Glen Tate - 299 Days - The Restoration

There was a knock at the front door downstairs. Grant grabbed his Glock and carefully poked his head out the bathroom door down the short hall toward the front door. He wasn’t alarmed enough to aim his pistol at the door, but he was alarmed enough to have it in his hand.

“Yes. Who is it?” Grant said loudly enough to be heard through the door. There was that command voice he had developed in the past few months. It was not his peacetime voice.

“Sgt. Vasquez and Trooper Timmons,” a male voice said. Grant was expecting them. He laughed at himself for having the habit, acquired only recently, of always having his gun with him and assuming every knock on the door could be someone trying to take him away. He put his Glock down on the sink, not wanting the troopers to shoot him by mistake if he were waving it at them. He’d come this far, with so many guns pointed at him recently and was about to be the Governor’s dinner guest before the Inaugural Ball; he would be too embarrassed to get shot now by friendly fire.

“Be right there, gentlemen,” Grant said casually. He looked at his Glock again. The memories started flooding back like they had been all evening. He knew every detail of that gun. Nothing was more comforting than holding it in his hand. It had comforted him through the absolute worst things in his life. He’d carried it almost constantly the past 299 days, and had used it several times to save his life or the lives of others. There had been that terrifying night in the neighborhood when everything changed forever. There had been that other time…

Grant realized he was keeping the gentlemen at the door waiting while he was remembering all those things. It was impolite to leave people waiting. He wanted to grab his pistol again when he headed toward the door. No. He forced himself to put it down on the sink.

He needed to get his head into the new normal, and the new normal was that he didn’t need a gun all the time. In fact, other people had guns and were protecting him. That was such a weird thought. But, so was everything that was happening, so why not throw this weird thing into the big pile of weirdness. Roll with it, Grant thought.

He looked at his Glock on the sink and took a deep breath. He could do this without his gun. He put his beloved pistol in the locking carry case he had intentionally placed in the bathroom because he knew he’d have to stow it there before leaving. He took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom, unarmed and feeling naked.

Grant opened the door and saw the two plainclothes State Police troopers. They looked so young. Much to Grant’s delight, their suits didn’t fit too well, either. He didn’t feel so poorly dressed now. “Come on in, guys.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” one of them said to Grant.

That sounded so strange: “Colonel.” Grant had acquired that title only a few days ago. His first reaction to hearing people call him “Colonel” was always a little guilt because he hadn’t really done anything to get that title. Well, he thought, maybe he did do something but he couldn’t get past the feeling that having that title was a little disrespectful to real military men who did real military things to earn their titles. But he knew that “Colonel” was not strictly a military recognition now.

The New Washington Legislature recognized forty-three people from the war who had done various helpful things of a military nature and awarded them the honorary title of “Colonel.” Grant was one of them. He chuckled to himself. I’m more like Colonel Sanders, he thought. Except I don’t know how to make fried chicken.

The troopers were standing in the entryway with him. Grant still wanted his pistol. He pointed to the bathroom down the hall and said to the troopers, “Let me guess, guys, I can’t bring my pistol with me to the Governor’s Mansion.” “Correct, sir,” the older one said.

“That’s cool. I have you two,” Grant said. He started to get a tear in his eye for no apparent reason, which was happening a lot lately. He tried to control his emotions by distracting them with some conversation.

“Hey,” Grant said to the troopers, “I really appreciate what you guys are doing for me. I know the odds of a gunfight are pretty low, but I appreciate…” Grant wanted to say “you risking your lives” but didn’t. “I appreciate what you’re doing,” is all he could get out. The troopers could sense that Grant was seeing in them other young men and women who had volunteered for things and who were no longer with them. Or, they were alive, but messed up.

“No problem, sir,” the younger one said.

The older one checked his watch and said, “We need to get going, Colonel.”

Grant composed himself again. He was getting better at that as time went on. He was decompressing from the events of the past few weeks and slowly getting his emotions under control. Most of the time.

“Is a separate detail getting Dr. Matson and my daughter?” Grant asked. He knew the answer. He knew the plan well because it involved his wife’s and daughter’s safety. He always knew where his wife and kids were because there were still isolated instances of Loyalist violence. And given his new job, he and his family would be a juicy prime target.

“Yes, sir,” the older trooper said. “At Dr. Matson’s parents’ house. Another detail will be there at 18:45 to take them to the ball.” Grant nodded to them.

Grant’s daughter, Manda, was coming, too. Grant had pulled a few strings and got a nice Inaugural Prom for the young people who had been cheated out of their high school proms by the Collapse. Ben, “Governor Trenton” Grant forced himself to call him, had made that happen. Manda was the Queen of the Inaugural Prom.

As they were going out the door, Grant said to the troopers, “Did I ever tell you guys about how Governor Trenton and I got really drunk when the Seahawks were in the Super Bowl and talked about how a guy like him would never be Governor?”

It was going to be a great night.

Most people slowly recovered from the Collapse into a somewhat normal life.

In the Cedars, things mostly bounced back. Ron Spencer was a hero for his Patriot gray man work. He had lots of accounting clients because businesses were forming and Ron was a respected man. He had enjoyed the excitement of all the gray man work he did, but he was glad to return to the ho-hum life of being an accountant.

Judy Killmer sold her home in the Cedars and moved away. No one knew where she went. She was ashamed for being a collaborator, but was still proud of the fact that she told Ron about Carlos and the others coming to get them. Overall, though, she was humiliated by the whole situation. Many people moved to different parts of the state or different states altogether. With all the official records of everything in shambles, people would just pick a new name and start a new life.

Joe Tantori became a businessman with his banking and security firms. He was a war hero; Tantori’s Raiders were a legend. He took care of all of his men. Most left to go back home or start new lives. Joe made sure they were paid fairly and had good jobs. He gave each one of them a cigar to remember Tantori’s Raiders by.

John Bennington was the Sheriff and a newlywed. He married Julie Mathers and was nursing her back to a more stable mental health. She’d been through a lot. Julie was helped through all of this by Abby, John’s daughter from his first marriage. John’s ex-wife ran off with someone to Chicago and John was there to take in Abby. Abby and Julie were perfect for each other.

The WAB families were fine. Ben, of course, was the Interim Governor, and then was elected to several more terms. Laura was the perfect First Lady of New Washington.