Glen Tate - 299 Days - The Community

The Team and Mark got into the truck and slowly went back. Once again, Grant thought about how fantastic it felt to ride in a truck with his guys and an AR. He felt so alive. People were waving on the way back. The Team was loving it.

Let’s see if Lisa is loving it, Grant thought. Now the hard part of the day began. Training to run into houses full of well-armed drug dealers? No, that wasn’t the hard part. Grant telling Lisa he volunteered to be on an amateur SWAT team—that was the hard part.

Oh well. He had a job to do and his wife’s approval couldn’t be the determining factor. Her approval might have been required when things were going fine. But not now. You’re the man, he remembered the outside thought saying back when he decided to prep. You have to protect them. Don’t worry about being popular. The outside thought was right.

They pulled up to the guard shack. Paul and Mary Anne were there and waved.

Grant took the magazine out of his AR, made sure there wasn’t a round in the chamber, and locked the bolt open. He unshouldered it and carried it carefully with the barrel down as if to show Lisa and the kids that he was being especially careful. Waving an AR in the house would piss off Lisa, and it wasn’t safe, anyway.

Lisa was sorting the kids’ clothes. “Hi,” she said. “How was your stuff?”

“Great,” Grant said. “How was your day?” Just like he used to say back when they had real jobs.

“Got lots done,” Lisa said. “The kids have enough clothes, but not as many as they did back home. They have enough for normal human beings, but not for their old selves,” she said with a smile. This was good. An acknowledgment that they had unnecessary stuff in their old suburban life.

Lisa looked at the clock. “It’s 4:00. Aren’t you hungry? You didn’t come home for lunch.”

“Some ladies made us lunch at the Grange,” Grant said.

“Oh, nice,” Lisa said. “Why did they do that?”

Because we’re protecting them, Grant thought. Here goes the pitch about the SWAT thing.

“My new job,” Grant said.

That surprised Lisa. A “job” meant a new law firm or something like that and there weren’t any law firms out here.

“Job?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s cool,” Grant said with a shrug, downplaying how awesome he thought this all was. “I’m getting fed and the guys are, too, so we don’t need to draw on the food we have out here.” So far, so good.

“What’s your job?” Lisa asked, skeptically.

“I’m helping that cop, Rich Gentry, with law enforcement,” Grant said. “The guys and me are patrolling. We’re basically for show. Our scary guns scare off bad guys.” She might believe that. It was what she wanted to believe. She was extremely intelligent, but people could be counted on to believe things, even unlikely things, if it’s what they wanted to believe.

“Really?” Lisa asked. She’d have to think about this for a while. Her husband as “law enforcement?” He is a lawyer. Or was.

After a few seconds, she asked, “Are you guys deputized or whatever?”

“Nope,” Grant said. “There is no functioning police force to deputize us. We’re making citizens arrests, if it ever comes to that and it probably won’t. Again,” he pointed to his AR, “it’s the scary guns that scare people.” He hated to lie, but it was for the greater good.

Grant continued, “We’ve heard that some of the petty druggies have already left Pierce Point. See, in the past, when it took the sheriff’s department a half hour or more to respond to a call out here, the druggies weren’t too afraid of the ‘law.’ Now that there are no criminal defense lawyers or the ACLU to protect them, they’ve decided to go to the city where all their druggie friends are, anyway.” Sounded plausible.

“Oh, OK,” she said. “But you’re not going to be shooting at people. Right?”

“Oh, no,” Grant said. “Hey, most cops never shoot their guns in a twenty or thirty-year career. Except, you know, practicing at the range.”

Lisa had heard that statistic somewhere. It was what she wanted to believe here. “OK,” she said. “But don’t volunteer for anything dangerous, OK? The kids need you and…I need you.”

She was starting to tear up. This had been a very stressful time for her. Her perfect life had been uprooted, and was probably over forever. Her beautiful home had been destroyed, a neighbor had attacked her and her son, people with assault rifles were all over the place, her autistic son was out in hickville during what felt like a war, they couldn’t go to the grocery store, and… he had to go to the next house to do laundry. Everything was upside down. Now her prestigious lawyer husband was an unpaid cop or something. The possibility of him getting shot was too much.

“I won’t, honey,” Grant said. “I’m just doing this for the few weeks or whatever until things are better and we can go home. We’ll fix the house up. I’ll sue the shit out of Nancy Ringman,” he said with a big smile.

Lisa burst out laughing. That was her old husband. Suing people. Things were normal again. Kind of.

Steve Briggs was on his way home. His cell phone rang. Interesting. Cell service had been very intermittent.

It was Todd at corporate. He was a good guy, with an MBA on his way up the ladder at Ready One Auto Parts. Steve realized he better take the call.

“Hey, Todd, what’s up?” Steve said.

“Steve, how are things in Forks with all that’s going on?” he asked.

“OK, I guess,” Steve said. “The credit card system isn’t working and we haven’t had a shipment in about a week. People are having less and less cash to spend. But, everyone is calm. No angry customers or thefts. How are the other stores doing?”

“Terrible,” Todd said. “Shipments aren’t coming from our suppliers, most of which are in southern California. It’s beyond bad down there. I-5 is a mess, but it’s getting better. The cops are preventing people from driving cars. All that’s getting through is food and medicine and some military vehicles. Auto parts are a low priority compared to that, so we have basically realized that we can’t supply our stores. The internet isn’t reliable enough now, so we can’t reorder inventory even if we could pay for it and have it shipped. Oh, and the whole credit and debit situation makes it worthless to stay open. So we’re shutting down the stores. Sorry, man, but we have to.”

Steve knew this was coming. He was surprised it had taken over a week. He had a plan, though.

“Of course, Todd,” Steve said. “Understandable. I’ll shut ‘er down. Lock it up tight. That kind of thing.” He paused, “Let me guess, me and all my employees are laid off as of now.”

Todd was silent for a while. “Yes,” he finally said. “Sorry.”

Steve was not too concerned, actually. He had plenty to get by on so he was actually OK with a little vacation. The collapse of the United States was a “vacation”? Well, it kind of felt that way when you had enough to get by, although it was hell on earth for most people. Steve tried not to think about them.

“Understandable, Todd,” Steve repeated. “No hard feelings. We’ll be back in business in a few days, or weeks, or whatever. Hey, look at the positive side: cars break down. In a while, when we’re back in business, people will be lined up at the store to buy parts.” Steve knew this wouldn’t happen anytime soon, if ever at all, but he wanted to make Todd feel better. Poor guy. Todd was making these calls all day long.

“Yeah, I hadn’t thought of that,” Todd said. “OK, Steve, we love you up there in Forks. You’ve done a hell of a job for Ready One and we appreciate it. Hey, is your family OK?”