“No biggie,” Pow said as he held up his AR. “I got your dog catcher right here.” He, too, was making a valiant effort to maintain the guys’ confidence.
“I’ll go lead,” Pow said. “I’ve got the body armor.” He did another press check. He was ready to go; anxious to go. He’d been waiting for this his whole life. Not actually wanting to do it, but being ready to do it. Pow was a softie on the inside. He was a sheepdog, though, and going in and cleaning out thieves was what sheepdogs did. Especially since there weren’t any traditional police available.
When Pow volunteered to be the first one through the door, Rich remembered a saying: When you’re in a gun fight, some guys can’t stop thinking about home. Other guys—the gun fighters—are at home. The fight is where they belong and love to be. Pow was at home right then.
Grant knew that it was time for some motivation for the other guys. He looked at all of them and suddenly had an amazing sense of calm and confidence come over him. “We’re here for a reason, guys,” he said. “You know it’s true. We’re here for a reason. Do you think it’s some giant coincidence that all of us, with all the skills and gear we have, are right here, right now?” His question was met with silence.
“Why are we doing this?” Grant asked the Team. “You know the answer,” he said, a little loudly and with lots of vigor. “We’re doing this because these motherfuckers will keep breaking into houses and eventually, they’ll kill someone. Our neighbors. They will kill, unless we get them first. This is self-defense, gentlemen. We need to get them before they get us.”
It was quiet. They were letting it sink in. Then Bobby smiled. “Is there any place you’d rather be?” Some of the guys smiled, some nodded, and some just stared.
“Let’s go, constables,” Rich said.
“Constable” was the right word at the right time. It reminded them that they weren’t just the “Team” anymore, just a bunch of guys who went to the range together and then happened to live together during a crisis. They were the people the community looked to protect them, even if they didn’t have any official badges. They were the sheepdogs protecting the sheep from the wolves. They had been given honor and responsibilities by their neighbors. They were constables.
Grant had some zip ties in his kit. They were thin black plastic bands for holding wires together and could be cinched up but not loosened. They cost about a dime a piece and were perfect cheap handcuffs. Grant bought several hundred at a hardware store in preparation for the Collapse. He had a sneaking suspicion back then that he would need zip ties. He handed a few to each man.
“Remember,” Grant said, “we’re here to arrest these people” – the word “arrest” sounded so weird coming from a civilian – “and not shoot them. But you can, and should, defend yourself, if necessary.” They all nodded. Grant, the lawyer and now “judge,” wanted to make sure the constables didn’t think this was a mass execution. The tweakers had stolen some stuff, which didn’t warrant the death penalty. But, Grant thought as he did a press check of his AR and Glock, they all had every right to protect themselves.
There was nothing left to say. It was go time. Rich said, “OK, let’s do this.”
The plan was to go in on foot, which would be quieter than a truck, and hug the tree line of the road. Those going through the front door would be Pow, Ryan, and Rich. Bobby and Grant would be the left flank, and Scotty and Wes would be on the right. The flanks would cover the sides of the house and then link up at the back door to prevent that escape route. Tim would stay back. One of the crime victims would bring Tim and a truck into the front yard once all the shooting stopped, if a shootout occurred. They could use the truck to haul out arrestees or…bodies. Tim was unarmed. Rich only had a pistol; circumstances of which both would change before the next raid. They had already learned a lot from this raid. Hopefully none of them would be fatal lessons.
Pow started down the road. Everyone followed him out of habit, like they’d done hundreds of times on the range. There was a familiarity, a rhythm to this, Grant thought. It felt natural to be advancing on a target, looking for cover each step of the way, and keeping track of where your team members were and would be going. They’d done this so many times, except not for real, and not with Rottweiler dogs waiting for them.
They went down the road a few hundred yards. Grant was glad he was in shape. This was hard work. They got to the driveway of the tweaker house, which was set back in the woods about a hundred yards. There was a fence, but it was open. Apparently, meth addicts aren’t too good about details, like closing the gate. There was crap in the yard. Cars, rusted equipment. It was an absolute mess. Lots of cover, Grant thought. For us and them, he realized.
As soon as Pow went down the driveway, the dogs started barking. It sounded like two, but there could have been three. The safeties began clicking off at the sound of the dogs. Grant knew he was supposed to wait until they were on target before switching off the safeties, but he was terrified and didn’t want to risk having the safety on when he needed to shoot someone.
The adrenaline was surging. Grant could feel it coursing through his veins, like a drug. Not a happy drug, but a medicine drug. A drug the body needed right then.
Adrenaline would speed up Grant’s reaction time, let him run faster, think faster and clearer, and do things he didn’t want to do, such as shoot someone, like he did with the looters back in Olympia. He had felt this feeling before. He didn’t like it, but he welcomed the help it would give him in the next few seconds, which is how long he expected this operation to last. Forty seconds to a minute. That’s what all of this would come down to.
Chapter 139
The Blur
(May 14)
The blur was starting. Everything began blending together and Grant’s senses weren’t normal. Things were mushy, but he was in full control of his muscles. He was getting tunnel vision and his hearing was improving. He could hear all the driveway gravel crunching under his feet, almost as loud as his heavy breathing. He could feel his heart pounding. Things were starting to go into slow motion. He felt strong. He tasted that tingle on the end of his tongue again. That was adrenaline.
Grant looked around and saw Scotty and Wes pulling away from the group and taking the right flank. Grant and Bobby started peeling away and taking the left flank. Pow, Ryan, and Rich were heading straight into the front of the house.
There was a small wire fence around the front of the house to hold the dogs. There they were, barking like crazy. Two Rottweilers; vicious, snarling monsters with giant teeth. Grant’s vision was focusing on the teeth. They were a weapon and he was focusing on them. Don’t get tunnel vision, he told himself. Pow’s got the dogs covered, he thought. Go with Bobby and take the left flank, he told himself. He wanted to run over and take out the dogs, but realized that he would be shooting to his right, which was in the direction of Scotty and Wes, who were coming around the other way. No, execute the plan, he told himself. You and Bobby have the left flank, he told himself, now get going. Meet up with Scotty and Wes at the back door.
Boom! Grant heard several shots and heard the dogs yelping. There was a loud whimper followed by more shots, and then silence. Grant ran along the left side of the house and couldn’t see the others. He looked, and Bobby was right with him, running full speed and swiveling his head in all directions to check for threats. They were both looking in all the windows on their side of the house to see if a barrel of a gun was sticking out of one. So far, nothing.