299 Days: The Preparation (18 page)

Standing on the deck looking at the water was so peaceful. It was amazing. It was exactly what he had been dreaming about.

They went down to the water. A short trail of about thirty feet led to a bulkhead. The bulkhead had a ten foot or so wide strip with a fire pit. The bulkhead had stairs that led down to the water, and the tide would come in on the lower part of the stairs. They were made of saltwater-resistant wood and looked very solid.

The beach was magnificent; not a sand beach, but a pebble beach. The tide was out about half way. The owner described how she could walk the beach all the way in both directions, north and south. To the south were other cabins.

To the north was nothing but trees and beach. Since the cabin was at the northern end of the development, the beach was uninhabited to the north. It looked and felt like a park or wildlife preserve along the beach. An eagle flew by. It almost seemed like the owner had ordered a show for Grant to convince him to buy the place.

They walked the beach a little way. How many times in one day could Grant use the word “perfect?” This was the place. He felt like he belonged there. There was that weird feeling of the present and future all at once.

Two other parts of the cabin were briefly shown, but not paid much attention. The first was the unfinished basement. It wasn’t really a basement; it was a lower level to the cabin. It had a cement floor (the foundation of the cabin) and insulation on the walls; no drywall. The door going into it was on the ground level, but was lower than the cabin since the cabin was on a slope. The owner said, “You can store things here. Maybe a kayak.” Grant knew what he’d be storing there — a year of supplies for his family. There was a bench in there that would be just right for working on guns.

The next little thing that the owner mentioned was a separate outside storage shed. It had the same siding as the cabin; thick wood with a thick coat of paint in perfect condition. The shed was about twenty yards from the cabin and surrounded by trees. “You could keep whatever in here,” the owner said. It was empty and had a light. It was clean and seemed waterproof. Grant instantly thought about the food he had in the storage unit. It would fit perfectly in there.

There was one drawback to this place: no space to garden. Unlike the Harstine Island cabin, they could not grow any food here. Grant looked around to the surrounding lots. There was plenty of space on them. In fact, the lot next to this one was vacant. During a collapse, Grant could ask to use the neighboring lot for gardening and would give the owner a portion of the harvest. It wasn’t ideal, but the cabin and area had so many other extremely compelling advantages that it was still the best location, by far.

The owner said, “Come and see the inside.” It, too, was perfect. It wasn’t fancy; it was somewhat outdated, and felt like a cabin, not a second home. It was exactly what Grant wanted. Who needs granite counter tops in a cabin? That seemed kind of wasteful, and Grant couldn’t afford it, anyway.

The place was solidly built and in great shape. The furniture was decent. Although it wasn’t in style, it wasn’t cheap stuff that would fall apart. There was a main living area with huge window doors that looked out over the deck and onto the water. There was a nice wood stove, and an eating area. The kitchen was small, but solid and decent. A stove, sink, refrigerator, cabinets; everything someone would need. Next to it was the master bedroom and a full bathroom, which included a shower. That would be very welcomed after a day of playing on the beach. Or for living out there full time if his family ever had to flee their permanent home.

The owner smiled at Manda and said, “Come see the loft.” They went up the stairs to a huge loft. It was one big room with two beds, a couch, and tons of floor space. It was the perfect sleepover place. It could easily fit ten people. It, too, had huge windows that looked out at the water. The trees on the sides of the lot gave it a secluded feel.

Grant didn’t want to let the owner know how perfect the place was. That would increase the price. “Thank you for showing us your cabin,” he said. “We have quite a few more to look at.”

“The furniture comes with the place,” the owner said. She obviously wanted to sell the place.

“Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?” Grant said, trying his best poker face. He didn’t want to insult the owner and really wanted to tell her how fabulous her cabin was, but this was not the time.

Grant and Manda went home and talked the whole way home about how to get Lisa on board. Manda was his little co-conspirator.

About a week later, Grant took Lisa out to the cabin. He picked an especially perfect day with bright sun and warm temperatures, which were cooled by a slight breeze from the water.

When they drove up, Lisa looked the place up and down. She was silent. She walked up onto the deck, looked out over the water and said, “My deck chair will go here.” She was smiling.

Thank God. She liked this place. The tour took two hours. Lisa didn’t do anything she didn’t want to do for two hours, so this was a good sign.

Manda was Lisa’s tour guide and was the most convincing little salesperson ever. Grant heard her up in the loft say to Lisa, “This is where all my friends can stay. I can’t wait! Don’t you love it, Mommy?” Lisa couldn’t resist Manda, especially when she called her “Mommy.”

Cole liked the place. He thought they were going to someone else’s house. He thought it was a neat place.

“Do you want to go down to the water and throw rocks?” Manda asked Cole.

“Oh, yes,” he said. Lisa smiled. They closed on the cabin a few weeks later.

Now you have the place. Fill it up with supplies.

Grant understood that. But he didn’t understand the next outside thought.

Then work on the relationship to get her out here.

Why would that be necessary? Lisa loved this place. Didn’t she?

Chapter 22

I Will Wear the Pants I Want to Wear.

Getting the cabin touched off a flurry of prepping. Grant saw a million things that needed to be done, and he was happy to do them. He needed to install a motion detector light, for example. The cool thing about the cabin was that it was his place; he didn’t need to consult Lisa on whether to do something like install a motion detector. At their house, he did. Well, more specifically, Lisa wanted to decide what needed to be done and when, but at the same time wanted Grant to just take care of things. She would get mad when she had to tell him to do things around the house. But, when Grant just did things on his own, she would get mad because he wasn’t doing what she wanted him to do. Grant quickly learned that it was just as easy to have her mad at him for things he wasn’t doing as for the things he tried to do. It was very frustrating.

In one rather heated discussion they had, Lisa said, “Why do I have to think of doing everything around here, like staining the deck?” Grant had been guilty of be being a fat slug and sitting on the couch for a few years, but now that he was prepping he was doing all kinds of things like staining decks.

“Oh, you mean the deck that I tried to stain in the spring?” Grant asked. “I asked you to show me the can of deck stain so I could get some more. I said I would get a pressure washer to clean it off, but you said we shouldn’t pressure wash it and that you’d get me the right can of stain. Then you got busy. I asked a second time and you got mad at me for ‘not just doing it.’ You have your choice. I can do things on my own or you can control everything. But you can’t have both.” That went over well.

“Why is it that you don’t mind fixing things at the cabin?” She asked.

“Because I can do things on my own there,” Grant said. “I don’t need any permission.”

She couldn’t believe that she just set herself up that way. The cabin was becoming an issue. She didn’t like that he had “his” cabin and would go there. He needed to be home staining the deck. He needed to do things at the house first, and then go to the cabin second. She was starting to hate that cabin.

When it came to doing things around the house, Grant had tried and tried to do things to her liking. He didn’t know how to do some things around the house, but he tried. He did everything she asked and even suggested things that needed to be done. He had never, ever, once blown something off.

Grant had had it. He couldn’t please her on this topic. So be it. He would just do his thing the best he could, prepare a place for them when the inevitable arrived, and… be the man, even when it’s unpopular.

Grant realized that he loved Lisa too much. He was still — after over twenty years — so thankful she married him that it went a little overboard.

This led him to trying too hard, which led him to frustration. For the longest time, Grant actually thought that if he tried to stain the deck, that even though she basically wouldn’t let him get it done, it was his fault. That was stupid, and over with. He decided to treat her more like any other person he had a close relationship with; try to please them but understand that you can’t always. Then shrug and do your best. You still love them; you just don’t expect to please them all the time.

Grant was finally free of the urge to please Lisa at any cost. Strange things started to happen. Like his pants.

Grant hated jeans. They were a little too tight and didn’t have enough pockets. When he went shooting, jeans were not ideal. He needed shooting pants with cargo pockets. The kind all the other guys on the range had.

Grant went to a military supply store outside of nearby Ft. Lewis. This base had lots of units deploying overseas. In addition to the thousands of infantry troops, Ft. Lewis was also home to the First Special Forces Group and the Second Ranger Battalion. The military stores near Ft. Lewis sold custom gear to troops and military contractors going to a combat zone. Soldiers, especially the special operations guys, often bought their own stuff instead of relying on general issue gear when their lives depended on it. Contractors had no general issue gear, so they always bought their own stuff.

One of those stores near Ft. Lewis sold 5.11 brand “tactical” pants. They were designed for SWAT teams but weren’t over the top “mall ninja” clothes. They looked like regular tan pants with cargo pockets, but each of those pockets were sized perfectly to fit two AR mags. The knees had padding on the inside for comfortable kneeling for long periods of time, such as when pointing a rifle at something. They weren’t any more money than a pair of jeans.

Grant, who no longer viewed gun or military stores like porno stores, walked right in. He tried on a pair of 5.11s. They fit great. They were really rugged and well made. He wore them home. He felt more honest with himself wearing them.

When he walked in, Lisa looked at him and frowned. “What’s with the pants?” she asked. That was kind of shitty of her.

“They’re shooting pants. Is there a problem?” Grant couldn’t just stop there; this kind of thing had been building for some time. “I’m a grown man. I will wear the pants I want to wear.” That was the end of that discussion.

That felt so good that he went out and bought some slip-on work boots. They were rugged and comfortable; perfect for shooting. Some people called them “Romeos” while others called them “Georgia boots.” Grant called them “hillbilly slippers.” He came home with those and practically dared Lisa to say something. She didn’t.

The next weekend, clad in 5.11 pants and hillbilly slippers and feeling like a real man for the first time in quite some time, Grant went to the storage unit. He loaded all the tubs into Lisa’s Tahoe SUV and took them to the cabin. It took four trips. He started at 6:00 a.m. and got done at 9:00 p.m. He was glad he was in such good shape because it was hard work. He noticed that when he worked this hard all day that he needed about four meals and a snack. He craved salt because he was sweating a lot. He took mental note of this. He reminded himself to store more food than would be needed in normal times and to include “bad” things like salted food. At this point, he had a few months of food out at the cabin’s storage shed. It was a rough estimate; it was hard to tell how much food they would eat or if they would have “guests” to feed.

Grant also had several thousand rounds of ammo, all clearly marked and in .50 Army ammo cans, the green rectangular ones with the handle; the kind people run with in war movies. Ammo cans are airtight and can keep ammo fresh for years and years. He got them at the local surplus stores.

Grant was astounded by how much ammo he had collected. He had been buying up ammo — a case here, a few boxes there — before each of the ammo scares that accompanied every election. Before the ammo scares, Capitol City Guns had plenty of cases (1,000 rounds) of 5.56 or .223 for an AR. Grant got a few cases of 7.62 x 39 for his AK and a few hundred rounds of .38 for the revolver.

He had also picked up a little .380 auto pistol, a Ruger LCP. It was tiny and easily fit in the front pocket of his pants. It was just a little larger than his iPhone. The LCP was so easy to carry. He carried it concealed whenever he could, which wasn’t often given that he couldn’t get “caught” with it by Lisa.

Grant had a few hundred rounds of .380 auto for it that he got before it disappeared. As crime went up and ammo scares raged on, many people bought concealable 380s and bought all the ammo they could. It became impossible to find .380 rounds anywhere.

Right as Grant started prepping, a huge sporting goods superstore, Cabela’s, opened in the Olympia area. They had cases (250 rounds) of 12 gauge shells for about $55. Knowing that everyone had a 12 gauge, Grant realized that 12 gauge shells would be in extremely high demand after a crisis. They were cheap then, so Grant eventually got four cases. He purchased lots and lots of buckshot, too; almost a case of it. He’d get five or ten boxes (of five rounds each) every couple of weeks. He would also get bricks (500 rounds) of .22 ammo. Before the ammo scares, a brick of .22 was about $20 — four pennies a round. Much like 12 gauge, everyone had a .22. Grant thought that .22 ammo would become used as currency after a crisis.