Glen Tate - 299 Days - The Restoration

Just as the New Washington leadership suspected, Carol was the opening bid in a negotiation. When it was all over with, the Patriots and Limas traded prisoners. Equal numbers for equal numbers. The Patriots bent their own rules and counted Carol as a Lima prisoner to be swapped. So they got her out, but it only cost them a random Lima, not a prize like Grant’s capture.

As Carol settled into New Washington, she had to hide her identity because, as a family member of the chair of the ReconComm, she was a target for Lima attacks. She would also be a big target for a kidnapper because she could be used to get pardons from Grant. So New Washington issued her a new identity and she found a job working at a small bookstore. No one needed a Simon Bolivar-era Spanish literature professor anymore.

Grant was in Olympia for a few days between speaking engagements for the ReconComm. He still hadn’t heard from Lisa. He had written her off and had other things on his mind.

Grant needed to visit someone. The Team was enjoying some R&R in Olympia, so he arranged for a State Patrol EPU detail to take him where he needed to go.

“Sorry to trouble you guys,” he said to the EPU agents, “but I gotta have a political discussion. It’s all hush-hush.”

“No problem at all, Commissioner Matson,” the senior agent said. “It’s an honor to be on your detail.”

The younger agent, who was driving, asked, “Where to, sir?”

“Meconni’s,” Grant said, “You know, the sandwich shop.”

“You got it, sir,” the younger agent said.

When they got to the Meconni’s parking lot, Grant said, “Hey, guys, I’m trying to lay low in town here. Do you mind if I have someone in the car. It’s sensitive and we don’t want to be seen in the restaurant.”

“We’ll be outside the vehicle, sir,” the senior agent said. Maybe Commissioner Matson was meeting a girlfriend. He didn’t seem like that kind of guy, but maybe.

“Thanks, guys,” Grant said, “I appreciate it.” He added, “I’m very well armed so I can handle anything, unless of course, I can’t and that’s when you guys jump on in.”

“Roger that, sir,” the senior agent said as he and the younger agent took up positions in the Meconni’s parking lot.

Grant got into the driver’s seat and put the keys in the ignition. At exactly 2:00 p.m., a man came walking up to the parking lot. Grant rolled down the window to the unmarked State Patrol car.

“Hey, Jason, need a date?”

The man looked stunned and then recognized that it was Grant.

“Get in,” Grant said as he unlocked the passenger door.

The man got in.

“Okay,” Jason Wallace said, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this unusual rendezvous?”

“I need a favor, warden.”

Grant proceeded to make his request.

“I dunno,” Jason said after hearing it. “This is super illegal.”

“Oh,” Grant said. “I know. Not only is it illegal, but it destroys my credibility and the Governor’s — if I get caught.”

“You won’t get caught,” Jason said as he sat up straight, “I have total control over everything that happens at the old Olympia High School prison.” He was proud of that fact and he was going to prove it by doing Grant that favor. That hugely illegal and politically destructive favor. Because it was something Jason had wanted to do for a long time.

“Thanks, Jason,” Grant said. “I owe you, man.”

“No, you don’t,” Jason said, “Pardoning my cousin repaid me in full.”

“I would have recommended his pardon anyway, Jason.”

“I know,” Jason said, “but it makes it easier for me to justify what I’m about to do.”

Grant smiled.

He remembered the speech he gave at the Delphi Road overpass when they caught that teenage kid texting their position to the Limas. Instead of shooting the little bastard, like they were perfectly entitled to do, Grant told the 17th and the Delphi guards, “Reconciliation starts today,” and then he proceeded to merely hammer and tag the kid.

Well, Grant admitted to himself, given what he did today, reconciliation starts tomorrow. He was taking this day off from reconciliation and letting revenge have just one day. He owed it to all those poor souls under the Clover Park football field.

“Vehicle approaching,” the CB radio said in the Forks City Hall, where Steve Briggs was sitting around talking to some other guys about how to fix a broken water heater.

“Lots of them approaching,” the scared voice on the CB said. Steve and the others grabbed their rifles and headed to the city gate.

Steve was terrified. Two pickup trucks with armed men and a small military fuel truck were parked right outside the city gate. It was probably a gang fuel run to supply Port Angeles that got lost. They’d fight to death to protect that treasure in their fuel truck. Then a larger bunch of that gang would come looking for what happened to their treasure and kill everyone in Forks. This was the exact nightmare scenario the Forks guards had been talking about for months and now it was coming true.

A military looking man got out of the first pick-up. Maybe this was a gang of AWOL soldiers, Steve thought. The military man put his arms out like he was hugging everyone. Great, they were high.

The man was smiling. Another man got out with a yellow Gadsen flag, but it had an evergreen tree on it. What?

“Welcome to New Washington,” the man exclaimed.

New what?

Steve went up to the man, wanting to get these stoned AWOL gangbangers back on the road and the hell away from Forks.

“Can I help you find where you’re going?” Steve yelled.

“I’m where I’m going,” the man said with another huge smile. “I’m in Forks. And you’re in New Washington.”

What was this “New Washington” thing? Oh wait, Steve thought. Don Watson, the Forks ham radio guy, had said that the state, except for Seattle, was calling itself that. Steve hadn’t really paid attention to that. Politics from the outside world didn’t matter in Forks, which had been forgotten by the outside world.

Pretty soon, more men got out of the trucks and came walking up to the gate with their arms out. They seemed really happy about something.

The flag. Doc Watson’s ham radio reports about the Patriots taking over most of the state. Now it was starting to make sense.

The Patriots won? It took Steve a few seconds to process that.

“What the hell is ‘New Washington’?” Steve yelled back. He thought he knew, but wanted to make sure.

“The new state you live in,” the military man replied. “The Patriots won. We have the whole state, except Seattle. You’re free and we have gasoline and a medic.”

A warm wave went over Steve. Gas and a medic. Freedom. A new state. Patriots won. Gas and a medic.

The Forks guards started to jump up and down and whoop and holler. The realization was hitting people at different speeds and they reacted at different intervals.

Pretty soon, it was a full-on party at the gate. People were hugging the soldiers, asking about news from New Washington—which sounded so weird to say. “New Washington.” It would take some getting used to, but thank God the Patriots won.

Steve spent the next two days distributing the gas and arranging for medical treatments. He made sure the soldiers radioed their base with a list of additional needed supplies. Pretty soon, another convoy arrived with blankets, some antibiotics (but not enough), biscuit mix, and a precious, precious item: a newspaper. The Olympia Patriot , it was called. A new newspaper. Independent. It actually seemed believable, what all the stories were saying. The internet was still spotty and the Limas hacked Patriot sites to put in Lima propaganda so, amazingly, actual hard copy newspapers were getting the real news out.