299 Days: The Collapse (9 page)

Leaving? He couldn’t say the word. “So I have to go.” Grant wanted to tell Manda things would get better in a few days and that the Collapse would be over. But he knew she was too smart for that. Saying it would just blow his credibility with her.

By now, Manda was bawling. Grant hugged her, tight, like it was their last hug ever, and whispered in her ear, “Try to get your mom to come out to the cabin. Please try. It’s not your fault if she doesn’t come, but please try. Please.” Grant let go of her and walked out of the room. He felt horrible leaving his daughter this way. “Love you, dear. You’re the best daughter in the world.” He thought that was a better set of last words. He had to go.

He also needed to say goodbye to Cole. Innocent little Cole who just wanted to be tucked in every night by his dad. That would never happen again. That was the hardest part of all of this. No more tucking Cole.

Cole was crying because, despite not being able to understand everything he was hearing, he knew that Mom and Dad were really mad at each other. He understood that Dad was going away. He wondered if he had done something wrong to make his Dad leave.

Grant came into Cole’s room. “Hey, little buddy, I need to go for a while. But I will come back as soon as I can. Or, better yet,” Grant knew Lisa was listening, “you, Sister, and Mom can come see me out at the cabin.” Grant thought he’d take a risk here: “Would you like to come to the cabin, little buddy?”

“Why don’t you stay here?” Cole asked in between sobs.

“I need to go,” Grant said. That is all Grant could think to say. He couldn’t say that the police might be after him or that gangs might be coming back or that society was collapsing. “I need to go” was all he could come up with.

“When are you coming back?” Cole asked, still crying.

“Soon,” Grant said. “As soon as I can. Actually, I bet you and Mommy and Sister come to see me out at the cabin. Bring your video games and movies. You can play with them out there. It will be fun, just like it always is when you come out there. You can throw rocks in the water like we do. Come out and your Dad will be there, OK?”

Cole nodded. Grant hugged his little man. God, that felt good. He would miss his son. Forever.

Grant walked out of Cole’s room, and knew he couldn’t leave without saying something to Lisa. He owed her that.

He went into their room—now, Grant, thought “her” room—and said, “You can come out any time you want. Just call me and I’ll come get you. No matter how dangerous it is. I want us to be together. I just can’t be here. It’s too dangerous. I will never say ‘I told you so.’ Never. Please come out and let us be a family again.”

She just bawled louder.

He never thought this was how they would leave each other. He assumed it would be on one of their deathbeds when they were old and gray. Not this way.

Chapter 50

Bugging Out … Alone

(May 5)

Grant had all of his stuff in the car. All the guns, ammo cans, and his personal things. He had a list, of course, of all the critical things he needed when he had to bug out.

“Bug out.” Yep, that was what he was doing. He had always imagined a “bug out” would be with his family. He would be a hero leading them to a safer place. At least that’s how he imagined it.

But no. Now he was leaving them behind in a dangerous place. He was leaving them. Leaving them. His plan was failing. But what could he do? The reality was that it was dangerous in the city and his wife didn’t see it. That meant his kids needed to stay. He was temped once again to go and just take the kids. He decided to go get them. He got out of the car and checked that his pistol was on his belt. He was going to take them.

No. Don’t. Trust me.

OK. “I’ll trust you with my family,” Grant said out loud to no one.

Grant hit that garage door button and heard the familiar sound of the door going up. He’d never hear that sound again.

He backed out of the garage, like he’d done a million times before, going to work, running errands, taking the kids somewhere fun. No more. That was all over. He started to cry. Why couldn’t she see how much better things would be if she came with him? At the moment she heard the garage door go up, Lisa starting wailing. She fell to the floor and curled up into a ball, screaming.

He was actually leaving. He was really doing it. He was gone. Leaving them here all alone. Why didn’t he just hug her? She would have gone with him to his stupid cabin if he had just hugged her. But now he was gone. Probably going off to get killed or arrested. Who knows what would happen to her and the kids. Why didn’t that asshole just hug her? He would rather get killed than hug her?

It didn’t occur to her that he didn’t know that all he needed to do was hug her. She never told him. And it never occurred to her that maybe she should have hugged him first. She was far too emotionally wrecked to be thinking straight.

Oh, God, Lisa thought. Grant would be dead soon. He was probably part of some right-wing group and was off to fight the government. Her husband had left her for… politics. Of all the stupid things to be left for. Politics. Another woman or ambition would make sense; that’s what it usually was. But politics? The Constitution was a reason to leave a perfectly good wife? Lisa felt wounded. Betrayed. Traded in for something stupid.

The house was silent, except for her wailing. Pretty soon the kids were crying, too. It sounded like hell. The “wailing and gnashing of teeth” is how the Bible described hell. That’s what the Matson house sounded like. The former Matson house.

After he backed out of the driveway and got onto the street in front of their house, Grant snapped back into reality.

Oh, shit. He had to drive through a war zone to get to where he was going. He checked his gas tank. There was half a tank, which was easily enough to get to the cabin if there was no traffic. Given the protests, riots, and crime—looting, maybe even—he didn’t expect smooth sailing.

Grant drove past all the neighbors at the entrance of the subdivision. They waved him down. He just kept going. He saw the bodies of the men he’d killed. Boys, actually. When he got close enough, he could see they were teenage boys. White kids. They looked like dirtbags. They had those damned baggy pants down to their ass cracks. God, he hated that. Those baggy pants alone justified killing them. He chuckled to himself at the absurdity of that thought. He needed that humor to get through this. That chuckle broke up the mood so he could deal with all the things he needed to do.

As he drove close enough to see them, Grant looked at their faces. He knew he shouldn’t. They looked asleep. With blood everywhere. They were not nice boys. Thank God for that. At least he didn’t kill people who looked innocent.

Everyone tried to talk to him. He just kept the window up and kept driving, carefully so he didn’t hit anyone, including the dead bodies.

His neighbors were looking at him strangely. They were pointing and whispering. They were looking at him like…he was a killer. They were afraid of him. They had slight fear in their eyes. They were treating him like a killer. He wasn’t welcome in normal society anymore. He could feel it.

His neighbors looked like people he had known decades ago. His life as Grant Matson—family man, attorney, and resident of the Cedars—was over. These people had known a different Grant Matson. The first Grant Matson. The second Grant Matson was driving that car. He had business to take care of. He drove past like he didn’t know them. Because he didn’t. Except Ron. He had saved Ron’s life that night by risking his own. He nodded at Ron, who was trying to talk to him. Grant kept driving.

Once he left the Cedars, he didn’t see another car until he hit the freeway. As he approached the street that led to the onramp near the old brewery, he could see there was a big a backup on the freeway. It passed right by the Capitol. There were lots of police cars trying to get there and ambulances leaving. Grant had an alternate route planned. He got off the street before it fed onto the on ramp. He took a back street to get to an onramp to the highway leading to the cabin. No traffic at this entrance. Grant smiled. At least one part of the plan was working. So far.

He got onto Highway 101 and accelerated to cruising speed. He was staying at sixty miles per hour because he had a loaded AR in the seat and didn’t want to get pulled over. That was probably not a problem given that the police were all at the capitol, but why risk it.

Grant needed some music. He hit the play button and one of his favorite “survival” songs came on, Long Hard Times to Come by Gangstagrass. The lyrics seemed to be speaking directly to him as he left his family behind to go off to the cabin to… survive?

On this lonely road, trying to make it home

Doing it by my lonesome

Pissed off, who wants some?

I see them long hard times to come

Ain’t got no family, you see there's one of me

Might lose your pulse standing two feet in front of me

I'm pissed at the world, but I ain’t looking for trouble

Think about it, nobody wants to die

I'm ready to go partner, hey I'm on the run

The devil’s hugging on my boots that's why I own a gun

This journey's too long, I'm looking for some answers

So much time stressing, I forget the questions

You probably think I'm crazy, or got some loose screws

But that's alright though—I'm a’ do me, you do you

So how you judging me? I'm just trying to survive

And if the time comes, I ain’t trying to die

Hey this is the life of an outlaw

We ain’t promised tomorrow—I'm living now, dog

I'm walking through life But, yo, my feet hurt

All my blessings are fed, man I'll rest when I'm dead

Look through my eyes and see the real world

Take a walk with me, have a talk with me

Where we end up—God only knows

Strap your boots on tight you might be alright

On this lonely road, trying to make it home

Doing it by my lonesome

Pissed off, who wants some?

I see them long hard times to come

That summed it. Grant saw “them long hard times to come.” He was doing it by his “lonesome.”

The drive out to the cabin passed like the blink of an eye and felt like a lifetime at the same time. Along the way, he thought about his entire life. He thought about Lisa and the kids all alone in the house. God, he wanted to go back. But he couldn’t.

Maybe he could.

No, he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t.

You have a job to do out here. You would not be safe back there. You will be here.

What was this outside thought, anyway? Was it just Grant saying to himself what he wanted to hear? But it wasn’t him doing the talking. Actually, no one was talking. It wasn’t a voice. They were thoughts but not Grant’s. Oh well. The outside thoughts had been right so far. They had told Grant to do some things that seemed crazy at the time but now seemed very wise. Like getting prepared.

Grant thought about the sheeple back in town. They’d be clawing each other for the last Doritos in a few days. Maybe they already were.

Chapter 51

The Hideout

(May 5)

When Grant got to the cabin, he wanted to make sure it was ready for Lisa and the kids when they came.

What a stupid thought. They weren’t coming. Grant felt foolish for even thinking that.

But he couldn’t deny that he was in a hurry to get out there. To get away from what was going on in the city.

He couldn’t get Lisa and the kids out of his thoughts. He had always thought he would be so glad to bug out to the cabin and arrive there after escaping from the chaos in the city. He would be arriving at an oasis of security in a violent world.

But that had always assumed his family would be with him. He had always envisioned that he could convince Lisa to come. He had tried to mentally prepare himself for bugging out without her and the kids but he must have done a poor job of it. Bugging out without them was a shock to him. He felt like his whole detailed plan for surviving a disaster was now thrown off. A key element—his family—was not going as planned. He had months of food, but no one to feed.

As he rounded the road that led down to the water, his tactical sensibilities took over. Were there cops there waiting for him? That was completely unrealistic, but he had to start being careful about things like that. He was in a fight right now. He had his fighting wits about him. Like when he was walking around the neighborhood after his dad chased him with the knife and he used that dog collar as a makeshift weapon.

This fighting mode seemed rather natural for him. It was like old times. As much as his childhood sucked, he was seeing that it had equipped him to do things that most other “normal” Americans couldn’t do.

He stopped his car at a safe and very dark spot a few hundred feet from the road that turned onto his cabin’s short private road. He was going to give this a look on foot. Should he bring his AR? Would that scare a neighbor that he didn’t know and…what? Would they call the police? Like the cops could leave the protests at the capitol and come zooming out to the sticks of Pierce Point because someone saw what appears to be the shape of a man with an “Army gun”? Nope, Grant was in a fight right now and wouldn’t show up to it without all the tools he had.

He got out of the car and quietly closed the driver’s side door. He did a press check of his pistol and checked to verify that he had his two mag pouches with two magazines each. That should get him through the next few hundred yards of road. He quietly opened the passenger door and retrieved his AR and shoulder mag bag. That had four 30-round AR mags and four more pistol mags. He did a press check on his AR. Even in the low light he could see a shiny brass cartridge case in the chamber. He verified that the AR safety was on. He ejected the magazine and checked it. It was full.

He carried the AR with his right thumb on the safety lever at all times. He could flip that off in a millisecond, if necessary. That’s how he practiced; he’d done it a thousand times.