The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  There are babies in each of our families: Andrea’s, mine and Sarah’s, because they have her cousin. I pray for them as I pray for other things. But I don’t feel hopeful.

  LEXIE

  FEBRUARY 28

  WEEK SIX—DAY THREE

  I dreamt of Andrea last night. We were in school at lunch with Sarah, the way we usually ate together. Also as usual, a few guys had come and sat down across from us, not because of me or Sarah, but because of Andrea. Sarah and I were trying to ignore the guys, while Andrea was being all serious with them, like kissing one of them, and completely ignoring me and Sarah. She was laughing and flirting. Finally the guys left and I turned to Andrea.

  “You don’t care about us,” I said. “You just want attention.” She started yelling and yelling, standing up and getting all upset. I can’t remember everything she yelled, or maybe most of it was gibberish, but she was really mad, only she wasn’t mostly mad at me. She was mad at herself—and I think, her mother. Or maybe it was her father. I’m not sure.

  Anyways, I do remember her saying, “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! I NEED THESE GUYS!”

  When I woke up, I thought about the dream and felt sorry for Andrea. I have to admit that she was a big flirt at school. She really did seem to need the attention of boys, though I don’t understand why. (Exactly what she said to me, in the dream!) I don’t know what the dream meant, but it got me thinking again about how Andrea and her family are probably in need of help. How could they not be?

  Sometimes in the past Mom would announce that we weren’t going to rotate food for awhile. In other words, we’d live like most people, paycheck to paycheck (though Dad’s paychecks were far fewer than most people’s, since he makes his money from farming). She’d time how long we could go without making a trip to the grocery store, and the longest we could seem to go was about two weeks. This is not using anything stored, as if we didn’t have it. We’d run out of toilet paper, or fruit, or aspirin—SOMETHING that we needed to buy from a store. So I figure most people are like that. They need to go shopping every week or two. And we’ve had no way to shop since this started, and if they didn’t store extra food, that means they’re way past just running out of a few things. They’re probably desperate.

  At breakfast my dad seemed pretty content. Mom had cooked up some home-cured bacon from the root cellar and Dad loves bacon. He could eat it every day, only Mom doesn’t want to be bothered cooking it that often—not to mention that now we’re being careful with food rations even though we are rich in food compared to most people. So anyways, I figured it was a good time to ask about getting Andrea and her family.

  “Dad, have you been thinking about us going to check on the Pattersons?”

  “Can I come?” Lainie piped in, at once. The twins were as eager to get out of the house as any of us. None of us were used to being home all day every day.

  “I want to go, too!” Laura cried.

  “No one’s going anywhere,” Dad said, making me frown at my plate.

  “Just to see if they’re okay,” I added, weakly.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. When my dad says, “I don’t think so,” that means it’s a NO.

  “Why not?” I dropped my fork by my plate. I felt indignant that my dad can be this unfeeling and uncaring. “We’re supposed to be Christians, aren’t we? Aren’t we supposed to care about the rest of the world?” I didn’t realize I’d raised my voice until I noticed my little sisters staring at me.

  Dad sighed. He pushed his chair out and came over to me. “Come on up here,” he said. I came to my feet, but refused to meet his eyes. I was too angry. He put his arms around me and I started crying on his shoulder. I didn’t know I was going to cry. It just happened.

  “Isn’t that nice,” said Mrs. Preston, seeing us embrace. She probably wasn’t wearing her hearing aid and had no idea what was going on, so to her it was a sweet scene. However, I saw her lean towards my mother and whisper, “What’s wrong with Lexie?”

  “Honey,” my dad said, into my ear. “Jesus didn’t heal every sick person when he walked the earth. He didn’t feed every hungry person. He is GOD and he didn’t fix every problem in the moment. He has a bigger plan that we don’t understand and this present moment is just a drop in the bucket of eternity. I don’t know all the answers, but I do know God is still on the Throne. And he hasn’t called me to take care of every needy person out there. If God brings them our way, I’ll know it. Like Mrs. Preston. I do want to help if I can.”

  I pushed away from him to meet his eyes.

  “I’ve seen people out on the road that look like they need help,” I said. “They’re going right by our house. Isn’t that bringing them our way?”

  He looked at me for a moment. “No.”

  Inside I actually felt relieved. I feel bad now that I probably didn’t show my dad that I agreed with him. But I do. I realize that we can’t possibly help everyone. It’s like in this parable Jesus told about ten virgins—five were wise and five were foolish. The wise had oil in their lamps when the bridegroom called them and proper clothing for the wedding feast and they “entered into the joy of their Lord.” The five foolish virgins did not have oil and weren’t prepared and they were forbidden entry to the wedding feast. When they realized their lamps had gone out, they asked the five wise ones to give them oil from their lamps. And here’s the thing: When asked to share their oil, their provision, the five wise virgins refused. Why? They said there wouldn’t be enough for their own needs if they gave! Jesus himself told this parable.

  Our situation is not exactly the same. I think the parable implies that all the virgins knew the bridegroom would be coming eventually; they chose not to ready themselves. Whereas many people now, I think, had no clue we could end up in such a dire situation as what the pulse has caused. Nevertheless, Scripture is always exhorting people to be prepared to face the worst, because the worst, which is death itself, is also the beginning. The beginning of new life, a new start in heaven—for those who are prepared. For those in Christ.

  Like it or not, I have to accept that many people are unprepared like the foolish virgins, and that we aren’t expected to sacrifice ourselves for their sakes. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be generous and try to help anyone, but we can’t put our family’s survival at risk to do so.

  I sat back down to finish my breakfast, accepting that we wouldn’t be going to the Patterson’s house today.

  “I want a bath,” I announced. I said it in a tone of voice that I hoped would tell my parents that I NEEDED it. I wanted to take one yesterday to wash my hair before our company came, but it didn’t happen. It takes a lot of work to prepare a bath these days. We only bathe once a week or less due to all the heated water it takes. I’m used to showering daily so I hardly ever feel nice and clean anymore.

  LATER

  We’ve all had baths. Every time we manage to bathe, I get hit with another one of those reality checks. Taking a bath in water that’s already been used by my parents will never feel normal to me! Mom had Justin in the water, too.

  The girls would be bathing after I finished—which meant I had to hurry because even with the kerosene heater Dad put in the room, the water cools off quickly. Anyways, I should have enjoyed getting cleaned up at least, but all I could think about was that I don’t know when or if I will ever see another hot shower. Then I remembered we actually have a camp shower! I hope I’ll be able to use it in the summer if we have enough water. (I can’t wait.) It may not be hot, but I just long to feel it running down my head and body without having to lift a finger.

  By the sound of things, the twins had just as much fun as they always did in the tub, even though the water was tepid. Kids don’t care about that stuff. I had to stay in there with them on account of the kerosene heater, which is a mild fire hazard. It did make the room nice and toasty. Dad says we have “a good amount” of kerosene, whatever that means.

  I guess I do feel more human now that I’m washed up. A lukewarm
bath in used water is still better than no bath at all.

  EVENING

  Mrs. Preston has me worried. Her oxygen containers are about used up. The small ones ran out long ago, but this morning when I checked the one she was using—one of the last ones we’ve got—the gauge was on empty. Mrs. Preston looked happy as pie so I didn’t tell her. I watched her carefully every time I came and went and she seemed fine, maybe a little more sleepy than usual is all. So I’m hoping the oxygen isn’t vital. We’ve already fetched all the tanks that were in her house, as well as everything else she wanted from there.

  What else did Mrs. Preston want? More than anything, her soups! We don’t eat commercially canned soup because Mom says they’re full of toxic ingredients. She says it’s silly to eat such poison when it’s simple to make your own soup, but Mrs. Preston sure loves her canned soup. She had a ton of canned soup, and I’ve been giving her a can a day, usually for lunch. She lets anyone else have the leftover, because she can’t eat a whole can. To us, that’s a treat. Mom won’t eat it, but she lets us because no food is to be despised right now.

  Anyways, besides her oxygen running out, pretty soon we’ll be out of soup. I haven’t mentioned that to her, either. Mrs. Preston still doesn’t seem to be fully cognizant of what’s going on—with the EMP and all. I don’t think she gets it. She seems to enjoy being here but hasn’t once asked when she’ll go back to her own house. And the only time she mentions her son, Tom, is when she tells a story about when he was little. She’ll be watching the girls playing and suddenly launch into a story about Tom. Dad said not to ask about him, like where he might be right now, because it would only make her fret. Tom has a job that often took him abroad, so we’re hoping that he was on a business trip when this happened. Assuming the EMP wasn’t worldwide, he may be better off wherever he is. I hope so.

  Anyways, I finally unhooked the oxygen tank. I couldn’t see leaving Mrs. Preston chained to that long, unwieldy air hose, or having to keep adjusting the nostril hooks, when she wasn’t actually getting any oxygen. I told her she needed a break from it and she just nodded.

  But I keep worrying. So I spoke to Mom.

  “She’ll just have to take it easy, honey, and do the best she can without it,” Mom said.

  “All she does is sit and read until it’s dark right now. How can she take it any easier?”

  “No, while you’re doing chores in the barn she helps me peel vegetables and she even chops them up sometimes. She also watches Justin.”

  “Still.” I watched my mom for a moment. She was kneading dough, and looked totally comfortable. Sometimes I wondered if my mom even missed electricity.

  “Will she die without it?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so.” She didn’t look up, and kept on kneading her dough.

  So I guess Mrs. Preston will be fine. At least, I hope so.

  SARAH

  FEBRUARY 25

  WEEK SIX

  When I looked at Mom’s face this morning she didn’t look like my mother. She’s aged since this started, I’m sure of it. Either that, or she’s ill.

  “You need more rest,” I said. “Let me take care of Jesse today.”

  It has surprised me, quite frankly, that my mom hasn’t been asking for my help with the baby. And I haven’t offered—I’ve been feeling burdened enough just trying to get us a cup of tea or coffee now and then, so I’ve only had Jesse when Mom went to use the restroom. Which is gross. Both restrooms here are gross. At first we took turns hauling in snow to make the toilets flush but then we realized we’d need that snow to boil for drinking water. But I’m disgusted with what pigs people are. The grossness is getting unbearable. We’ve talked about walking back to the apartment just to use our bathroom. We had water in the tub for flushing, and if it’s still there we have a chance of having better sanitation than what’s here.

  The stench is another thing. There was fighting this morning because one family is letting their small children use plastic bags in a corner—but it smells. (I can’t believe I’m even writing this in my journal.) And Jesse has maybe two to three weeks of diapers left, thanks to what Richard brought from Wal-Mart. After that we have to start using those cloth diapers. Really we should train Jesse so he won’t need them. Most kids are already trained by his age and we’d never have the water needed to wash the cloths.

  Speaking of Jesse, Mom is holding onto him like he’s her lifeline. If Aunt Susan could see this, at least she’d know that no child was ever more doted on. Poor Jesse wants to run around the library and play; he’s a kid. But when she lets him explore, he eventually disappears from sight and that freaks Mom out. I told her I’d follow him around but she would rather keep him right with her. If he was well fed and healthy he’d probably fight her more, but even Jess is subdued these days.

  I brought us tea, which we lightened with the very last can of evaporated milk. I thought the milk would last longer. I’ve been putting the opened cans on the inside of the window ledge to stay cold, but this morning someone had taken the one I put out last night. I didn’t mention to Mom that it was our last can. She’s been depressed enough.

  “Where’s Richard?” I asked. Her face, as she answered, was dark.

  “Your brother went out with the others.”

  I knew immediately what she meant. I understood her fear. Going “out with the others” meant he was on a food hunt. Food hunts could turn into food wars. Even abandoned-looking stores might have hidden guards, people who were armed and ready to defend their turf. There was always competition, other hungry people, out and about. Any trip to scavenge could turn violent in a moment.

  Meanwhile, each foraging trip brought back less and less. I hadn’t been venturing out myself, but Richard brought back reports that horrified me: Whole blocks of stores with their windows smashed in, their contents ravaged, trashed, or stolen.

  To my alarm, my mother’s face slowly crumpled and she dissolved into tears. “I don’t know what I’ll do if anything happens to him,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, Mom!” I put down my tea and moved my chair next to hers.

  “C’mon, let’s pray together for Richard and the others.”

  She gave me a hopeless look.

  “I don’t think I can pray.” Her voice was hollow. “When did you become so big on praying?” Her eyes searched mine. I felt like she was suddenly present with me in a way she hadn’t been for a long time. Maybe not since we’d come to the library.

  “I guess since I’ve been reading this,” I said, and I reached down for my ESV Bible. I kept it beneath my chair when I wasn’t reading. She looked at it sullenly for a moment, then nodded. But she said nothing, and I felt suddenly embarrassed that I’d suggested praying. Who did I think I was, anyway? That God should listen to me? But that verse I’d memorized came wafting across my brain: I will never leave you or forsake you.

  I said a hasty prayer, thanking God for staying with us and for protecting Richard and the rest of our group. Afterwards, I realized I’d thanked Him for protecting Richard like it was a done deal. Maybe that verse is really penetrating because I guess I’m starting to believe it. I also prayed that this time the men would not come back empty-handed. I couldn’t quite make that a thing to give thanks for—my faith wasn’t ready to stretch THAT much. They’d gone out and come back empty-handed too many times for me to expect a different outcome.

  But I’m still worried about Richard. Maybe that promise in Hebrews is for me but not for Richard. Maybe it’s for anyone who reads it and believes it, like salvation, but you can’t make it extend to cover anyone else who doesn’t choose it for themselves. I just don’t know.

  LATER

  It’s hard to believe our luck! (Or wait—maybe it’s not luck? Maybe God is hearing our prayers!) Richard’s back. All the men came back this time with no one injured. They raided an ACE hardware store on the outskirts of town that, miraculously, hadn’t been hugely ransacked. Other people had been there but were evidently only look
ing for food, because they left really good stuff like shovels and flashlights and batteries and work gloves. There were also knives and fire starters, tarps and heavy-duty garbage bags.

  I’m not the kind of girl who usually gets excited about heavy-duty garbage bags. In this case though, they also brought stainless steel trash cans to line with the bags. There is one in each restroom but men are already at work in the library’s courtyard putting up a tent they brought back. I think the garbage “toilets” are destined for that tent—our outhouse. Someone (not me, thankfully) has to empty the bags each night. It will mean less of a horrible odor around here, and the problem of no water to flush with won’t matter anymore.

  I expect a flimsy tent won’t be much more than a windbreak in this weather, but anything is better than using the gross restrooms. It’s actually revolting how piggish people have been. The girls’ room looks like a bunch of animals were let loose. I won’t describe it, but suffice it to say it is thoroughly disgusting.

  Anyway, since this trip brought such bounty, they’re planning a return trip before other people empty out the place like they have the grocery stores. The best part is that there were two vending machines which had been jostled around, but not successfully broken into. Our guys smashed them up and so Richard, being the quick go-getter that he is, has dumped a load of packaged snacks in our circle. Yay!

  As for water—the shelves were empty, but the guys found a back room which had a few cases of bottles, as well as a couple of gallon jugs. They’d been hidden from view by other stuff which saved them from previous looters. (I call that an answer to prayer!) Richard, magnificently, not only managed to grab two cases for us, but found a plastic bin and a rope and made a “sled” to haul it all back.

  I never thought I’d say this, but I’m proud to have Richard as my big brother. He is actually quite okay.

  EVENING

  After this morning’s victory at ACE Hardware, it seemed twice as wrong when the man who was injured way back at the Wal-Mart skirmish died. I guess it happened about an hour ago. His wife was hysterical for awhile, and so the library is fully awake. Candles and flashlights are sending shadows dancing all over the walls and floor and ceiling. I am watching the leaping shadows. They are haphazard, fast-moving, and somehow strangely in keeping with that woman’s wails. Frankly, her cries are awful.