Glen Tate - 299 Days - The Collapse

He got out of the car and quietly closed the driver’s side door. He did a press check of his pistol and checked to verify that he had his two mag pouches with two magazines each. That should get him through the next few hundred yards of road. He quietly opened the passenger door and retrieved his AR and shoulder mag bag. That had four 30-round AR mags and four more pistol mags. He did a press check on his AR. Even in the low light he could see a shiny brass cartridge case in the chamber. He verified that the AR safety was on. He ejected the magazine and checked it. It was full.

He carried the AR with his right thumb on the safety lever at all times. He could flip that off in a millisecond, if necessary. That’s how he practiced; he’d done it a thousand times.

He looked through his red-dot sight; it was still on. He hadn’t turned it off since the shooting. Oh well, the battery life was nearly 600 hours and it turned off automatically after twelve hours. Grant realized he’d be keeping this on most of the time, at least at night.

Grant charted out a course from his car to the cabin. He would hug the side of the road away from the water. It had the most trees and was the darkest. The lights were off in all the cabins.

He looked down at his feet to the extent he could see them. He had his good old hillbilly slippers on. And his 5.11 pants. Thanks goodness he had come from the neighborhood patrol a few hours ago and was in his “gun clothes.” He didn’t want to walk in the dark without proper footwear. What if he were in a suit? He laughed at himself. He wouldn’t be in a suit for a very long time, if ever again at all. He was living in a 5.11 and hillbilly slippers world now.

Grant started moving. He was surprised at how quietly he could walk. He was listening for any sounds. It was weird how heightened his sense of hearing was. He didn’t want any dogs to bark.

He slowly made his way to the county road. He had forgotten how long it took to go a few hundred yards when trying to be quiet. There was not a sound or sign of life from any of the cabins so far. Good. The place was probably abandoned, except for the Colsons and Morrells. He wouldn’t wake them up. They might shoot him by mistake. Let them sleep. He’d go over in the morning. He would need a story to tell them about why he was here without Lisa and the kids. He started to work on one while he moved slowly down the county road. He wasn’t coming up with a good one.

Grant got to the end of the county road where the gravel road to his cabin began. He saw his cabin. It was dark and empty. He didn’t need to move as cautiously now. He was almost there.

He walked up to the cabin and onto the deck to the front door. He let his AR hang on his chest sling, got his keys out, and slowly opened the door. He walked in. The kitchen light was on and it partially lit up the cabin. Grant thought he’d turned that light off when he left last time.

Who the hell was that?

There was a man with a pistol pointed at Grant’s head. Grant could see the shape of the man and the gun, but not the man’s face.

He knew he was captured at this point. He didn’t want to be tortured. It was time to die. Grant clicked off the safety of his AR and started to shoulder it at the man.

“Nope, partner,” the man said quickly and waved his pistol from side to side. “Not tonight.”

Grant knew that voice. Could it be?

It was Chip. What the hell was he doing here and how did he get in?

Grant was frozen with this AR halfway up to his shoulder. He didn’t want to shoot Chip, if that’s really who was in his cabin.

“That you, Chip?” Grant whispered.

“Yep,” Chip said, still holding a pistol to Grant’s head. “How are you Mr. Matson? Why don’t you lower that rifle so there’s no friendly fire here tonight?”

That was definitely Chip’s voice.

Grant lowered his AR and clicked the safety back on. He let the rifle go, but it was on a sling so it just dangled. Grant instinctively put his hands out to his sides.

“Where’s the damned light in here?” Chip asked.

“Behind you is a lamp,” Grant said.

After some fumbling, Chip turned it on.

There he was. Chip and his .45. In Grant’s cabin.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Grant asked.

“Storing some valuables,” Chip said, wondering why Grant didn’t know the answer already. “Just like we talked about when I was out here this summer. You remember, don’t you? I mean, it’s cool for me to leave some hardware here, right?”

Grant thought about it. Of course. Chip was stashing the guns here. Great.

“Oh, yeah,” Grant said. It took him a little while to recover from the shock of a man in is darkened cabin pointing a pistol at his head. “Sure, it’s cool,” he finally said. “I was just a little surprised by the whole guy-in-my-house-pointing-a-gun-at-me thing. How are you and what can I do to help?”

Chip smiled. “All the hard work is done. I pulled in after dark, after we hauled my load from the store. I came straight here. Sorry for telling you and the other guys that I was going somewhere no one knew of. This shit is worth some money and…well, anyway, your neighbors weren’t around so I unloaded this stuff in the dark. I got in with the key under the rock on the bulkhead. You know, the one you showed me. I moved my truck and the empty U-Haul to a spot no one would see about a half mile away. I didn’t need an empty U-Haul sitting at your place. Tends to lead to questions we don’t need.”

Chip sat down on one of the two couches in the living room of the cabin and continued. “Right after I walked back from my parking spot, I was getting ready to try to sleep and I heard you coming in. You didn’t exactly sneak quietly up on me. I figured it was you because you probably were the only one with a key. I had the bulkhead rock key with me so I knew it wasn’t someone else who knew about that key. But I didn’t want to be wrong so I had to draw on you. Sorry about that, but I’m sure you understand.”

“Yep,” Grant said. “I woulda done the same.”

“So what brings you out here without the family?”

Grant felt a sting go through him. He didn’t want to answer that question. He was ashamed that he’d abandoned his family. “It’s a long story and I’d rather not talk about it. Let’s just say that this place will be my…” Grant pointed at Chip and said, “… our home for a while. I guess we’re both hiding out.”

“From what?” Chip asked. “The riots?”

“Well, I kinda shot a dude,” Grant said with a laugh. A nervous, tension-breaking laugh. “Three, actually. Wounded some more. Looters. In my neighborhood. They were coming after me and my friend with rifles and clubs. About a dozen of them. I got the surviving ones to run away. I tried to get my family to come out, but my wife is living in a fantasy world of ‘everything is normal and just fine.’”

Chip just thought for a while. “Sucks to not have your family, huh?”

Grant realized that he and Chip were in the same boat. No family. Grant didn’t like that thought. But it was true.

“For a while,” Grant said. “I will go get them or they’ll come out. I hope.” Grant just stared for a while.

It was silent in the cabin. Just then the soft sound of the refrigerator kicked on in the background.

“Well,” Chip finally said, “now that there’s two of us, we can have a guard duty schedule. Let me go show you the stuff in the basement and you can show me the locks you have and how to secure this place.”

Chip put his shoes on and pointed out the door. He wanted to get this done and get some sleep. He was tired. He had been up all night. And, at almost sixty, his ability to pull all-nighters was waning.