Sustainable Earth (Book 2): Death by Revelation

by Jack J. Lee

  Chapter 18: Ari Levin, September 22nd to October 7th, Year 0

  Through most of the night, I lay awake--my mind racing. The easy part was done. I said I was prophet and in the heat of the moment all the FLDS around me had agreed. In the long run this meant nothing. My position was tenuous. I had to pull all the right moves for months to come. The FLDS needed to get into a habit of following me before I could relax. Habits take time to form.

  Cults have insanely treacherous politics. At any time, for any reason, a member could be excommunicated. Anyone excommunicated was dead to the rest of the FLDS. If you were excommunicated, you lost all your possessions and your family.

  The FLDS had no problems dealing with the mass zombie outbreak because they hadn’t hesitated to kill anyone who had been infected. They trained their entire lifetime to be able to emotionally switch from loving someone to instantaneously rejecting them. It isn’t much of a transition to go from treating someone like he’s dead, to making him dead. Before the outbreak, there had been about 6,000 in Hildale and Colorado City. Now there were about 4,000. Most surviving Americans were in shock. The FLDS were ecstatic. The end of the world was what they were waiting for. A few hours after the outbreak, most of the zombies in Hildale and Colorado City had been taken out. Malachi Marsden had called all the surviving FLDS together and announced that he had been on the telephone with Darren Jeffries. Zombies had overrun the prison and Darren knew that he had only seconds to live. Marsden claimed that Darren passed the leadership of the FLDS over to him. A sizable number of FLDS were convinced I was the new prophet. A few questioned Malachi’s leadership. After one of them was killed the questions stopped.

  Earlier today, Malachi had bled to death in front of 100 of his followers. No one including his son, Tom, had tried to help him. However tenuous my position was with the FLDA as a whole, it was secure with the true believers. True believers pay attention to prophecies and their holy texts. All of them were convinced I was ordained by their Heavenly Father.

  It’s difficult to be wholly corrupt and be a true believer at the same time. The majority of the surviving leaders of the FLDS were from the asshole camp which meant that they didn’t give a shit if I was the real prophet. They knew prophets could be killed; Jesus Christ and Joseph Smith were good examples. I was better off if they thought I was a false prophet. If they thought that I was corrupt, they would probably try to work with me.

  Any attempt to convert these non-believing FLDS was doomed. The only thing that would influence them was their own self-interest. I had to figure out a way to solidify the support of those who believed in me and defuse the hatred of those who didn’t. I needed to convince the truly religious FLDS I was their prophet while allowing the corrupt ones to believe I was one of them.

  I sent everyone except my disciples back to Colorado City. They took the three bodies with them. I imagine they created a stir when they arrived covered with Malachi’s blood.

  In the morning my disciples and I drove into Colorado City. The land lines were out but cell phones still worked. I called Lavel Sondermann to let him know we were coming. The FLDS were waiting for us in the center of town. Lavel introduced me to the crowd. I gave my first sermon. The gist of my sermon was that the FLDS were good and everyone else was bad. It went over well.

  I announced that in the near future every FLDS over the age of 16 would receive a personal calling from the Heavenly Father. This calling would be to either stay here in their current homes in Hildale and Colorado City or to travel to my ranch to build New Zion.

  During my telephone conversation with Lavel I asked him to arrange for me to meet with Darren Jeffries’ wives. There were 71 of them ranging from 18 to 62-years-old. The older wives had been married to Rulon Jeffries before they married Darren. A couple of them had visited Darren when he was in prison but most of them had not seen him since he was arrested. Since I was the new prophet, these women were now my wives.

  After my sermon, Lavel escorted me to the women. I explained that I had always known that God had a plan for me but that it wasn’t until I had moved to Utah that I learned what this plan was. When Rulon Jeffries’ soul entered my body, I had a revelation; I understood our Heavenly Father’s plan.

  I told them I didn’t know if Malachi Marsden had been telling the truth when he said he heard Darren die but Darren couldn’t have told him that he was the new prophet because he had already felt Rulon’s soul leave his body. . Malachi had been punished because he had sinned against the light.

  I said that the human body wasn’t strong enough to tolerate the presence of more than one soul or the memories of more than one life. Darren had willingly taken up the burden of Rulon’s soul and memories but this load had been more than he could bear. I implied having two men’s memories had driven Darren insane. I was born without a soul; for thirty years I was a hollow man. Once Rulon’s spirit entered me, I was made whole. Our Heavenly Father has spared me the burden of Rulon’s memories.

  While my soul was Rulon’s, I had different life experiences and memories. In too many ways to count I was not the same man. Rulon’s spirit was destined to be on earth for 300 years. Afterwards his soul would enter the Celestial Kingdom. He and all his wives would then be together for all of eternity. Rulon’s wives were eternally sealed to Rulon’s soul. If they wanted, they were welcome to live with me in New Zion as my earthly wives. If they didn’t, they could stay here in the twin cities. They could even marry other men as long as those men knew that those marriages were not eternal.

  I saw relief in most of my wives eyes. For the first time in years, perhaps in their entire lives, they were free to make their own choices. I desperately hoped that most of them would decide against moving in with me. The idea of living with 71 women scared the crap out of me.

  I then met with the elders. I told them that I was going to restore Brigham Young’s doctrines regarding marriage and divorce. I had a revelation that the FLDS had lost their way; it was only right for women to subordinate themselves to men but recently this had been taken too far. No FLDS woman should be forced into a marriage or forced to stay in a marriage.

  Prophet Brigham Young and founder Joseph Smith are the only two prophets respected by both the mainstream LDS and the FLDS. When Brigham Young was prophet, divorce was easy for Mormon women and difficult for men. If a woman said she didn’t want to be married, she was divorced. Men on the other hand had to get permission from church hierarchy before he could divorce one of his wives.

  The FLDS hierarchy was reluctant to claim that Brigham Young was wrong. We all pretended that this was just a religious meeting and that we were all happy to be together. At this point none of us wanted a civil war.

  Over the next few weeks families would be broken as some stayed here, in Hildale and Colorado City, while others moved to New Zion. I let them know without making actual threats that if they tried to stop anyone from moving, there would be hell to pay.

  I began my negotiations with the FLDS with the stick, telling them everything that they didn’t want to hear. I ended my negotiations by discussing the reward. Negotiations require give and take. If the asshole camp had nothing to lose, a war was inevitable. The only reason they weren’t trying to kill me was because they didn’t know the extent of my powers. Of course, I didn’t really have any.

  I had created shock and awe with the deaths of Malachi and his two buddies, but tricks like that couldn’t win a real civil war. Other than my eight disciples, I had an uncertain base of support. My best guess was if the assholes tried to kill me, a few hundred FLDS would fight on my side. If the conflict between the believers and the corrupt got to the point of people shooting at each other, the odds were my side would lose. I was playing high stakes poker with the FLDS hierarchy and I was bluffing. I had to make sure the assholes were given enough so they wouldn’t go all in until I had a better chance of winning.

  I offered them a deal. They couldn’t abuse their fellow FLDS. They were allowed to do anything they w
anted with gentiles. From now on everyone including women and teenage boys had rights, but the gentiles, the non-FLDS, had none. I would stay in New Zion and would let them run Hildale and Colorado City as they pleased. Our Heavenly Father had destroyed the Gentiles’ ability to resist. Sinners had been left alive in the world for the FLDS to use. I didn’t have to fill in the blanks for the assholes. No sane man wants to be married to 50, 60, or 70 women. The only reason for a man to do something like this is because he’s addicted. Addicts always want new toys.

  The higher ups had to marry women to be able to use them. I was giving them permission to have as many women as they wanted without any responsibility.

  We all knew that most of the younger members would move to New Zion. The society was a giant pyramid scheme. The younger at the bottom of the pyramid had no power or possessions. The much smaller number of the older FLDS on top of the pyramid owned and controlled everything. Since the younger members had nothing to lose, they had everything to gain by moving down to my ranch. Normally, the older FLDS would have fought to the death to keep their young but I was offering them something better-- slaves. Most of the people who lived in Hildale and Colorado City were FLDS but there was small minority who weren’t. I was handing those poor bastards up on a platter. Nothing was said outright but it was understood that everything north and west of us was going to be controlled by the assholes and everything east and south of us by me.

  After my meeting with the higher ups, I let everyone know I was going to the City Hall to meet with the rest of the FLDS community. For the next few hours I stood inside the City Hall saying a few words and shaking hands with the flock. I had two of my disciples, Nephi and Landon Daniels, help control the flow of people. I had the rest out recruiting others to move to New Zion.

  All the power was out. The Colorado City Hall was lit with candles. Only the area around me was brightly lit. I stood in the center of a courtroom in a halo of light surrounded by darkness. A line stretched out of the room and into the main hallway. I saw the Daniels brothers change posture. A tall striking woman entered the room. She didn’t bother with the line and walked toward me. The rest moved out of her way. Nephi and Landon started toward her. I caught their eyes and shook my head. They stood in place. I didn’t change my expression or my body language.

  When she got up to me, I shook her hand and said, “Hello Rachel, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Since you’re responsible for my husband’s death, I’m not sure what to make of your words.” Her eyes matched her speech. It looked like she had loved her husband. Rachel Marsden hated me.

  “I am the left hand of the Father. Malachi didn’t understand that. I regret what I had to do. This is not the time or place to discuss your husband’s death. Once I’m done here, we will speak.”

  Rachel nodded. Her eyes didn’t change. When she left, I could tell most of the watchers were relieved.

  It took hours to meet with every member who wanted to see me. When I was done, I took a break while sending Nephi to bring Rachel to me. Malachi and Rachel had been terrorizing the FLDS for years. Even after my arrival and Malachi’s death, Rachel still had power. The FLDS were supposed to be a male dominated society; clearly, Rachel was an exception.

  I told Landon to stand outside the courtroom doors. I didn’t want to be disturbed. I stretched and relaxed for a few minutes. Illusions take work and preparation. If it is quiet and you have your ear right on a tile floor, especially one that is on top of a wood subsurface, you can hear footsteps from a couple hundred feet away. I had to lie quietly. Deep breathing, even a racing heart, can drown out the sound of footsteps. Every once in a while I could hear Landon move just outside the room.

  I turned my head often. I didn’t want pressure marks on my face. Magic is a pain in the ass. If it wasn’t, more people would do it. I was on the floor for over 45 minutes. I didn’t have a restful night; it was a struggle to avoid falling asleep. I heard two people walking toward the courtroom. I counted their steps and right before Landon or Nephi could knock. I spoke, “Let Rachel enter. Nephi and Landon, you may wait outside.”

  When the door opened I was standing with my back toward the courtroom doors with an open Bible in my hands. I heard the door behind me close and Rachel walk toward me. She hated me. It only took one meeting to figure out that Rachel wasn’t a cold dispassionate killer. She was ruled by her emotions. Sooner or later she was going to try to kill me. I wanted her attempt to be under my terms. She liked to torture people. Torturers want to touch the people they hurt. I made the educated guess that Rachel would prefer knives over guns.

  If she had a gun, the odds were worse. My head and neck weren’t protected. Bullet proof vests strong enough to provide adequate protection against high caliber rounds exist but they’re too bulky to wear comfortably under clothing. The vest I was wearing was designed to be concealed. It had a low profile and did not provide much protection. Three years ago I got shot in the chest with a .45 ACP round while wearing the same kind of vest; the bullet didn’t go through the Kevlar but it broke two of my ribs.

  I relaxed when I heard her pace quicken towards me. People with guns usually maintain their distance. She moved smoothly without hesitation. Her breathing was controlled. She had training. I had examined her wrists when I shook her hand earlier today. Her left wrist was slightly larger than her right. She was left handed. I knew that she had cut people before. A knowledgable opponent is easier to fight than an amateur. A pro knows where to strike. I can predict what a trained fighter will do.

  The ribs and the spinal vertebra do a great job protecting the vital organs from a small blade. It takes enormous strength, or luck, to be able to get a knife into the heart or spinal cord from the back.

  There are only two reasonable knife targets from behind. The first and most deadly is the throat. Amateurs try to cut from the outside in. People who haven’t tried to cut human flesh assume that it’s easy to cut through a man’s neck. Knives only cut through flesh like butter in movies. It’s difficult to slice through living flesh. You have to saw back and forth to cut into meat that’s lying dead on a plate. Most targets won’t stay still while you jerk your blade back and forth across their necks.

  A pro stabs the knife point two to four inches deep into the side of the neck just in front of the spine and then pushes the cutting edge out the front. A deep strike into the neck like this will either penetrate the voice box or the windpipe just below it; this makes it impossible for your target to cry out. Your victim will usually push your hand and blade away with hysterical strength, helping you rip through the throat, the vagus nerve, and the carotid artery. Most people go into shock and collapse immediately. The ones that don’t go into shock bleed out in less than a minute.

  The second location is the kidney. Anyone who’s ever had a kidney stone will tell you it is excruciating; a knife blade in the kidney is even worse. A stab to the kidney isn’t fatal but it causes so much pain that your victim is usually incapacitated. Rachel liked to make people suffer. The chances of her going for my left kidney were high.

  I listened intently. The sound of her steps told me where she was. I knew she was going to try to stab me; she was moving too quickly for anything else. Almost everyone holds their breath or cries out before they stab someone. The instant I heard her hold her breath, I turned to my right and slammed the binding of my small leather bound Bible on her outside mid thigh. If you do this right, and I did it right, the thigh goes into an immediate cramp. Rachel gasped in surprise and pain as her knife missed and her right thigh muscles locked in spasm. She was frozen in place. I kicked her right foot out underneath her and she sprawled to the floor.

  “Rachel, Rachel. You’re trying to surprise a prophet?”

  Rachel bounced up, spitting with fury. She had good taste in knives. She was holding a British Sykes-Fairborn Commando knife. Before she had been angry, now she was berserk. She was definitely Tom’s mother. She sprang up straight into a lunge at my mid section. I
blocked the knife with the Bible and used the same move I had with her son. I stepped forward with my back foot until we were almost back to back and then slammed my elbow against her head. She fell to the floor.

  She was no longer berserk. I could see she was thinking again. She got up slowly. Just as I figured, she had some training. She got into a knife fighter’s stance. Her feet were slightly more than shoulder’s width apart. She held her open right hand out at neck height in the proper position to either block or grab. She held her knife in her left hand. Her thumb was in line with the blade. I could tell by the color and appearance of the skin over her knuckles that her grip on the knife was firm and not too tight.

  She was cautious. I had taught her to fear me. She wasn’t going to attack first. I raised my arm like I was going to slap her. She moved to block and as she did I hit her right forearm with the edge of my book. If you do this correctly with a flick of the wrist, a book can strike like a leather club. This surprised her. In her moment of shock, I struck her left inner forearm right below the elbow. I hit the nerve that controls the grip muscles. She dropped her knife. I slapped her left ear with my hand cupped so a pressure wave entered her ear canal. Rachel collapsed. A ruptured eardrum is painful.

  She began shaking. At first, I thought she was having a seizure. It took a few seconds to recognize what was going on. I knew she was disturbed but I hadn’t known to what degree. She was having an orgasm. My plan, when I started beating her, was to see if I could break her. To terrify her enough so that it would be safe to let her live. I hadn’t expected success but there was no harm in trying. My first choice wasn’t to kill her; if I did, there was a chance that the other leaders in the asshole camp would jump to the conclusion they were next in line. Rachel was psychotic. I didn’t think that the FLDS hierarchy would go to war over her. There was a small chance they might. Now I had another, better option.

  I read from the Bible, “Exodus 22:18. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Rachel, do you know that this is a mistranslation? The word witch isn’t accurate; murderess is closer to the original meaning. The ancient Israelites didn’t have a problem with magic. An important word was left out, unmarried. The correct translation of the original ancient Hebrew is thou shalt not suffer an unmarried murderess to live. The ancients understood that a dangerous woman needed a man to control her. You’re too dangerous to be without supervision. I took your husband from you. It’s my duty to keep you under control.” Then I added,