I have no idea where this book is going but in the last two weeks, ideas
have been coming to me.  I decided I best start writing things down.  This
is not the final prologue of the book but only a first draft.  I thought
some of you might like to read it.

Phil.

                            PROLOGUE

The year is 2022




     The man entered the cold quiet barn.  Early morning light
dimly illuminated the now century old barn.  He wanted to billed
a new one but he didn't have enough money and permits were never
granted for such building structures any longer.  He had enough
acres of trees that he and his two boys could use but something
told him not to cut those fine tall trees down just yet.  Life
had certainly changed.  He had grown up on this farms and it had
been own by his great great grandfather.  They owned a full
section, 620 acres, but the government had tried everything in
the book to force them out in the last 20 years.  So far, the
Lord had somehow legally out smarted them all.  The old barn,
though, wasn't going to last too much longer.  Maybe, he thought,
he'd be in here working some day and the thing would fall on him
and he'd be killed.

     Locating the bucket, he washed it out and pulled his stool
over to the first of the two cows he had left.  The rest of his
milking cows had been mysteriously killed and in some most
unusual and weird ways.  He'd read about it for decades, of
course, and it was generally called cattle mutilation but that
myth had been exposed years ago.  Still, people chose to believe
it.

     He began milking and he sighed as he thought about how much
he missed church.  They were 55 miles from town.  all the land
all the way around him, except for the road right away to the
highway, was owned by the corporate farms.  There were no more
government subsidies and there hadn't been for many years.  It
was, he knew, the way the government tried squeezing small
operations out.  It had worked, for the most part, too.  His
farm, however, had been free and clear for over 50 years.  Now
his farm only provided for his family.  Actually, they lived as
royalty, as far as farming was concerned, but you could no longer
buy parts for the farm equipment and thanks to his God given
skills and his small machine shop, he was able to manufacture
just about anything needed to keep most of the equipment running.

     His mind went back to thinking about church.  The building
had burned, of course, and the pastor killed in the fire.  His
family, and quite a number of church members had been moved to
the so called debtor's prison because they could no longer pay
their bills.  They were really FEMA camps, of course, which had
been built before the turn of the century.  He had seen pictures
and privately made movies of the places, even since some of the
people had been moved into them to live like cattle.  Worse,
actually, and he wondered how long it would be before he and his
family would be forced into such camps.


     He was a Christian, and had been born again since about 7
years of age.  He read the Bible every morning and every night
and he read, and reread, all the theological books, magazines,
and newsletters and pamphlets he had collected over the years but
he didn't feel spiritually capable of really spiritually leading
his own family.  He didn't know why he felt that way but he did.
He sighed again, leaning his forehead about the animal as he
continued milking.

     then he heard the sound and stopped milking.  He had heard
it before but was so used to focusing on his thoughts as he
milked, his mind had simply ignored the noise.  There it was
again.  He didn't like it and sat up straight and cocked his head
to listen.  The third time he recognized it and rose from his
stool and walked to the ladder leading to the hay loft high over
head.  climbing slowly, he inched his way higher and higher until
his eyes were barely above the level of hay.  He looked around
but it was pretty dark.  He hung on the ladder for a few moments
until he was positive of the sound's location.  He then quietly
lowered himself, step by step, until he reached the floor again.
He glanced at his watch to see how much longer it might be before
more sunlight might filter into the old barn.

     Quietly leaving the barn, and completely forgetting about
the cows, he moved a ladder, laying on the ground, to one end of
the barn.  He had to stand on the second to the top rung to reach
the rope hanging down but once he did, he was able to unlatch the
large barn window which they opened when stacking bails of hay.
It creaked a lot louder than he would have preferred but it
didn't take him long to completely lower it.

     Leaving the ladder against the barn, he reentered the
building and climbed the ladder to the loft once again.  His ears
registered the sound as it continued repeating itself so he knew
he was safe.

     Again, he lifted his head barely above the level of hay and
now he could see the mound clearly.  He continued his climb and
carefully edged his way onto the hay.  Standing slowly, he walked
to the mound in one corner of the barn which lay near the now
opened loft window.  The mound of hay was clearly visible and the
snoring coming from the man under the hay was clearly heard.
Using his foot, he wished he'd brought his shotgun with him, he
kicked some of the hay away until a pair of old shoes were
visible.  Moving to the other end, he did the same and a man's
head appears.  An old cowboy hat covered the man's face and he
ben slowly down and removed the hat and tossed it aside.  The
man, he guess, was at least 70 or 75 and the way his cheeks were
sunken, he likely hadn't eaten much for awhile.  Joe couldn't
remember the last time somebody had sneaked into his hay loft and
slept the night away.  Strangers just didn't roam around any
more.  Not without getting arrested anyhow.

     Remembering his milking, he figured now was as good as any
and with his food he gently, at first, nudged the sleeping figure
in the side.  The snoring continued.  It was loud enough to wake
the dead, Joe thought.  He nudged the man again.  Still nothing.
The snoring confirmed the sleeping figure at least wasn't dead so
Joe kick him again and this time none too gently.  the figure
stirred.  There was some snorting and coughing and then the man
touched his face and realized his hat was gone.  His eyes snapped
open and stared directly into Joe's eyes.

     "Good morning, sir," the elderly man said.  His voice was
calm, showed no fear, and was steady as a rock.

     "What are you doing in my barn?" Joe demanded but
overwhelmed by the beauty of the man's unusual eyes.

     "Sleeping, sir.  I'm sorry I didn't ask first, but it was
about 3 o'clock this morning when I got here so I thought it best
not to disturbed you or your family."

     "Get up," Joe barked.

     The man obeyed but he was slow.  when he finally got to his
feet, it was with obvious difficulty.  "This hay is difficult for
me to maintain my balance, sir.  I'm sorry."

     "I don't want drunks sleeping it off in my barn," Joe said
angrily.

     "I'm no drunk, sir," the old man said calmly.  "I have never
had anything to drink in my life."

     "Well, then," Joe blustered, "I don't want any bums sleeping
in my barn either."

     "I understand, sir, and I don't blame you.  I'll take my
leave then, unless, of course, you prefer to report me to the
authorities."

     "I may be mean, mister, but I'm not that mean.  I just want
you out of my barn and off my property."

     "Understood," the old man said.  "One can't be too careful
these days.  I am not stable on my feet, sir.  Would you mind
handing me my hat and cane?"

     Joe had noticed the wooden cane laying where the man had
been sleeping.  "Get it yourself," and Joe stepped back several
paces in order to be certain the old man could not reach him.
Even then, Joe realized he had no way of protecting himself if
the man had a weapon hidden in his heavy coat.

     The old man nodded his understanding and slowly picked up
his cane.  He hobbled over to his cowboy hat carefully on the
uneven surface of hay and bent to pick it up but fell.  Putting
the hat on his head, and hanging the crook of his wooden cane on
his arm, Joe watched as he crawled back to where he had been
sleeping.  Pushing some of the hay back, he pulled a worn Bible
into the open and with considerable effort, and using his cane to
assist himself, he got to his feet.  It took him three tries.

     "Can you make it down the ladder yourself?" Joe said, his
voice softened.

     "Oh, I can make it down, sir, one way or another.  Climbing
up here, I must admit, was easier than going down but even if I
fall, I'll at least be down."  He smiled at Joe then.

     "I'll go down before you and help the best I can," and Joe
headed for the ladder.

     "thank you.  That is very kind of you," the old man said as
Joe made his way to the ladder.

     "Ok," Joe called up.  "Be careful.  Take your time.  I'll
steady you as much as I can."

     Soon the old man's legs came into view.  "I'm going to drop
my cane down," the old man said, "so I can use both hands."

     "Ok," Joe said in reply.

     The cane clattered to the barn floor.  Joe bent and stood it
against the wall.

     "Drop your Bible down to me, too, and I can hold it for you
while you come down."  He had no idea why he was even helping the
old man but a man with a bible couldn't be that dangerous.  Joe
then guided the man's feet to each of the rungs as he slowly
descended.

     When he reached the floor, the man was breathing heavily.
"I fear I would have never made it, sir, without your help.
Thank you."

     "Come on," Joe said without responding to the man's
kindness, "it's time to go.  I'll carry your Bible for now." and
taking him by the arm, he guided him until they passed through
where the cows were.

     The old man saw the stool and milking pail and stopped.
"I'm sorry, sir.  I must have interrupted your morning milking.
I apologize.  I'll be happy to finish the job for you.  It's the
least I can do for spending the night in your loft."

     Joe shook his head.  "It's all right.  I'll finish it
myself," but the man's eyes told Joe he was genuinely sincere
with his offer.  "It's all right, I said.  I'll finish it.
There's no need,"

     "I may be old, sir, but I can still milk a cow."

     Joe shook his head again.  "You need to get going.  My barn,
well, my whole farm, is watched."

     "Yes," was the single word reply from the elderly man and he
started walking again.

     Once they had made it on to the dirt lane, Joe continued
holding on to the man's left elbow.  Unstable wasn't the word.
The man could hardly walk even with the use of his cane.

     When they were about a hundred feet passed the house, the
man stopped.  "What is it?" Joe said.  "I suppose you want some
food or something?"

     The man turned and said, "No, sir.  How far is it into town
from here?"

     "Over 50 miles," Joe replied.

     "Thank you, sir.  I can make it from here.  He turned and
began walking away alone.

     Joe watched as the man slowly moved away down the lane with
his worn Bible under one arm which Joe had handed him.  When he
was about 20 feet away, Joe felt something.  He heard it,
actually, in his head.  That had never happened to him before and
he shook his head to clear it.  He heard it again but this time
it was louder.  Joe quickly looked around but saw no one.
Looking back at the old man slowly making his way with his cane,
Joe called out.  "Stop."

     The old man obeyed and slowly turned.

     Joe didn't move but just stared at him.  "You'll never make
it to town on your own."

     "I can make it, sir.  I've made it this far so I can make it
the rest of the way."

     "Where did you come from?" Joe asked softly.

     "I came from one of the camps in western Kansas."

     "Western Kansas?" Joe spluttered.  "That's a thousand miles
from here.  That's impossible," he concluded with finality.

     "It isn't impossible, sir," the old man smiled, "because I
am hear.  A little worse for wear, I admit, but I am hear."

     "Who are you?" Joe asked; puzzlement clearly in his voice
and in his mind.  The man's eyes were unexplainable.

     "My name is William Curtis.  Friends just call me Curt."

     "What are you doing here?" Joe questioned.

     "If I told you, sir, you wouldn't believe me."

     "I don't get it," Joe said shaking his head.  "You shouldn't
be here."

     "You are correct, sir, so I'm leaving, as requested."  then
the old man looked at his watch.

     "Joe noticed it was no cheap watch either.

     "In 6 minutes and 44 seconds, sir," the old man continued,
"a low level orbiting government satellite which covers this part
of the country will pass over head.  The satellite is one of the
new Keyhole spy satellites, a KH666 models with The computer
enhancement imagery, GSP location within a 2 foot grid, and the
infrared detection.  It will recognize you, of  course, but it
will recognize me, too, or at least will flag my image as an
anomaly to this farm.  It won't take more than an hour before my
image is matched.  authorities will come looking for me and they
will start here.  I don't think you want that, sir."  Turning his
head and looking down the main road, he turned back.  "I have
enough time, with a minute or so to spare, if I make it to that
abandon fruit and vegetable stand I see off yonder.  That way I
can wait a couple of minutes to make certain the satellite has
passed out of range before I continue my journey without being
spotted.  I bid you a good day, sir, and thank you."  the old man
turned and continued hobbling down the farm lane.  Joe noticed he
tried to increase his pace.

     "Hey, Mr. Curtis," Joe said loudly when the man was about 30
yards away, "come back.  You won't make it in time.  The man kept
walking as if he hadn't heard.  Joe ran to him, touch his elbow,
and said, "Come on.  Let me help you.  Let's get to the house.
We don't have much time."  the old man tried to protest but Joe
refused to accept anything he said.

     They stepped up together on the covered back porch and
stopped.  The old man was breathing hard but he glanced at his
watch quickly.  "30 seconds to spare.  Thank you Mr. Capps for
your kindness."

     "You're welcome," Joe said but then realized the man used
his name.  "Wait a minute.  How do you know my name?"

     "I am an acquaintance of one of your friends, Mr. Capps."

     "My friends?  I don't have any friends any more." Joe said
resolutely.


     "John Calvin Richardson," the old man said casually, "is
still one of your friends.


     "John?" Joe said puzzled.  He's been gone for two years.
His farm was about 10 miles down the road."

     "Yes," the old man replied.  "You are correct.  He told me
where your farm was and that is why you found me in your barn.  I
only planned on staying the night and then quickly moving on."

     After a moment of silence, Joe said, "Who are you, sir?"

     The man smiled.  "Again, my friend.  If I told you, you
wouldn't believe it."

     "One thing is for sure, Mr. Curtis, you are staying here
until you get rested up.  My wife, Sarah, will make sure you are
well fed, you can take a hot bath, we'll find you some new
clothes, and you are welcome to stay as long as you wish.  We are
Christians, too, and out on the lane, I heard a voice in my head
for the first time in my life.  It said you are a prophet.  I
knew it was God speaking to me even though I've never heard his
voice like that before.  So, are you a prophet, sir?"

     The old man grinned.  "Old Jesus never gives up," and he
laughed hoarsely.  "I don't know what I'd do without him.

     In the house, Joe introduced his new friend to his wife.
She led the old man to a kitchen table and got him some fresh hot
coffee.

     After he began sipping at the good coffee, she said, as she
sat down across from him with her husband, "I had a dream last
night Mr. Curtis."

     "Please, Sarah.  Just call me Curt.  All my friends do"

     "Ok," she smiled.  "Curt, I had a dream last night."

     William waited.

     "I think you know the interpretation."

     "I do?" he smiled back.

     "You do.  I dreamed a prophet came to our home today."

     William laughed.  "There he goes again."

     "Sir?" she said.

     "I don't know what you believe, Sarah, but I am a prophet.
Not by choice mind you, but then again, Jesus normally doesn't
give His servants a choice in what they want to do.  Tell me more
about your dream," he encouraged.

     "There wasn't much to it," she said, after getting up and
pouring two more cups of coffee for she and her husband and
warming up the new comer's.  "I was sitting at this here kitchen
table in my dream, my husband brought an older man in with a
cane, and told me he found him sleeping in the barn.  In my
dream, I saw a man in the barn holding a Bible."

     "Don't say another word," Joe spoke.  "I forgot.  I've got
to run out and milk those cows right now but I don't want to miss
a single word.  You two just chit chat and I'll be back as soon
as I can."

     "Please, Joe," the prophet said, "allow me to assist you."

     Joe shook his head.  Looking at his wife, Joe said, "You get
him in the bathtub, put some new underwear and socks out for him,
he might need help pulling his socks on, and put on some new
overalls.  Get that pair with all those extra pockets I like so
well.  He'll need them eventually.  I'll be right back," and with
that, he was gone.

     When he returned, his wife was cooking at the wood burning
stove, Mr. Curtis was seated at the table drinking another cup of
black coffee and reading his opened Bible, and Joe came in
smelling like cows, according to his wife.

     "Is that true, Mr. Curtis," Joe asked, "do I really smell
like cows?"

     The man looked up and smiled.  "It beats me, Joe.  I lost my
sense of smell 20 years ago."

     Joe noticed how different the man looked.  He didn't look as
old as he thought at first.  Plus, after his bath, or shower he
had taken, his thin face was clean and his hair, which was mostly
white, and seriously thinning, all made him look much better.
Joe said as much.

     "thank you, Joe," he replied.  "I feel about the best I've
felt in many weeks.  Your wife has been quite helpful.  That bath
was like Heaven.  I feel rejuvenated and like a young man again."

     "Those overalls look good on you, too," Joe laughed.

     "I like them.  Never wore them in my life but I sure like
them and having this many extra pockets is wonderful, too."

     "Good, Mr. Curtis."

     "Please, Joe.  I know I'm old but just call me Curt."


     "Ok, Curt.  I'll try and remember to do just that.  I'm
going to wash up first.  then I'll come and get some coffee and
we can talk for awhile.  I want to hear more after what my wife
said concerning her dream."

     "That'll be fine, Joe.  I enjoy the conversation.

     Moments later, Joe returned, poured a hot cup and sat across
from the older man.

     "About how old are you, Curt, if you don't mind me asking."

     "I don't mind at all.  I'm 70 years old.  I was born in
early 1952 in Iowa.  Never lived on a farm but my father preached
in lots of farming communities that never could afford a full
time pastor.  So most Sundays, we went with him and spent the
afternoons on farms."

     "Great," Joe responded.  "I thought you sort of look like a
farmer," he said.  "So, you're about 70 years of age, sir?"

     Curt nodded.

     They drank more coffee in silence for a couple of minutes
and then Joe said, Curt, what are you doing out hear?  I know you
said I wouldn't believe it but after what my wife said about her
dream, I have no choice but to believe what you say."

     "Well, Joe, I'm heading for a FEMA camp in Montana.  At
least, that's where the Lord told me to go."

     "Boy, William," Joe said with amazement, "that's still a
long piece from here."

     "It surely is, Joe, but it won't take me that long."

     "I don't understand," Joe said confused.

     "It's hard to explain," he said, "but easy to understand.
I'll explain later," Curt concluded.

     "Ok," Joe replied but he didn't understand what the man was
talking about.

     "If you don't mind me saying so, Curt," Joe continued, "your
eyes are the most unique color of blue I have ever seen."

     Curt laughed.  everybody says that, Joe.  The truth is, I
was totally blind nearly all my life.  Just before the one world
government started to take over all over the planet, I
experienced a miracle.  My eyes were artificial and one day, when
I was praying, my artificial eyes fell out and I had brand new
eyes.  My eyes were brown as a kid but I had prayed and asked God
for blue eyes and this is what I got.  The Holy Spirit told me
this color of blue has never been on earth before.  That is why
they seem so unusual to you, I suspect."

     The two men heard a crash and turned to look.  Sarah had
dropped a pan on the way to the sink.  She turned and faced the
two men.  "That was part of my dream last night.  I dreamed you'd
have blue eyes and that you would tell that exact same story and
a voice said that would be the way I would know that you had been
sent from the Lord to us."

     William smiled and made a move to get up and try and pick up
her dropped pan.

     "No, no," she said, "you stay right there, Mr. Curtis.  I
can get it.

     Joe finally closed his mouth.  "You are right.  that is hard
to believe.  No wonder you didn't want to tell me."

     "Joe, I cannot prove what I said but let me show you
something."  From around his neck, William removed a chain with
two objects dangling from the end.  He reached half way across
the table and placed the necklace in front of Joe.  "Look at
these, Joe."

     Joe picked up the necklace and held it up.  His eyes
widened.  "Well, I'll be," he explained with a hush.

     His wife hurried over and stood next to her husband.  "It's
true," she whispered and fell into a chair.

     "these are your artificial eyes?" Joe questioned.

     Curt nodded.

     Joe handed them back.  After a moment to collect his
thoughts, Joe said, "I think, Curt, you better tell us the rest
of the story.  I have a feeling we need to know."