The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  She sighed and looked at Aiden, pulling him towards her with one arm while the other held Lily. “I’m not angry, honey,” she said, softly. “I just want to know, that’s all.”

  Aiden sniffed, still looking very cautious. “Promise you won’t be mad?”

  “I promise.”

  He hesitated, looking awfully upset, and then started crying. “But I broked it,” he said, between sobs. “I broked it.”

  “What did you break?” Mom asked.

  “I broked the bag!”

  Mom and I looked at each other. Aiden had found a bag of rice somewhere? Mom smiled.

  “Where’s the bag, sweetheart? It’s okay, I’m not mad that you broke it.”

  “Aiden,” I said. “It’s rice—we can EAT it!”

  This time his little eyes widened with wonder and a dawning realization. “It’s FOOD?” he asked, surprised.

  “Yes! Show us where you found it,” I said, as we all got to our feet.

  “It’s from the game, the one with holes in it.”

  “A game?” Now mom and I were baffled.

  “Corn hole,” said Quentin, who had joined us and was standing in the doorway watching the proceedings. “It fell out of the bag.” Quentin was light-years ahead of his brother with verbal skills.

  My heart sank. “Corn hole?” I was still in a fog, until Mom said, “Corn hole bean bags made out of rice—not beans. I don’t care what it’s from, we’re going to use that rice.”

  Mom and I rushed to the basement steps. She still had Lily but it didn’t slow her down one bit. On the way, Aiden expanded on his story, gleefully now. He’d been tossing the bags up and down trying to catch them when one fell onto something sharp (which turned out to be an ash poker by the fireplace) and split open, spilling its contents onto the floor. What he didn’t mention was that he and Quentin had gone hog-wild playing with the stuff, making a huge mess and scattering the precious grain all over the place.

  When we saw the mess my mother said, “Andrea, grab the other three bags and get them upstairs.” When I’d found them, she handed me Lily.

  “Here. I’ll be up in a little bit. Boys, go with your sister.”

  I turned to see what my mother was doing before we left and I saw her on her knees, collecting that rice. She was picking it out of the rug and putting it into her pocket. One grain at a time, maybe a few at a time. I knew right then and there that we were going to starve to death. It was simply a matter of time.

  Now I want to know: How much jewelry is Mr. Herman willing to buy?

  ANDREA

  THREE MONTHS

  DAY TWO

  So I was wrong, wondering if we’d end up laying down and accepting the end, dying peacefully perhaps, as the Laycocks had. Since Dad is still refusing to try to get us to the Martins’ house, I thought that would soon be our only choice. But Mom took me aside tonight, saying she needed to talk with me.

  “Your father says everyone is in the same shape we are, which is slowly starving.” I looked sadly at her, nodding.

  “So what’ll we do? What can anyone do?”

  My mom sighed and looked like she was holding back tears. “Honey,” she said. “We have one option.”

  This was news to me. We had an option? I looked at her for a moment and then suddenly it hit me, the option she was talking about.

  “You mean, Mr. Herman?” Tears sprang to my eyes. She laid a hand on my arm.

  “Before you get all upset, just think about it for a minute. He seems like a decent man.” Her voice held no conviction, which didn’t surprise me since we both knew that was a bald lie.

  “A decent man? Really, Mom? What kind of decent man says he’ll feed our family in exchange for sex?”

  That got her mad. “Lower your voice! Your brothers will hear!”

  “They’ll find out anyway,” I cried. “They’ll find out what’s going on if we go there! Don’t think they won’t!” I was crying, now, but for some reason, this only seemed to harden my mother’s heart.

  “It’s not the end of the world, Andrea,” she said, in a strong voice. “Worse things have happened to people.” She broke off, while I just shook my head back and forth. I couldn’t believe it was really coming to this.

  “I didn’t think you would do it,” I said, wiping tears from my face. “I didn’t think you would ever really do that to me.”

  “If it was just me starving, I wouldn’t ask this of you. Think of your brothers! Think of your baby sister! You’re being selfish,” she said. “I would never consider this if we didn’t have to!”

  “You DON’T have to!” I cried.

  “What else can we do?” she cried. She stared at me with wide, wild eyes. “You think I like this? You think I want to sell my daughter for food?” She started crying too. I ran into her arms and she stroked my hair, but we were both still crying. Suddenly, something felt different. Sure enough, there stood my father in the doorway. He looked hardened.

  “It’s got to be done,” he said. He put an arm on my mother’s shoulder, and Mom and I came apart. He looked at me.

  “Neither of us wants this, but we don’t have a choice. You can save our entire family. All you have to do is be nice to him.”

  “Oh, I like that!” I cried. My voice was full of derision. “Be nice to him? You mean, sleep with him! Just say it, Dad! Just say it!

  “Fine!” he yelled, his temper up. “You can save this family by sleeping with Mr. Herman! Got it? It’s a small price to pay for our lives!”

  “That’s easy for you to say!” I shouted. What I said next was a surprise even to myself. “And what makes you think he’ll stop with me? After me, he’ll want Mom! What’ll you do then, huh?”

  I didn’t wait for his response. The next thing I knew, I was running. My mother made an effort to try and stop me, reaching for me with both her arms, but I shoved her away. I ran through the living room and to the back door. We lived in our coats most of the time, and I had mine on, so I just stormed out. I had no hat or gloves on however, and it didn’t take long for me to slow down outside.

  But I fell to the snow on my knees, sobbing. I scrunched down with my face towards the ground, refusing to get up despite the immediate cold wetness seeping into my jeans. After I’d sobbed a few minutes, I sat back, my rear end resting on my heels. I took a deep breath.

  Maybe they were right and it wasn’t such a big deal. Plenty of girls at school had slept with guys just because they wanted to. No, that wasn’t right. Maybe some girls wanted to, but most I knew really didn’t. They were just afraid of losing their boyfriend. (I guess that’s kind of sad. They don’t want to, but they do it. And not to save anyone’s life. So now it was my turn?)

  My whole family would be warm and fed if I did this. I thought sadly of Nate, my ex. If there was anyone I might have wanted to do it with, it was Nate Jackson. He was tall and smart and I’d been thrilled he’d chosen to go out with me instead of Elise Pickering. Elise is one of the most popular girls at school and it was no secret she had her eyes on Nate. But he’d asked me out, and I found out he was fun and yet serious about school. But we’d only gone out a few times when he tried to—you know. But I said no.

  After that it seemed like every time he could get us alone, he would try. Each time, I made it clear I didn’t want to.

  Pretty soon we weren’t dating anymore.

  The dumb thing is that most kids at school probably think of me as a ‘yes’ girl. Elise even made a comment to that effect, that it was the only reason a guy like Nate would go out with me.

  I guess I’ve brought that on myself, because I’m a flirt. I like guys to like me, see—but I’m not a ‘yes’ girl. I’ve always said no. I’ve always felt there was something to say no for. Something better in my future. I hoped so, at least.

  Now I was face to face with the fact that I’d said no for nothing. Nothing but Mr. Herman. Fresh tears came to my eyes. My knees were freezing, so I got to my feet, but I still wasn’t ready to go back in the h
ouse. I couldn’t shake a feeling of doom. Maybe I’m a drama queen. But there’s something about knowing your parents are willing to give up your dignity—your innocence—to feed themselves, that makes you feel like the world is ending. Then I remembered.

  It already had.

  At least, our world had. The world where we were well-to-do and had everything we wanted to eat, and more.

  I slowly started back, thinking of stories I’d read of parents in China who sold their daughters to brothels in order to eat. Or in India, parents who killed baby girls because they couldn’t feed them. But it never felt real, those stories. It was as though, despite reading them, I could still hang on to unbelief. That sort of stuff couldn’t really be happening, right? Or, if it was happening, it would never touch me. Not here in America. Now I realized grimly that all those accounts were true. Girls were sold into slavery or into prostitution or worse, killed—and all because people wanted to eat.

  When I got back inside I could feel my parents’ eyes upon me, but I didn’t look at them. Even Aiden and Quentin came scampering up to me, eyes full of curiosity.

  “Where’d you go, An’?”

  “Nowhere,” I mumbled.

  Baby Lily started crying and my mother bounced her on her shoulder, to no avail. She looked at my father.

  “She’s hungry.”

  My father looked at me. As though it were my problem. My fault. I tried to stare him down. I thought he should feel ashamed for what he was asking me to do—sacrifice myself literally, for their sake. But in the end, I was the one who looked away. I’d seen something in his face that really unsettled me. He felt righteous about the whole thing!

  I left the room and wandered through the cold rooms of the house. Even here at the Hendersons we’d resorted to burning furniture and so everything looked oddly empty, like a house that no one lived in. Stacks of belongings that used to be on the furniture were piled against the walls, including empty ornamental vases (the dried flower arrangements were burned long ago). Also, throw rugs were missing, since they’d all been dragged into the living room to make the floor softer for the boys’ sleeping bags.

  I wandered upstairs to the bedrooms—relics of days gone by. If things would just warm up, we could return to our own house. I could sleep in my own room. Read, write, do anything I wanted to without having to live in the presence of the whole family day in and day out. I longed for that day. It seemed as if the enemy right now was the cold, not the EMP, not the powerlessness, not the lack of food. Not even Mr. Herman. Just the unending, relentless cold.

  Suddenly I found myself falling to my knees again, as I had done outside, only this was different. I knew I would have to give in and let my family move to Mr. Herman’s house. At least he was willing to let us all move there, not just me. I definitely didn’t want to be alone with him in that house. At least I’d have Mom and the boys and Lily around, too.

  But the thing which propelled me to the floor to my knees, wasn’t just bleak despair, as I’d felt outside. It was like there was something whispering inside me, telling me that if God was in heaven, then I needed His help. I wanted His help. I knelt there, wondering if I had the right to pray. I hadn’t been to church in ages, and I seldom even thought about God. (Unlike Lexie, who seemed to have a lot of faith.)

  It was worth a try.

  “God, I’m sorry for all I’ve done wrong.” I had to stop for a moment. I thought about all I’d done wrong. It was a lot. WAY too much for God to forgive, I was sure. I thought all the way back to first grade when I had cheated on a test for the first time. I thought of how mean I was sometimes to my little brothers. I thought of guys like Nate—boys I had allowed to touch me in ways I was sorry for. Then I remembered how I’d selfishly pigged out on that box of chocolate chip cookies only weeks ago. My whole family was hungry and I’d eaten the entire box. Had it been weeks ago? That I’d eaten so much? It felt like a year. Anyway, I had no one else to pray to—who is in heaven besides God, right? So I added, “Please, if you can forgive me, please save me from Mr. Herman! And save my family!”

  I was deeply certain I didn’t deserve to be saved. How could God possibly forgive my deepest darkest blackness?

  Then, somehow I remembered something Lexie said once. That we can only be saved when we know we don’t deserve it. God didn’t suffer the pain of the cross for people who are good, people who deserve heaven—he suffered and died in our place precisely because we AREN’T good and only deserve death and suffering. If we could be good apart from Him, why would he have become a man to die in such a horrible fashion? Suddenly the idea of why Jesus came and suffered made sense to me. As I knelt there on my bedroom floor, I don’t know why, but everything changed. My fear of Mr. Herman melted away. My disgust with my father, my grief at his coldness, ebbed off me like a receding wave. My fear of God himself dissipated like smoke. I sat up, gasping with surprise and amazement.

  Every single thing that had happened in my life was every single thing I needed to get me to this place.

  I COULD be saved! Lexie was right! Being a selfish, rotten person wasn’t my downfall—it was exactly what qualified me for God’s plan of salvation.

  I cried after that, still on the floor, but my tears felt utterly different than the ones I’d shed earlier. This was a cleansing cry. And I knew, I just knew, that I was not alone in that room. I had the weirdest feeling that God the Son was with me—Jesus Christ! How could I know that? I don’t know how, but I did. I was not alone. I AM not alone.

  Mom called from downstairs. She usually calls me to help with Lily, so I dried off my eyes and went down.

  My parents were both watching me furtively, waiting for my next burst of temper, I guess. I felt their eyes, the silent wondering if I was going to explode again.

  I didn’t.

  Without that infusion of food from Mr. Herman, this is what we had left in the pantry: A bottle of mustard, some packets of soy sauce and duck sauce, vinegar, baking soda and baking powder, a few cans of sliced mushrooms, tea, coffee, a box of onion soup mix, and chicken bouillon.

  Yesterday I prayed that God will save me from Mr. Herman. My spirits are still up since I prayed, but when I look at the pantry I can’t help but wonder what will happen when we get through the mac and cheese. Even if mom sells more jewelry, that won’t last forever. Maybe she’ll buy us another week or a few more weeks of food. But then…???

  Then I’d find out if God could answer prayer.

  LEXIE

  THREE MONTHS

  Mr. Buchanan was by yesterday and said they’d lost a few more chickens to thieves. They had to put the chicken coop right up against the house.

  “How do you know it wasn’t a critter that got your chickens?” my dad asked.

  “You know how a coop is a mess after a predator gets in? They kill more than they’ll eat and they terrorize the whole roost. You know how loud chickens get when they’re riled up and scared. Well, we didn’t hear anything. No, this was a human being. Someone who went in nice and calm and didn’t stir up the hens but helped himself to a few. So we’ve got three less layers, now.” Before he left, he added, “Don’t let the same thing happen to you.”

  So dad has moved the coop and put up new chicken-wire fencing and it’s right up against the house so we should hear if anyone tries to get our hens. Mom says we can’t replenish our stock until the weather is warm because there’s no electricity to warm an incubator, so we’ve got to protect what we have. I like it when we let a hen or two go broody, though, even though there are fewer eggs for awhile. (A broody hen won’t lay while she’s sitting on a clutch of eggs.) But I love it when the chicks hatch. They’re the cutest things.

  Anyways, we haven’t seen anyone on our property. I’m gladder than ever that we’re far back from the road—almost a quarter mile, in all. There’s a big meadow after the first stand of trees, giving us an excellent view of anyone coming towards the house from the road.

  The Buchanans, however, have had three incide
nts now when they had to fend off intruders. We think it’s because their house can be seen from the road. Not only are we far back, but the drive curves significantly, so we’re hidden entirely from view of anyone passing. Anyways, when my dad was in the barn with me for my chores, I told him we HAVE to go and see how Andrea and her family are making out.

  “It’s unconscionable, dad,” I said, hoping to sound compelling. “To have everything we need and not do anything to help people we know.” His head went to one side while he gazed at me.

  “Lexie, every single day that goes by makes it more and more dangerous to be out and about.”

  “Why?”

  “Because people are desperate. Desperate people do crazy things. Violent things.”

  I finished shoveling fresh hay in the stall for Rhema and stood facing my dad in the semi-darkness of the barn.

  “Then why didn’t we go at first, like I wanted to?” I asked, feeling my temper rising.

  He frowned. “I’m sorry, honey. There was NO good time. There was no good time. It’s always been risky and it’s a risk I don’t want to take.” He said it twice as if to reassure himself—or maybe me, I wasn’t sure.

  “There is no good time for many things,” I said. “Unless we make the time for them. But if you won’t help me, one day I’m just going to saddle up Rhema and go for myself.”

  He stared at me.

  “That would be foolish. Please say you don’t mean that.”

  “I do mean it.” I hated to say that to my father who has always been fair and loving to me, but I was really mad.

  “Lexie, I’m surprised at you,” he said. I felt badly, but held my ground. Would I really take off by myself? I wasn’t so sure.

  “How on earth would that help your friend?” he said. “If you took off on your own and showed up at their door? You’d be one more mouth to feed, that’s all.”

  I suspected my father was only saying this to dissuade me from the idea of taking off on my own. I knew the thought frightened him. Heck, it frightened me. But I only said, “I have to know, Dad! I have to know how they are. I am sure Andrea needs us!”