by Glen Tate
299 Days: The Visitors
by
Glen Tate
Book Five in the ten book 299 Days series.
Your Survival Library
www.PrepperPress.com
299 Days: The Visitors
Copyright © 2013 by Glen Tate
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.
Prepper Press Trade Paperback Edition: March 2013
Prepper Press is a division of Northern House Media, LLC
- To Sarah, who helped put these words to print.
From Chapter One to Chapter 299, this ten-book series follows Grant Matson and others as they navigate through a partial collapse of society. Set in Washington State, this series depicts the conflicting worlds of preppers, those who don't understand them, and those who fear and resent them.
The Visitors, the fifth book in the 299 Days series, follows Grant Matson, the Team, and other Pierce Point residents as they adjust to a rapidly changing post-Collapse reality. When the Team is summoned to bust a meth lab and protect their neighbors, they find themselves in an intense crime scene that results in the community having to decide innocence, guilt and punishment.
Adjusting to this “new normal” is a challenge to Grant and others as they navigate a world where Pop-Tarts cost $45 a box, neighbors die from easily preventable conditions, and what remains of the former U.S. Government is deliberately choosing who they will and will not help.
As tensions grow in Pierce Point and the Team begins to face organized opposition, they are presented with an incredible opportunity by the arrival of Special Forces Ted and his game-changing proposal. Grant finds himself at a crossroads as he must decide whether he and the Team will formally join the Patriots and train to become guerilla fighters against the growing forces of the Loyalists or standby and watch events unfold. Grant knows one decision could risk his marriage and family, while another would mean letting others decide their fate.
For more about this series, free chapters, and to be notified about future releases, please visit www.299days.com.
Books from the 299 Days series published to date:
Book One – 299 Days: The Preparation
Book Two – 299 Days: The Collapse
Book Three – 299 Days: The Community
Book Four – 299 Days: The Stronghold
Book Five – 299 Days: The Visitors
About the Author:
Glen Tate has a front row seat to the corruption in government and writes the 299 Days series from his first-hand observations of why a collapse is coming and predictions on how it will unfold. Much like the main character in the series, Grant Matson, the author grew up in a rural and remote part of Washington State. He is now a forty-something resident of Olympia, Washington, and is a very active prepper. “Glen” keeps his real identity a secret so he won’t lose his job because, in his line of work, being a prepper and questioning the motives of the government is not appreciated.
Table of Contents
Chapter 138
Chapter 139
Chapter 140
Chapter 141
Chapter 142
Chapter 143
Chapter 144
Chapter 145
Chapter 146
Chapter 147
Chapter 148
Chapter 149
Chapter 150
Chapter 151
Chapter 152
Chapter 153
Chapter 154
Chapter 155
Chapter 156
Chapter 157
Chapter 158
Chapter 159
Chapter 160
Chapter 161
Chapter 162
Chapter 163
Chapter 164
Chapter 165
Chapter 166
Chapter 167
Chapter 138
Raid on the Tweaker House
(May 14)
They all got in a truck—not Mark’s—driven by someone who knew where they were going. Tim, the EMT, was in the truck, too, with his big first aid kit, which was a good idea. Someone could get hurt; either them or the people in the Richardson house. Or both.
There was a serious mood among the Team. No one said, “This never gets old.” No one was smiling. This was for real.
Grant was in shock. Was this really happening? He had been through a lifetime worth of changes in the past two weeks, but this seemed like the biggest change of all. He was actually riding out to raid a house – without being a cop, or anything. Just a bunch of civilians going out to – what? – “arrest” some people. This was a job for the cops.
Except there are no more cops, Grant told himself. “It’s up to us,” he said softly, too softly, for anyone else to hear. He felt like a crazy man for muttering to himself, so he stopped and tried to get his head in the game.
The other members of the Team were doing the same thing. Each man was thinking about what would happen if he got killed, or if he got maimed. If he chickened out and disgraced himself. If one of their teammates got killed or maimed. What it would be like to have to kill someone.
Most of them thought about God. Grant thought to himself, silently, “Here for a reason.” He knew he was there for a reason, in that place, at that time, with these people, to do a particular thing. But that didn’t make this “normal.” This was weird. Weird as hell. They were going to point guns at people and they had no legal authority to do that, Grant’s lawyer brain was telling him.
Jail, Grant thought to himself. The Team would go to jail if the cops regained control over things and started to prosecute people for raiding homes. All the scenes of the past two weeks raced through Grant’s mind, all the scenes of one police officer trying to control a huge crowd and the abandoned police cars everywhere.
The sirens. Grant remembered the sirens from two weeks ago and how they suddenly stopped a few days later. The rational side of his brain kicked in again: there are no cops, as evidenced by the lack of sirens. His lawyer self was trying to talk sense into his scared self.
The truck was slowing down. They were getting close. Pow said, “Press check, gentlemen.” They checked the chambers of their ARs and pistols to make sure they had a round in. All did. They checked the safeties on their ARs, which were on, for now.
They looked through their optics to make sure their red-dot sights were on, and they were. Each man checked that all his magazines were full. They were, of course. They had this part down. It was the part about rushing into an unknown house with unknown people inside, without any legal authority, that they didn’t have down.
Rich could sense how the Team was feeling. He’d been there before. “You guys will do fine,” he said. That meant a lot to them.
Ryan thought he’d boost the new guys’ confidence and said, “Don’t worry, guys. I’d go into combat with any of you.” Given what Ryan had done in Afghanistan, that was very reassuring. Ryan was fairly sure these “UCG” (untrained civilian goofball) newbies would do OK, but he wasn’t 100% sure. Then again, he had no choice. These were the guys he was going in with. He had to play the hand he was dealt, so he might as well increase their confidence. But, Ryan had to admit, he wished he had Pow’s body armor.
They came up to the crime victims from the Grange who had gone ahead to guide the Team to the correct house. The victims waved down the truck. They were very happy to see the Team and didn’t seem to be worried about the fact that the Team had no legal authority. They had been worried for a long time about the tweakers next door and now something was being done about them. Who were these guys who would just rush into a meth house? They didn’t know why the Team was doing this, but they were glad to have them out there.
“No on
e has come in or out since we got here about twenty minutes ago,” one of them said. “The house is down the road about a quarter mile,” he said while pointing. “It’s the second house on the left. The first house on the right is mine. My address is 1761. Don’t go in that one. Go to the second house on the left, which is 18 something. The address isn’t on the place since it’s run down to shit. It has cars and shit all over the place. It’s a dark brown house.”
Rich knew the Richardson house well. He’d been there a couple of times when he was back on the force. “Is there any possibility of us going to the wrong house?” Rich asked. He wasn’t actually worried they had the wrong house this time, but he was trained to make extra sure they had the right house. “Is there any other house other than the second one on the left?”
The man shook his head. “You’ll know you’re at the right place because of the dogs.”
Oh great. Grant had a bad feeling about this; a really bad feeling. He felt adrenaline rush through him. The tip of his tongue started getting tingly. He was terrified.
“How many?” Pow asked calmly.
“A couple, at least. I think they’re Rottweilers,” the man said.
Oh crap, Grant thought. He considered “Rottweilers” one of the most terrifying words in the English language.
“There goes the element of surprise,” Ryan said.
“Hey, Scotty you got your ‘hush puppy’?” Bobby asked, referring to Scotty’s Walther P22 pistol with a silencer. The “hush puppy” was for use in situations exactly like this.
Scotty shook his head. “It’s back home. I don’t carry it with me.”
“Shit,” Pow said. “Can you go get it?”
Rich said, “No. We don’t have time. They might have gotten a call from someone at the Grange. We have to do this now. We’ll just have to power through the dogs.”
Rich looked at the weapons each man had. “Anyone got a shotgun?” he asked. They shook their heads. Rich wished that one of them had brought a high capacity shotgun with number 4 buckshot, which would throw out thirty lead pellets with each pull of the trigger. They spread out to about the size of a dinner paper plate at twenty-five yards. A dinner plate of lead to take out a dog. Numerous guys on the Team were realizing that next time they would have a “go kit” ready with the silenced .22 and at least one shotgun. There were probably more things they’d learn today that they needed on these raids, like having along Tim, the EMT.
Grant thought it would be nice to have some of Dan’s dogs to go in and clear out the Rottweilers and chase the bad guys. Grant didn’t want to mention yet another thing they’d do differently next time. There was no need to say that now. He was trying to project confidence, even if he didn’t have any right then.
“No biggie,” Pow said as he held up his AR. “I got your dog catcher right here.” He, too, was making a valiant effort to maintain the guys’ confidence.
“I’ll go lead,” Pow said. “I’ve got the body armor.” He did another press check. He was ready to go; anxious to go. He’d been waiting for this his whole life. Not actually wanting to do it, but being ready to do it. Pow was a softie on the inside. He was a sheepdog, though, and going in and cleaning out thieves was what sheepdogs did. Especially since there weren’t any traditional police available.
When Pow volunteered to be the first one through the door, Rich remembered a saying: When you’re in a gun fight, some guys can’t stop thinking about home. Other guys—the gun fighters—are at home. The fight is where they belong and love to be. Pow was at home right then.
Grant knew that it was time for some motivation for the other guys. He looked at all of them and suddenly had an amazing sense of calm and confidence come over him. “We’re here for a reason, guys,” he said. “You know it’s true. We’re here for a reason. Do you think it’s some giant coincidence that all of us, with all the skills and gear we have, are right here, right now?” His question was met with silence.
“Why are we doing this?” Grant asked the Team. “You know the answer,” he said, a little loudly and with lots of vigor. “We’re doing this because these motherfuckers will keep breaking into houses and eventually, they’ll kill someone. Our neighbors. They will kill, unless we get them first. This is self-defense, gentlemen. We need to get them before they get us.”
It was quiet. They were letting it sink in. Then Bobby smiled. “Is there any place you’d rather be?” Some of the guys smiled, some nodded, and some just stared.
“Let’s go, constables,” Rich said.
“Constable” was the right word at the right time. It reminded them that they weren’t just the “Team” anymore, just a bunch of guys who went to the range together and then happened to live together during a crisis. They were the people the community looked to protect them, even if they didn’t have any official badges. They were the sheepdogs protecting the sheep from the wolves. They had been given honor and responsibilities by their neighbors. They were constables.
Grant had some zip ties in his kit. They were thin black plastic bands for holding wires together and could be cinched up but not loosened. They cost about a dime a piece and were perfect cheap handcuffs. Grant bought several hundred at a hardware store in preparation for the Collapse. He had a sneaking suspicion back then that he would need zip ties. He handed a few to each man.
“Remember,” Grant said, “we’re here to arrest these people” – the word “arrest” sounded so weird coming from a civilian – “and not shoot them. But you can, and should, defend yourself, if necessary.” They all nodded. Grant, the lawyer and now “judge,” wanted to make sure the constables didn’t think this was a mass execution. The tweakers had stolen some stuff, which didn’t warrant the death penalty. But, Grant thought as he did a press check of his AR and Glock, they all had every right to protect themselves.
There was nothing left to say. It was go time. Rich said, “OK, let’s do this.”
The plan was to go in on foot, which would be quieter than a truck, and hug the tree line of the road. Those going through the front door would be Pow, Ryan, and Rich. Bobby and Grant would be the left flank, and Scotty and Wes would be on the right. The flanks would cover the sides of the house and then link up at the back door to prevent that escape route. Tim would stay back. One of the crime victims would bring Tim and a truck into the front yard once all the shooting stopped, if a shootout occurred. They could use the truck to haul out arrestees or…bodies. Tim was unarmed. Rich only had a pistol; circumstances of which both would change before the next raid. They had already learned a lot from this raid. Hopefully none of them would be fatal lessons.
Pow started down the road. Everyone followed him out of habit, like they’d done hundreds of times on the range. There was a familiarity, a rhythm to this, Grant thought. It felt natural to be advancing on a target, looking for cover each step of the way, and keeping track of where your team members were and would be going. They’d done this so many times, except not for real, and not with Rottweiler dogs waiting for them.
They went down the road a few hundred yards. Grant was glad he was in shape. This was hard work. They got to the driveway of the tweaker house, which was set back in the woods about a hundred yards. There was a fence, but it was open. Apparently, meth addicts aren’t too good about details, like closing the gate. There was crap in the yard. Cars, rusted equipment. It was an absolute mess. Lots of cover, Grant thought. For us and them, he realized.
As soon as Pow went down the driveway, the dogs started barking. It sounded like two, but there could have been three. The safeties began clicking off at the sound of the dogs. Grant knew he was supposed to wait until they were on target before switching off the safeties, but he was terrified and didn’t want to risk having the safety on when he needed to shoot someone.
The adrenaline was surging. Grant could feel it coursing through his veins, like a drug. Not a happy drug, but a medicine drug. A drug the body needed right then.
Adrenaline would speed up Grant’
s reaction time, let him run faster, think faster and clearer, and do things he didn’t want to do, such as shoot someone, like he did with the looters back in Olympia. He had felt this feeling before. He didn’t like it, but he welcomed the help it would give him in the next few seconds, which is how long he expected this operation to last. Forty seconds to a minute. That’s what all of this would come down to.
Chapter 139
The Blur
(May 14)
The blur was starting. Everything began blending together and Grant’s senses weren’t normal. Things were mushy, but he was in full control of his muscles. He was getting tunnel vision and his hearing was improving. He could hear all the driveway gravel crunching under his feet, almost as loud as his heavy breathing. He could feel his heart pounding. Things were starting to go into slow motion. He felt strong. He tasted that tingle on the end of his tongue again. That was adrenaline.
Grant looked around and saw Scotty and Wes pulling away from the group and taking the right flank. Grant and Bobby started peeling away and taking the left flank. Pow, Ryan, and Rich were heading straight into the front of the house.
There was a small wire fence around the front of the house to hold the dogs. There they were, barking like crazy. Two Rottweilers; vicious, snarling monsters with giant teeth. Grant’s vision was focusing on the teeth. They were a weapon and he was focusing on them. Don’t get tunnel vision, he told himself. Pow’s got the dogs covered, he thought. Go with Bobby and take the left flank, he told himself. He wanted to run over and take out the dogs, but realized that he would be shooting to his right, which was in the direction of Scotty and Wes, who were coming around the other way. No, execute the plan, he told himself. You and Bobby have the left flank, he told himself, now get going. Meet up with Scotty and Wes at the back door.