299 Days: The Visitors by Glen Tate Page A

Morrell with some plants and made jars of food in her kitchen. Then I read some books to Sissy. We helped Grandma with dinner. We made biscuits and brought them to the Colson’s where we had a dinner with everyone. I’m tired.”
    Grant was stunned. That was the best talking he’d ever heard from Cole. Being out there without the bustle of their old suburban daily life was helping him relax and learn. He got to spend all day with his sister and grandparents, which was good for him, too.
    “Awesome, little buddy,” was all Grant could say. Lisa was sniffling after hearing all of Cole’s good talking. It was happy crying.
    “Are you OK, Mom?” Cole asked, as he came over to hug her.
    Lisa broke down crying as all the pent up emotions from that evening came pouring out.
    “Yes, honey,” Lisa said, “I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m with all of you,” she said in between sobs. She looked at Grant as if to say, “This is where you belong.” Grant looked at her and nodded.
    This might be the end of my gun fighting, Grant thought. He felt like this—in the cabin and with his family—was where he belonged.

 
    Chapter 144
    Outside the Walls of Camp Murray…
    (June 1, year one of the Collapse)
     
    Jeanie Thompson was being watched. She could feel it. She was in prison. Well, a prison of sorts. Most people in the state would die to have it as good as she did there at Camp Murray; totally secure, completely supplied with luxuries, and surrounded by all the important people.
    But, it was a prison for her. She couldn’t leave. Theoretically, she could resign and leave the protection of Camp Murray, which had become the acting state capitol behind the protection of a massive Army base. However, she was dead if she left. Who would want to leave Camp Murray and enter the chaos and deprivation outside the barbed wire and machine gun nests?
    She had been on the state’s elite political communications team, and had been a key advisor to the State Auditor, who was apparently going to be the next governor. She had been getting briefings on the most sensitive topics and been giving interviews to the media. Jeanie was an insider.
    All of this was even more amazing given that Jeanie was a Republican in this thoroughly liberal state government. But, she had told herself, she was exceptionally good at her job and the government was fair and didn’t have any political litmus test.
    She was wrong. She was indeed good at her job, but the part about litmus test wasn’t true. She was friends with some people who the government didn’t like; some POIs, like Grant Matson and her other friends from the Washington Association of Business. She made the mistake of being Facebook friends with them and that’s how the police determined that she was a threat to the security of the state. She had been had been quietly reassigned jobs when they found out who her friends were.
    Now she was relegated to giving tours of Camp Murray to groups of VIPs. “VIPs” was a stretch. They were mostly city council members, Freedom Corps mid-level managers, and corporate people who were working for the government. She would “brief” them on the propaganda of the day. “Everything is going great. We’re getting food out to every corner of the state. The Recovery has started. The Crisis is just temporary. Normal life will return soon.” That was the “briefing.” It was the same slop she’d been dishing up to the media, except now her audience was a handful of political hacks instead of a TV audience.
    Jeanie suspected her cell phone and computer were being monitored. There always seemed to be someone around her. Her new roommate at Camp Murray’s women’s quarters seemed very interested in everything about her.
    “Terrorists.” That’s what they called Grant Matson and people like him. They also called them “Teabaggers,” “militia,” and “rednecks.” She had started using those terms, too. No more. Silently, to her herself, she would