Out of the Ashes

A contentment hung in the air; a satisfaction that could almost be felt, as if everyone here had finally found a personal place under the sun and was oh, so happy with it. A mood of safety, tranquility, and peace surrounded the area.

To the newspeople, that was unsettling.

The buses and vans parked in front of a split-level home on the outskirts of town. In the two-car garage, there stood a pickup truck and a late-model (the last year automobiles were made), small station wagon. Parked in the drive was a standard military Jeep with a whip antenna on the rear and a waterproof scabbard on the right front side. The flap was open, exposing the stock of a .45-caliber Thompson SMG.

“You people are certainly careless with weapons,” a reporter remarked.

“Why?” Bridge looked at him.

He pointed to the Thompson. “Someone could steal that.”

Bridge shrugged. “Everyone in this state, male and female, over the age of sixteen has an automatic weapon and five hundred rounds of ammunition assigned to them, also a sidearm with fifty rounds of ammunition, three grenades, and a jump knife. Why would anyone want to steal an old Thompson?”

“Well, goddamn it!” The reporter lost his temper. He quickly checked it. “There are children, you know.” Being from a large city—that no longer existed—the reporter's knowledge of firearms was limited to pointing his finger and making “bang-bang” noises.

But Bridge was under orders to be patient. “Sir, do you see that metal object on the top of the weapon, just above and in front of the stock? The stock is that long, funny-shaped wooden thing. You do? Good! That is a bolt lever. When it is pulled back, locked in position, as it is now, that signifies the weapon is void of ammunition. In Tri-states, any ten-year-old would know that.”

If looks could kill, Bridge would have fallen over.

A young man wearing starched and creased tiger-stripe field clothes suddenly appeared by the side of the garage. He wore buck sergeant's stripes and carried an automatic assault rifle, much like the Russian AK47/AMK.

“Who is that?" a reporter asked.

“The governor's driver and bodyguard. Badger Harbin,” Bridge said. “Don't make any sudden moves around him until he gets used to you.”

Badger looked at the growing mounds of equipment and then at the men whose jobs it was to set it all up. He pointed to the rear of the house.

“Take it all around there,” Badger said. “There are tables and chairs and plug-ins. If any of you are armed, declare it now.”

“None of us is armed,” Clayton said. Then with a smile, he added, “What's the matter, Sergeant, don't you trust us?”

“No,” Badger said shortly. He stepped to one side, allowing them to pass.

The crowd was ushered onto the patio, then seated. Badger stood by the side of the sliding glass doors leading into the den. “When the governor and Mrs. Raines come out,” he said, “get up.”

“Young man,” Clayton said acidly, “we do have some knowledge of protocol.”

Badger grunted his reply and Judith laughed at her boss's expression.

None of the newspeople knew exactly what to expect of Governor Raines. But some of the younger newspeople had a preconceived image of a military man who would be dressed in full uniform, dripping with medals, armed with at least two pistols, and possibly carrying a swagger stick, tipped with a shell casing. When Ben and Salina appeared, most were mildly astonished.

Ben was dressed in blue jeans, a pullover shirt, and cowboy boots. Salina wore white Levi's, a blue western shirt, and tennis shoes.

They shook hands all around while flashbulbs popped and cameras rolled, many of them directed at Badger, who scowled appropriately. For half an hour the press corps sipped coffee or cold drinks and munched on hors d'oeuvres.

“I'd like to take some pictures of you two together,” a photographer said to Ben and Salina, “and of the house. Do you mind?”

“No,” Ben said, after looking at Salina and receiving a slight nod of agreement. “Fire away—figuratively speaking, of course.” He smiled.

Out of the corner of his eye, the photographer noticed Badger's hands tighten on the AK-47. Badger made many of the press people very nervous.

The camera crews wandered around the house, taking pictures of this and that: the home, the lawn, the garden, the neighborhood. Governor Raines was a hero to many Americans, having stood up to the government, formed his own state over its objections, and now governed the only area in America, and probably the entire world, that was free of crime and poverty. That much had leaked out of Tri-states. Practically anything about the man, his family, and his way of life would be of interest to someone.

After a short time, an informal press conference was under way.

“Before the questions start flying,” Ben said, “I'd like for you all to meet my daughter, Tina Raines. She works part-time at the western reception center. The one closest to Vista.” He turned just as Tina opened the sliding glass doors and stepped out.