299 Days: The Preparation Part 10

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 salt.w.a.ter-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 bas.e.m.e.nt. It wasn't really a bas.e.m.e.nt; 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 s.p.a.ce 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 s.p.a.ce 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 s.p.a.ce. 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 G.o.d. 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 p.o.r.no 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 s.h.i.tty 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 sh.e.l.ls for about $55. Knowing that everyone had a 12 gauge, Grant realized that 12 gauge sh.e.l.ls 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.

Seeing empty - totally empty - gun store shelves during the ammo scares reinforced Grant's thoughts on how people panic and clean out the stores in the blink of an eye. There was something very unsettling about seeing empty shelves in a gun store. It was more than just that the prices were going way up and he couldn't shoot on the weekends because he couldn't get replacement ammunition. More disturbing, by far, was the knowledge that people were buying guns and ammunition in droves.

They must have a reason for doing that. They must be afraid of something. When about ten or twenty million people had the same idea, the inventories that were designed for normal demand for, say, a hunting season dried up almost overnight. People were h.o.a.rding ammunition. More than guns, ammunition was even more susceptible to h.o.a.rding because it cost less than a gun.

Grant found himself wanting to buy more cases of ammo even at ridiculous prices. Most of the time, he resisted. When a federal official announced one morning that the Administration had the goal of outlawing "a.s.sault rifles," Grant ran out and bought a half case of overpriced .223. Later, he was a little embarra.s.sed by how much he paid, but he thought it was necessary at the time. Grant was investing in "precious metals" that just so happened to be capable of stopping people trying to kill you. Gold coins were great, but they couldn't do that.

Grant noticed one kind of ammunition was still plentiful during the ammo scares: .40 pistol. This was the caliber almost all police used and it was popular with civilians. They must have ma.s.s produced .40 ammo for the cops, because it was usually the only caliber available during the h.o.a.rding. Grant decided that .40 would be his semi-auto pistol caliber when it was time to get one.

There were many more guns in 9mm than .40. (They had roughly the same power to stop someone, with the difference between the two only mattering to internet forum debaters.) Since there was such a huge market for it, 9mm ammo was cheaper than .40, but so many people had 9mms, so the ammo flew off the shelves during the ammo scares. This meant that the large market for 9mm made that ammunition harder to find.

Grant figured there was much more .40 available because it was the "cop caliber" and manufacturers knew that cops would be practicing with their guns all year long and using a lot throughout the per year. Therefore, the ammo factories were geared up to constantly churn it out. Besides, law enforcement would order in giant lots; there might be some overruns and those cases would go into the civilian market.

Another lesson from the ammo shortage was that oddball calibers were the hardest to find. That 16 gauge was probably a great gun, but the stores only carried a few boxes of it; however, they had cases of 12 gauge. Grant realized that he should pick a few very popular calibers and stick with them. A gun without ammo is worthless.

Stocking up on ammo was a key prep. Grant remembered the first time he lifted a full case, 1,000 rounds, of ammo onto the counter at Capitol City Guns. He felt weird getting a whole case. Chip made him feel more comfortable by saying, "Just one?" Chip was serious.

There were sound reasons to stock up on ammo, other than the impending collapse Grant foresaw. First of all, there was almost no ammunition available during the ammo scares so Grant couldn't enjoy his hobby of shooting unless he stocked up. Second, the price of ammo, when it was available, was skyrocketing. It made financial sense to invest now in something that was rising in price, would last for decades, and would undoubtedly be used.

As much as Grant hated to admit it,there was an emotional reason to stock up on ammo. Having cases of it curbed his concerns about the future. There were real dangers out there to prepare for. It was amazingly comforting to be doing something about all the problems that were bubbling out there. He was taking action instead of sitting around worrying.

Any thinking person realized that there were plenty of things to be worrying about. It was obvious things were falling apart in the United States. The Federal Reserve was creating trillions of dollars out of thin air.

Many people did not know what the Federal Reserve did.

Grant found out and was surprised.

A big stumbling block for Grant even wanting to learn about the Federal Reserve was all the weirdoes who constantly harped about how the Federal Reserve was a "Jewish conspiracy" to take over the world. Grant wasn't crazy, so he was reluctant to look into something that only seemed to be of concern to crazy people.

However, he took a few minutes and learned about the Federal Reserve. It wasn't a "Jewish conspiracy," and it wasn't complicated. It was a bunch of bankers of varying ethnic backgrounds and it was all out in the open.

The Federal Reserve was a central bank, basically the big bank that lent all the money to all the banks in the U.S. It was not a federal agency; it was just the biggest bank that had a license from the federal government to create money. Yep, that's right. They got to create money. Out of thin air.

Grant had always a.s.sumed the U.S. Treasury created money on printing presses and with the consent of Congress. He was wrong. The Federal Reserve, a collection of big banks, would decide, on its own, to create money by loaning electronic dollars to other banks. For example, one day the Federal Reserve might decide to loan a hundred billion dollars to a major bank in the U.S. or in a foreign country. The Federal Reserve did this by creating credits on their computers. They would just credit the electronic accounts of the other bank with one hundred billion. That meant- poof - the other bank now had account balances that said they had an extra hundred billion dollars. It was all electronic. There was no cash or gold or anything backing up the hundred billion dollars that the computer screen said existed. It just appeared in the other banks' accounts. Then the bank loaned out the hundred billion dollars in their account to other banks, and those banks loaned it to people. The other banks had to pay each other back, including the bank that had borrowed the money directly from the Federal Reserve. So, the Federal Reserve got its hundred billion dollars (that it just created on a computer) with interest. The Federal Reserve kept this ma.s.sive sum of interest for itself and loaned some of it back. G.o.d only knows what else it did with this ma.s.sive slush fund.

All of this was secret because it was not a government agency, so it wasn't subject to the Freedom of Information Act that allows the public to see most government doc.u.ments. No one could find out about what the Federal Reserve was doing. Not even Congress.

Yeah, but what about that dollar bill in everyone's wallets? That was money, right? It said on it that is was a "Federal Reserve note." What's that?

Debt. It's a certificate of debt that says the Federal Reserve owes the person with the dollar bill one dollar (that they can just create with a few clicks of a computer). That's right: a dollar is just "debt"; it's not an a.s.set like a small chunk of gold. Americans didn't trade money around; they traded debt.

Grant was driving up to a McDonald's drive-thru getting the kids Happy Meals when he realized that a dollar was just debt. He took out a $20 bill he had earned by working hard and gave that $20 bill to McDonald's in exchange for some Happy Meals. After giving Grant some change, McDonald's took that $20 bill and used it to pay their French fry supplier. The French fry supplier took the $20 in a bank account and bought potatoes. The potato farmer took the $20 now in his bank account and bought some fuel for his tractor. And so on. That $20 bill piece of paper was traded for Grant's labor, Happy Meals, French fries, potatoes, and fuel - things that are real and have value.

But that $20 piece of paper isn't "money" in the sense that it's worth anything. Labor, Happy Meals, potatoes, and fuel are things that are worth something. That dollar - a piece of paper representing debt the Federal Reserve owes the holder of the bill - is only worth something because things can be purchased in exchange for it. A person can get Happy Meals for that piece of paper because McDonald's believes it can trade that piece of paper for uncooked French fries. It's the belief that someone will accept the piece of paper in exchange for stuff that makes that piece of paper worth anything. If McDonald's and everyone one else started to say they wouldn't accept dollars, but would only accept some new currency like gold or silver, that $20 bill would quickly become just a piece of paper. A person couldn't feed that piece of paper to their kids. The whole system worked on a belief that that piece of paper was worth stuff because it could be exchanged for stuff. It was that simple. The whole system worked on a belief.

It hadn't always been this way. A hundred years ago, a twenty dollar bill was backed by an ounce of gold. Someone could take that twenty dollar piece of paper into a bank and say they'd like a one- ounce $20 gold coin for it. "Here you are," would be the answer as the bank teller handed them a one-ounce gold coin that said, "$20" on it. The $20 bill and a one-ounce gold piece were interchangeable.

That meant that $20 was worth a set amount: one ounce of gold. The value of the dollar couldn't fluctuate much; it was worth a set amount of gold. And could easily be traded for something of real value: gold.

Not anymore; not even close. When money can be created out of thin air, people will want to create lots of it, just as the Federal Reserve did. When there was a downturn in the economy, the politicians would call the Federal Reserve and beg them to create more money to loan to people to get them to spend it. "No problem," the Federal Reserve would say; it made interest on all that money it was creating. A few clicks of the Federal Reserve computer and the economy had a few billion, or even trillion, more dollars in it. People were a few billion or trillion more in debt (because all these dollars are really debt). More spending, more debt. The economy improves and the politicians get re-elected. What's not to love?

More spending and debt, that's what's not to love. Common sense dictates that such a cycle can't continue without a consequence. Inflation is that consequence.

If there are ten trillion dollars out there and then the amount is increased to twenty trillion, each dollar is worth half as much. There is only a certain amount of stuff to buy with those dollars; when there are more dollars chasing the same amount of stuff, it will take more dollars to get the same amount of stuff. As Jack Spirko on the Survival Podcast explained it, it is like playing a game of Monopoly. One player has a color copy machine and just makes twice as much Monopoly money. There are twice as many Monopoly dollars in circulation. Pretty soon, that Boardwalk property that was $500 goes up to $1000 because everyone has twice as many pieces of paper money.

Seeing an inevitable future, Grant would try to think about a Happy Meal costing $100. It was hard to imagine at first. Then he realized that the problem was thinking about a Happy Meal. Store some pancake mix or, better yet, grow your own food. Trade something with a farmer for some fresh beef. Get out of the system of debt and Happy Meals. People would be happier (and healthier).

After forty plus years of thinking that a person needs Happy Meals and had to pay for them with dollars, it was hard for people to adjust their thinking. Quite honestly, most people would have no reason to think about it if they didn't know how fragile the whole system is. But once they realized how fict.i.tious all this, people would have a reason to think about these things. It was frightening.

Chapter 23.

The Team Grant was going to Capitol City Guns at lunch a few days a week. He loved hanging out with "normal" people instead of the bureaucrats who hated him at his State Auditor Office job. Capitol City was an oasis.

For some reason that Grant never fully understood, the guys at Capitol City really liked having him around. He was a lawyer and, now, a kind of high-ranking government official. Grant wasn't the average gun store guy, although the regulars at Capitol City included other white-collar guys. He viewed Capitol City not as a gun store, but where some of his best friends were. He brought food in and remembered guys' birthdays.

Grant shared stories with the gun store guys about all the government corruption. The guys couldn't believe it was that bad. When he started mentioning things that would then appear in the newspaper a few days later, they realized he wasn't making the stuff up.

Another reason they probably liked Grant at Capitol City was that he bought a fair amount of guns and ammo there. He traded in his Winchester 1300 shotgun that he never really liked for a tactical Remington 870. The 870 had a recoil-reducing Knoxx pistol grip and stock. One of the reasons Grant didn't like the Winchester was the recoil. This tactical 870, though, was easy to shoot. He got pretty good at reloading it quickly and using it aggressively at short ranges.

One of the coolest things about Capitol City was that they a.s.sembled AR-15s there. They had a shop in the store and, with nothing but a bunch of spare parts, a.s.sumed a few ARs at a time. Grant started to learn how an AR fits together from the guys. He learned that AR-15s were like Legos, and that the pieces fit together and were customizable. Pretty soon, Capitol City gave Grant and a handful of other regular customers "shop privileges." They could just walk into the store and go back to the shop and make ARs. Capitol City got free labor out of the deal and the guys got to learn how to make guns. It was very cool.

Grant's AR was fine. It was a standard A2 like the kind issued in the Gulf War (but not fully automatic, of course). Grant wanted a really customized one. He started collecting pieces - a bolt here, hand guards, a trigger a.s.sembly - and began putting them together with help from Chip. He got exactly what he wanted; the Magpul UBR stock that he loved, the stainless steel bolt carrier group that cleaned so easily, the Yankee Hill hand guards. He got a special barrel that Chip was working on. Everything was just the way he wanted. He had never had a gun built for him, by him.

When he was done, Grant had a totally fabulous AR. Chip was getting him parts at wholesale. It cost much less than Grant thought it would. He was very proud of it because he helped build it.

He got very, very good with that AR, going to the range every other weekend and practicing. He would alternate between his cabin and range time on the weekends. He was getting very good at shooting, and his cabin was looking great. He could truly relax on the range or at the cabin. That's where things were "normal" and he didn't feel like a weirdo for thinking about how America was on the brink of a collapse.

One day, Grant was on a lunch break from work and had a suit and tie on. He was working on an AR in the shop. He had the gun in a vice and was using a metal punch and a hammer. Chip came up to him and said, "A lawyer and a gunsmith. Wow. You don't see that every day."

Then Chip came up to Grant and whispered, "What are you doing this Sunday?" Grant thought Chip was inviting him to some weird church or something.

"Not sure," Grant said cautiously. "Why?"

Chip looked around. "Some of us do a little tactical shooting at a law enforcement range. Steel targets that pop down when you hit them. It's very realistic training, and a total blast. I don't want the others to get jealous by hearing me inviting you. We only let cool guys know about this."