Glen Tate - 299 Days - The Community

“I know I can trust you,” Marty said. “I’m an Oath Keeper, too, in spirit. I can’t openly join, given my security clearance. I don’t talk about Oath Keeper things. Given the items we have at work, it didn’t make sense for me to be talking about my possibly divided loyalties.”

Marty looked down at the ground and then up at Joe, straight in his eyes. “Joe, I want to bring some of my guys out here. Permanently. You understand what I’m saying?”

“AWOL?” Joe asked in a near whisper even though no one was around at the compound.

“Defecting is more like it,” Marty said quietly. It was hard for him to say that. He loved the Marine Corps. He loved the United States. Well, the former United States. Marty never wanted to leave the Marine Corps. He had thought of retirement as an awful thing because he would no longer be able to wear the uniform of his beloved Corps. But now he was running from the Corps.

“I have been issued unconstitutional orders,” Marty said. “We’ve spent the last week or so moving our precious cargo off base and back to…somewhere.” Even though Marty was defecting, he still wouldn’t reveal where the nukes had gone. He didn’t want to harm the United States, he just didn’t want to be part of what the United States was about to do to its people.

Marty continued, “All of us realized that we needed to get those weapons out of harm’s way. We don’t want some terrorist assholes to get them. So we did our duty and we were proud to do it. Well, the precious cargo is all out and now they want to send us to the ‘Southern front.’”

“What the hell is the ‘Southern front?’” Joe asked.

“Down to Texas,” Marty said. “The feds are fixin’ for a fight with Texas and any states that want to join them, like my home state of South Carolina. I won’t do it. I won’t.”

Joe was speechless. He had focused on all the crap and drama in his little area out there. But he had never thought about the national situation.

“I quietly inquired with my men,” Marty said. “‘Who’s going to kill Americans?’ I asked them. ‘Who wants to fight for socialism in D.C.?’ I’ll be honest, I only asked the Southerners. There are some good Northerners, but I didn’t want one of them to turn me in.”

Marty paused. This conversation was very hard for him. “So I told them—three squads plus—that I’d come ask you if you have a place for us. We’ll work for our chow. I bet you could use some motivated Marines.” He smiled, “Who couldn’t? Especially in these uncertain times.”

Joe blurted out, “Glad to have you.” He had no idea how he’d feed these guys or pay them. He had supplies for his family and the current employees, but the recent LEO defectors and now thirty plus Marines? Oh well, he’d figure it out. These were shaping up to be historic times. Roll with it. He was supposed to be doing this. Don’t try to make it fit into a business plan.

Then it hit him.

Joe got out a new cigar and handed it to Marty. “I have an idea.”

Mary Anne Morrell was a tough chick. She was a retired teacher in a rural school district where teachers didn’t put up with any crap from their students. She was a sweet lady, but she didn’t wait around for people to do things for her. She hunted and fished and knew how to fix things. She loved living out at Pierce Point.

She was on guard duty with the 30-30 carbine she used for deer. She was sharing the guard shift with Paul while the guys were gone for their try out at the Grange.

Mary Anne liked Paul. He was a great father to his little daughter, Missy. She thought she noticed that Paul was losing weight, but she couldn’t tell for sure.

“Not sure why we’re even doing this,” Paul said of guard duty. “No one has come down that road in a week, well, no one who doesn’t live here.” Paul wasn’t complaining, he was just observing.

“Yeah,” Mary Anne said, “but, until things get stabilized out here, we’ll need it. For all we know, bad guys are checking us out, but are moving on to another group of houses because they see us. Besides, I’m retired. so this is fine.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said with a shrug. Paul was finishing up metal fabrication at a local trade school, but the school had closed like everything else had. “This is like a bunch of snow days, except it’s May and beautiful out. Not bad, not bad.”

John came walking down the road from their house. He had two cups of coffee and a pistol belt. He had a cowboy revolver and nice leather gun belt with cartridges on it.

“Brought you a cup of coffee, dear,” he said. He motioned the second cup to Paul, who put his hand up as if to say, “No thanks.”

“Thanks, hon,” Mary Anne said. “Everything’s quiet here.”

“Hey, I’ll take guard duty,” John said. “You should go see Mrs. Roth about those canning supplies.”

“Good idea. Will do,” Mary Anne said as she handed John the 30-30.

John wouldn’t take the 30-30. “Nah, you take that with you.” It was only a quarter mile to Mrs. Roth’s. Most husbands wouldn’t suggest that their wife walk alone in times like this, but Mary Anne was deadly with that 30-30.

“OK,” Mary Anne said. “See you in an hour or so. If I’m not back, send in the cavalry,” she said with a smile.

Mary Anne spent lots of time during her retirement visiting with people, especially those within walking distance of her house. Mrs. Roth was one of them, although she had not seen her in a few months. Mary Anne felt guilty about not visiting the old woman more, and now she was going to her and asking for something. Oh well. What use did Mrs. Roth have for the canning lids?

It was beautiful out that May morning. A perfect time for a walk. She got to Mrs. Roth’s house quickly. It was a modest little house on the land side of the road, across from a very nice waterfront cabin owned by…what was his name? He was that podiatrist from Seattle. Oh, Randy Greene.

She tried to hide her rifle as she walked up to the door. There was no need to alarm the poor old lady. She knocked on the door, and could hear someone inside slowly get up and shuffle to the door. The house smelled like a “grandma house.” Not a bad smell, just that distinctive grandma house smell.

Mrs. Roth smiled widely when she saw Mary Anne. A visitor. How nice. “Hello, Mary Anne. It’s wonderful to see you. Come in, please.” Seeing that Mary Anne had a rifle, Mrs. Roth said, “Oh, bring that in, too. No need to keep it outside. I used one of those myself back in the cowboy days when we tamed the prairies,” she said with a laugh.

Mrs. Roth wasn’t looking so well. She was very thin and moving even more slowly than usual.

They chatted for a while, and Mary Anne asked about Mrs. Roth’s health. She wouldn’t say much, brushing aside the questions. They talked about the news, keeping it very general. Mrs. Roth was well informed; she had been watching the TV news non-stop, but she didn’t seem too worried about anything.

Mary Anne asked her if she had food. Mrs. Roth answered, “My son comes once a week and brings me things. I don’t eat very much at all anymore. In fact, eating is a chore. I’m fine, but thanks for asking.”

She stared out the window. “I was a little girl during the Depression and World War II. This reminds me of those times, I hate to say. Except that then, we were all so united. We had a common cause. I don’t think people are united now. The country is too big. We’re bickering and greedy. I think this great country is over.” Mrs. Roth said that in a flat, matter-of-fact tone.

She had lived through so much that something like the Collapse, while certainly noteworthy, wasn’t the end of the world. The end of her world was coming soon due to her disease and she knew it. It put everything into context. Mrs. Roth started to remember all the people in her life who were no longer alive. She thought about them and what she would do to help them if they were still alive. She started thinking about how she could still help the people at Pierce Point. She knew she was going to heaven soon and wanted to do all the good things she could before then. “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” she whispered to herself, which was what she wanted to hear after she died.