by Glen Tate
But still, allowing and even encouraging for-profit farms would be a political challenge for Grant. When people at Pierce Point got hungry—for the first time in their lives—they would want to take from those who had food. The best way to prevent this was to encourage the for-profit farms to become community farms. Encourage, not force. The free guards would be the way to do that.
Ralph’s Ag report was encouraging. “We’ll have quite a bit of food out here,” he said. “Not enough to totally feed everyone, but a decent amount. We’ll be eating more basic foods than you’re probably used to; a lot of potatoes, but fresh potatoes you grow yourself taste way better than all that processed stuff you used to eat.”
Ralph had earlier talked to Rich about how the existence of the Grange kitchen and lots of people eating there was actually a plus for the farms. This was because, with gas being so scarce, it would be hard for individuals to get to farms, pick up a household-size amount of food, go back home, and cook it. It was easier to bring one big batch of food from the farm and have it cooked in one big kitchen and then eaten in one big sitting. This way, it could be eaten right away, when the crop came in, rather than needing to be canned, dried, or frozen. There would be canning, drying, and freezing of the food that wasn’t immediately eaten, but the Grange kitchen was getting lots of fresh produce to hungry people quickly and efficiently. In fact, the farm-fresh food served at the Grange was becoming some of the best at Pierce Point.
Ralph loved the opportunity to teach people about farming. At Pierce Point, he could do far more of the actual teaching than he could at his former government job, which was largely about filling out paperwork and endless documentation for the zillions of grant programs. Now he was doing what he loved.
Given Ralph’s good news about how the community was assisting people with things like growing food, Grant thought this was a good time to bring up his ideas on strengthening community even more.
“Any other topics?” Rich asked.
Grant raised his hand.
“I have some ideas for a few community things out here and wanted to see what everyone thought,” he said. People were paying attention.
“Ralph is doing great things for everyone,” Grant said. He turned to Ralph and said, “Thank you.” Grant went on. “You know, the community is organizing some things that will make our lives better. Things that are still voluntary, but are helpful. Well, I have a few more ideas for voluntary things.”
“How about a library?” Grant asked. “Lots of people have some time on their hands now that their old jobs don’t exist anymore. The internet is spotty and the power might go out, so I’m thinking of a library full of real books. Hard copies. Something you can hold in your hand and take with you. You might have books lying around that you don’t read anymore, but your neighbor hasn’t read them. People could donate their books and we’d put them in a building. Depending on how many we get, and how much space it takes up, we could put them here,” Grant said motioning to the main room of the Grange. People appeared to like that idea.
A woman raised her hand. “I was a librarian,” she said. She was thrilled at the prospect of getting to be a librarian again.
“Great. Talk to me after the meeting,” Grant said.
“How does everyone get their books here when gas is so scarce?” Grant asked. No one offered an answer, but Grant had one.
“What if we had a postal service?” he asked. Of course the mail had not been delivered after the Collapse. The government was using precious fuel on getting food delivered, not on sending out junk mail.
“Well,” Grant said, “actually, more of a parcel service. Someone who made a regular route around Pierce Point picking up and dropping things off. You know how I feel about too much government,” Grant said, making another one of his not-so-subtle Patriot points, “so it wouldn’t be a ‘government’ thing like the U.S. mail. It would be a business, I’m guessing, more like UPS or FedEx. Participation would be voluntary, of course.”
Doug Smithson, the trucker who helped with the semi load of food, raised his hand. “I could do that,” he said. He didn’t say it at the meeting, but he had a 500 gallon underground tank of diesel at his place. He had a little diesel pickup truck. It would be great to be driving again. The boredom of sitting around was making him crazy. When Grant told Rich about this idea right before the meeting, Rich suggested that the parcel driver could keep his or her eyes out for things while out on the route. Doug could use his CB to report anything. It would be like having an extra patrolman. And Doug would be very well armed out there. It would be a two-fer: a “postman” and an extra patrolman. And it wouldn’t cost them any fuel. On top of all that, Doug would make some money for his services and people would get parcels delivered. Free enterprise was alive and well.
“Great,” Grant said. “You’d get paid something. You’re using valuable fuel. We’ll figure all that out.”
Someone said, “Like the Postman, that movie with Kevin Costner.” Grant had forgotten about that movie. He had never seen it or read the book, but he vaguely remembered that the story was about a guy after a nuclear war who grabs a mailman’s uniform and starts delivering mail to wiped out communities as a way to restore their hope in normalcy. There was something enormously hopeful about having a postal service when there wasn’t any other functioning government. That’s exactly what Doug the mailman would be doing. Along with moving items around, he would be restoring some sense of normalcy. There was a lot to be said for that. Grant loved the political significance of Pierce Point having a parcel service when the former government couldn’t provide it.
“Don’t worry,” Doug said, “I won’t make you wait in line while I take a break or ‘go postal’ and shoot people like the old mailmen.” That got a good laugh.
“Another idea,” Grant said, “is to get a school going. We have lots of teachers out here, like my neighbor, Mary Anne Morrell. I know some of the teachers have been talking about getting a school together, but we’ve been busy with so many things. I just encourage the teachers to get together and maybe get a school planned for the fall. I’m no educator, but I like the idea, and I bet Ralph would agree. He could plan on having the kids out of school in the summer to work on the farms.” Ralph nodded.
Grant described the census, which had just started getting worked on, but now it would be undertaken full-time by Dutch. Grant explained why a census was necessary: to know who was there, how many, and any special needs a household had. It would also help coordinate things, like meal cards. The census would be a way to find out if a household was expecting any potential guests who might be coming to the gate.
More volunteers came forward for the census work. They were older people who might not be physically capable of guard duty, but wanted to help. “If you can’t hold a rifle all day, we could still use you holding a clipboard,” Grant said. It takes both rifles and clipboards to survive.
Rich suggested that the census volunteers ride around with Doug the Mailman, which was his new nickname.
Grant smiled to himself as he watched the crowd volunteering and people displaying signs of hope. Not bad for a little hamlet of about 500 people cut off from all formal government.
Chapter 160
Snelling’s Decision
(July 1)
Sitting in the back of the Grange that night, Snelling was horrified at all this organization. He had a pretty good idea why the Patriots were so bent on a census. Snelling knew his name would have a big “L” after it. He was terrified by how Grant was replacing the legitimate government out there with an agriculture service, library, school, postal service, and census. That’s what infuriated Snelling.
What did these hillbillies think they were doing, having a “census”? Snelling wondered. Everyone knows that only highly educated federal officials could possible conduct a census. It was time to show everyone that Grant’s grand plans would fail, because Grant was a hypocrite.
Snelling raised his hand. Everyone k
new fireworks were coming.
“Yes, Mr. Snelling,” Grant said in a sarcastically polite voice.
Snelling mockingly said, “Here we have the mighty Grant Matson, Mr. Constitution and anti-government, proposing a census, postal service, and library? That’s government. Those aren’t in the 200-year old Constitution.” The crowd was quiet.
Grant laughed. A big, hearty “I’m glad you said that, dumbass” kind of laugh.
“Um, Mr. Snelling, have you ever actually read the Constitution?” Grant asked.
“I’ve read about it. Extensively,” Snelling said.
“But you haven’t actually read it, right?” Grant said. “Reading New York Times editorials about the Constitution doesn’t count.” That got some laughs.
Snelling was silent.
Grant went in for the kill. “Look it up for yourself, sir. The Constitution specifically authorizes a post service and a census. A library would be the ‘progress of science and useful arts,’ which the Constitution specifically authorizes Congress to do. You know, like the Library of Congress. It’s amazing all the stuff that’s in the Constitution when you actually read it.” Grant started to laugh at Snelling. He was really enjoying this. The crowd appeared to, as well. They laughed along with Grant.
Snelling was humiliated. He had one more “hypocrite” card to play on Grant.
“Well,” Snelling said with a sneer, “you hate government, but propose an Agriculture Department and schools at Pierce Point. Where’s that in the Constitution?”
“Well,” Grant said, “the Constitution limits government—a crazy idea, to you Loyalists, I know.” That was the first time he had used the term “Loyalist,” but he thought this was a good time to break it out, given what an ass Snelling was making of himself. Might as well have the crowd equate “Loyalist” with “jackass.”
“That’s right,” Grant continued, “the Constitution limits government, not private people. And Mr. Ramirez’s Ag department is purely voluntary and so is the school. Voluntary. I guess that’s hard for you to conceive of, Mr. Snelling. Ag and schools must be massive bureaucracies and people must pay over half their income to support things like that. No, Mr. Snelling, not here. Not at Pierce Point. That’s what you hate, isn’t it? You hate that we’re doing things ourselves, and doing a damned good job, without the government you worship.” The crowd applauded loudly.
Grant was elated. Not about slamming Snelling; that was tragically easy when your opponent tries to debate the Constitution, but has never read it. Instead, Grant was proud that he had turned the political corner out there. He had shown people, with practical things, like a library, that the Patriot way worked and the Loyalist way didn’t. Now Grant was calling assholes with bad ideas “Loyalists,” and people were applauding. Those in the crowd may not walk around thinking of themselves as a “Patriot,” but they sure as hell would listen to someone who called themselves that. The political persuasion was done. Grant would need to maintain it, of course, but the big battle had been won, with practical results, not theoretical debate.
“You and your little pals are free to go,” Grant said, without thinking. “Free to go, Mr. Snelling.” That didn’t get much applause, however. It seemed that people didn’t mind applauding when a guy made a good point, but kicking people out into the chaos outside Pierce Point was different.
Fair enough. Maybe Grant had overplayed his hand a little bit. Oh well, no one’s perfect. It was time to show Snelling and the crowd the tough side of Grant.
“Seriously,” Grant said. “Why don’t you leave? You seem so miserable here with all the common people, the hillbillies. The government running everything seems to be what you want. There’s plenty of that out there.” Grant nodded his head toward Frederickson. “Frederickson seems to be running smoothly. With the gangs in charge, of course. I bet Olympia is a dream for you. All those nice Freedom Corps people serving the public. Why don’t you go? It’s a serious question. Why don’t you?”
Snelling knew the answer but couldn’t say it. The only safe place around was Pierce Point and he wasn’t about to leave it.
It was right then and there that Snelling made his big decision: he would finally do something to get rid of Grant. Snelling couldn’t leave Pierce Point, and he couldn’t stand being in Pierce Point with Grant running it. He wasn’t sure how he’d get rid of Grant, but he had to try.
“I wouldn’t leave my property here,” Snelling said, trying desperately to make at least one debating point. “I would leave if I could sell it,” he said, which wasn’t true.
“But Mr. Snelling, you can’t sell it,” Grant said. That surprised everyone. Wasn’t Grant Mr. Freedom? Mr. Property Rights? Why couldn’t a person sell his or her property?
Grant went on. “There are all those HUD and state housing department forms to fill out to sell a residence. You would need to have a certified property inspector look at it. You need a certification that all the household appliances are ‘green.’ You need to pay the excise tax to sell property, and that’s a hefty sum now. Those are all the laws that you want to live under, but not when they get in the way of you doing what you want, huh?” More applause.
“Tell you what, Mr. Snelling,” Grant said. “Here at Pierce Point, there are no ‘green’ appliance certification requirements. You can just sell it. There are no taxes out here, either; you can just keep the money. You could list your property with Ken Dolphson. Then you can get the hell out of here. Would you? Please?”
No one applauded. Grant was being too caustic and losing the crowd. He had overplayed his hand again, but it felt great.
Snelling’s face got beet red. He wanted to kill Grant, but he didn’t want to do it himself. He wanted Grant gone. He wanted to leave that room, but he wouldn’t, not when Grant had just asked him to leave. That would be admitting defeat.
“We’ll see how this turns out,” Snelling said.
“What does that mean?” Grant asked, hoping that he was threatening him.
“Things seem great now,” Snelling said. “Wait until winter. Less food. More sickness. Things won’t always be as rosy as they are now.” Snelling was making sense for the first time. But it seemed to Grant that Snelling was hoping that Pierce Point would fail, and Snelling was prepared to do what it took to make that happen.
“You’re right, Mr. Snelling,” Grant said sincerely. “Winter will be tough, which is why we need to work hard now to get ready. So let’s return to the work at hand tonight: how to get ready for winter.” Grant wanted to end on a point that made him look like a good guy instead of someone beating up a fool. He would leave Snelling alone for the rest of the meeting.
Chapter 161
“Never Go Off to a War That You Don’t Have To”
(July 3)
A couple of evenings later, Grant was at the Grange talking to people who had volunteered for various jobs.
Linda Rodriguez, the dispatcher, suddenly flew out of the little radio room. She ran out the door into the parking lot. A few seconds later, Chip was with her and the two of them were running toward Grant.
Chip started to yell to Grant, but caught himself so he wouldn’t cause everyone else alarm. He said to Grant, as calmly as possible, “You and I are needed.” Chip pointed to Grant’s AR leaning up against the wall and motioned for Grant to get it and come with him. Grant excused himself from the conversation and walked quickly over to his AR. Then he nonchalantly got his kit hanging in the coat closet. Whatever Chip needed him for, this wasn’t good.
Chip was trying to be calm so Grant took the hint and did the same. He knew there must be a good reason Chip was trying to underplay this. As great as Pierce Point was, there was one bad thing: rumors. People had nothing else to do but talk all day about things like this. Seeing Grant and Chip frantic, they would start rumors and speculate. They weren’t vicious like small town gossipers can be, but it wasn’t very helpful for people to be spreading wild rumors. This was just a fact of life out there.
It
was getting dark outside. As they walked out, Grant asked, “Just you and me? Not the rest of the Team?”
“Yep,” Chip said softly. “Just us.”
Chip pointed toward a white Toyota pickup that Grant didn’t recognize. He got some keys out of his pocket and headed toward it. Chip got in. Apparently someone had donated a truck to the Grange guards. Grant got in, too. As they were leaving, a guy everyone called “Ro Mac,” who ran the night shift of the Grange guards, came by. He and Chip talked briefly about the shift change. Ro Mac could tell that Chip was in a hurry, but he didn’t know why. Grant continued to act like it was no big deal.
Chip said goodbye to Ro Mac and drove out of the Grange parking lot. He turned toward the cabin instead of toward the gate.
“What’s up?” Grant finally asked.
“Visitors on the beach,” Chip said.
Grant got chills. “Visitors” was a scary word.
“Good visitors or bad visitors?” Grant asked.
Chip didn’t smile like Grant had expected. “Depends on how you look at it,” he said. “Overall, good. But things out here just got a lot more serious.”
What the hell did that mean?
“Huh?” Grant asked.
Chip was speeding down the road toward the cabin. “You’ll see,” Chip said. “You’ll see. I don’t want to spoil the surprise. Besides, I don’t know all the details. Just that a code word was used.”
Chip stared down the road as he was speeding toward the water.
“What code word?” Grant asked.
“The ‘green team,’” Chip said softly. “That’s what Linda ran out and told me. Our visitors used that code word. Chief picked them up and they told him to radio that term to his headquarters.”