The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  She opened her eyes and saw the bowl I was holding out to her. She just stared at it for a moment, blinking. I put it to her lips and she started to drink. She suddenly came to life and took the bowl in both her hands.

  “Easy!” I cried. “Don’t spill it.”

  She slowed down a little but was still taking big gulps. She seemed then to suddenly remember that I was thirsty too, and gave me the bowl. I took a long, cooling drink. The water was absolutely the best water I’d ever had in my life. It felt like the sky had opened, as though the sun had been gone for a long while but now was shining again. I’d almost finished the rest when I realized the man must be thirsty too. I stopped, looked at him uncertainly, and then offered the rest to him.

  He accepted the bowl and took a good sip, then handed it back to Elizabeth. She finished it quickly. He gave me the wrench saying, “Try it.”

  I did what I’d seen him do, loosening the screws to a valve, telling Elizabeth to have the bowl ready. We filled it again, not all the way so it wouldn’t spill. Then I remembered seeing empty plastic water bottles strewn around, even downstairs where we were.

  “Let’s fill the water bottles!” I cried. “Everyone needs this water!”

  The man said, “There’s water in the pipes, too. It was frozen until now but it’s all been melting and you can access it.” He went on to explain that many pipes had burst in the cold spell but these old pipes in the library hadn’t. Someone had taken the precaution of wrapping them in insulation a long time ago. There was a light in his eyes as he spoke—as if he’d been there, as if he knew exactly when it had happened. I had a fleeting thought that maybe he’d done it himself.

  I looked at him with profound gratitude. Our lives were saved. At least for the time being.

  I asked, (I don’t know what made me do it, I think I must have felt instinctively that he was an angel or something), “Why did God let this happen?” I was referring to the EMP, the loss of lives, the devastation, and sorrow.

  He looked at me with without the slightest hint of surprise at my question. He said, “Because of His great love.”

  I thought he’d told me why God gave us this water. That wasn’t my question.

  All I could think about was all we’d lost, our old life, my dad, our apartment. The answer could not be because of God’s great love!

  “So many people have died! No one can get anywhere to help other people. Think of those who couldn’t get to a hospital. Or family members—like my dad—who never came back home!”

  His eyes took on a faraway look. “The secret things belong to God. The question,” he added, “is this: When the Son of Man returns, will he find faith on the earth?” I was so surprised by that response that I said nothing. I think I just gaped at him stupidly. I didn’t understand what he was talking about, or what it had to do with all the suffering I’d seen, or all the suffering I knew was still ahead.

  He waited as if he knew I hadn’t done questioning. And I hadn’t. “What about all the people who died because they couldn’t get medicine? Or those who may have starved? They all died before their time!” He had taken the wrench back and was tightening the screw just enough to keep water from running out and being lost. He grimaced slightly with the effort, then ran his hand along the insulated pipe as if to admire the workmanship.

  I could picture him being a craftsman of sorts, a careful, methodical artist. A carpenter? The thought hit me like a brick. Was I talking to Jesus Christ? As soon as the thought came I brushed it aside. Was I losing my mind?

  He turned to leave, placing the wrench gently beside the pipe on the floor. He looked at me. I’ve never seen eyes like his. Penetrating. Calm. Unlike everyone else’s eyes, not discouraged. Peaceful.

  “Do you think perhaps they were worse people than you?” He paused. “No. Unless you repent,” he said, not unkindly, “you will all likewise perish.”

  I recognized those words…..from somewhere. Elizabeth was standing back waiting for me. We’d filled a bunch of bottles with water and placed them in a row. They stood waiting to be brought to others. She seemed oblivious to our conversation, as if it was above her head.

  “They died for no reason,” I said, hanging onto my indignation. “Why did they have to die before their time?” I felt certain that I could ask this, as if I knew, deep down inside, who I was talking to, as impossible or crazy as it seemed.

  “C’mon,” Elizabeth said, touching my arm.

  “Before their time?” Those were the last words I heard him speak. He gave me a look I can’t describe. He wasn’t ridiculing my question, but somehow answering it. No one dies before their time. That was his answer! I could believe it or reject it, but that was all the answer I was going to get. I started gathering bottles to bring upstairs. With my arms full I turned around to thank him. No one was there. He’d vanished!

  “Where’d he go?” I asked.

  Elizabeth shrugged. She behaved as though the whole encounter was uninteresting—except for the water. But not me. I’ve been mulling his words around my head ever since. I don’t question my sanity regarding him, either. There was something in the way he spoke! Every word is burned in my heart. I turn them over and examine them, again and again. I know there’s stuff I need to understand, such as, how does repenting change my destiny? He said, “Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.” Likewise perish. What does that mean?

  I found the reference in the Bible. Jesus was talking to his disciples who had asked if the eighteen people who died when the tower of Siloam fell on them were worse sinners than everyone else. The idea was, “Did they die because of their sin?”

  Jesus said, “No; but unless you repent you will all likewise perish.”

  It obviously didn’t mean that a tower of Siloam was going to fall on them too. But the eighteen died suddenly, without warning. Maybe that means they weren’t ready. They hadn’t thought about their future or their destiny. So if I repent, it means I’m thinking about my future. I’m thinking about how I’ll face God someday.

  I’m not as smart as Richard, but even I can get the idea that when we see death around us it is to remind us of our own mortality. Our own future. And to repent (according to the dictionary, which I found in the reference section) means “to feel remorse, contrition, or self-reproach for what one has done or failed to do; be contrite.” It also means, “To make a change for the better as a result of remorse or contrition for one’s sins.”

  I would go to confession if I could get to church. But I can’t. So I’ve confessed my sins to God as best I can, and I will try to have faith. It seems weird that I am ready to believe in God now when the world has turned upside down and I’m possibly dying, when I didn’t really care about God when things were so much better.

  I wish I’d known then, how good things were.

  Anyway, that was my encounter. I’m keeping it to myself, because everyone would say I’m crazy if I told them I’d seen and spoken to Jesus. But it must have been him—didn’t he call himself the Living Water? Hadn’t he claimed that if you drink HIS water you would never thirst again? Obviously he wasn’t talking about normal human thirst. He was talking about something deeper, something foundational and more important than a temporary answer to a dry mouth. I’ve been thinking about this since it happened, and my conclusion is that he meant eternal thirst. (Doesn’t everyone have that? The feeling that there’s more to this life than just this life? I can’t be the only one who feels this way!)

  Anyway, I guess he could have been an angel, but I still think it was Jesus. As INSANE as that sounds, I really do. I know for sure he was no mortal man.

  The water lasted for eight days—eight glorious days when we didn’t have to feel the shadow of death hovering quite so closely over our heads. We stayed at the library because of it, and even Richard’s scavenging seemed to prosper suddenly.

  Mr. Aronoff nearly died from that illness going around but he got up when he saw us giving out water that first day. He demanded t
o know where we’d got it. I told him. He acted as though he was angry someone had shown mere girls a water source, something so important, but hadn’t thought to show him first.

  It reminded me of something I’d just read in my Bible. After Jesus rose from the dead he appeared first to a woman. Not only that, but he gave her the express mission of telling the Apostles of his resurrection. This was in a time when women were looked down upon! It made me feel more certain the man I saw and spoke to was Jesus!

  Anyway, Mr. Aronoff took over rationing out the water. Being in charge seemed to energize him in fact, and he became his old diabolical self. No one knew how much the pipes held, and so he insisted upon us using as little as possible. No washing. Drinking only.

  No one else could remember seeing the man Elizabeth and I described. (I’m glad Elizabeth saw him, too!) Just in case, I went searching the whole library for him but he was nowhere to be found. I wasn’t surprised.

  Anyway, so now we’re here in the sublevel garage where there’s lots of water in these pipes (unlike our apartment, where they had frozen and burst). But I’m not sleeping down here. It’s too yucky.

  SARAH

  THREE MONTHS, DAY THREE

  Today I discovered another reason besides the water and the higher temperature that Richard brought us down to this dismal basement. Unknown to us, he’d been saving mouse traps he picked up on his foraging expeditions. Almost every store he’d gone into searching for food had mouse traps. People had emptied the shelves of anything edible but they’d always left the traps. He says there are more mice (and probably rats, too) down here than elsewhere in the building.

  So get this—he fills them with ketchup (he has a lot of little packages of ketchup that were still in the apartment) and he’s skinning the dead mice! The first time he brought us cooked mouse meat I thought I would vomit. I mean, if there’d been any food in my stomach, I would have. Richard got way annoyed with me for not eating, but it was all I could do to stop the dry heaves.

  Mom ate, and fed baby Jesse—just little teensy bites. Jesse’s stomach has been empty for so long she was afraid he’d be unable to digest a lot of food. Not that there was a lot. I think Richard cooked up five mice and it was still a meager amount of meat.

  When it was almost all gone, I suddenly felt a stab of hunger. I haven’t eaten in so long I almost forgot what hunger feels like. I’m beyond hunger. Richard held out the last bit of meat to me.

  “Take it, Sarah. You haven’t had anything.”

  It didn’t look like a mouse. It looked like a bit of cooked meat. I ate it.

  When this is over—if I’m still alive—I’m going to rip these pages from my journal. I will tell no one I ate mice to survive. I will forget, myself, that I did this. The only thing worse I can think of would be to eat dog, and I think that already happened.

  Soon it will be warm enough for us to try and make the journey to Indiana. I’ve seen people on horseback from the balcony, and I’ve seen two horse-drawn wagons. I’m hoping my $100 will get us a spot on one of those wagons for part of the trip. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t get to spend it on anything else—God knew we’d need it now.

  LEXIE

  THREE MONTHS

  DAY FOUR

  We’re going for Andrea and her family! I got up at the crack of dawn so I could take care of the animals and my other chores before the Buchanans got here. My stomach is churning with anticipation, but I’m also a little afraid. What if my dad’s been right all along and this is a dangerous trip? What if the Pattersons are fine and we’re doing this for nothing?

  All I can do is trust that my impressions during prayer are from the Lord.

  Now that we’re back home I can tell what happened.

  Blake and his family got here yesterday just after dawn. I was still out by the rabbits, throwing some straw beneath the cages so their droppings will turn to mulch when things warm up. I didn’t hear him coming up behind me so when he touched my shoulder, I jumped.

  “Sorry,” he said. He wore a stern expression but his eyes were soft. Blake rarely smiles, so this wasn’t unusual.

  “No problem. I’m glad it’s you!” Something about him seemed friendlier than usual. “Thanks for coming and helping,” I said.

  “Sure, I know Andrea and you are good friends.” He gave me a sideways look. “I’ve wondered about that, actually. You two are so different.”

  I nodded. “I know. We are very different.” I figured he was referring to the fact that Andrea dresses fashionably and wears make up while I’m more the country girl type. Heck, I AM a country girl and it shows. I don’t wear makeup and I don’t like fancy clothes; that’s just me.

  “Both our families have twins. We saw each other at this meeting for twins and their families, and that’s how we started talking. Sharing twin stories. We just became friends after that.” He nodded. I felt like he wanted to say something else. I looked expectantly at him.

  “So you feel like the Holy Spirit wants us to do this? To go for her family?”

  His question surprised me. I loved that he asked me directly. It was to the point and without a hint of mockery. There are moments when you speak to another person and get a glimpse of where they’re at, spiritually. This was one of those moments. Blake understood, which meant he had to have had his own moments with God when he felt the leading of the Holy Spirit. I suddenly felt closer to Blake than I ever had.

  “Yeah, definitely. Every time I pray.”

  He nodded. “Then this is the right thing for us to do. I mean, you can’t trust someone else’s perceptions of what God is telling you to do, but if it lines up with Scripture and doesn’t raise any alarms, then it’s worth considering. At first my parents weren’t any keener on doing this than your dad, you know.”

  I nodded. I could understand that. I was asking them to leave their homestead for a whole day or more.

  “But they went before the Lord on this one. Just because you’ve been so sure the Holy Spirit is speaking to you.” He paused. “Just for the record, I’m glad they agreed.”

  “Me, too!”

  Afterwards we fell silent and I became very aware it was just the two of us there alone. He touched my arm, and held it.

  “Keep your horse near mine on the ride,” he said. “I’ll try to keep an eye out for you.”

  I was thrilled by this show of concern but I had to hide a smile. Considering my horsemanship was far superior to Blake’s, I had already decided to keep an eye on him! Still, my heart rose at his words. He cared.

  “Thank you.”

  His eyes held mine and I wondered briefly if he was going to kiss me. It was way too early in the morning to think of kissing anyone, but if he’d tried, I would have let him. He didn’t. I was relieved, although a part of me would love to kiss Blake Buchanan. Just not at 6 o’clock in the morning. Even without the kiss, I felt as though something new was now between us. He’d come out to talk to me alone. He’d told me to stick close to him during the ride. I felt certain my secret crush for Blake was no longer one-sided.

  He kept a hand on my elbow as we walked back to the house. Even through my coat I was uber-aware of his hand on my arm. It felt nice.

  Inside, my mother was still making breakfast. Dad had wanted to leave as early as possible but you can’t rush my mother. She’d already made coffee and fried up bacon and was using a griddle on top of the wood stove to make her famous pancakes.

  “Hot oatmeal would have been faster,” Dad said. “Even scrambled eggs.”

  “I’m not sending you out there on a long ride without a good, full breakfast,” she’d said. Personally, I was glad. Our packs included snacks like nuts and trail mix and granola bars, but a full stomach went a long way on horseback in the cold.

  There was a lot of talk about possible threats to our safety and how best to avoid them. Dad and Mr. Buchanan stood bent over a topographical map for ages, discussing routes and alternate routes. The two trains of thought went like this: We could either sta
y off-road as much as possible to avoid being seen, which would mean slow-going on the part of the horses; or, we could take the roads and make better time, but be more visible. In the end, my dad and Mr. Buchanan agreed to use the roads. Even rutted with pot-holes and muddy from this long, cold winter, they’re still faster than crossing unfamiliar ground and rougher terrain. Any of our horses could go down in a single unexpected gulley or ditch—it was too great a risk.

  After breakfast, we did a last-minute check of supplies and stowed our packs. Everyone but me checked their guns. I don’t have my own yet, and after that day on the road having to carry one, I think I’m glad I don’t. I’ve had enough training to handle one properly, but I’m not sure I could ever use a firearm against another human being. But as I watched Blake check his magazine, handling his 9mm confidently, I sort of envied him.

  When we gathered in a circle for prayer before leaving, I felt hopeful and confident. Last night’s misgivings had vanished.

  We started out in a walk and slowly picked up the pace, encouraging the horses to a trot, and then a canter. It was impossible not to make noise, what with all the hooves hitting the ground, but Dad turned us off the road to cross an open field, bringing us close to the tree line so we wouldn’t be so obvious. After that, we came out onto what used to be a highway—only it’s now quiet and lonely, dotted with dead cars here and there, like every other road. When he stopped to stare down at a pile of mud, we all pulled up into a little circle.

  “What is it?” Mr. Buchanan asked. We were all wondering.

  “It’s tire tracks,” my dad said. “Will you look at that? There’s some kind of vehicle that still works!” Sure enough, we looked down and now saw an unmistakable line of fresh tracks made by tires.