As they passed through more destruction of their formerly nice city, Brian said, “This is our clean slate.”
Everyone sat and thought about that. The destruction, especially the destroyed vehicles and burned out buildings, got worse the closer they got to the capitol.
“This area looks familiar,” Carly said as they went down Capitol Boulevard toward the old WAB building.
“It should,” Brad said as they turned in front of the brick WAB building. The headlights from the Suburban and convoy showed that the WAB building had burn marks on the outside of its beautiful brick walls. The windows were smashed out. More garbage. It was caked up against the walls of the building like a snowdrift.
The parking lot was full of vehicles, some military and many pick-ups. There were dozens of soldiers and more of those contractor-looking guys, like the ones in the pick-ups accompanying them. The lights were on in the building.
“Here’s your temporary headquarters, Governor,” Brad said. “We still have some cleanup to do at the capitol, but we should have it ready for you in a few hours, maybe a day.”
Ben, Tom, Brian, and Carly had forgotten just how destroyed the WAB building had been. It was scarred and ugly, and was a symbol to them of how destroyed the State of Washington itself had become. A formerly beautiful and functioning thing, like that historic building, was now a trashed shell of what it had been.
The WAB building had been intentionally selected as the temporary headquarters. The political people back at the Think Farm wanted to put the new Governor and his staff in the proper frame of mind when they returned to Olympia. They wanted the new leadership to realize how all the formerly good things had been destroyed. And nothing symbolized that more for the former WAB people than the trashing of their beautiful building. Besides, the WAB building was only a few blocks from the capitol and the security people said it would work as temporary headquarters.
As the Suburban stopped, the occupants now knew better than to get out without being given the okay, though it was weird to just sit in a car after it stopped.
Brad was checking things out and working on the radio. Finally he said, “Some people will be opening your doors. Let them. And then quickly follow them into the building. Let them be your shields. That’s their jobs. They’re all volunteers.” He wanted to, but didn’t, say, “They’re your bullet catchers.”
All the passenger doors opened at the same time. There were military people and those same contractor-looking guys. Everyone got out of the Suburban and walked quickly into the building. Sure enough, the soldiers and others formed a shield around them as they went in.
The place was cleaned up and orderly, not like the last time Tom had been there. And it had a functioning office. There was even a receptionist who they didn’t recognize at the reception desk. There were other obvious Think Farm staff members. Ben recognized some of them as the political people he used to hang out with socially. They were the “known conservatives” who had to go underground when the Collapse started.
When they walked in to the lobby, the receptionist said excitedly, “Welcome back, Governor.” Ben looked around to see who she was talking to. Oh. It was him. He acted like he knew that she meant him, although it was pretty obvious he didn’t.
Brad led them into Tom’s old office. It had new office furniture—well, new to them, but obviously old furniture from somewhere else. It looked like an office someone could actually sit in and get some work done like things were normal again.
Ben, Tom, Brian, and Carly were blown away. They had been cooped up alone at the Prosser Farm for months and had no idea all the preparations that had been going on for them. Carly had told them that the Think Farm was buzzing day and night with planning for the eventual victory and then governing, but that was just vague generalities. Now they could see tangible proof that the Think Farm had planned everything and they were ready to govern.
Tom started to sit at the desk in his old office. It felt natural.
“Uh, Tom,” Brad said, “I believe this is Gov. Trenton’s office.”
Everyone laughed. Tom was embarrassed. That would be one of the other changes he would need to get used to. Tom’s former employee, Ben, was now his boss.
Tom extended his hand to Ben as if to say, “Here. Sit at your desk.” So Ben did just that. He sat in the comfortable office chair and observed all the people in the room who were looking at him with joy on their face. He was their Governor. Him. He remembered the drunken conversation he’d had with Grant Matson while watching the Seahawks in the 2005 Super Bowl about the insanity of thinking Ben could ever be the governor.
Ben couldn’t smile, though when he thought about Grant. He wondered if Grant was still alive since he was a “prepper” and had that awesome cabin and all those guns. But, he was also on the POI list. Ben wondered if Grant had been picked up, maybe never making it to his cabin.
That was the bittersweet nature of all this, Ben thought. There was the sweetness of something wonderful, like being the governor and having a chance to fix the state. But it was at the cost of bitter things, like whatever happened to Grant and all the others.
Everyone in the room—staff from the Think Farm, Brad and Jerry the EPU agents, Tom, Brian, and Carly—was looking at Ben with a huge smile. Ben, sitting in that desk had been what they’d worked for, and risked their lives for, for months. Years, actually, counting the risks they were taking before the Collapse by being “known conservatives” or Oath Keepers.
Someone started clapping and soon, everyone joined in. Ben couldn’t take it. They were clapping for him, but he didn’t deserve it. They did, all those people who sacrificed for him to be able to sit in that chair. Ben stood up and started clapping. He started to tear up.
Ben couldn’t stand it any longer. He was not worthy of applause. He walked from behind the desk and went up to Brad and Jerry and hugged them. Tom, Brian, and Carly joined in. Pretty soon, the Think Farm staff was in a big huddle, too. Everyone was crying.
After a while, Ben realized he needed to project the image of a calm decision maker, not a crying man. So he said, “Okay it’s time to get to work.” The huddle broke up and Ben thanked everyone before going to his desk.
“Let’s go fix this state.”
Chapter 308
Under Arrest
“What’s your name?” the man asked Nancy Ringman, this time in a softer tone because she’d just admitted to being the ringleader. He already had what he needed on her. Besides, she was an overweight woman in her sixties. She wasn’t exactly a tactical threat. But it was a little after midnight at a big school facility so there could be threats everywhere.
“Nancy,” she said timidly, starting to realize what was happening. She was being captured by the teabaggers. This was the most terrifying thing that could happen to her. She had heard stories about what the so-called “Patriots” did to prisoners.
“Nancy what?” the man asked, in a kind, almost a sympathetic, tone.
She started to give her last name and then it hit her: she was guilty. She’d done horrible things. Sure, the people under the football field were teabaggers and they needed the room at Clover Park for the good people who needed a place to stay. But they were people and she ordered them to be… she couldn’t finish that thought.
“Ring…” she started to say.
“Ringleader?” the man asked.
Then she fully realized what she’d done. She was the ringleader. She had been a moment away from killing herself when the soldiers came. She might as well have the teabaggers do it for her at this point.