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

can do without Tamiflu. Here, we’re going full-quarantine. I’m announcing that anyone caught having outside contact will be expelled from the Homestead. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”

“Whoa. I hope you’re planning on making an exception for my guys,” Jeff argued. “They’re manning roadblocks and holding the line. Don’t threaten them with something that’ll confuse them on the job.”

“You better explain it to them, then. They’ll get the same warning as everyone else. We need to take this seriously. The flu killed more men in World War One than bullets.”

“You don’t have to tell me, but I need to keep my men sharp. Another mob attack would kill us a lot faster than the flu. Just stick to your side of the fence,” Jeff warned. “There are thousands of refugees along our barricades and it won’t take much to rile them up again.”

These days, most conversations between Jeff and Jason seemed to end in an argument. Jason changed the subject, trying to get back to common ground. “What do we hear about the fundamentalists?” Jason leaned against a pillar in an attempt to relax.

“I offered to lead the northern Mormon’s against the southern fundamentalists.” Jeff stated without preamble.

“Are you serious?” Jason stood up straight. “I thought we had an agreement you’d consult me in those kinds of decisions. What did you commit us to?”

Jeff didn’t blink. “I didn’t commit us to anything. I saw the opportunity to build a bigger buffer around the Homestead and I took it. Military decision. My prerogative.”

Jason huffed and rubbed the back of his neck. Back when Jeff bothered to show him the respect he deserved, they would’ve talked through this decision and Jason would’ve vetoed it, flat out.

“Are you trying to get us killed? Did you catch the part about a super-scary flu? Why would we go find more outside entanglements? If it wasn’t time to bunker up before, with the flu, it’s definitely time to bunker up now. But you’re running around signing us up for the church social. What the hell is wrong with you? Are we supposed to bring the chocolate cupcakes or the vanilla ones with sprinkles. Fucking moron.”

Jeff set his coffee on the railing and stepped nose-to-nose.

“I’m going to give you a pass on that one, because I realize I’m springing this news on you. So here’s the other news you should put in your pipe and smoke: you aren’t doing so hot around here—with the booze, the shitty attitude, the mistakes…The only reason I’m telling you about my decision to get involved with the Mormon army is so that you know. I’m done asking for your permission. If you start acting like a professional again, I might consider treating you like one. Until then, I’ll keep my own counsel.”

Jason turned, walked a couple steps then stopped. He turned back to face Jeff.

“None of you would be alive if it weren’t for me. Because of my good judgment, there’s bread on the table and potatoes growing in the greenhouse. I paid for the guns and the bullets that’ve saved our lives, and I did it when the Black Autumn wasn’t even a figment of your imagination. I was the only one who planned for a worst case scenario that none of you were brave enough to imagine. When you stand here and judge me, remember that I’m the only one who saw it coming. Me.”

Jeff nodded. “Fair enough. When this is all over, and we’re back in our homes putting tinsel on the tree and throwing another yule log on the fire, we’ll send you grateful Christmas cards, every year. But now, while we’re in the shit, you need to perform, and I’m the man telling you that you’re not performing.”

The County Director’s dying face flashed through Jason’s mind. The man lay on the asphalt. His eyes bulged round and white. The knowledge that this was his last moment of life crawled across his face. Jason raised the Glock, pointed it at his chest and fired. The eyes froze, went slack, flew open again, then sagged half-closed, this time for good.

If Jeff only knew…

Jeff interrupted Jason’s hitch. “Chad didn’t show up for duty this morning. Do you know where he went?”

Jason scrambled for an answer. He hadn’t thought much about it. He assumed Chad had been blowing off steam when he tore out of the Beesley parking lot on the motorcycle. There was something in the way that Jeff asked the question that made Jason nervous. Why would Jeff ask him where Chad had gone?

“I don’t know. This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Jason said.

“Hmm.” Jeff went back to his coffee. “I’ll have to assign someone else to command the hospital. It’ll have to be someone who can be quarantined for a while.”

“Maybe Bradley,” Jason suggested. He’d feel better with the other SOF shooter, the other guy who had been at Beesley’s Grocery, out of the way for a while.

Jason headed off to do “political business,” and Jeff remained on the office patio, wondering why Jason hadn’t gone back into his own office. He suspected Jason wanted out of his presence, so he’d dreamed up something else to do. To wit: another sign of weakness.

Jeff didn’t want to seize control of the Homestead. If they confirmed him as commander of the Mormon army, he wouldn’t have the bandwidth to play politics. No part of Jeff wanted to handle Ross’ job. Jason had averted an uprising from the peace-and-love contingent of the Homestead crowd right before the attack of the gangbangers. In that moment, he’d been Jeff’s all-star home-run-hitter. But even the greatest batters eventually fell to the bench, then into history.

Jeff didn’t possess the political skill set— the ability to bullshit people into doing the right thing. It wasn’t a Ron Swanson sort of talent.

Off the top of his head, Jeff couldn’t think of anyone with the skill and experience to do Jason’s job aside from Jason. He would be forced