The problems from the selfish would get even worse as supplies got thin. Grant had to manage this now by setting up a good framework, like the Constitution as the guide, and giving public praise to those who shared, like with Drew’s records. He would also manage it by showing the residents that the leaders, he and Rich and any others that emerged, were fair and decent—and had the practical solutions to their problems. He and Rich would need all the credibility possible to weather the storms and challenges threatening stability and order that would surely be coming. Now was the time to build up credibility and set the tone for the expectation that the community will voluntarily help each other.
Rich called the meeting back to order. The first speaker was Dan.
He started by introducing himself. “Many of you know me, but for those who don’t, I’m Dan Morgan. I’m retired Air Force Security Forces. I spent twenty-plus years guarding installations and providing base defenses. I’m a dog handler. I’m running the gate. Here’s what’s going on there.”
“We have thirty-five guards,” Dan continued. “I’d say we have plenty, but we could use more. We can cover the gate 24/7 with enough men and women, but this is the minimum number I feel comfortable with. We can deter typical criminals, but my guys couldn’t repel an organized, let alone, professional, group of raiders. So I’m taking volunteers. We’ll feed you. I want to thank the Tuckers, Zimbalists, Mendozas, and…did I forget anyone? Thanks to all the people who are getting meals to my people at the gate. Protecting people is a lot easier with a full stomach.”
“We have two categories of assets in addition to our guys at the gate,” Dan said. “We have some snipers who cover the gate. Not gonna say how many or where they are, but they can take out individuals who might get past the guards. They can neutralize a handful of bad guys.” Some of the crowd, most notably Snelling and his group of yuppies, winced at the word “neutralize.”
“Another asset is my dogs,” Dan said. “I’m a K9 handler and have three attack dogs at the gate. They detect people trying to come across the creek and, for bad people scoping out the gate, scare the piss out of them. I patrol with my dogs up and down the creek.” Dan called it a “creek”; others called it a “river.” It was somewhere in between in size.
“I’m the only one,” Dan said, “who knows the dogs, so I’m limited to the hours that I can stay awake. I’m trying to get a couple of guys who the dogs get to know and can handle them.” Dan had an AK slung across his shoulder. He was a bad ass, in great shape, and looked like he’d been in a few fights—and loved every minute of them.
“Well, that’s the update,” Dan continued. “Here’s my question for the group. What do we do about guests? We’ve been getting a fair number of people coming to the gate who claim they are coming to stay with residents here. We take down the information they have about who the resident is that they want to stay with, and then we try to get a hold of that person and see if the guests are wanted. So far, all of them have been. Relatives and friends from the Seattle area, mostly. Number one, if you are expecting approved guests, let my guys know. We’ll put your guests on a list. This will save us tons of time. Also, it’s not the most secure thing to have carloads of people waiting around for an hour or more while we have to guard them.”
“But,” Dan said looking at Rich, “here’s the bigger question.” Those two had talked about this topic. Grant wished Dan had talked to him, too, but this was Rich’s show.
“What do we do about guests?” Dan asked. “I mean, if your relatives are coming out here and need a safe place and you have one for them, who am I to tell them no? But, then again, if we start taking in everyone, how do we feed them? So, Rich and I are thinking that we have a rule that you can have guests as long as you are responsible for feeding them.”
The crowd was nodding at that. Letting people in was the easy half of the equation, Grant thought. Keeping friends and relatives out would be the hard part.
“We don’t know your guests,” Dan continued. “Sorry to say this, but what if your cousin is a gang banger? A meth head? A sex offender? I don’t want that shit in my base—I mean neighborhood. I know the odds are that any of your guests are not bad guys, but we need to know. We propose a simple ‘immigration’ process. We get to interview your guests. Again, 99% of the time, we can tell people are fine pretty much instantly. But if your cousin from Seattle comes here and has neck tattoos, that means a little extra scrutiny. In a case like that, we would have the right to turn them away.”
The crowd murmured. They didn’t like that.
“If we’re responsible for them, why do you care if they have a tattoo?” someone asked.
“Not all tattoos,” Dan said and showed his forearm, which had plenty of them like lots of military guys had. “But a neck tattoo tells me something. Bad.”
“So, you get to approve who comes in?” someone else asked.
“No, not me personally,” Dan was getting a little upset. He was trying to keep them safe and they were being difficult.
“I’m just the guy,” Dan said, “patrolling your gate eighteen hours a day with my dog team.” Point well made. “No, an ‘immigration committee’ would make the call after the guards flag someone—in some extreme situation like a neck tattoo with gang symbols—and then we’d bring the matter to the full group.”
“So, my neighbors get to decide if my family can come out here?” the first person asked.
“Well, if they have a neck tattoo with gang symbols, yes.” Dan said calmly.
“I’m opposed to that,” the first person said. She must have family coming that looked a little questionable.
Grant, the politician, stepped in. “Let’s see if this neck tattoo thing is even a problem,” he said. “If we have no one we need to question, then there’s no problem. But I think we should have an ‘immigration’ person to interview people and coordinate the list of approved guests. I want to take some of the administrative tasks off the guards’ plate so they can guard with their full attention to the threats that are out there.”
That seemed pretty reasonable, so the protests stopped. A man raised his hand, “I can be the immigrations guy. I was a Border Patrol agent thirty years ago. I forgot lots of things, but I’m a pretty good judge of people.”
Dan said, “Great. What’s your name?”
“Albert VanDorn,” the man said. “Call me Al.”
“Great, Al,” Dan said. “Get with me after the meeting and we’ll get you started. We could use a second immigrations guy for the night shift, too.” Two more people raised their hands. “Of course, the immigrations people will also be guards and will need to be armed. Are you OK with that?” Dan asked Al and the two volunteers, who all nodded in agreement.
Grant didn’t want to raise the point now, because it would terrify people, but they would need medical people on the immigrations team for when diseases were spreading. A few weeks after a collapse, communicable diseases that weren’t a problem in peacetime, like the flu, would spread like wildfire without medical treatment and in bodies weakened by malnutrition and stress. That was too dark a thing to bring up now, but it underscored the fact that an immigrations process of some kind was necessary.
Grant was glad he had read survival novels like Lights Out, One Second After, and Patriots. There was a lot to learn in them, even if they were “fiction.” One of the things the surviving groups in all three books did was allow people with valuable skills to come into their communities. They had a way of screening people to find the ones that could add to the community. Grant realized that this would be a mission for the immigration committee. He thought this was the time to bring it up.