Glen Tate - 299 Days - The Collapse

“OK, thank you,” Eileen said. What was that about not being out after dark? Sure, there had been some protests or some political things going on, and some terrorist attack in far-off cities, but that hardly meant that terrorists were out roaming in Olympia at night. She thought the men with guns were overreacting. Maybe the men felt better having their guns. They weren’t hurting anyone, so it seemed OK.

The ride back to her house was uneventful. Few cars were out. Eileen’s husband, Drew, was waiting for her.

“What were you doing out there?” Drew asked her. “Things are dangerous.”

Eileen was a little mad. “I was taking care of our daughter, who needs me,” she said indignantly. What was with all these men being so worried about “danger” out there?

“I’m going back to spend the night with them,” she added.

Drew knew he couldn’t tell her not to take care of her daughter. Besides, Eileen would be driving before dark.

“I’ll come with you,” Drew said.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Eileen said. She thought he was overreacting.

“No, I will come with you,” Drew said. He had already loaded his two guns, a duck hunting shotgun and a .357 revolver, and was ready for what might be coming. He had been watching the news all day and knew that things were getting worse each night.

“No!” Eileen yelled at Drew. She hadn’t yelled at him in about twenty years. “Everyone needs to stop overreacting!” she yelled. “Lisa needs me and I’m going. Things are fine. This will all be over soon.” Eileen stormed upstairs to get her things for spending the night at Lisa’s. Drew knew he couldn’t do anything about his wife driving out in possible mayhem. He went back to watching the news. No use even trying to convince her, he thought.

Eileen got her overnight things and left without saying a word to Drew, which was very unusual. On the way to Lisa’s house, there was a car speeding up behind her. It zoomed past her and ran the red light. Crazy drivers.

Eileen came up to the same man who had let her out of the subdivision. He saw her and waved her through.

Eileen spent the evening and night listening to Lisa and doing all the grandmother things she loved to do, like making cookies and playing board games with the kids. She wanted to do all the normal things they loved; this would take their minds off of all the unusual things that were going on. She kept the TV off. There was no need to scare the kids.

Ever since the previous night, when they evacuated Capitol City Guns, the Team (minus Grant) was sticking together. They were on an adrenaline high. They were, after all, young men who loved to help people and had trained for this and were extremely well armed. Guns and training—and being sheepdogs—were the focus of their lives. This was “go time.” It was what they lived for.

If Grant were twenty years younger and single, he would have had the same reaction, but he had a family so he didn’t have the luxury of treating the Collapse as a big adventure. He couldn’t think of himself; he had a family to protect. This adventurous spirit of young men is what had fueled wars and heroism for several thousand years. It was hardwired into some percentage of the male population (and some percentage of the female population).

After the Capitol City evacuation, Pow, Wes, Scotty, and Bobby met up at Pow’s little rented house. It was located a mile or two from Capitol City and was a central location for the other guys. They lived in apartments throughout the city.

“How are your parents doing?” Scotty asked the group. “Mine called and they’re OK out in the sticks.”

Bobby nodded, “Mine, too.”

Pow said, “My parents and all my brothers and sisters are doing fine up in Tacoma.” Pow was the youngest of six kids.

Wes was silent.

With that out of the way, it was time to get down to business.

“Well, gentlemen, this is it,” Pow said. “We need to protect our neighborhoods and our stuff.” He pointed toward the “gun room” in his house. He had a giant safe and reloading equipment, with cases of ammunition on the floor. The contents of his gun room were now worth tens of thousands of dollars.

“We need to secure our gear,” Pow said. “Things are going to get dicey, at least for a while.” Pow thought things would be crazy for longer than that, but didn’t want to seem overly dramatic. He was the leader. He needed to be calm and rational.

Wes said, “Yeah, but where do we take our stuff? We need to be with it. Hell, we might need all of our gear.” Scotty was nodding.

“I have good news, my friends,” Pow said with a smile. He told them about Grant’s cabin. They were all grinning from ear to ear.

“I knew there was a reason we let a lawyer on the Team,” Bobby said.

“So, let’s come up with a plan to get our shit over to Grant’s cabin,” Pow said. “I have a call into him but his phone isn’t working.” They spent the next two hours carefully planning out how to load and move their personal armories. They prioritized the things they would need the most. The first priority would be ARs, 5.56 ammo, and pistols in 9mm, along with 9mm ammo. Mags, spare parts, and specialized tools for these guns would also be in the first priority. The other stuff—AKs, shotguns, bolt rifles, other pistols—would be in later loads.

“What about food? I don’t really have any in my apartment,” Bobby said. He was a basic bachelor in his twenties; not a “prepper.”

“Grant has us covered out there,” Pow said with a smile. “Everyone bring what you can. Food will be the last priority load.”

It was late afternoon. “Go back to your places and load up your stuff and bring it here,” Pow said. “We’ll meet back here in a few hours. We can make the first run out there tonight.”

Pow’s cell phone vibrated. He looked at the number. He didn’t recognize it. He’d look at the text later.

There was a knock at the door. They instinctively drew their pistols. Pow looked out the window and saw Mrs. Nguyen, an elderly Vietnamese neighbor lady. He holstered his pistol and the others did too. He answered the door.

“Hello, Mrs. Nguyen,” Pow said.

“William, I am so scared,” she said to Pow, whose real name was Bill Kung.” She was one of the few people who called him by his real name. “I have been watching the television all day,” she said, speaking English well, but with a Vietnamese accent. “This reminds me of Saigon before the fall.” She had lived through the fall of Vietnam and came to America when her country fell.

“William,” she said, “there won’t be food in the store soon. People will buy it all, and then they’ll fight over it. Same with gasoline. I’ve lived through this before.”

She paused and started to cry, “My sons are in Los Angeles.” She knew what was happening there now and couldn’t bear it. They hadn’t called in days. “I need some help.” Her Vietnamese pride made it hard to ask for help, especially from non-Vietnamese people. But there were none in the neighborhood, so a nice Korean boy and his friends would have to do. “I need some food and water to make it through this for a while. And some of my medicine. Can you help me?”

Who could say no to that?

“Of course,” Pow said. “Me and my friends can definitely help.” Pow introduced the group to her. “Give me a list of what you need at the store, and each one of us will go out and get those things. That way, we can each hit a different store and get what they still have available. I can take you to the drugstore since you need to show ID to pick up a prescription. You’ll be safe with me.”