by Tate, Glen
Directly related to the organizational uses for the lot numbers was something just as important, at least in the long-term. Politics. Grant could foresee that Pierce Point was going to be a Patriot community. Probably not a full-on community with 100% participation; there would be many undecideds and even some Loyalists. But with an Oath Keeper like Rich in charge and Grant having a lead role, the leadership out there would be solidly Patriot. The Team were Patriots and they were taking a lead role, too. Dan and Ryan seemed solid, too. While Grant couldn’t count on it—in fact, it would take a lot of work—there was a good chance Pierce Point would end up being a Patriot stronghold.
Index cards and lot numbers could be used to keep track of the helpful Patriot households, helpful undecideds, freeloaders, criminals, and hostile Loyalists. Grand had no idea if the others in Pierce Point would be thinking in terms of Patriots and Loyalists, and it was way too early to start acting on those divisions, but he was staring at a map and lot numbers that could be used to keep track of the various factions.
The index cards with lot numbers would not become a “hit list” to get Loyalists. That was the revenge-filled French Revolution approach. Instead of directly targeting Loyalists, Grant wanted to use a more nuanced approach: favoring or disfavoring people based on their contribution to the effort. And by “contribution to the effort,” Grant meant whether they were a Patriot, undecided, or Loyalist. Grant wasn’t making an assumption that Patriots would contribute and Loyalists wouldn’t. Even Loyalist contributions would be rewarded. Fair was fair.
He wouldn’t try to shoehorn his politics into the all-important topic of getting Pierce Point running as a self-sufficient and peaceful community. His goal wouldn’t be recruiting ideologues. The decent people would rise to the top and be obvious to the rest of the community. Show the decent people why they are Patriots; maybe without them thinking of themselves as Patriots. Good equals Patriot. Show people the other side of the coin: freeloading shitbags are Loyalists.
There would be no waving of the Don’t Tread on Me flag. It would be more like, “This guy really contributed and needs a little gasoline. What do you guys think?” Then when he came to pick up the gasoline, a Don’t Tread on Me flag would be pinned up at the Grange for him to see. Nuanced. Practical. Fair. Effective.
This was the approach Grant wanted to employ out there. He didn’t have dictatorial powers in Pierce Point, so he would need to use those techniques to get people to follow his lead. He had no desire to be a dictator. He’d seen enough of that and had been on the receiving end of it. He didn’t like it one bit and was damned sure not going to impose it on anyone else.
Dictatorships were a real problem when a society breaks down. People in Olympia and Seattle were probably experiencing this. Grant needed a plan to handle any dictator who might spring up in Pierce Point. Back in the Cedars, he was hamstrung because he couldn’t just strap on an AR, gather up the Team, and go deal with a dictator. Out there, though, he had plenty of firepower to deal with one, but his firepower would make him a threat to a potential dictator, so he had to watch his back. That was yet another reason to approach the Patriot versus Loyalist thing slowly and subtly. The best defense against a dictator was a strong and well organized broad base of Patriots. That’s what Grant wanted out at Pierce Point. He didn’t want to be the king; he wanted to have a mini constitutional republic that didn’t need a king.
Yes. That’s why you’re here.
Grant physically shuddered when he heard the outside thought. He knew he was supposed to be doing this. It was an amazing feeling. Powerful, yet humbling; exhilarating, yet frightening.
Grant snapped back into the reality of the meeting that was about to start. He could feel that it was going to be a crucial evening. He felt like the bad guys out there were not going to give up easily and let the good guys start running things. He just felt it.
Chapter 99
Call 911
(May 9)
Grant overheard Mark slip and introduce Lisa to a resident as “Doctor Matson.” That reminded him that he hadn’t broken the good news of Lisa’s volunteering as the Pierce Point doctor to Rich, who was in charge. Grant couldn’t blindside him like that. Rich needed to be the one to manage this news.
Grant quickly went over quickly to Rich and interrupted him while he was talking with Dan, Ryan, and Pow.
“Sorry to butt in, Rich,” Grant said, “but I have some news you need to know. I brought my wife tonight. You might let people know she’s an ER doctor.” Grant smiled.
“Whoa,” Dan said. “An ER doc?”
“Awesome,” said Ryan. He looked over at Lisa and pointed. “Her? Doctor Foxy?”
Everyone laughed. A nickname was born in an instant. Lisa probably wouldn’t mind. She was in her mid-forties and it was a compliment, and a tasteful compliment at that, which was not always the case with a Marine.
Grant filled them in on Lisa’s reluctant agreement to treat anyone she could. She would accept food and other items, but only as much as people could provide. There would be no price list and no one would be turned away. Grant didn’t describe his plan to use the doctor services to help turn Pierce Point into a Patriot stronghold. He would let that play out before talking about it.
“This is great,” Rich said. “We have at least two nurses and an EMT. We’ll have to get them together with…your wife.”
“Go ahead and say it, Rich,” Grant said with another smile. “Get them together with Doctor Foxy.”
“OK,” Rich said with a smile. “With Doctor Foxy. I’ll let you introduce her,” he said to Grant.
“And, until I let her know about her new nickname,” Grant said, “let’s keep it to ourselves. I want to see how she reacts to it first.” Rich called the meeting to order, and everyone introduced themselves. There were almost double the number of people at this meeting than were at the previous night’s. Word was getting out that the neighborhood was organizing and people needed to find out what was going on. There seemed to be more “cabin people” there than the night before.
Rich said many of the things he’d said the previous night. He introduced Dan and let him describe what an Air Force Security Forces guy does: defend installations. He introduced Ryan. “Combat Marine, Afghanistan” was all the introduction people needed to be able to understand what he could do. Then came the Team. Rich pointed to them, who were up front with Rich, Dan, and Ryan.
“These gentlemen are the ‘Team,’” Rich said, pointing to them. “They are out on Over Road. They are a group of young men and,” Rich pointed at Chip, “not so young men who have been training for about two years for a situation just like this. I’d like their leader, Grant Matson, to introduce them.”
The room was silent. Everyone appeared curious about who these guys with “machine guns” were and how they would help them. Grant started off.
“Thank you for coming out tonight,” he said. “I am Grant Matson. I have a cabin out here by the Colsons and Morrells.” Grant pointed to them and they waved. He knew it was important to establish himself as part of the locals who were already out there. He also had another trick up his sleeve to make a good impression.
“But where are my manners?” Grant said humbly. “Before I introduce the Team I’d like to introduce my wife, Lisa. She’s an emergency room doctor.”
Gasp! An audible gasp from the crowd. Then they started clapping.
“Lisa has graciously agreed to help all of us,” Grant said. “Rich will be talking later about the nurses and EMT we have out here. ” Grant loved to be the one to introduce the security force and doctor to all these people. That would make quite a first impression.
After the hoopla died down, Grant pointed to the Team, who were standing up by the podium with him. “These guys are civilians who have been training for about two years on the weekends with me,” Grant said. “To be absolutely clear, we’re not some militia or anything weird like that. If we were, Rich wouldn’t let us near here.” Rich nodded. That
was a critical point to make, and it was 100% true.
Grant continued, “We started out shooting for fun, but then we got better and better. We have been training at the Olympia law enforcement range and are actually pretty good. We are just natural sheepdogs.” Grant explained that term and told the audience that each of the Team used to have normal white-collar jobs. He had to get the audience to understand something that might be unbelievable to some of them: there was actually a bunch of guys who wanted to help people and trained with guns to do it.
“We decided,” Grant continued, “to become an informal…well, I guess you’d call it a SWAT team. We spent the day auditioning for Rich, Dan, and Ryan and we passed their test. We are at your service.” The crowd liked that and a few clapped.
“Rich and others will be overseeing us,” Grant said. “We will treat everyone well—except people trying to steal and hurt you. Some of you have met the guys, and I encourage those of you who haven’t to say hi to them after the meeting. We’ll be staying to answer any questions you have.”
Grant realized he hadn’t actually told people the guys’ names, so he introduced them, starting with Pow. Last was Chip. “Chip will be assisting us, but he thinks he’s a little old to be knocking down doors and shooting druggies.”
Some people laughed. Some didn’t. Grant realized that the “shooting druggies” thing was probably a little too much reality for some of them.
Rich said, “I want to emphasize that these guys are under my command. In the unlikely event there is a problem with them or anyone else, you can talk to me or Ryan or Dan. We encourage it, but don’t think it will be necessary. Any questions?”
A yuppie looking guy raised his hand. He was obviously a “cabin person.”
“Why do we need armed men out here? I mean, they’re not police officers or anything. They have no real training. Why should we let them run around and,” he used his fingers to mockingly make air quotes, “‘enforce the law’?”
It was silent. Many others must have been thinking that same thing.
Rich motioned to Grant that he would answer it.
“A fair question,” Rich said. “The short answer is that there is no law right now. Stores are running out of food and everything else. What do you think is likely to happen?”
The yuppie looked annoyed that he had to even answer that question. “What I don’t think should happen is a little dictatorship out here with weekend commandos running around with guns telling us what to do. That’s what I think.”
This man is a threat. Fight him.
Grant heard that loud and clear. Polite and political Grant disappeared and fighting Grant appeared. He felt a surge of adrenaline as he went into verbal battle.
“Dial 911, sir,” Grant said with an edge to his voice. “Go ahead.” Grant looked for a cell phone. Dan handed him one.
Grant—in full kit and with an AR slung across his chest—walked right up to the yuppie and handed him the phone. He was purposefully getting very close to the guy to show he was not at all afraid of him. The yuppie flinched when Grant got close.
“Go ahead,” Grant said. “Dial. See what happens. I’m serious. Put it on speaker phone so we can all hear.” Grant paused as the yuppie stared at him, afraid to take the phone from his hand. Grant decided to soften the aggression. He had made his point and asserted his role here.
“Sir, you raise a valid point that I’m sure others are wondering,” Grant said. “I sincerely ask you to dial 911 and tell us what happens.” Grant waited a few seconds. The yuppie wouldn’t dial, so Grant dialed 911 and put it on speaker phone.
A busy signal filled the air. Then a recording said, “All circuits are busy. Please try your call later.”
After letting the recording play a few times, Grant hung up. “This, sir, is why we’re doing this. Do you think criminals are going to take some time off right now?” He let that sink in.
“No, sir,” Grant said, “they are having a field day. In Seattle, Olympia, and probably Frederickson. Soon, if it hasn’t happened already, some criminals right here in Pierce Point will be seeing if they can get free stuff or,” Grant pointed to the yuppie’s wife, “worse.”
“I don’t think fear mongering is appropriate,” the yuppie said. He was pissed, but in a passive-aggressive way.
“What do you, or did you do, for a living, sir?” Grant asked.
The yuppie paused. “I am an architect. Henderson and Snelling in Seattle.”
“That’s what I thought,” Grant said. Some people in the audience clapped at Grant’s zinger. “I’m happy for you, what was your name?”
“Thomas Snelling.”
“Mr. Snelling, I am happy for you,” Grant said. “Know why? You’ve never had to deal with criminals. Let me guess, the last time you were in a fight was…kindergarten?” Grant was enjoying this. Maybe too much.
Snelling was silent. He did not expect to have this happen. He thought he would just throw out some questions and win the argument. It had always worked in the past.
“Sir,” Grant said, “Unfortunately, I have been in fights before. I’ve had to fight bullies my whole life. I understand how bad people think and act because, again unfortunately, I’ve had to be around them. Not by choice. In my professional life I fight bullies, too.” Grant felt like his whole life story was gushing out.
“Professional life?” Snelling sneered. “What profession?” he expected an answer like “law enforcement” or some “lesser” profession than architecture.
“I was an attorney, Mr. Snelling,” Grant said. “A damned good one. You see, sir, I fought bullies for a living in the courtroom. I would much rather keep the ‘fighting’ to a courtroom where we fought with words. But guess what? There are no more courtrooms, but there damned sure are bullies. And guess what else? They have guns. And knives. And broken bottles. And they want to take what you have. They’re hungry. They want what you have.”
Snelling was silent. This wasn’t going like he expected.
“Let me ask you, Mr. Snelling,” Grant said, “what kind of architecture do you do?” Grant bet he knew the answer.
“Public works. I design government office buildings, mostly,” Snelling said with pride.
Grant knew it. Yet another person living off the taxpayer. Yet another person who had a vested interest in government taking from the people and giving that money to important people like him. Another Loyalist.
“What a surprise,” Grant said and then realized he was getting far too political for this meeting, which was supposed to be about security. He decided to reel in the politics and get back to the topic at hand.
“Mr. Snelling,” he said, “I hear your concerns. We have taken measures to make sure our security personnel are top notch and accountable. You may not know this, sir, but most people out here are very well armed. If my guys decided to run amok, as you seem to fear, then some ol’ deer hunters would take care of business. We know that and welcome it.” Grant let that sink in.
“Mr. Snelling,” Grant continued, “my men and all the others here will risk their lives to protect you and your wife, and your property here. We’re not asking you to like us. We’re not asking for anything from you. We will give and give. How you respond is your choice. I trust I have answered your question?” Grant smiled.
He was in full control of the room and loved it. Dickheads like Snelling were everywhere, even in rural Pierce Point. They needed to be put in their place. No one was suggesting they be rounded up and shot; they just needed to stay the hell out of the way of the decent people trying to survive.
Good. That was necessary. Grant felt the same way.
Rich decided to take back command of the room. “Thanks, Grant.” Rich looked at Snelling, “You are welcome here and we will do all we can to help you or anyone else. Are there any other questions?” A couple of the obvious cabin people sitting next to Snelling looked down at the ground. They knew they wouldn’t win another exchange like that.
The meeti
ng turned to the details of neighborhood defense and the medical clinic. More volunteers signed up for guard duty. Rich said that a medical committee would be formed to work out the details of the clinic and would report back at tomorrow night’s meeting.
When the meeting broke up, dozens of residents were crowding around the Team and Lisa. They were offering to do whatever they could. Grant made sure to send offers of help to Rich. Rich, not Grant, was in charge out there. Grant was very conscious of that. He didn’t want to displace Rich.
When they were leaving, someone asked if he was afraid Snelling might be in the parking lot.
Grant laughed. “Attacked by an architect?” Grant said as he gripped his AR. That got a good laugh. Snelling was exactly the kind of person who had screwed up the country. Assholes like him had no place now that the people were trying to put the country back together.
Grant saw Lisa and Ryan talking. He thought it might be a good time to try out the new nickname.
“Honey, Ryan came up with a nickname for you and I want to see if it bugs you.” Grant already knew the nickname would stick whether Lisa liked it or not. So did Lisa.
“Doctor Foxy,” Grant said.
Lisa smiled then frowned. Then smiled. A forty-something woman usually didn’t mind being told she is still attractive.
Grant looked at Ryan and said, “Doctor Foxy it is.”
After about an hour of talking to people, Grant and Lisa finally headed out to the parking lot. There was no one around. As they were getting into the truck, Lisa stopped and hugged him. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “Now I understand you. Bullies. It’s all about bullies, isn’t it?”
Grant didn’t answer. He just hugged her. He started to cry. God. It was all about bullies. His whole life. Now he was able to protect people from bullies. It was what he was born to do.
Yes.
Chapter 100