It was 11:32 p.m. Time to get going while it was still dark. Mike alerted his fellow former EPU members that it was time to go. They woke the families, who had been expecting this.
They’d heard the faint gunfire and explosions in Olympia for the past two days. In fact, they were getting nervous that the Patriots hadn’t taken the city yet. They were relieved to get word that they had to get into cars and drive into a city where lots of people wanted to kill them. That was a relief compared to the thought that Olympia had not been taken, which would mean they would be hiding out on the Prosser Farm forever. Or worse.
The Interim Governor, Ben Trenton, and his chief of staff, Tom Foster, would go into Olympia with Ben’s director of legislative affairs, Brian Jenkins. Also joining them would be Carly Johnson. She would be the assistant director of legislative affairs. She risked her life to get the EPU out to the Prosser Farm so all of this could happen.
Wives, and especially children, would stay behind at the Prosser Farm. They would be protected there. To everyone’s knowledge, no one other than the immediate neighbors knew who was staying out there. That had been a miracle, but hiding on a farm where all the neighbors were relatives made that possible. The presence of the EPU agents and their sophisticated equipment, to the extent anyone even saw them, was explained with the story that Tom Foster had a rich relative who had paid for a private personal security detail. Rich people were hiring lots of former military and law enforcement people, and sometimes current ones, to protect them. That seemingly outlandish story made perfect sense in the insane world of post-Collapse America.
After everyone was awake, there were quick goodbyes. The wives, Karen Jenkins in particular, were scared. They knew their husbands were in amazingly good hands, but still it was hard to say, “Okay, go off into a war zone and become the enemy’s biggest target for assassination. See you in a while. I won’t worry.”
The kids were taking it pretty well. They were mostly older, around middle school age and a few in high school. They had been told for quite a while that their dads would be leaving to go back to Olympia and do some important things—things that would allow the kids to go back to their normal lives. To live in their own homes, to go to school, to not have people with guns around. Well, that last one wouldn’t change. These kids, given who their parents were, would have EPU agents around them for the rest of their lives. But, overall, the kids’ lives would be back to normal when their dads could go back to Olympia and fix all the bad things that had happened.
Packing took no time at all because they had all their bags pre-loaded. Ben changed out of sweatpants and into jeans. Brad, the chief of the EPU unit, didn’t want to waste any time with apparel changes.
“Governor, no one will see you arriving,” Brad said. “We have suits your size coming from the Think Farm. You’ll have a tailor there at the capitol to finish them off. You’ll look fine.” Brad was used to vain dignitaries that he had to guard. Ben wasn’t vain—he was amazingly humble, in fact—but he was a politician.
Ben smiled. “I’m not getting into jeans for fashion,” he said. “My sweats won’t hold a holster belt.” Ben showed Brad the Sig he was carrying and Brad smiled. A holster belt was an acceptable reason to make an apparel change, especially given what they would be doing in the next few hours.
The families gathered in the living room and just stood there silently. They didn’t know what else they were supposed to do. They’d never had to watch their fathers and husbands leave with a personal security detail to a battlefield before. Not many people had.
The plan was for Brad and Jerry Schafer, the EPU agent who was a former Marine, to accompany the “principals,” as protectees were called. Jerry would drive. They would travel light, with just two EPU agents, but it was just for a while and then they’d pick up an escort detail.
Two EPU agents, Mike Turner, the coms guy, and Chrissy Mendez would stay. They needed coms back at the farm and Chrissy, besides being a spectacular gun fighter, was very good at calming kids… and wives.
“Okay, let’s go,” Brad said. He looked at the families. “You’ll be in extremely good hands with Mike and Chrissy.” There was a tradition in the EPU that the protectees could call their agents by their first names instead of “Trooper Turner” or “Trooper Mendez.”
“Bye,” the kids and wives said one by one. Everyone got a final hug.
“Let’s go,” said Brad. He had radioed in to the first checkpoint that they’d be there in a few minutes and he didn’t want to be late. Being late in a personal security detail was a big deal.
The protectees and agents got into one of the two EPU vehicles, a black armored Chevy Suburban. Very nice. Brad had stolen it during the chaos of the Collapse. Mike had stolen the com van, too. With all the budget cuts right at the end, Brad and Mike, and most of the other state employees who weren’t politically connected, hadn’t been paid in a few months, and what salaries they got were totally eaten up by the runaway inflation. So they decided to settle up with the state by taking a couple of vehicles. Fair trade, they thought.
Jerry started up the Suburban. A full tank of gas. Of course. Tires inflated to the correct pressure. A map of the route for the driver and navigator. Radios set to the correct frequencies, a notebook with backup frequencies, and plenty of charged spare radio batteries. Plenty of firearms and ammunition, and a bulletproof vest for each protectee. Of course.
They took off down the long driveway and looked at the Prosser Farm. For the last time?
Of course not, Ben reassured himself. The Prosser Farm would hopefully be a museum in a few years. Showing where the Governor had to hide out during the Collapse. Hopefully. If everything worked out. It had so far, Ben reassured himself.
Ben had never ridden in the Suburban before. It was a smooth ride. There was a strong vibe about being in the “war wagon,” as they called that Suburban. It made them feel like they really were special, worthy of a personal security detail. It was really cool, Ben had to admit. He still couldn’t fully believe he was the Interim Governor… but riding in the war wagon made it very believable.
Brad was working the radio. He looked at his watch, “ETA four minutes.” Ben recognized the voice on the radio answering him as one of the Delphi guards.
The plan was that they would go from the farm to the Delphi guards. A Patriot escort would be waiting there who would take the Suburban into the capitol. The actual capitol campus was still a little hairy with some remaining holdouts barricaded in individual rooms. The Patriots were having to go room to room—and closet to closet, and heating duct to heating duct—to clear the buildings on the capitol campus and the buildings within sniping range of the campus, but the Patriots had a place for the new Governor and his staff to stay temporarily.
The Suburban pulled up to the Delphi guards, whose eyes popped wide at the sight of the war wagon. They had already been impressed with the Patriot escort that had arrived a few minutes before. An armored Humvee with a .50 caliber machine gun and three pickup trucks with serious-looking, very well-armed soldiers. They had kit and beards. Maybe they were contractors, but there was something about them that made the guards believe they were in a military unit of some kind, maybe Special Forces or something.
When the Suburban stopped, Brian asked, “Are we supposed to get out?”