White Wasteland Jeff Kirkham (book series for 12 year olds TXT) 📖

“He won’t want that job and neither will any of us. I’m talking about the Homestead. I think we need a military leader, a pastor, a scientist and a mayor. It worked before the Industrial Revolution and it should work now, given that the Industrial Revolution won’t be seen again for a while.”

“If you’re suggesting that I’m Homestead’s pastor, I’ve resigned myself to that fate,” Jacquelyn agreed.

“You’re clearly the warlord around here Mister Jeff, and Doc Erik is our brainiac, but what am I doing here?” Tommy looked around the room.

“Evan says you have a good head on your shoulders. Hundreds of employees answered to you before the collapse. You have a good feel for military security, and you’re related to the ‘royal family’ through Jenna Ross. Everyone still loves her, even those who are against Jason. You’re the perfect guy to be the voice of the people.”

Tommy sat silent for a moment. “The king of the Homestead, huh?”

“Well…” Jeff waffled. “Something like that. I can still lead Homestead security while I command the Mormon army. One job fits inside the other.”

“I’ll tell you right now, no matter what you boys agree to, I’m not going to abandon the orphans,” Jacquelyn folded her hands on the table.

“I would expect nothing less,” Jeff demurred. “The four of us will often disagree, but that’ll work a hell of a lot better than trying to come to an agreement with two hundred people. Democracy is on pause for a time. That we must agree upon.”

The three others nodded, obviously remembering the death toll from group-think over the last four months.

Jeff pointed to Tommy. “Your job will be to make sure everyone feels heard and fairly-treated.” He pointed at Jacquelyn, “Your job will be to counsel and give us meaning. Doc Erik, you make sure we don’t forget how science works.” He turned his finger on himself, “My job will be to kill anyone who tries to get in your way.” Jeff smiled. “It’s my dream gig.”

They all smiled. They knew Jeff talked a mean game, but that he’d do everything in his power to save lives. Their strange, wonderful victory over the fundamentalists still covered the Homestead like a warm blanket.

There'd been a fateful turn along the Wasatch Front and it was hard to pin down in words. Opting for a less-lethal response to the fundamentalists and maintaining the orphanage had been master strokes of art. The decisions had originated with Jeff Kirkham, a flinty-eyed warrior. The legend of it perplexed everyone. The world had taken a turn to the fantastic.

If ever there was a reason to believe in the guiding hand of fate, this was it. The last, terrifying months had played out like a book in the Old Testament—grim and yet amazing.

“Mister Jeff. If I may,” Jacquelyn broke the silence with a glint in her eye. “How and when did you reach the decision that we should disband the committee, keep the orphanage and launch this new committee? How long have you been planning all this?”

Jeff shrugged and laughed.

Jacquelyn looked him in the eyes. Then she nodded, as if to say, I know exactly what you mean.

Barkley’s Sand & Gravel Pit

North Frontage Road

The doctor peered into Chad’s eye with a little flashlight, aggravating the sensation of having a handful of sand jammed under his eyelid. It was funny how much a person’s world drew down to just their eyeball when it was injured. Chad had a hard time even thinking about anything else. At some point during his hell-bent-for-leather motorcycle race across the Traverse Mountains, something had nailed him in the eye.

The doctor clapped him on the back. “Well, War Hero, your eye looks like it’s healing. It’ll take a few days, but there’s nothing in there. Eyes are pretty resilient and they heal fast. So, with that out of the way,” the young doctor clicked off his flashlight and poked it into his pocket, “my son made me promise to get the story straight from you: how did you defeat that battalion of men trying to flank us?”

After taking down the fake prophet, Chad caught up to his boys—totally befuddled by another road crossing—and led them to the top of the ridge in a full assault. By then, he’d made contact with Evan’s man Wheaton on the radio.

Chad and Wheaton orchestrated a dog and pony show for the high school football team—lots of shots were fired, nobody got hurt, and the young fundamentalists ran the “wicked Salt Lake invaders” off the ridge. Chad was the only one who knew the main battle had been over for half an hour. His boys got their victory, and the Army of Helaman could go home feeling like they’d gained something for their effort.

Chad did his best to look humble. “They were well trained, my boys. They fought like lions.”

“So you were up on Suncrest fighting them by yourself? Just your little squad?” The doctor raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed.

“Yes. But the bastards had an armored vehicle, so it wasn’t easy. They shot my motorcycle out from underneath me with a belt-fed machine gun. That’s how I got something in my eye.”

“That doesn’t sound easy at all!” the fresh-faced, Mormon doctor gushed. “How’d you get out alive?”

“I shot some guys. Some guys shot me. We turned the Suncrest neighborhood into a shooting gallery. I lost my rifle in the motorcycle crash, so it was just me and my Rob Leatham,” Chad patted his 1911 handgun, “against a platoon of bad guys with assault rifles.”

He was laying it on thick, but the doctor ate it up.

Someone slow clapped from the door of the med tent. Chad and the doctor turned to see Elder Mitchell Clawson walking into the exam room.

“And we were very fortunate you were at the right place at the right time, Brother Wade. Very fortunate.” Chad and Elder Clawson had agreed to keep the secret of the fallen prophet between the two of them and the guards. They’d whisked