Glen Tate - 299 Days - The Visitors

This brought up the fact that they didn’t have enough men. They barely had enough to handle a handful of tweakers. They would need to recruit more guys for the constables; at least double. They probably couldn’t train new guys to the level of the Team, but they could use them as a second wave to secure the grounds while the Team was in a building.

The Team had approached the tweaker house by walking in. They would try to drive next time, if possible. Ideally, they would come crashing into the yard. That would require practice, especially on the dismounting. It’s harder than it looks to jump out of a vehicle with a rifle and full kit.

For the next raid, they needed more information on who was inside and whether there were innocents, like Crystal. She might have been shot when she ran through that door. They realized that they wouldn’t always have information on occupants, but they should sure try to get it.

The dogs could have been a big problem; the Team got lucky that the issue was eliminated quickly at the beginning of the raid. They needed a way to deal with them in future. The silenced .22 and a few of their own attack dogs would be helpful. In fact, their own attack dogs could go in first and scare and bite the bad guys. But maybe innocents, too. This was harder than it looked.

One thing that went very well was their verbal communication with each other. They didn’t have to use specific terms for things, just clear, general communications, and it had worked. Rich didn’t want to say it and make their heads big, but he was amazed at how well the Team worked together. They had never done this before and did great for rookies.

They also did well by not shooting Crystal, Brittany, or Ronnie. Grant got high marks for improvising with this flash-hider jab instead of shooting Josie. Then it came to the dead guy in the front room.

Ryan said to Pow, “Sorry, man, but I’m gonna lay it out. I didn’t see a weapon when we came in. Not sure that was a clean shoot.”

Pow suspected this was coming. He said, slightly pissed, “Hey, I went in first and saw this guy get up from a couch and reach for the table in front of him. Instinct.” Pow was passing this off as no big thing, but down deep, he actually believed he had overreacted on the guy. He would pause a millisecond longer next time and wait to see a weapon or a very clear reach for something. This had been his first time.

Grant would talk to Pow later about being in the “club”: the club of people who have killed a person. It wasn’t a happy thing, a feel-good club. Pow, as tough as he was, would need to talk to someone about it. Ryan had killed insurgents from long distances. This was different. This was an American and up close. Grant knew exactly what that felt like.

Rich didn’t want to destroy Pow’s confidence. They needed Pow on the Team, and to be the confident and aggressive man he was. They needed all the gunfighters they could get, and Pow was a key part of the Team. Rich could tell that Pow had learned his lesson, but Rich wasn’t too upset. The guy Pow shot had it coming. Rich needed to remind himself that this wasn’t the old world anymore. Sure, they should be as careful as possible to not shoot innocents. But, they didn’t have the luxury of backup. There wouldn’t be any lawsuits out there. People dying from accidental shootings would be one of the many things that sucked about the post-Collapse world, like people dying of easily treatable medical conditions. It was one more thing that sucked. They’d do the best they could, but they couldn’t eliminate all the badness.

“Pow did fine,” Rich said. Everyone had been waiting to hear what Rich had to say about it. “The guy wasn’t surrendering. He could have made a break for one of the many guns in that room.” Everyone, including Pow, realized that Rich was cutting Pow some slack.

“If you have to choose,” Rich said, “between shooting and not shooting, shoot. You’ll know when to do it.” Rich didn’t want a bunch of overcautious guys. Pow nodded and looked relieved.

Rich said, “Here’s something that won’t be happening next time, and I blame myself, Grant, and Wes.” His directness got their attention.

“We don’t beat prisoners,” Rich said. He told the story of Wes, and then Grant, beating Frankie. No one on the Team gave them a high five. They all realized that what had happened was wrong; not cry-your-little-head-off wrong, just don’t-do-it-again wrong.

“I’m not innocent on this, either,” Rich said. He told about how he smacked Frankie in the face with his pistol. “Sorry, guys, when he said the little girl enjoyed it, I just lost it. I won’t do it again, but then again, we probably won’t have anyone as bad as him in custody, so we can hope it probably won’t happen again.”

Grant said, “I am the most to blame here. I’m the judge. I’m the guy giving the speech about the Constitution—and then I kick a guy in the face?”

“What if people see him and ask what happened?” Scotty asked. They were already cooking up a story to cover their tracks. Beating a guy—even if he was a child rapist—was one thing, but lying about it was not OK.

“We tell the truth,” Grant said. “A guy was verbally abusive to the constables. We needed to keep him under control. He admitted to repeatedly raping a child, and was bragging about it. Things got a little out of hand.” Grant shrugged.

Grant was actually OK with the story getting out about the constable brutality—was that even a term? Let the others at Pierce Point understand that this group of civilian amateurs would rough up a belligerent child rapist.

“We need to get the prisoners out of here and ready for their trials,” Grant said.

“Trials?” Ryan said. “Seriously?” Ryan laughed, looked around at the Team, and said, “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” Grant said. “What do you propose doing?”

“Well,” Ryan said, trying to figure out how to say what he was thinking. “Well, we hold them until the authorities can come out.” He looked at the Team for approval. They didn’t give it.

“When might that be?” Bobby asked. “I mean, I’m not trying to be a dick, Ryan, but when will the authorities be out here and able to have a normal trial?”

Ryan thought for a moment. He could see Bobby’s point. “But, I mean,” Ryan said, “I just assumed the cops or whatever would take care of this after we caught the bad guys.” He looked again at the Team for support. “I mean, that is normal, isn’t it?”

“Sure is,” Grant said. “But ‘normal’ isn’t normal anymore.” He let that sink in. “There are no courts; they haven’t been open for two weeks, man. I know because I go to court for a living and they’ve been closed. I’ve seen the ‘closed’ sign on the door with my own eyes. And that ain’t changin’ too soon.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said, realizing that the real courts were, indeed, closed, “but we can’t just have a trial. I know you said at the Grange that you’d be the judge and everything, but…really? We’re going to have a trial? For real?”

“For real,” Grant said. The Team – and, importantly, Rich – nodded.

“We have no choice, Ryan,” Rich said. “Hey, I hear you about how weird it is to have a ‘trial’ without going to the courthouse, but that’s all we’ve got. The list of weird things going on is much longer than just this. Like the fact that there are no longer fifty states.” Rich had heard this late-breaking news earlier that day. Apparently, several states had withdrawn their delegations from Congress.

“OK,” Ryan said, “I get that things are weird now, but can we even have a ‘trial’ of our own out here?”

“Yep,” Grant said. “We have more than enough evidence.”