Glen Tate: 299 Days: The Preparation

“Yes, I am,” Grant said. “And I want the Team to come here if shit hits the fan. Do you think they’ll want to?”

“Oh, hell, yes,” Pow said. “But where will they stay? Your cabin is nice, but I bet your family will want to stay in there.”

Grant had that all thought out, too. He pointed to a yellow cabin about 100 yards from his, down by where the paved road ended and the gravel road began. It was on the road before Grant’s cabin, the Colsons’, or the Morrells’. “See that. We would liberate that thing.”

“‘Liberate?’ As in, ‘steal?’” Pow asked. “That’s not my thing, man,” Pow said, confused that an honest guy like Grant would suggest such a thing.

“No, that guy hasn’t been there in a couple years,” Grant said. “He lives in California.” Grant pointed to Mark Colson’s house. “That guy lives here full-time and has a key to it. If the California owner comes up here, we move you guys to another place, or to my cabin, if necessary. Bottom line, there are lots of unused cabins and RVs here. We house you guys here until someone wants their place back, which might be never. In exchange for borrowing some unused shelter, the community gets a team of gunfighters to take care of security.”

Pow was taking all this in. “Are you sure people are OK with this?” he finally asked. “I mean, taking over people’s places and being an armed security team?”

“Nope,” Grant said. “I have no idea if they are OK with it. But they will be. If not, you guys stay with me.”

“What would we eat out here?” Pow asked.

It was time to show him the food. Grant took him to the shed and opened the padlocked door.

Pow’s eyes got huge. “Oh, shit, look at all that. You got any stir fry sauce?” Pow laughed his hearty laugh.

Grant showed Pow the adjacent vacant lot and explained the gardening plan. He pointed to the beach and described the clams and oysters, and the fishing in the inlet.

Pow was just taking it all in and nodding. “Nice, nice,” he said slowly as he was looking at the cabin and its surroundings.

“So,” Grant asked, “you think Scotty, Wes, and Bobby will be glad to come here if their neighborhood is on fire and zombies are running around?”

“Hell, yes,” Pow said. “But why didn’t you bring them out today?”

“Well, you’re the leader of the Team,” Grant said. “If you thought this was a stupid idea, it wouldn’t have worked. Besides, I don’t want to tell too many well-armed men about my little hideout, so I was keeping it on the down-low.” Grant knew Pow was a devout Christian and member of a Korean church. “Will you promise me — swear on the Bible—that you won’t tell anyone about this place. That you’ll only tell the Team if, and when, it’s time to bug out here. I’m serious, Bill.” Grant had never called Pow by his real name, “I’m trusting you with my life, here.”

Pow said, “Hell, yes, man. You’ve trusted me with your life during movement drills with live ammo. I’ve trusted you with my life doing the same. I really appreciate it. I feel much better knowing that we have a place to come and it is one that’s got so much stuff. Thank you, man.” Pow was getting a little emotional.

So was Grant. “No, thank you, man. This great cabin and all this food won’t mean much if some zombies try to steal it. Between the five of us on the Team, we can have one or two guards up at all times. It’s like we were supposed to meet each other.”

Pow looked very serious and said, “Yeah. I was just thinkin’ that.” Changing the subject before things got too emotional, he said, “Hey, Grant, you got any beer in your fridge?”

“Sure do.” They had a great afternoon, talking about all the things they could do out at the cabin if the world ask they knew it ended.

On way back to Olympia, they were still talking about ways to secure their area, gather food, and communications. Pow asked, “What about medical? The hospitals will be closed or whatever.”

Grant smiled. “Have I ever told you what my wife does?” “No,” Pow said.

“She’s an ER doc,” Grant said.

“No way,” Pow said. He thought Grant was joking.

“I ain’t shittin’ you,” Grant said, smiling. Having an ER doctor out there was the frosting on the cake.

“Wow,” Pow said. “This set up was meant to be. Meant to be, my brother.” Pow stared out the window.

“Yep,” Grant said. “Meant to be.”

Grant was still looking for signs that people were starting to comprehend what was happening. He wasn’t seeing many. Then something happened that surprised him.

Government started to make cuts. Real cuts, not the “reorganizations” of the past where promises were made to cut, but the total number of government employees and spending actually went up. These cuts were real. The Governor ordered a 10% across the board cut in most state programs. The unions and all the people with their hands out, from welfare recipients to the corporations, went ballistic. It was fun to watch.

None of the higher-up state employees in Grant’s neighborhood were getting laid off. The Baby Boomers about to retire kept their jobs while the younger workers making much less were largely the ones losing their state jobs.

Local governments were cutting even more than the state. The City of Olympia, which had one of the highest ratios of government employees to residents in the country, cut a staggering 20% of their workforce. It was unbelievable. A few years earlier, as a “stimulus” project, the city had built a $10 million city hall and now it was largely empty because the city couldn’t afford to hire any workers to fill the space. Classic government: spend like drunken sailors when the money is pouring in, and then drastically cut services when the money dries up.

The part of the city’s cuts that affected people the most were the layoffs in the police department. Not only were there 20% fewer patrolmen, but the fuel budget was severely cut. Those fewer patrolmen could drive around less. It became rare to see a police car anywhere. The criminals figured this out very quickly. Investigation of crimes that were hard to solve, such as an attack by a stranger or a burglary, were going by the wayside. White collar crime was no longer investigated, at all. Neither were DUIs. Crimes where someone knew who did it, like theft by former friends, were still being investigated.

They were half-assed investigations, however.

Of course, with the huge cuts at the Prosecutor’s Office, fewer and fewer cases were being prosecuted. Plea bargains were the answer, and the deals for criminals kept getting sweeter and sweeter. Predictably, the cops basically quit arresting people for property and drug crimes. There were only enough police and prosecutors to take care of easy-to-solve violent crimes. Many people who had never called the police to report a crime were shocked to learn that they needed to fill out a police report on the city’s website and that was it. No police officer would show up to talk to them. People were told to fill out a police report online; that was usually as far as the “investigation” went.

People like Grant, who lived in safe neighborhoods, started to hear about their friends getting burglarized, and even robbed. One of the support staff at WAB had a burglar come into her house late at night. Luckily, she had a gun and scared him out. He might not have only been looking to burglarize her.

Grant started to notice that petty criminals were hanging out together. It used to be common to see one or two dirtbags; now, they seemed to travel in groups. Lately, five or ten “youths” would mill about downtown by the WAB offices looking like they were ready to cause trouble. It would be a stretch to call them a “gang,” but they were the beginnings of gangs. “Gang seedlings” Grant called them. They were unemployed punks hanging out together and working together to steal and do worse. In the past, when Grant saw them they would disburse because they didn’t want the attention. But as time went on, they didn’t do that as much. They would stand there and stare as if to say, “Whatcha looking at, dickhead?”