Glen Tate - 299 Days - The Community

Chip said, “I can talk more than the young guys, if that’s OK with you gentlemen. I look like the full-timers. They’ll relate to me.” And Chip was one of the most charming guys around. He made a living selling guns. He knew how to talk to guys, especially rural, working class guys. He was one himself.

“No prob,” said Scotty. “We want to fit in out here. It’s our home now.”

Good. Grant was relieved.

“OK, boys, let’s go do this meeting,” Grant said.

Grant went over to Mark’s. “Ready when you are,” he said.

“Let’s go,” Mark said. “Take my truck?”

Grant thought it would be good if the well-armed strangers rolled up in Mark’s truck.

“Of course,” Grant said. He motioned for the Team to pile in. They had their ARs and tactical vests in their hands.

“You’re not bringing those, are you?” Mark asked, a little concerned.

“Not into the meeting,” Grant said. “We’ll keep them in the cab. My guys need to have their gear. You never know what can happen there, on the way there, or on the way back,” Grant said with a shrug.

“OK, as long as they stay in the cab,” Mark said. He and Grant were on the same page with concerns about introducing “militia”-looking guys to the people of Pierce Point.

“Oh, and Mark,” Grant said, as they got into Mark’s truck, “these people at this meeting are your guys, so please take the lead with them. I told the Team that we are guests out here and that we are volunteers to Pierce Point and that we will be a part of the group effort, not doing our own thing.”

That was music to Mark’s ears. “Thank God you said that,” he said. “I was just about to have a heart-to-heart with you and say the same thing. You boys are a little more tactical than we’re used to out here. That will be a big advantage, especially when it comes to scaring off bad guys, but tonight is not the time for it.”

“Way ahead of you,” Grant said. “That’s pretty much what I told them. They’ll just have pistols on.”

“That’s perfect,” Mark said, lifting up his shirt and showing his concealed revolver. “Let’s saddle up. It’s ten ‘till.”

The Team was in the back of Mark’s truck. John, Paul, and Chip got in the rear back cab. Grant was in the front passenger seat.

Drew stayed behind. They needed a guard. Besides, Drew was a retired accountant. This security stuff would be primarily handled by others. He could take care of himself and guard the place while they were gone, but he wasn’t trying to be a cowboy. Everyone had a role, an important role. It’s just not that everyone needed to be a gunfighter.

In fact, too many gunfighters would mean people weren’t eating, getting medical treatment, and things weren’t getting repaired. Having all the gunfighters in the world wouldn’t do much good if the tactical bad asses were puking their guts out from food poisoning because everyone was too important to wash the dishes. Every single person out there had an important role.

After a short drive on the beautiful May evening, they arrived at the Grange. The parking lot was full. Almost all the vehicles were trucks. Men, and some women, were getting out of their rigs and going inside. The men looked like rural guys; tough and self-reliant compared to the people in Olympia. The women looked like country girls who knew how to take care of themselves. A few were wearing pistols. Most of the men were. No one had long guns for this meeting.

The Team definitely stood out, but not too much. They were the only ones in 5.11s. They had tactical pistol belts with the same Raven Concealment holsters. A trained observer could see that their pistols had small lights attached to them; the outline of the lights was visible through the holsters. No one else had those. But the guys, especially having Chip with them, didn’t look odd. They just looked different.

As they went in, Mark realized that he didn’t know everyone, either. Some of the faces were familiar, but that was it. Most of the full-timers were like Mark: rural residents in hunting and work clothes. Some had jeans and tee shirts. There were even a few who looked like cabin people.

Seats were going quickly. The sign inside said “Capacity: 120” and it looked like the place was just about full. A dozen or two women were there. Pow motioned for the guys to yield their seats to the ladies. That got noticed by the crowd, as a positive thing.

Rich Gentry was at the front of the room with a little podium. He was comfortable there, as he had given many briefings before and this was like being back at work at the Sheriff’s Department.

“OK, let’s get this thing going,” Rich said looking at his watch. “Thanks for coming out tonight. This is a meeting of what I guess we’ll call the Pierce Point Security Committee. I hate committees, but I love security, as in I love not having thieves, rapists, and murderers in my neighborhood,” Rich said, deciding to shock people into the reality they were there address.

“That’s what all this is about. Keeping out bad people. This is not a militia or anything like that.”

Everyone nodded.

“First of all,” Rich said, “is there anyone here who disagrees that we need a guard and patrol?”

Silence.

“Good,” Rich said. “By the end of this meeting, I’d like to have some volunteers to man the entrance to the Frederickson Road on a shift basis and some men,” he looked at two women in the front row, “well, some people to patrol inside the development. Once we have enough guards, we can start working on training and communications.”

Grant knew that this meeting was about more than just guards at the entrance and a patrol. Leaders would emerge from this meeting. It would set the tone for the governance of Pierce Point. By “governance,” Grant meant how food was distributed and shared, how medical care was handled, communications, and, eventually, what side—government or Patriot—Pierce Point would take.

But first things first, Grant thought. Security first, governance second, and politics last, if ever at all. It was all about surviving out there. Politics was a luxury for people who didn’t have to worry about surviving.

Grant was itching to have a role in the meeting, but he didn’t want to overdo it. He was a cabin person and brought a group of well-armed strangers there. He was a lawyer and most people hated lawyers. Grant had to be careful. He’d been in some tricky political situations, but this one was the most important one so far. He had the oddest feeling that the politics of this meeting would be child’s play compared to what was coming in a while.

Grant knew that he had to get a big role for the Team. They were exactly what Pierce Point needed. He wasn’t going to let his Team just blend into the neighborhood. What a waste.

I put you and them here for a reason.

Whoa. He hadn’t heard the outside thought for a while. He understood it loud and clear.

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Rich Gentry. I was a sheriff’s deputy for eleven years until about six months ago. I left because some things were going on that I couldn’t be a part of. I’ll just leave it at that.” It was apparent that having to leave the force still pained Rich.

“I still have lots of friends on the force,” Rich continued. “They tell me that there basically is no more law enforcement out there right now.” He let that sink in for a few seconds with the crowd. No more law enforcement. Grant knew it, but suspected that most in the room hadn’t confronted this fact first-hand like he had. No more law enforcement was such a shock that it would take quite a while for most people to fully accept the new reality.

“We have to be law enforcement for ourselves until this all gets sorted out,” Rich said. “This doesn’t mean vigilantes. It means structured volunteers with some training and accountability to the community. None of you are expected to be like what law enforcement was. No six-month academy, but you need to know the basics. And you need to know when to use force and when not to. That last part is key. We are not a thug squad beating and killing people. I’ve seen enough of that in the past.”