by Glen Tate
The Delphi Road bubba guard worked pretty well. There were three drunken hillbillies from one family who were quickly kicked off guard duty. Other than that, the guards got along very well. It felt like a small farming town out there, like it had been 100 years ago.
Tom grew to like guard duty. He didn’t at first; he had never been a “gun guy,” so he didn’t want to look stupid around all these country people who knew guns. He brought his Sig 9mm pistol and was loaned an AK-47 for when he was on primary duty. Some farm kid in his twenties named Justin showed him how to use the AK.
Tom had the operation of the AK down in about thirty seconds. Those things were designed to hand to anyone, even illiterate tribesmen in any part of the world, and have them know how to use them very quickly. He was much less nervous about looking like a “city boy” now that he was smoothly operating an AK-47. He slung it over his shoulder like a pro. Actually, he was just doing what he’d seen in the movies, which worked just fine.
Tom asked to shoot the AK once, to see if it kicked. It wasn’t bad at all. He actually hit the target—a milk jug out at about fifteen yards. Not too shabby, he thought. He realized that he didn’t have to be some military guy. The Delphi bubba guards were all just civilians with guns guarding a roadblock. Tom could do that.
He was also initially nervous about spending a week with people who were essentially strangers. It was like going to a cocktail party where you don’t know anyone, but the party lasts for a week.
It turns out this wasn’t a problem. Everyone greeted him warmly when they found out he was a guest at the Prosser farm. The Prosser family had been on that land for over 100 years and had built up a lot of goodwill there. Some people asked what he did back in Olympia. Tom would just change the subject. He never gave out his last name. He was just “Tom.”
“Something’s coming! Get ready!” someone yelled during the second day of one of Tom’s shifts. It was late in the evening at dusk. They spotted some suspicious men in three Jeeps coming off the exit, going slowly. They were civilian Jeeps that looked like they were in a four-wheeler club or something. Tom was on secondary guard duty so all he had was his pistol. He slowly went to the guard line. He didn’t really want to go up there, but he knew he was supposed to.
The guards watched as the Jeeps stopped and idled for a few minutes. Someone said they should show them how many guards they had and all their guns. The leader of the guards, who was an Army veteran, said no. They didn’t want them to know what they had.
Finally, the Jeeps left. “They’ll be back tonight,” the guard leader said. Later that night, Tom couldn’t sleep as he was waiting for the Jeeps to return. He was afraid he wouldn’t know what to do or would be a coward. It was a very long night.
Dawn finally appeared, after what felt like a few days. The guard leader had adjusted his prediction and now thought the Jeeps would reappear right before dawn.
Luckily, they didn’t, and it was now light and Tom was tired and hungry. He had a nice breakfast of eggs and biscuits, smothered in a lot of homemade strawberry jam. It tasted so much better than store-bought jam. It was now the day shift, so Tom could sleep in the RV. Normally, it would be hard for him to sleep during the day, but he was so tired from staying up all night that he didn’t expect it would take very long to fall asleep this time.
Justin, the farm kid who showed him how to run an AK, came up to him. “Hey,” Justin said to Tom, “I’m out of good beer, but I have a bottle of this shit.” He handed a cold bottle to Tom. It was one of Tom’s favorite microbrews, a Belgian Chimay – the very beer he drank back in Olympia before all this started. Tom was stunned.
“We’re out of Coors,” Justin said. “Sorry, man, this weird beer is all I got.”
“That’ll do,” Tom said. He smiled. He popped the top and took a long drink. Oh God. That tasted good. He was so relieved. He was relaxed for the first time in twenty-four hours. He sat in one of the lawn chairs they had around the fire pit and kept sipping the delicious beer. He was letting it seep into him. Tom looked around. There he was; out in the country, guarding Delphi Road with some farmers. He had a pistol on his belt. He had no idea what he was doing, but this was a good place to be, with good people around him.
Tom took another long pull of that amazing beer. He looked at the familiar Chimay bottle. It was a very, very familiar bottle, just like he’d seen a thousand times before. He looked around at the guards. “This is the new normal,” he said to Justin. The new normal.
Chapter 146
The Octopus Family
(June 5)
Grant woke up totally refreshed. That hadn’t happened in…Grant forgot how long. He woke up in his bed with his wife. The bed in the cabin was amazingly comfortable. Grant remembered getting it right after he bought the cabin. He found an old 1970s-era bed in a want ad at the gym where he worked out. The bed had big chunks of wood carved into it, resembling a Hawaiian look, like a bed from the original Hawaii 5-0. It was solid. The joints were joined as if wood could be welded together. It weighed a ton when he moved it. It was obviously American made; solid and built to last. It felt so different than everything else he’d bought in recent years, which was light, flimsy, and made of particle board. The modern ones were built to last a couple years and be thrown away. Not this bed.
And the mattress was the best one he’d ever slept on, even better than their bed in Olympia. The bed hadn’t been slept on much, if at all when he got it. He bought it from an old man who said it had been in their guest room, but they never had guests. That soft, but solid, mattress swallowed him up. If a mattress could have a taste like a food, this mattress would be cream. Once he laid down on this bed, it was impossible not to fall comfortably asleep.
Grant looked around. There was Lisa, still asleep, with a slight smile on her face. He didn’t know it was possible to smile in your sleep, but she was doing it.
This is where he needed to be. No more gun fighting. No more.
Grant looked over at his pistol on the night stand. The tritium night sights were glowing in the nearly dark room. There was enough light for him to see his AR-15 up against the wall. Yeah, he needed that and it belonged there. But, maybe only up against the wall when he slept with his wife in his own cabin. He didn’t need to be carrying it around all night on patrol while his wife slept alone. There were plenty of young guys who could go out on patrol.
Grant laid in bed thinking about all the things that had been constantly running through his mind since the raid on the tweaker house. The community had been debating, debating, and endlessly debating, for almost three weeks what to do with the tweakers, who had been sitting in the makeshift jail since the raid. He would be immersed back into that debate later that night when he went to yet another meeting at the Grange.
A minority of the people at the Grange wanted to hold them until the “authorities” (whoever those were) could come and get the defendants and give them a “proper” (whatever that was) trial in Frederickson. Grant and the majority of people wanted to hold a trial themselves and take care of the problem on their own. However, Grant realized that he was asking a tremendous amount from the people at Pierce Point, who were still in varying degrees of shock that their country had ceased to exist, by having homemade trials for people and ultimately executing some of their neighbors. Grant, who knew his ultimate job out at Pierce Point was to guide the community into realizing they were on their own and had to do unpleasant things like executing people, was moving slowly and taking the time to get consensus from the community. Spending all this time on such an obvious decision frustrated him. But he knew much more was at stake than what to do with the tweakers. This would determine if Pierce Point made it on its own or became just another community pathetically dependent on a non-existent government.
During the past three weeks of debate and frustration, he spent a lot of time thinking about whether he had to continue to be a gunfighter. He loved waking up with Lisa like he was this morning; he needed to figure
out how to make that happen for the next several decades instead of getting himself killed during some raid.
Grant wasn’t a quitter, though. He thought about what he could still do for the community, but that didn’t involve breaking down doors and getting shot at. He could be the judge and administrator. He could keep the community together, politically. He could train gun fighters during the day and then come home for dinner. He could do a lot for Pierce Point. He had already done a lot. He had been the political and administrative leader they needed during those critical first few days. He started the Pierce Point meal cards and the FCard lottery. He got the ARs to Bennington so they now had medical supplies and safe passage into Frederickson. He helped train and motivate the guards at the gate. He masterminded the brilliant head fake that let them keep a semi load of food. Grant smiled. He’d done plenty. Plenty.
Lisa began stirring. She put her arm out and felt for him. She smiled. He was home, and safe. She felt safe with him there. She tapped him on the shoulder and they did something they’d been doing a lot since after the raid.
The day was starting off well. Grant got up and began to make pancakes, which he never got tired of. He laughed. He thought about that famous line in the movie Apocalypse Now: “I love the smell of napalm in the morning. It smells like victory.” Well, Grant loved the smell of pancakes in the morning. It smelled like victory, only this time, “victory” meant that he was with his family and had food for them. Napalm and guns and killing weren’t victory.
This is how it was supposed to be. The kids were up. The grandparents were up. It was sunny. Grant wasn’t going to work today. He started to put his pistol belt on. He decided not to. Not today. It felt weird not having it on, but he was a father and husband today, not a fighter. The pistol belt would go back on tomorrow.
He hadn’t had a day off in…he had no idea. He honestly could not remember the last time he took time off. His last day off had been too long ago. A lifetime ago. In fact, the new Grant—the guy out at Pierce Point, as opposed to his previous totally unrecognizable self in Olympia—had never had a day off. He hadn’t fully relaxed since before the Collapse started which was…who even knew. It really seemed like a lifetime ago. Everything was so different now. Everything.
However, the important things were the same. His family. That was the same. Different location, different conditions, but the same people.
Grant ate about a dozen pancakes. He hadn’t eaten dinner the night before because he’d had another one of those long community meetings at the Grange. He didn’t want to eat the whole family’s daily amount of pancakes, so he got some leftover red beans and rice from the fridge. Thank goodness the microwave still worked, even after the end of the world as they knew it. He grabbed a can of chicken from the food he had stored in the shed and threw that in. He was a little embarrassed at all the food he was eating, but no one said anything. They knew he had been working amazingly hard for the past few weeks.
There was a light knock at the door. It was Pow. Manda opened the door and let him in. “You coming to the truck, man?” he asked Grant. “We’re leaving in a few minutes.” Pow noticed that Grant didn’t have his pistol belt on. He had never seen Grant out at Pierce Point without a pistol belt on.
“I’m not going,” Grant said. It sounded weird. Not going? What?
“Come on, man,” Pow said, thinking Grant was joking.
“No, seriously, I’m not going,” Grant said. “I need a day off, man. I’ve been going full speed for weeks. I’m taking the day off.”
Pow thought about it. That made sense. Grant had been working non-stop ever since Pow got out here.
Pow sensed that Grant had changed a little since the raid. With his family there, Grant was no longer just a guy on the Team. He was a husband and father, too. Pow got that feeling that comes when a member of the group had a new girlfriend and would suddenly become scarce. Pow didn’t like it, but he couldn’t fault Grant for taking a day off or scaling back with the Team. Grant had set things up beautifully for them out there and deserved a break. Pow knew Grant would soon be back with the Team.
“No problem, dude,” Pow said. “You do your thing here and enjoy it. We totally have it covered. So, we’ll see you tomorrow?” Pow asked. He wanted to get a commitment from Grant. He was an insurance salesman, after all.
“Yep, you’ll see me tomorrow,” Grant said. Lisa smiled, indicating that she was OK with that.
Lisa said, “Tell them at the Grange that I’ll be in late unless there’s an emergency.” Pow nodded. She deserved a little time off, too.
Drew and Eileen were downstairs with them, listening to the conversation. They realized that Lisa, Grant, and the kids needed some time together. They would go do their things today and leave the family alone.
After Pow left, Lisa said, “So what do we do with a morning to ourselves?”
Grant looked back at the bedroom. She smiled and shook her head. “No, Mr. Greedy.”
Grant shrugged and said, “I tried.”
“How about hanging out here with the kids?” Grant asked. “Just, you know, hanging out.”
The kids heard that and couldn’t believe how lucky they were to have their mom and dad both in the same place for more than a few minutes. That hadn’t happened in…a long time.
So the family just sat on the couch and talked. About what they did over the past few days. What they wanted to do that summer. They didn’t talk about food shortages, corruption, gangs, killing, or politics.
Manda talked a lot about all the kids in the area who she was gathering to play together and all the things they liked to do. She wanted to start working with Mary Anne Morrell, the retired teacher, to start teaching the kids to read. Manda loved that.
Cole talked a little, which was a lot for him, about playing with Manda. He wanted to go fishing sometime.
“Like how about now?” Grant asked him.
Cole’s eyes lit up. “Now? Well, yes, father,” he said.
Lisa said, “You guys go and have fun.”
“Sure,” Grant said. “We’ll fish right on the beach here.” He winked at Lisa because he knew that they wouldn’t catch anything on the beach. It was too shallow. But what the heck. It wasn’t about catching fish.
Cole was excited. “I’ll get the fishing pole,” he said, heading for the basement.
Grant realized that the basement was locked and said, “Wait up, little buddy,” and got his key. He made Cole wait upstairs so he wouldn’t see what was in the basement. Grant found two of the basic fishing poles and the small tackle box he had down there. When he first got the cabin, Grant took the fishing poles and tackle box they never used in their Olympia home and brought them out.
The tackle consisted of merely some hooks and little spinners. They weren’t calculated to actually catch saltwater fish, especially from the beach, but what the heck. Cole was getting to do something he wanted to do, and was doing it with his dad.
The tide was about halfway in. Grant showed Cole how to cast. They fished for about an hour. They mostly talked. Well, with Cole, that meant Grant talked and Cole nodded or shrugged, but Cole was saying a little bit.
Grant told Cole a story about giant octopuses – friendly ones – out in the water in front of their cabin. There weren’t any out there, but it made a good story. He told Cole about how the octopus families loved each other and took care of each other. That made Cole happy. He felt like a little octopus in a happy octopus family. He knew that his sister and parents, and grandparents, took good care of him. He appreciated it, even if he didn’t say it.
It was, once again, beautiful out. The ocean air made it slightly chilly out on the water. This was magnificent, Grant thought. Fishing with Cole. Telling stories about the octopus family.
After a while, Cole wanted to go inside. They didn’t catch any fish, but they would have the story of the octopus family forever.
Grant had forgotten how good life can be when you’re…living it. This is how peop
le used to live, he thought. Before they slaved away at high-stress jobs to earn money that was taxed away or spent on luxuries no one needed. Suburban life in America had gotten so out of control. Both parents working extremely hard just to earn enough money for taxes and big screen TVs. What a joke. But Grant had fallen for it. Everyone had.
He realized his mind was drifting toward politics. Not today, he told himself. No, today was about the octopus family. He allowed himself one more political thought. Now that things had reset, millions of people were rediscovering things like fishing with their kids on a “work day.” No more offices. No more commutes. No more taxes. Things were tough, but there were some silver linings.
They came back into the cabin and Lisa and Manda were in a deep conversation. It sounded like it was about boys. They abruptly stopped talking when Grant came in. That’s fine, he thought. Manda needed a mom for some girl talk. That’s part of being a teenage girl. And being a mom.
Grant was so relaxed. He hadn’t been this way in…he forgot. There was that thought again: trying to remember the last time he had time off or was relaxed. That wasn’t productive. It didn’t matter. What mattered was trying to have as many mornings like this in the future. He would work to make that happen. So when he thought, “I haven’t talked to Cole about the octopus family since…” the answer would hopefully be “yesterday.” It was a goal, anyway.
No one came by the cabin all morning, which was unusual. People were always dropping by with some problem to be fixed. Someone needed a key or was dropping off some food by or picking some up. Equipment needed to be fixed or someone needed gas for a vehicle. But not this morning. Eileen and Drew must have told everyone to let the Matsons hang out alone that morning. Whatever happened, Grant was loving the peace.
The Matson family just talked the rest of the morning until it was lunch time. Cole was hungry. He was thirteen and growing. It was amazing how much a growing boy ate. Cole ate almost as much as Grant; sometimes more.