by Tate, Glen
The whole cart of food, which was enough to feed the family for weeks on staples like mashed potatoes, pancakes, beans, and rice, came to a little less than $100. Grant put it in his car and they headed to the cabin. He could tell Manda was wondering what he was up to.
When they got to the cabin after the forty-minute ride, Grant got out and motioned for Manda to follow him to the shed.
“Do you know what’s in here?” he asked.
“Spiders?” she said.
“Something better,” Grant said.
“You know our conversations about how the U.S. is collapsing?”
Manda nodded. Her dad was being very serious.
“Do you get a little scared when you think about the stores being out of food?” he asked.
“Not really,” she said.
“What?” Grant said. “Why not?”
“Because I know you’ll take care of us,” she said with a shrug.
“Not sure how, but you will.” That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.
Grant was beaming. He unlocked the padlock on the door to the shed and said, “This is how.”
Inside the very clean shed were big plastic tubs. They were the big thirty-nine-quart jumbo storage containers they kept their Christmas decorations in. He opened up the nearest one and motioned for her to look inside. There were vacuum sealed packages of pasta, big cans of spaghetti sauce, tuna, sealed packages of mashed potatoes, oatmeal, hot chocolate mix, and a case of the canned chili Manda loved so much. He was smiling.
So was she. “Wow, Daddy, you are really taking care of us.”
Grant was so proud he couldn’t contain himself.
Finally! Someone understood him.
Grant started to explain how each tub had a number and then showed Manda the sheet of paper with the contents of each tub on it. Everything had an expiration date on it. For the things that were vacuum sealed and not in the original package, Grant wrote the expiration date or the “Best by” date in big numbers. Many things had no expiration date, which was even better.
He showed her the next tub. It had cases of canned refried beans, five pound bags of instant corn grits, bottles of maple syrup, gallon jugs of honey, biscuit mix, cornbread mix, and instant gravy mix. There were also No. 10 tins of canned fruit, more chili, and barbeque beans. A few cases of tuna fish and canned chicken were in there, too. There were also gallon jugs of cooking oil and big jars of peanut butter.
The tubs contained sugared drink mix because people will need the extra calories of sugared drinks and they were way cheaper than diet mixes. Grant even got Gatorade mix because dehydrated people would need electrolytes. He also had big containers of salt, spices, and flavorings. They were so cheap. A big restaurant-sized container of cinnamon for $4.00 would last for months of flavoring oatmeal, pancakes, and biscuits. He had sugar, too, both in bulk and in little packets. The little packets could be given out and would travel well; Costco had a 1000 sugar packets for $5.00.
Grant had fourteen tubs in the 10’ x 10’ shed. All the food in the tubs met Grant’s four criteria: It was storable for long periods of time, his family would eat it (after an adjustment period), it was cheap, and could be eaten without cooking, or with just heating water.
Manda asked, “Daddy, is there any brownie mix?” She loved brownies.
“Nope, dear,” Grant said. “Brownies need milk and eggs. Storing milk and eggs requires electricity to keep them cool.” Grant knew that he could store dried milk and eggs but thought that they wouldn’t make the brownies just right like fresh milk and eggs.
Besides, he was really trying to stretch his dollars to get just the staples, and lots of them.
Grant expected the resourceful people out at Pierce Point would be milking cows and raising chickens after a collapse, but that would take a few months, or maybe a year. The food in the shed was to get them through the beginning of a collapse until they could get some gardens and livestock going. It was to tide them over, not to feed them for years. Grant didn’t want to tell Manda this. He needed her to get the information about something as terrifying as a collapse in little bits, not all at once.
Grant also had five cases of MREs in the shed. He explained to Manda that these are Army meals, which she had seen in movies. Each case had 12 meals. Actually, one MRE was a full meal for a big guy like Grant when he was working hard. Each one had about 1,250 calories. One MRE could last a normal sized person who wasn’t working hard maybe a whole day. MREs were great for eating while in the field or moving. They were all in one container, ready to eat, and had everything required to eat them right there. They had an entrée that usually had some meat, a couple of side dishes, and a dessert. The crackers and tortillas were amazing. Most of the MREs came with cheese and jam packets. There were a few dozen side dishes and desserts: rice pilaf, clam chowder, BBQ beans, pineapple, fruit cobbler, Skittles, milkshake mix — the list went on. There was even cappuccino mix in some MREs.
Each part of the meal was in a separate package so they could be eaten separately, which was important in dangerous, on-the-go situations. They thought of everything when they invented MREs.
Despite their reputation, MREs tasted great. There were horror stories about the first generation ones, but modern MREs tasted pretty good. There were twenty-four different meals. A few weren’t great but the vast majority were. Grant usually ate an MRE when he went shooting because he needed to pack a lunch, and MREs were cheaper and healthier than drive-thrus. Plus, he got to try each meal this way. It was an adventure every time he tore open the package. Actually, he didn’t eat a whole MRE because it was too much for one meal. He would save leftover side dishes and desserts. He had several big Ziploc bags of them. They would last for years, which was maybe the best thing about MREs: They lasted about fifteen years if stored out of the heat. Grant’s MREs had been made within the past few years.
Manda read the side of the MRE boxes, which said “Commercial resale is unlawful.” “Dad, where did you get these MREs?” she asked. “You’re not in the Army.” These were the real MREs, not a commercial knock offs.
“I have some friends.” Grant said with a smile. He wanted her to think he was magic, which was what every dad wants. There was another reason to make her think he was magic: it would give him credibility when a collapse hit and he needed her to trust him.
The truth was that he got three cases at a Ft. Lewis surplus store where soldiers sold extra MREs. Apparently, there was no real restriction on selling to civilians, or everyone just looked the other way. A case was $60.00, so that was $5.00 for a big, complete, portable, pretty tasty, and highly nutritious meal that stored for fifteen years.
The other two cases were a gift from Chip, who got them from Special Forces Ted. While he was on active duty just before he retired, Ted taught ROTC cadets during their summer training camps out at Ft. Lewis. These college kids would be issued MREs to eat out in the field but they didn’t eat them all. Ted said that some of them were spoiled little brats who wanted the scholarship money from ROTC but didn’t want to eat “Army food.” So Ted got dozens of cases of leftover MREs each year. Ted, who knew how valuable the MREs would be when things got bad, stored them at his bachelor pad after his divorce. He would hand them out by the case to friends. The Army issued them to people, it was a paperwork pain to turn them back in, and Ted was putting them to good use. One day, Grant was in the gun store and a big shipment of guns came in. Grant, who had a suit and tie on, helped Chip unload the truck. Chip thanked him with two cases of MREs.
The shed had more than just food in it. Each tub had a can opener in it. Grant also put medical supplies in some of the tubs. He didn’t stock complete trauma kits; they were expensive and he didn’t know how to use them. He knew first aid well, but didn’t want to waste money on fancy medical gear he couldn’t use. He thought he’d stretch the money he had on things that are more likely to strike people and were cheaper to remedy. He watched YouTube videos by “Patriot Nurse” wh
o provided valuable insight on field medical issues.
A small sample of the medical-related things in the shed included lots of electrolyte pills from a running store to supplement the Gatorade mix. He had Imodium for diarrhea. He hoped the water supply would be OK when the collapse hit, because he saw a partial breakdown rather than a total one, but knew that a dollar’s worth of electrolytes or Imodium could save someone who is dehydrated from drinking bad water.
Grant also got many one-quart containers of rubbing alcohol. They were $4.00 each at Costco. For about $5.00, he got a few 250-packs of cleaning wipes for glasses in individual packets; they were made of rubbing alcohol. The wipes and jugs of rubbing alcohol would come in handy for sterilizing instruments and dressing wounds. And they were very cheap and stored for years.
The medical tub also included the caffeine pills and the non- drowsy allergy pills he needed for his hay fever. It was thinking of little things like this and acting now that would make life so much better later.
Manda noticed that all the receipts were in the tubs and asked why.
“So,” Grant explained, “during a collapse, we can look back at the receipts and realize how little all these things cost beforehand. It will make it even more apparent to people how much sense it made to spend a little money now.” Grant grinned.
At the very beginning of his prepping, when he was frustrated that Lisa wasn’t on board with it, Grant dreamed about the gloating he could do when she realized how right he had been all along. Then he realized how stupid that was. He decided that he would not gloat at all; that would only drive her away from him and turn prepping into an “I told you so” instead of what it was really about: taking care of his family, which is a man’s first and most important job. No gloating. But, he might need a little bit of credibility with her. Why he felt he would still need credibility with her after his family was eating and was protected while others weren’t, he didn’t understand. She would see that fifty pounds of pancake mix was just $35 in peacetime, but was twenty times that much during the collapse. The receipts would increase his credibility with her right when he needed her to trust him with her life in circumstances that she could never imagine. This trust would be a matter of life and death, and if a little thing like a peacetime food receipt helped with that, then he should do it.
Grant finished showing Manda all the tubs and then asked, “What do you think?”
“Awesome, Dad,” she said with a big smile. But she was very practical, so she asked, “How much did all this cost?”
“About one ounce of gold when I wanted to buy it and your mom said I couldn’t,” Grant said. “I decided to take the money I would have spent on one ounce — about $900 — and invest in some assets that would be far more valuable later.” Grant was trying not to scare his lovely, bubbly innocent daughter with all this gloom and doom talk. That’s why he didn’t show her the guns or the twenty or so ammo cans in the cabin basement, or the tubs with the fifty-five bricks of vacuum-sealed .22 ammo. No, he would just show her the food for now.
“You can’t tell your friends about this, Amanda,” Grant said, using her full name to emphasize the seriousness of the point.
She nodded. “Not even Emmy?” She was Manda’s best friend. “Not even her,” Grant said. “Sorry, dear, but if you tell her, she’ll tell her parents. And when a collapse hits, they’ll try to come out here. We don’t have enough for everyone.”
“They could have bought food like you did,” Manda said, “but probably didn’t.”
“Exactly,” Grant said, thanking his lucky stars that his daughter understood all this better than most adults.
“What would you do if Emmy and her parents came out here and asked for food?” Manda asked.
Time to tell her straight, like she was a grown up.
“Turn them away because this food is for my family,” Grant said. “I spent my time, money, and stress of hiding this from your mom when Emmy’s parents were playing golf or whatever.”
“What if her parents wouldn’t leave or got angry?” Manda asked.
“I’d make them leave,” Grant said.
“What if they wouldn’t leave or tried to take the food?” Manda asked.
“I’d give them another chance to leave before I resorted to force,” Grant said. He looked her right in the eye when he said that. He wanted her to understand how serious this was. Manda just stood there, trying to take in the thought that her dad would use force against her best friend’s parents.
“People knowing about our food could get us killed,” Grant said. “Those hungry and desperate people could try to hurt us for the food or they could tell other people we have food and the other people, maybe even a gang, could try to hurt us.”
Manda nodded.
“New friends are easy to come by. Resurrecting your family from the dead isn’t,” Grant said.
“That’s a pretty good reason not to tell Emmy,” Manda said, “because if she doesn’t know about the food, you won’t have to hurt anyone.”
“Exactly,” Grant said.
Grant wanted to ease his sweet teenage daughter’s fears about the terrible topic of shooting her best friend’s parents, so he tried to change the subject back to the reasons for having the food.
“Assume that there is no collapse,” Grant said. “Worst case scenario is that in a few years as the expiration dates start to come up, I donate the food to a food bank.” He was trying to act like he thought that would happen.
“That won’t be happening, Daddy,” Manda said. She looked at Grant with the most serious look he had ever seen from her. “I know what’s coming.”
Chapter 29
It’s Going to Get Ugly.
Grant was sick of the government assholes at work. It was getting ridiculous. Jeanie was trying to fend them off and get Menlow pointed in the direction of reform, but she wasn’t willing to do anything that jeopardized her job.
Menlow had secretly started running for governor long ago. Although election day was still years away, his actions were already becoming calculated, as he prepared for the race. There is nothing more spineless than a politician running for a higher office. Menlow was so busy trying to make all the government people, and all the other left- wing Washington State voters, happy that he had long since abandoned his pledge to reform the State Auditor’s Office into a force for exposing corruption. It was pathetic. Grant felt stupid for believing in him.
Grant was looking for a way out of government employment. He had toughed it out for longer than he expected to be there. He had helped many citizens when he was there. He got so much more done on the inside of government, even for that short period, than he could have from the outside. But, he’d been thwarted. It was time to go back to WAB.
The Matsons were hosting the annual Fourth of July party with Tom, Brian, and Ben from WAB. When Menlow found out that Grant was having the WAB people over socially, he was a little concerned.
“Do you think that’s a good idea, Grant?”Menlow said with grave concern. “I mean, WAB is pretty partisan.”
“Yeah, partisan for your party,” Grant said. “You are a Republican.”
It was becoming increasingly socially awkward to be a “conservative” in this liberal town. The liberals weren’t screaming or throwing things, but there was definitely a separation between them and those who were conservative. Only fellow liberals were allowed into this mainstream world. The WAB guys talked about this over too many beers at the Fourth of July party.
This was the perfect time for Grant to ask for his job back. After they started talking about what a piece of shit Menlow had become, Grant simply said to Tom, “Can I come back to WAB?”
“About time,” Tom said. “Same salary and everything?” “OK,” Grant said. “You drive a hard bargain.” That was it.
Grant was no longer a state employee. It felt liberating. They celebrated some more.
Now that they were good and drunk, Ben had an idea. A conservative think tank in
town (the only one) had a full studio for making political podcasts and doing radio shows. WAB knew them well. Ben suggested that WAB get together and start a podcast called “Rebel Radio” to begin describing all the corruption they were seeing.
It would be more than just a show about state politics; it would have an edge. A “Don’t Tread on Me” edge.
“How about a show on the coming collapse of California?” Tom offered.
“Yeah, and how public employee unions are looting the treasury of this state,” Brian suggested.
“We need to have a show on Baby Boomers and how they voted themselves tons of shit and now the rest of us need to pay for it,” Ben said.
The show topics started flowing like all the beer. Brian was writing them down.
The conservative think tank was happy to produce the podcast, but secretly. Their sound engineer could easily electronically alter each speaker’s voice to make them unrecognizable. It didn’t sound like an artificial robot, just like another person. It was amazing. The sound engineer made Grant’s average radio voice sound rich and deep. Hiding their voices was important because the identities of the podcasters and the think tank had to remain a secret.
They knew that Rebel Radio was going to say some unpopular things that would make some very powerful people mad. The WAB guys still had to lobby legislators for their small-business members. This “Don’t Tread on Me” edge to Rebel Radio would terrify the spineless Republicans they had to lobby. The think tank was especially interested in not having anyone know they were involved with Rebel Radio because they had a tax-exempt charitable status. They knew the IRS would yank it if they put out opinions like this. Of course, it was perfectly legal for them to do this but the IRS had been “interpreting” the tax-exempt laws pretty harshly against conservative groups.
A few days later, Grant resigned from the State Auditor’s Office. The resignation was anti-climactic. He didn’t even go into Menlow’s office and talk to him like he used to. He just wrote a letter and put it on Menlow’s desk. The letter was polite and didn’t go into all the details. It just said that Grant was going back to the private sector after he had assisted the Auditor with his reform goals. It was bland but Grant didn’t care. He just wanted out.