great into vacuum seal bags and stay fresh for years. A twenty-pound box of spaghetti noodles was $19. That meant twenty good-sized dinners of a pound of spaghetti and a big can of sauce were about $2 each. And it would store for years.
It cost a lot less to prep than to buy normal groceries. But Lisa and the kids would never eat this stuff in normal times. In a crisis, however, it would be the best tasting spaghetti they had ever had and they’d be thankful they had it when others didn’t.
Grant’s car was filled up with food. He took the vacuum sealer and an extension cord and went to the storage unit. Since it was in “bum town,” Grant knew he needed to be careful. For the first time in his life, he packed a gun. He put his .38 in a little pocket holster and slipped it into the front pocket of his jeans. It fit perfectly. He had the permit; might as well use it. He realized that he needed to pack the gun quite a bit for practice to test out the holster and just the mindset of carrying a gun.
The mindset was a big deal. A person carrying a gun thought differently. They were more aware, and avoided trouble so they wouldn’t have to use it.
The front door at the storage unit had a sign that food wasn’t allowed in the units. That was a dilemma. He would be careful not to leave even a crumb in case there were mice or rats (he’d never seen any signs of them there). Luckily, it was late evening on a Sunday so the manager wasn’t around. There was a surveillance camera at the entrance to the units so Grant used a plastic bag to cover the labels on the boxes of food.
It took several hours to seal up all the food. Grant carried all the food up the stairs, sealed it, and put it in organized piles. He realized that he needed big plastic storage tubs like the kind they put the Christmas decorations in. He’d get those later; he didn’t have any room in the car for them with all the food. It was extremely reassuring to be sealing and organizing so much food. He kept thinking about a financial crisis and what an empty grocery store would look like. Then he’d look at the month or two of food he had for his family. He was proud— he was a man doing his job. The nagging thoughts were gone.
This is just the beginning of your work.
There was that outside thought again. Grant listened carefully to it this time.
Chapter 16
Getting in Shape
One of the things Grant realized from hauling all that food up the stairs to the storage unit was how tired he got. Winded, in fact, just carrying a case of canned vegetables up the stairs. Not a little winded; full-on stop and rest with a pounding heart kind of winded. He could never do all the things he needed to do in a crisis if he was this out of shape. He looked at himself. He was fat. For the first time in his life. He had noticed the gut a few years ago, but now he was genuinely fat.
And weak. He never exercised. He worked in an office and sat on thecouch on the weekend. He knew something was up when he started wearing XXL shirts but he never thought it was a big deal.
You will need to be physically strong for what’s coming. Get strong.
The outside thought had been right about everything else.
Grant decided to do what it said.
Lisa had always been in good shape. She stepped it up and got in great shape a few years ago when the kids were in middle school and late elementary school and were much lower maintenance. She did it by joining the gym in town where everyone worked out. A few years ago, she had asked Grant if he wanted a membership and, predictably, he said no. It hadn’t surprised her. Why would Mr. Workaholic and couch potato want to exercise?
Now Grant saw everything differently. The world wasn’t just about working and eating and sitting on the couch. There were actual dangers out there. Being out of shape could get him killed. Or being weak could get his family killed. His pathetic physical condition was more than just another prep to work on. It was a symbol of what he’d become: a fat, useless sheeple. This had to end.
When he got home from the storage unit, Grant said to Lisa, “I’ve been thinking that I’d like to join the gym.” She was stunned. She assumed he’d be there a week or maybe two and then drop it.
Going to the gym for the first time in his life was horrible. He didn’t know how to dress. He just wore some shorts and a t-shirt; he wanted to fit in there. He did. That was a relief.
The first machine he got on was an elliptical trainer. He looked around and other people were setting it on twenty minutes. No problem. He could handle twenty minutes of walking, so this would be a breeze.
Or not. After three minutes he was winded. It was the same full-on winded he got from walking up the stairs at the storage unit. Three minutes? It was even on the lowest resistance setting. This would be impossible.
Like everything else you’ve accomplished?
The outside thought had a good point. How hard could this be compared to transforming himself from a Forks loser to a respected attorney? Focus on the task at hand. Create manageable goals. Track progress. Work hard. Getting in shape would be just like anything else. Besides, he had to do this. His life and the lives of his family literally depended on it.
He went to the gym the next week and did five minutes. Then six and soon ten. He got up to twenty minutes and then went a second time each week. Lisa was amazed.
Grant started eating better. More precisely, he started to notice what he was eating. Everything he had been eating was unhealthy. And the portions were huge. He started eating medium-healthy foods but not going insane with health food. He realized that he often ate a lot at a meal because that’s how they did it in Forks. He would go outside and work splitting wood or something for several hours so he had to load up on food at mealtime. There were no breaks every few hours for a little snack of healthy food. But in Olympia there was no wood splitting and there were always some decent snacks around. Just put some carrots in the refrigerator
at your office; how hard is that?
Grant started to lose some weight. Slowly, but it was noticeable. Lisa was noticing. She didn’t ask why he was doing this; she was just happy he was. Grant realized the first benefit of being in better shape: more interest from his wife. This was great. That alone was worth it; saving his life and his family’s was up there too, but don’t discount the motivation of a little more sex.
Pretty soon, the twenty minutes twice a week became thirty minutes three times a week. He added mild weight training to his elliptical work out. Since he didn’t have pectoral muscles in his left side, he couldn’t use all the weights. He had one of the trainers help him. He was using some weight machines on fifty pounds. In a couple of months, he was up to 100 pounds and had quadrupled the number of repetitions.
“Hey, you have some actual muscles,” Lisa said one night. Yep, he did. The night went very well from there on out. Motivation.
Now that he was in decent shape, doing things around the house wasn’t so hard. He was doing projects in the yard and could do lots of errands on the weekends that Lisa used to do. He was doing about ten times more around the house than before. It was like a rebirth. Lisa was starting to change her mind about her formerly worthless couch potato husband.
This meant everything to Grant. He felt like he had some making up to do for the years of being a slug. He was earning back her respect after years of frittering it away. He knew he needed her respect for what was coming. Lisa would never abandon her home and way of life to follow a fat couch potato into a dangerous unknown. But she would follow a strong man who had earned her respect.
Chapter 17
More Capitol City Guns
Being in shape meant that he could do things outdoors much better; like shooting. Lots and lots of shooting.
Shooting was fun, but it also had a very useful purpose. Grant knew that when the grocery store shelves were empty the people would panic. They would fight with each other to get food. When the gas stations were running out of gas, they’d fight over a place in line to get some. At first people would be rude and cut in line, then they would have fistfights, then they’d shoot each other if it got really bad. The cops would be too busy to deal with any of this. And, if it stayed bad for long, some dirtbags would band together and try to steal food and other supplies. That meant guns were critical; first to defend yourself and then your band of people.
Armed groups of Americans fighting for food and gasoline?
Oh, come on. That’s crazy. This is America.
That was the problem. It was America. People expected those things to just be there. They had no backup way to feed themselves. And, worst of all, they had the expectation that things would just be there.
If everything Americans expected weren’t immediately available, they would get mad and afraid. Very mad at whomever they blamed for the shortage and very afraid because they would instantly realize that they were completely screwed if the semi-trucks stopped driving up to the grocery store every few hours. The anger and panic would combine and have a multiplier effect. It would be a chemical “freak out cocktail” of adrenaline, fear, egging on by others, and rage.
It would be almost psychotic. People would do things they never even imagined.
Whenever Grant was thinking about something like this, the history major in him would ask how people in the past had dealt with it. Human beings acted in rather predictable ways.
The answer was frightening. All over the world and in every time period there were shortages like the ones Grant knew were coming. They never went well. The freak out cocktail would kick in and some people would kill and steal. Not all of them, of course, but a small portion of them killing and stealing caused real problems for everyone. Lifelong friendships would be ripped apart over a piece of food. Trustworthy people would turn on one another. Governments— dictatorial and brutal— would rush in to “restore order.” It was always to “restore order,” but the order was theirs. The population must be disarmed and dependent on them for their “order” to work. Then the government leaders could do whatever they wanted. Getting to do whatever they wanted was the prize; and sometimes was worth causing the crisis in the first place. World history had too many examples to even start to list off.
History also showed that gangs would form to protect their members and to get the things they needed, like food. Bad gangs took various forms in history: pirates, many police forces throughout the world, and mafias. They took various forms but did basically the same thing.
In reaction to bad gangs, people would form good gangs. They would be self-protection groups that shared work and food. Examples of good gangs in history included isolated towns, religious and ethnic groups, and people who banded together for protection. Bad gangs would attack good gangs. Some good gangs would get out of control and turn into bad gangs. But a gang— mutual protection and sharing of labor and resources— would be the primary unit of society when fancy civilization broke down.
There was no reason to think that today’s America would be any different. In fact, there was every reason to think it would be worse. No other society in the history of mankind ever had so much prosperity and food and luxuries so easily available. Never. No society had ever been more dependent on these things just being there. No society in history ever had so far to fall. Americans were spectacularly expectant that things would always be perfect. It would get ugly when this changed.
You can’t even imagine.
There was only one sensible thing to do. Get some guns and self-defense training. Not some militia whacko thing. Not playing army. Not going out raiding and stealing like the gangs. Grant had no desire to end up being the very thing he was trying to protect himself and his family against. He just wanted to get the right mindset and training, and meet like-minded people so they could be a good gang.
It was absolutely obvious that Grant needed to know how to use guns himself and he needed enough to equip a small group like his family and probably other families. As important as this task was, Grant had two limiting criteria. The first was that he would not break the law by buying machine guns or anything crazy like that. The goal was to survive; being in federal prison was not a smart survival move.
His second guideline was that he would not spend so much money that it prevented him from doing all the other necessary preps. It would be stupid to have $10,000 worth of guns and ammunition, but no food. Guns, as much he enjoyed them, would not be some expensive hobby justified by the need to prepare for the roving hordes. Guns were a tool and one part of the preparations he needed.
The shotgun and his .38 were just the start. Grant began dropping by Capitol City Guns periodically to see what they had. He was also saving up his cash. He was taking his time and re-educating himself about guns. He knew the basics, of course, from Forks, but his information was a little dated. He knew about shotguns and hunting rifles. But his gun knowledge stopped over two decades ago. Since then, semiautomatic pistols— even ones made partially out plastic— and “assault rifles” began to dominate the market.
The first thing Grant figured out was what he needed. Needed, not wanted. The Survival Podcast and the guys at Capitol City talked about a “four gun” battery: a shotgun, centerfire rifle, a handgun, and a .22 rifle. The shotgun was for home defense and hunting. The centerfire rifle was for hunting bigger game and stopping people out at longer ranges. The handgun was to stop bad people at close urban distances and was easy to carry and conceal. The .22 rifle was for small game and keeping shooting skills sharp with inexpensive ammunition.
Grant had the shotgun and handgun already. He needed a centerfire rifle and a .22. He wished he could get the .22 rifle he had back in Forks, a 1930s Winchester model 63 pump action, but he wasn’t going back there and asking his mom for a favor. He figured he’d get the .22 first, practice with it, and then move up to the centerfire rifle.
He was getting to know the owner of Capitol City Guns, a guy named Chip. He was a thin silver-haired g
entleman in his late fifties or early sixties and always had a smile.
One day, Grant came in and asked Chip for a suggestion on a good .22 rifle.
“Oh, that’s easy,” Chip said. “A 10/22. They’ve made about five million of them. Maybe six. Seriously. Everyone has one. You can get parts and accessories everywhere.”
Grant remembered the 10/22 from Forks. Chip was right; everyone had one. Grant asked to see one. It was a great little .22. He got one, along with some extra twenty-five-round magazines, the steel- lip ones recommended by Chip. Grant got some targets and went out to the gravel pit.
The 10/22 was great. It was very accurate and very easy to shoot. He spent as many afternoons as possible at the gravel pit plinking; it was great fun. He got a scope for it and learned how to mount it, courtesy of Chip.
Once he had his rifle shooting skills back after hours of 10/22 plinking, he decided it was time for a centerfire rifle.
Grant went to Capitol City Guns looking for a centerfire rifle.
He assumed he would get a normal centerfire rifle like a bolt-action deer rifle. That’s what everyone had in Forks. When he walked in, though, he saw a wall of M-16s. Well, they were actually AR-15s, the civilian version of the military rifle. They were beautiful. They just looked bad ass. And totally solid. Grant was drawn to them. He had done his homework on ARs and knew that they were very reliable, easy to use, light, and were just about the perfect gun for a variety of uses.
“Chip, could I see one of those?” Grant said pointing to a plain vanilla AR-15. It had a carry handle and a twenty-inch barrel. A standard issue A2.
“I don’t know if I should do that, Grant,” Chip said very sternly. “Once you hold this, you’ll buy it, and then another. Are you ready to join the brotherhood of AR owners?” Chip asked with a devious grin.
“Let’s see,” Grant said with a devious grin of his own. The AR-15 felt fantastic in Grant’s hands. Wow. It was an amazing tool. He couldn’t believe that a civilian like him could hold it, let alone buy it. He had to have it.