Glen Tate: 299 Days: The Stronghold

“Me, too,” said Rich, also buzzed. “I’m not any kind of hero. I’m just a guy who has some experience keeping people safe, and I know people out here. Running the security here just came naturally.”

“Rich, I want to propose that we have a plan for doing more than just surviving out here,” Grant said.

This is what the conversation is all about, Rich thought.

“What do you have in mind?” Rich asked.

“You’re an Oath Keeper, right?” Grant asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“Yes, I have been for over four years. From what I’ve gathered you’re some kind of Patriot lawyer or something,” Rich said. “Patriot” and “lawyer” sounded strange in the same sentence.

“Yep,” Grant said. “I’m POI. Guess that’s something to be proud of,” Grant said with a smile. It was a warm smile from a guy with several shots of whiskey in him.

“Let me get right to it, Rich,” he said. “I want to guide Pierce Point into becoming a Patriot stronghold.” He let that sink in a while. He was watching for Rich’s reaction.

Rich sat and thought about it. “How do we do that?” he asked.

So far, so good, Grant thought. Rich hadn’t dismissed the idea and had asked how “we” can do it.

“Slowly,” Grant said, “and fairly and practically. Here’s what I mean,” Grant said. “Survival is my number one goal and yours. So, survival comes first.”

Rich nodded.

“But politics—God, I hate that word—is a way to help us survive,” Grant said. “By ‘politics,’ I don’t mean the old politics of…”

“Yeah, I know. You don’t mean the government,” Rich said.

“Yeah, exactly,” Grant said. “By politics, I mean we take care of people who are like us, who want freedom, who don’t want to get through this only to go back to the shit that got us here in the first place. You know?”

Rich nodded again.

“We don’t march around with a Don’t Tread on Me flag, or give long speeches about the Constitution,” Grant said. “We take care of people. We help them eat. We fix their boats. We give them medical care. We give them hope. We’re practical. But the practical way to solve our problems is that we live in freedom. Freedom works. We have limited government out here, a voluntary government that is made up of ourselves.”

Grant let that sink in and continued. “I guess I’m saying that we have a little republic out here. It’s the best and most practical way to take care of things and allow us to survive. People need to buy into the program. Know what I’m sayin’?”

“Oh, yeah,” Rich agreed, “I see what you’re sayin’.” He thought some more. “I never really thought about a mini republic out here, but I never had a reason to think about it. There had always been a government, so there was never an opportunity to have our own system. You know, we’ve already been doing what you’re talking about. I mean, look at the guards. No one deputized them. No one charged taxes to pay them. No one wrote up tons of laws—no offense to a lawyer—and made us go through hoops to protect ourselves. We did it on our own because it made sense.”

“Exactly!” Grant replied. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I think we keep doing things like that on our own. We don’t call it a republic, but we think of it that way. Citizens need to contribute to the republic, whether it’s guard duty or helping their neighbors or picking apples in the fall. It’s hunting and sharing the meat. It’s making food at the Grange for guards. No one is telling anyone what to do, they’re just doing it. And then—presto—we’re a Patriot stronghold. Know why? We’re a Patriot stronghold because we don’t need the government. That’s why.” Grant poured another shot into both of their glasses.

Rich looked at the whiskey and asked, “But if we’re a Patriot stronghold, won’t that be a threat to the government? Won’t they want to come here and put us down? That ain’t a good survival move, to pick a fight with the United States government.”

“True,” Grant said, pointing his finger in the air to show he acknowledged that. “But there isn’t a United States government, anymore. Maybe on paper. Maybe in Olympia,” Grant waved his arms around, “But not out here. You see any government? We’re it.”

Rich thought for a while. Grant was right. They were the closest thing to government out there. “Besides,” Rich finally said, “I don’t think we have a choice. It’s not like we can pledge our loyalty to the government and they’ll take care of us. They can’t even take care of themselves. We’re on our own.”

Grant nodded.

Rich said, “So, OK, we’re Patriots out here. I get that. But what do we do with Loyalists? Kill them? I ain’t shootin’ my neighbors, especially over politics.” Rich had a good point.

“No,” Grant said, “we don’t shoot them for being Loyalists. We are practical. If they don’t work for the community, they don’t get the help of the community. I know that sounds socialist, but our republic out here is voluntary, so it’s not socialist, because socialists rule by force. It’s voluntary here. If you choose to be a Loyalist and look to the old government and not Pierce Point for police protection and food, be our guest. See how far that gets you. If you love the old government, then you can’t receive our help and we won’t expect anything from you. Loyalists are on their own,” Grant said and then smiled, “See how long you last.”

He paused and said, “That’s how we do it. Loyalists—true Loyalists—will leave here. Soft Loyalists will get hungry and get with the program. Whether or not they really share our view of the Constitution, they will either get with the program or they won’t be a problem for us. They can hate us and still be a part of the mini republic. There’s no need to shoot them.”

That was what Rich needed to know. Was this Grant guy—who was some sort of Patriot activist before the Collapse—trying to turn Pierce Point into a politically pure dictatorship that did not tolerate dissent? With Grant as the dictator? Rich knew that if anyone, even a guy like Grant whom he liked, tried to do that then Rich would have to fight them. And that he had the firepower to win. He suspected Grant would feel the same way if Rich tried to create a dictatorship. Rich’s guards and Grant’s Team were a natural check and balance on each other, and all the well-armed residents were a check on both. It was a perfect little republic.

Rich was feeling warm and good right now. So was Grant. Perhaps it was the whiskey, or perhaps it was because they just realized what a great system they could help create at Pierce Point.

Grant wanted to reassure Rich that people wouldn’t be targeted merely because of their politics. “Rich, if a Loyalist does anything criminal, like steal from someone or hurt someone, then we deal with them like we would anyone else. Jail for stealing and for threatening people. If they hurt someone, especially murder or rape, well…” Grant made the motion for slitting a throat.

“Agreed,” Rich said. “But Loyalists get treated like anyone else, alright?” Rich said with a slight edge to his voice. This was an important thing for him. As well it should be, Grant thought.

“Agreed,” said Grant. They shook hands.

“OK,” Rich said to Grant, picking up their Pendleton whiskey-influenced discussion, “you talked about jail and the death penalty for crimes. How would we do that?” Rich had been meaning to get a plan together for a jail and—this sounded so weird—a court system out there. Was he being premature? Or would this be necessary before they knew it?