White Wasteland by Jeff Kirkham (best color ebook reader .txt) 📕

Thayer rubbed his thinning, gray hair. “…and in the End of Times, we can expect the Lord to take a personal hand in the restoration of the authority of the Church.”

Rex Burnham paused, then resumed. “The Lord manifested himself in the Provo tabernacle and placed upon my face the visage of the Prophet Joseph, one month ago. We met to sustain a new prophet and a new Quorum of the Twelve. We hadn’t heard from church headquarters in many weeks. We feared you all died in the gentile violence.” Again, he paused.

“In that solemn assembly in the tabernacle, I spoke to the Utah Valley saints, numbering over four thousand. Later, they bore witness to the mantle of the Prophet Joseph coming over me, glorifying my appearance and sustaining me as the prophet of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” The words hung in the air, the import so monumental that Jeff refused to look at President Thayer, afraid to intrude on a moment leagues outside his pay grade.

The voice over the radio continued. “Elder Thayer, I can testify to you that since that moment, the Holy Spirit has come over me, granting me the gift of prophecy, restoring the old truths of the Church and sweeping aside the accommodations we made to the gentiles in order to coexist. Now that the nation of America has been humbled by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, the saints are being called to return to the original gospel as handed down to the Prophets Joseph and Brigham. Elder Thayer, I ask for your vote to sustain me as prophet, seer and revelator of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

Jeff looked at President Thayer, his eyes burning into the back of the church president. The warrior in Jeff silently implored the prophet to stand against the pretender. Jeff knew nothing about prophecy and spiritual matters, but he knew a bully when he heard one.

Slowly, President Thayer pulled the microphone close and pressed the transmit button.

“No, Elder Burnham. I will not sustain you as prophet. You have pushed aside the proper order of the priesthood and taken upon yourself keys not rightly given. Elder Burnham, you must step down immediately.”

From the ham shack, the Homestead security forces could be heard doing firearms training in the forest, the crackle and pop of gunfire punctuating the silence as the four men: Jeff, Jason, President Thayer and Zach, listened for the southern warlord’s reply.

“I am saddened that the Holy Spirit has yet to speak to you, Elder Thayer. Perhaps the will of the Lord will be made manifest in other ways. Until then, may God grant you wisdom.”

President Thayer exhaled and thumped his hands down on the tabletop.

Jeff’s foot-thick shoulder muscles went rock-hard, preparing him subconsciously for war. The Provo radio operator’s voice returned. “J2PAL over and QRT.”

The airwaves returned to silence.

President Thayer stood from his chair and threaded through the men in the ham shack into the cold and gloomy winter afternoon. Jeff, Jason and Zach hung back, giving the Mormon leader space.

Jason turned to Jeff, an anxious edge to his voice, “We can’t keep fighting these wars. Even when we win, we lose.’”

Jeff argued, “I’m not sure we have a choice. Did you hear how he spoke about ‘gentiles.’ That’s us.” Jeff pointed at his chest, then at Jason. “What I heard was a warlord making a power grab. That kind of man won’t give us a pass because we stayed out of it. There’s no Switzerland in this fight.”

Another wave of gunfire from the men training in the forest drowned out further conversation. With nothing new to say, both men went their separate ways.

“Yo, Hotstuff. Hold up,” JT Taylor shouted as he trotted up the Homestead driveway. Jacquelyn paused mid-step, knowing he’d keep calling her until she stopped. She turned and made a show of rolling her eyes and propping her hands on her hips.

JT rattled as he ran, festooned with a full set of what the Testosterone Gang at the Homestead called “battle rattle.” He carried a rifle, a handgun, a bunch of magazines, binoculars, medical supplies, a radio and even a grenade shoved in a little pocket.

The woman in her grinned, even as the psychologist furrowed its brows.

“Yes, Mr. Taylor. How may I be of service? Are you finally ready to take me up on professional consultation regarding your…little problem?” She held her finger up and let it go limp.

“Ha, ha, ha. Doctor Reynolds. Whatever happened to doctor/client discretion?” JT made a show of looking around to see if anyone had seen her.

“For one thing, I’m not a doctor. For another thing, you’ve never been to see me professionally. So does that mean I guessed right about…?” She held up the finger again.

“No, ma’am. Everything’s squared away and in full working order on the USS JT Taylor.” He hitched up his battle belt. “If you’re looking for a roll in the hay, I’m your gentleman caller.”

She ignored the pass. “Is it me or have you lost weight since you got here? You look fighting fit.” She checked him, up and down.

“Yes, ma’am. They’ve got me running a gun again and training the greenies. Master Sergeant Taylor, reporting for duty.” He saluted.

“Well, Master Sergeant, I’m heading over to chop fixings for this evening’s stew. Would you care to join me?”

JT raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Jacquelyn shook her head and continued walking up the drive toward the cook shed. “Definitely not. I just lost my husband, good sir.”

JT waved away the objection. “You can’t throw a stick in this place without hitting someone who’s lost someone. Live in the now, I say. We never know when the next psycho mob is going to roll through here, so we need to pack in all the gritty sex we can, while we can. That’s my professional opinion as a radio personality. Live in the now moment.”

“So now you’re quoting Eckhart Tolle to get laid? This is