299 Days: The Stronghold (12 page)

Grant looked inside the semi-trailer. It was full of huge cases of beans, rice, biscuit and pancake mix, and stacked high with cases of canned meat , soups, and vegetables. Grant saw jams and cases of peanut butter, even cookies and crackers. He smiled and then he started laughing out loud.

There was so much food in there. Pierce Point could serve meals from this truck for…Grant had no idea, but it would be a long time. They would be able to provide food when the government couldn’t.

Grant realized that the FC would be coming back to get “their” truck. Let them. Let the first blood be those FC dickheads. Let the Undecideds realize who was feeding them and who was trying to take it away.

“Get that damned truck up to the Grange and post a guard,” Dan said. He was smiling. “Nicely done, Mr. Matson. Nicely done.”

Grant realized that the FC, or cops, or whomever would be looking for the black truck driver. “We’ll get Gideon to the Grange and have him hide out there,” Grant said.

Dan nodded and then asked, “What if someone asks who the new guy is?”

Grant smiled and said, “We’ll tell them he’s Chip’s cousin.” Chip, who was white, could actually convince someone of that. Dan laughed, and then turned serious. Grant knew what he was going to say next.

“Yeah, I know,” Grant said to Dan, “prepare for an attack.” Grant looked out toward the gate and said to Dan, “The FC will be coming to call. It’s not like we can have five hundred households here keep a secret like this. Well, Dan, we’ll see how good our defenses are pretty soon. What, you figure around night fall?”

Dan nodded. He started yelling orders to the guards to double up, be alert, and shoot any cop cars. “Shoot to kill anyone coming across that bridge until further orders.” It sounded so weird to hear someone actually say that.

Rich was on the radio, one of the ham radios instead of the CBs, calling in to Linda the dispatcher at the Grange. He wanted every able bodied and armed man to come to the gate. “Tell the Chief to be ready for an attack from the water, too,” Rich said into the radio.

Rich’s very serious look when he was on the radio changed to a smile as he was looking at the semi-truck full of food.

“You seriously had no idea what was in that truck?” Rich asked Grant.

“Kinda,” Grant said. “It’s hard to explain. Maybe over some Pendleton. It’s…hard to explain.” Grant hoped he didn’t sound too weird.

“I’ll bet,” Rich said. “Well, no meeting tonight. We’ve got an attack coming.”

“Could I respectfully disagree?” Grant asked. “Not about the attack. Yeah, we’ll see some action tonight. But I disagree about not having a meeting. We need to get the message out right now that we have secured a load of food and that the community will be deciding what to do with it. I don’t want people’s expectations to be that they’ll get a bunch of food. I want to hold onto the food as a reserve and only use it when people have exhausted their own supplies. Like around winter. I have an idea on how to do that I’ll tell you later.”

Man, this guy thinks of all the political angles, Rich thought. Not “political” as in “vote for me,” but as in getting people to work together as much as possible. Rich was very glad to have Grant around. He wasn’t a military genius, but those political and administrative ideas of his were solid.

“OK,” Rich said. “You go up to the Grange and give out the message you want to give out and then get back down here with all the guys as soon as you can. I’m staying here with Dan to coordinate our defenses.”

“We need to get that semi up to the Grange for safekeeping,” Grant said. “I’ll have Gideon drive it up there.”

“Who’s Gideon?” Rich said. Grant pointed toward him.

“Oh, yeah, do that,” Rich said.

Grant ran over to Gideon and told him to get in the cab and follow him. They went to the back of the trailer to lock it up. Some of the guards were concerned about why they were there to lock up the goodies. Were they jacking it from them?

Grant explained, “We’re just taking it to the Grange for safekeeping. Grab two guards and get in the cab.” Two guys jumped into the cab.

Grant told Gideon to follow him as he rode in front on his moped. He saw Pow and said, “Hey, we’ll probably be attacked tonight. You and one other guy need to go back to the yellow cabin and get all the ammo and magazines you can. Get all our spare rifles. AKs, shotguns, you name it. There will be some new guys on guard duty tonight. Bring all that shit. Get a truck to bring it down.”

Grant got on his moped and continued on toward the Grange with Gideon and the cab full of guards following him. They had to get there quickly. The attack might be minutes away.

On the five-minute ride there, Grant collected his thoughts. He would park the truck and have at least two guards on it. He’d have someone get Chip up there, who could manage the guards. Grant thanked God that Chip was out there. It was just one of the many things Grant thanked God for on that five-minute ride back to the Grange.

Grant wanted “his” guys to be in charge of the food and be seen by the community as in charge of it. Not that he wanted to take all the food; quite the opposite, he had enough food for his family and he wanted to distribute the food as widely as possible. But, he wanted the residents to see that he and his guys were the problem solvers, the people to go to and the ones who get things done. Guarding a semi full of food when the stores were closed sends a powerful “can-do” message, and would make them very popular. And Grant knew they would need all the friends and supporters possible for what was coming.

There was no way he could prevent a vote on how to distribute the food, although he wished he could. He was no dictator, but he was worried that people would want to divide it up among 500 or so households, which would be a pittance per person. However, there was no way to hide the food or convince people that Grant alone got to decide what to do with it. This was a difficult problem to solve. So he started thinking as hard as he could.

He knew that the first message that went out in the rumor mill—and news of a semi full of food would spread like wildfire—would be what people would assume the plan was. It was important to be the first one to get the message out. Just like in politics. Wait, Grant laughed to himself, this
was
politics.

Distributing the food made Grant momentarily wonder if he was becoming a socialist. Does the collective get to decide how to divide up other people’s property? Nope.

First of all, they were at war. Most people at Pierce Point didn’t realize it, but they were. An undeclared, informal low-intensity war. That semi was the “spoils of war.” It went to supplying the troops and the civilians supporting the troops. That’s how spoils work. At least, when the capturing force is decent instead of looters, who just take it for themselves. Captured goods go to support the military forces that captured it. It’s like paying for a military, but with the other side’s stuff.

Second, there was the practical problem of who owned the food. The government? Who would it be returned to? The FC and the gangs? That would just get it back to the “government” or to the boss running Frederickson, if the FC didn’t steal it for themselves first. What if Gideon’s company owned it? How would he get it back to them? The truck would be hijacked a few miles down the road. At the gate to Frederickson, for sure. So there was no way to return the truck.

A final reason that distributing the food wasn’t considered socialism was…well, payback. Technically, the food belonged to the government, which had nationalized the food and trucks. Well, the government owed the people in Pierce Point several million dollars. The government had seized their bank accounts. The government had taken their property for years through environmental regulations. The government had taxed them at absurd levels. The government had taken way more than a semi of food from these people. Now the people were getting back some of what had been stolen from them. It could be considered “returning stolen property,” even though Grant just kind of stole it himself. Kind of, but not really.

The fact that the semi was the spoils of war explained why the food would be distributed, but not how. Grant remembered an ingenious solution for this problem from one of his favorite novels,
One Second After
. In it, the community had to decide how to distribute food. They wanted people to use their own reserves first before dipping into the community food. They also didn’t want to be an authoritarian government. So they came up with the meal card system.

Under the meal card system, a person was obligated to use up their own food first. If they chose to accept a meal card—and some did not—they thereby agreed to let the community come into their house and inspect it to ensure that they did not have any food. This was all voluntary. The meal card got them one good meal every day cooked at the community facility. They got a meal to eat there, not food to carry back to their houses where they could sell it.

There was another important feature of the meal card system: they had to work for the meal card (except if they were disabled or elderly). They had to do something for the community for their meals. There were no free loaders.

Yet another important feature of the meal card was that there was no favoritism to it. If a person worked (or was disabled) and they agreed to allow inspection of their home, they ate. Period. There were no political tests or some families getting more, or girlfriends eating without working—none of that. If they contributed to the community, they got to eat one meal a day. Period.

There was a subtle, but important, political component to the meal card. While everyone who worked and allowed inspections got one, the community could yank the card if people broke the rules. If a person was hoarding food, the meal card was taken away for a period of time (roughly until their hoarded food was exhausted). If someone stole, their card was yanked. Grant thought this was a great system.

As he came up on the Grange and saw the Grange, he realized he had another problem: where to store the truck. Grant wanted it to remain a secret that they had all this food, and especially where it was located. This would make it harder for someone to steal. But it was too late to stop the word from spreading about the truck. The rumor mill would be on overdrive. Two dozen guards had seen the truck. Besides, if they hid it, people would accuse them of stealing the food.

No, the existence and location of the semi full of food needed to be totally transparent, which meant that hiding the truck somewhere wouldn’t work. Besides, the Grange was emerging as the headquarters with many assets to be heavily defended, like the medical team and, now, the semi of food. Grant quickly decided they would keep the semi at the Grange. Chip’s guards could secure it there. Besides, the political symbolism was perfect: Come to the Grange, be part of the community, and see all we have to offer those who cooperate with the community.

Racing to the Grange—well, “racing” on a moped—made Grant realize they needed to have a better alert system for mobilizing troops for the gate. They’d work on that. Grant had big thoughts like this constantly zooming through his mind. He was thinking so clearly it was spooky. He felt so alive. He was meant to do this.

Grant arrived at the Grange and pulled into the parking lot. He got off his moped and ran in to get some help. He explained what was going on and told someone to drive to his cabin and get Chip, and to tell him to command the guard of the truck. “Chip’ll know what to do,” Grant yelled to the person who was going to get him.

Grant was explaining to everyone what had happened and that no one could touch the food. He looked at the two guards who rode there in Gideon’s cab and, in front of everyone, told them they were authorized to shoot anyone who touched the truck. Grant had the padlock keys, but he didn’t tell anyone that. He asked Gideon for the keys to the ignition. He was happy to turn them over so no one would try to beat them out of him. Gideon was still a little leery of this gated white community he had just driven into.

Grant made sure people knew that Gideon was a welcomed guest. Grant said, “Mr. Armstrong here is a crime victim, a victim of attempted robbery, so please extend him every courtesy.” Grant wanted the first version of the rumor mill story to be “this guy got his stuff stolen and our guys rescued him.” He was conscious that every single thing he said would be repeated dozens of times, so he needed to be very careful to think of the impact of his words. This was serious business.

Then he had an idea. A pretty damned good one.

Chapter 119

Operation Head Fake

(May 12)

A crowd had gathered around the semi and the black stranger. Grant asked the assembled people, largely the Grange ladies and the medical staff, “Who here in Pierce Point has a semi-truck or trailer? Do we have any truck drivers out here who have their rigs parked at their house?”

“Doug Smithson out on Frog Lake Road,” one of the Grange ladies said. “I saw his rig there this morning.”

Grant motioned for Gideon to come over to him. He whispered something to Gideon, who laughed and nodded.

“OK,” Grant said, “slight change in plans. I need someone to drive me and the guards to the Smithson place. Gideon, you follow us in your truck. I need one person in the cab with Gideon who knows where the Smithsons live in case we get separated.” A Grange lady raised her hand and walked up to Gideon. They shook hands, which seemed strangely formal but normal at the same time.

They took off. Grant was in someone’s truck. They drove a few miles to the far eastern end of Pierce Point, to the Smithson place. Grant got out at the gate and motioned for the guards to keep an eye out for anyone who might have been following them. There were dogs. Grant waited until someone came out. It was a man with a shotgun. He looked like he’d been sleeping. Oh great, Grant thought. I’ve pissed off a tired man with a shotgun—and a guy I’m about to ask if I can have his truck. Not a great first impression.

Grant put his hands up and yelled, “Mr. Smithson? We need your help. I’m Grant Matson. I’m with the Pierce Point constables.”