Glen Tate - 299 Days - The Collapse

Mrs. Nguyen looked at the nice young men there offering to help her. She cried some more.

Wes would hit the grocery store nearby, Scotty the one a little farther away, and Bobby the next one over from that one. Pow would take Mrs. Nguyen to the drugstore in his Hummer.

She had an envelope of $100 bills. She had been saving them for something like this. She gave two to each of them. Who knew what food would cost right now? Plus, she wanted the boys to keep the change.

Pow didn’t even need to say it. They all knew that they would go with concealed pistols. The ARs would stay hidden in the trucks.

“Be sure and top off your tanks when you’re out there,” Scotty said. They all nodded.

“Let’s go,” Pow said. It was their first mission. Getting groceries and prescriptions for a nice neighbor lady. It felt great. They were sheepdogs. They were in a position to help. That felt even better.

Pow’s neighborhood seemed pretty safe. He lived in a starter house in an OK neighborhood full of nice people for the most part. But on occasion, some questionable guests and relatives of the residents came by. Mrs. Nguyen got in Pow’s Hummer. “So fancy,” she said as she got in.

They all left in their trucks and Pow’s Hummer. This was their first foray out into a collapsing American society. They had no idea what to expect.

They found things to be surprisingly normal. No looters, no gun fights. People were remarkably normal. Some of them seemed a little edgy, in a hurry, and not trusting of the people around them. It was like it never occurred to these people that things were going bad. The Team was convinced that most of America was either stupid or in denial. Or both.

The stores were getting empty. Not stripped clean like they had all assumed when they thought about panic buying. Then again, it was only one day into the electrical grid attack and the terrorism. Most people hadn’t figured it out yet. They assumed the stores had lots of food. Stores never ran out of things. That’s just how it was in America.

Most shelves still had food, but only about a third as much as normal. Meat and produce was still available. The stores had everything on Mrs. Nguyen’s list, except some particular brands of Asian foods. For the most part, her list had staples like rice and canned food. They bought as much as they could with the money they had.

Each man topped off his tank on the way home. The price had doubled in twenty-four hours. There was a long line. It wasn’t a line down the street, just a line longer than they had ever seen. Wes had lived in Alabama during a hurricane and had seen gas lines like this back then.

Unlike the relative calm at the grocery store, people at the gas station were nervous and keeping to themselves. Scotty thought about how he wished he had gas cans to fill up. Then he realized other people might not appreciate that.

Pow’s trip to the drug store with Mrs. Nguyen was a little more eventful. It appeared that many people had the same idea about stocking up on prescriptions. The place was packed. Luckily, the computer had Mrs. Nguyen’s refill on file. They waited in line. Pow used the opportunity to get plenty of first aid supplies and over the counter medicines. Mrs. Nguyen saw what he was doing and gave him a $100 bill for them. Since he was Asian too, he knew that she would not let him pay for them himself. He tried the traditional three times to let her keep the money and then accepted it on the fourth try.

Some of the people in line were freaking out. One of them wanted pain medication, and was getting belligerent. It was uncomfortable for everyone there. Finally, the manager came. The belligerent man, who looked like a thirty-something professional, started to yell and wave his arms around. “My doctor said he sent in the refill. I’m going on a trip and need these right now. My back hurts.” Pow figured he’d let the guy do one more outburst and then that would be it. The guy didn’t seem to be armed.

Sure enough, there was one more outburst. When the manager told the man to leave, he shoved the manager. Pow set his basket of first aid supplies down and flipped up his shirt to show his gun and gripped his Glock in the holster. He did not draw his pistol; he just showed it and had his hand on it, ready to draw.

“Time to go, sir,” Pow said in a very commanding voice.

Pow knew that in normal times, showing a weapon like that without being threatened would be the crime of brandishing. Pow was not terribly worried about the police coming right now. He needed this guy to get out of the way so Mrs. Nguyen could get her medicine.

The man went silent and instinctively put his hands up. The man knew he was done at this location. He would go try to the other store in this chain across town that had the same computer system.

Everyone in the store was silent, appearing stunned by what they were witnessing. The man kept his hands up and walked out. Pow followed him, with his hand still on his holstered pistol. A few steps into it, Pow used his other hand to pull out a badge on a dog tag chain around his neck so it was visible.

When the man walked out the door, Pow threw his shirt back over his holstered pistol and stood at the entrance. He said to the checker, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t come back.” She just nodded. And stared.

Pow watched the man speed out of the parking lot. By this time, Mrs. Nguyen’s turn in the line came up and the pharmacist provided her medicine.

“Can I get more than one refill?” she asked. From the look on his face, it appeared that the pharmacist had been hearing this question all day.

“No, ma’am,” he said. “We will need another prescription for a new amount from your doctor. We can try to call him or her, but no doctors’ offices have been answering their phones for the past couple of days.”

Mrs. Nguyen nodded. She knew that would be the answer. “Thank you,” she said. She picked up Pow’s basket and paid for it and the prescription with cash, careful not to let people see her $100 bills. She left the store, meeting Pow at the exit. He had his badge under his shirt now.

“Thank you for making that man leave,” Mrs. Nguyen said.

Pow realized that she hadn’t seen his badge or she would have asked him why he had a badge but wasn’t a police officer. A good question, but he had a good answer. Pow, and all the members of the Team, had badges that looked like police badges but said “Concealed Weapons Permit” and had their state seal. They carried these so that if they had to draw a weapon, they could leave the “badge” out on a neck chain for the police to see. The police would know that they were not criminals. It wasn’t impersonating an officer because the badge only said “Concealed Weapons Permit.”

“No problem,” Pow said. They drove to the closest gas station. That Hummer got thirsty, but Pow loved it. It was an H2, so its gas mileage was like a regular SUV. He was very successful selling insurance to Korean families and didn’t have a wife or kids. He could afford it and, along with his guns, his Hummer was his luxury item. Besides, the Hummer was almost bulletproof. Almost.

Gassing up was uneventful, but Pow noticed that people were nervous and seemed ready to fight each other. He could feel it. He grew up in a tough part of Tacoma and had learned early on to pick up on things like people not making eye contact or people looking one another up and down. He didn’t sense any threats there, but he was watching.

On the way back to Pow’s house, there was nothing noteworthy, except one car on the other side of the street was speeding and driving erratically. Some people were on edge and in a hurry, driving like madmen. Pow expected to hear a siren. The police would be chasing that person. Then he thought about it. He hadn’t heard any sirens lately. Last night when they evacuated Capitol City Guns, he had heard them in the distance. But now he wasn’t hearing them. They had just stopped. Weird.