The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  He turned to me. “Lex, show Andrea and the kids to the safe room and how to lock themselves in.”

  This scared me. If Dad wanted them in the safe room then he must really think there might be danger. Violence. The idea of an armed gang descending on our property suddenly sent my heart thudding.

  Dad was looking through his binoculars as I ushered everyone out of the room towards the basement. I heard him say, “It’s Roy! Roy is leading this gang! And they’re armed.”

  Hearing his name depressed my spirits further. That man was trouble. He’d locked my father in his basement where he could have frozen to death during that sub-zero cold spell. Who knew what else he was capable of?

  I led Andrea, her mother, and the kids to the safe room. Mrs. Patterson looked around curiously. I could see she was new to the concept of such a room. The children seemed oddly happy to be getting enclosed. Lainie was already explaining to Aiden and Quentin how there were lots of games and toys in the room. I guess I expected them to protest at being shut up down there, but fear had taken hold of everyone. I showed them how to lock the room, giving quick instructions to stay quiet if they heard noise but couldn’t identify the source. They were not to open the door for anyone except one of us.

  Andrea grasped my hand before I left. “I’ll be praying,” she said, with wide eyes.

  “Thanks. I will, too!”

  Once the door was locked behind me, I turned and saw Blake taking three rifles from my mom, who’d taken them from the vault. He came and handed me one, our eyes meeting. He looked calm. Serious, but calm. I was glad. Around his neck was a messenger bag, which I guessed carried extra loaded mags for the guns.

  “Did you reach your folks?”

  He grimaced. “I’m not sure. Reception wasn’t good. But if they were able to hear me they’ll be back, I’m sure.”

  Upstairs, my dad was still at the window, binoculars in hand. It’s a quarter mile from the brush to the house, and the gang was getting close.

  “It’s Roy, alright,” he said, his voice grim. “And they’ve got guns as well as bats and crowbars.” He looked frankly at me and Blake. “This is not a friendly visit.”

  “Who’s Roy?” asked Blake.

  I reminded him who the bus driver was, and how he’d imprisoned my father the day we lost power.

  We joined my dad at the window, careful to stay behind the drapes. My mother joined us.

  “What if I take a storage bucket or two and put them out there? Maybe they’ll just take the stuff and leave.”

  My dad was quiet a moment. “I wish I knew that would work. But I’m not sure. If one of us goes out there, who’s to say whether they’ll shoot on sight?” He sighed. “We can’t take that risk.”

  “Lex, you and Blake take the windows in our bedroom. Keep an eye out for anyone trying to round the house. Your mom and I will take the front windows here.”

  “What if someone tries to go around the other side?” I asked. We had a wide property, and it was going to be near impossible to keep all the perimeters safe without more people to help us.

  “We’ll do the best we can,” Dad said. “Maybe they’ll run if we give them trouble.”

  We were turning to head for our posts when Dad said, “Wait. Let’s pray.” We formed a little circle holding hands, while he said a quick prayer for safety, for blessing, and for no loss of life if possible.

  As Blake and I hurried down the hall to the master bedroom, he said, “We have an advantage. We’re on a hill and they still have ground to cross. They’re in the open.” There were tree breaks on either side of the property, potential hiding places, but right now the gang seemed contained right in front of us. They were getting larger as they neared, and we opened our windows enough to get the barrels of our guns outside, pointing towards them. Far behind them was the brown, bare break of trees. They stood out quite obviously, which made me wonder if they were really intent on mischief. Maybe they were seeking help of some kind. Maybe they just wanted to talk.

  “I can see Roy,” I said. “I think. If it’s him he’s lost a lot of weight.”

  “It’s probably him. Most people have lost weight.”

  We watched them coming on. They stopped and seemed to be discussing something among themselves. My father ran into the room.

  “I’m going to take the first shot, aiming to miss. I just want to scare them off. Don’t start shooting unless they return fire.”

  “Dad, what if they just want to talk?” I looked out at them. “They’re not even trying to hide.”

  “You don’t approach people with crowbars and guns when you just want to talk,” he said. He paused. “They’re probably assuming we’re liberals—unarmed sitting ducks.”

  Blake snickered.

  “They’re not here to talk, Lex.” His face was dark with concern. “Let’s pray we can scare them off.”

  After he left, we waited uneasily, waiting to hear that first shot. My dad’s words echoed in my brain, but I had a feeling of unreality. This couldn’t really be happening! We couldn’t really be defending ourselves from lawless attackers! This was still America, wasn’t it?

  “I don’t like this,” I said. My insides were churning, reminding me of the moment I saw Mr. Patterson slumped over on Mr. Buchanan’s horse.

  “There’s nothing to like,” said Blake. He’d checked and double checked his rifle and now got settled as well as he could, kneeling on the floor. I quickly rose and tossed him a pillow. I was using one beneath my knees because otherwise I was too low to aim well.

  I hoped my hands wouldn’t shake too much to shoot. I looked over at Blake, marveling at how calm he seemed. Then I saw he was shaking slightly too. Our eyes met.

  “We can do this,” he said.

  “We have to.” I nodded.

  It helped me to know he was scared too. Before I’d merely been glad Blake had stayed behind. Now, I was deeply grateful. The mob coming across the lawn far outnumbered us.

  I had a thought, and gasped. “We forgot Mrs. Preston! I didn’t take her to the safe room!”

  Blake looked over, but shook his head. “You can’t go, now. If we hold the fort she’ll be fine. If you leave and they get in, we’re all in trouble.”

  I prayed silently that Mrs. Preston was asleep and would stay out of sight until this was over. She often slept through “hell and high water,” as my grandmother used to say, right in the center of things in her favorite chair in the living room. I hoped that would be true today. The high water was perhaps a euphemism. The “hell” seemed to have come.

  Crack! My dad had made his shot.

  We came to attention at our posts. How could I have looked away? This was important! To my surprise, the gang stopped in their tracks. Some of them lifted their guns. They were going to return fire! But one man quickly turned and faced the group, his hands in the air. I don’t know what he said, but they started turning back. Had that one shot scared them off like we hoped?

  For a minute it seemed it had. But two men began running towards the right side of the property, still in the direction of the house.

  “That’s us,” Blake said, taking aim.

  “But they didn’t shoot back,” I said. “Dad said to shoot if they returned fire.”

  “He also put us in charge of maintaining the border,” Blake said, sounding very militaristic to me. But he was right.

  Then came Blake’s ear splitting shot. I jumped, blinked, and then focused to take one of my own. I aimed in the direction the men were running, slightly ahead of them actually, knowing I’d miss if I tried to shoot directly at a moving target at that distance.

  More shots sounded. Two of the intruders had stopped to shoot, but the majority of the gang had turned and was running back the way they came. The two Blake and I had aimed for also turned and headed for the line of retreating figures.

  Three more shots sounded. One of the men returning fire fell to the ground. His buddy took off after the others.

  I ignored the fa
llen man, watching the beautiful sight of their retreat. I saw Roy taking a beating with the butt of another man’s gun. He’d probably assured his buddies we would be easy targets. They hadn’t expected a fight!

  Sitting back, relief slowly washed over me. In fact, I felt giddy. Then faint. Was I going to faint? I took a few deep breaths. How could I be such a sissy? And especially in front of Blake!

  “Are you okay?” When I looked up he was coming towards me. He held out a hand to help me up and then, to my great surprise, smiled and took me in a big bear hug. I love Blake’s smiles, which are rare, but to be followed by a hug was downright awesome.

  “Praise God,” he said, into my ear. All my faintness vanished and I took in his scent—which happened to be the smell of gun at the moment. I reveled in the feel of him holding me. It was heavenly.

  Then we came apart. Just before Dad entered the room.

  I was definitely feeling weak. It isn’t every day a girl takes part in a gunfight! It was going to take awhile to really feel safe again.

  “We scared them off,” Blake said.

  Dad nodded, but looked unhappy. “They’ll be back.”

  My heart constricted. “How do you know?”

  “Because Roy knows we’ve got food, here. I never told him any details, but I’m sure he put two and two together. Plus, we’re a small farm. All farmers are better off than most at a time like this. They’ve probably already hit a farm or two—maybe more. I don’t think they’ll let us go so easily. And next time it’ll be harder to run them off. They’ll be more prepared, knowing we’re armed.”

  I swallowed.

  He looked at Blake. “I hope we can depend upon you, young man, to help us out a little longer?”

  “Sure,” said Blake. “I’ll contact my folks.”

  “You can use the ham radio?” I asked, surprised. It looked like a nasty thing to me, full of switches and knobs and all kinds of mysterious interfaces. I’d never wanted to take the time to learn how to use it until the EMP, and since then there hadn’t been time for me to learn.

  Blake looked surprised by my question. “Of course,” he said. “How do you think my parents learned?” He gave a wry expression, making me shake my head and smile as he walked off with my dad. That was Blake.

  My father reappeared in the doorway as I was putting the pillows back on the bed.

  “Lex, take the front window in the dining room. We’ll take turns keeping watch. You first.”

  I sighed. “Can I get something to eat, first? I feel a little faint.”

  He looked at me. He realized how difficult this had been for his teenage daughter. His eyes softened.

  “I’ll take the first watch.” He came towards me and gave me a hug. “I’m proud of you, you know. You and Blake did a great job.”

  “I’m scared about next time.”

  “I know. I guess we should have shot to kill from the outset. That’s what safety experts tell you to do.”

  “Then why didn’t we?”

  Dad hesitated. “Because I believe in mercy. Think of how God had mercy on us, saving us despite our sin.”

  “So if they come back….?” I asked.

  “We have no choice. We shoot to kill.”

  “You think there’s a chance they won’t come back?”

  “No, unfortunately, I think they will.”

  The Buchanans are wonderful people. They could have insisted they needed Blake at their own farm. They’re just as vulnerable to attack as we are. But they let him stay. We’ve been taking shifts, keeping watch. Even Mrs. Patterson and Andrea take a turn, which helps a lot. It’s been three days since that mob came.

  I hope they never return.

  Today I’ve brought my journal during my watch. Dad thinks they’d never make the mistake of coming during daylight again, but since it’s still light outside, I can write. Keeping watch is boring.

  “Lexie, can you help me do my puzzle?” It was Laura. “No one will help me.”

  “Did you ask Mrs. Preston?” Mrs. Preston was a reliable standby for helping with the simple games and puzzles the children favored.

  “Mrs. Preston’s asleep,” she said, her voice flat with disappointment.

  “Well, wake her up. Just give her a little nudge.” Mrs. Preston slept more and more these days. Her oxygen tanks had run out. She could sleep through any amount of noise. But if you touched her it almost always woke her up.

  “I tried,” she said, turning her head sideways, and with a shrug.

  “How’d you try?” I asked. “You know you have to touch her.”

  “I did.” She shrugged again. “I pulled on her arms and I even got on her lap and tried to open one of her eyes.”

  I held back a laugh. “You tried to open her eye?”

  “Yup. I pulled her eyelid up, but it didn’t work.”

  My amusement vanished. “What do you mean, it didn’t work?”

  “I couldn’t find her eye. It was all white. I wanted her to look at me.” She sighed. “Will you help me or not?”

  I rose and rushed into the living room to Mrs. Preston who was in her favorite chair. Her mouth was hanging open. She didn’t usually sleep like that. I tried waking her, calling her name, tugging her arm, touching her face. She felt cold. I even did what Laura had done, trying to open an eye, but it was all white. Her pupils must have been way high in her head.

  I started shouting for my mom, who was in the kitchen. She and Mrs. Patterson rushed in. Dad ran in and went for his rifle but I said, “No, it’s Mrs. Preston! I think she’s dead!” I was crying now.

  Everyone began gathering in the room. Blake entered, rifle in hand. I shook my head and then motioned towards our grandmotherly neighbor.

  Silence fell. Someone took in a shaky breath. It was Mrs. Patterson. She’d only met Mrs. Preston since coming here but another death must have been too close to home for her. She quickly left the room, her hand over her mouth. Andrea’s troubled eyes met mine. She started ushering the children out of the room while my mother and father continued to examine Mrs. Preston. My sisters left reluctantly, both in tears. We seemed to have a lot of those around these days—tears. Including my own.

  “She’s still alive,” my mother said, finally. “But I don’t think she’ll be with us by tomorrow.”

  Four of us carried her into my bedroom, at my request. I’d returned to using it since the weather had warmed, but Mrs. Preston was still using our futon and didn’t have a room of her own. I wanted her to be comfortable and have a place of privacy, of quiet. She’d always enjoyed the liveliness of our household but somehow I felt it was more fitting she be moved away from the hustle and bustle. She did not come to or respond to us. Mom had said she wouldn’t be with us by tomorrow. I felt like she was already gone.

  We lingered there, talking in low voices as if it was sacrilegious to speak around the dying. Mom left to check on dinner, and Dad went to feed the animals and milk the cow. Andrea came back. We sat on the edge of the bed and I told her what a good neighbor and friend Mrs. Preston was. I told her how she always had chocolate for me, and of the many hours we’d spent at her house just because we could.

  My dad poked his head in the door. “Any change?”

  I shook my head. In a sharp voice he said, “Lex, aren’t you supposed to be on watch?”

  I’d completely forgotten. I hurried from the room, my heart pounding. Downstairs, I took a quick survey of the front, not expecting to see anything. Wait—was that movement? Dusk had fallen, and at first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. It looked like a big dark cloud was on the property coming towards the house. As I watched in horror, portions of the black cloud began moving out to the sides, going towards the outer perimeter of the property. The gang was back! Some were only yards from the house! I stood up so fast I knocked over a chair and then ran around yelling, “They’re back! They’re back!” Everyone scrambled to get their guns. I heard a shot.

  They’re shooting already! Then I heard the po
unding of feet, getting louder. Someone banged at the front door, right near my post.

  To say I was frightened would be a gross understatement. I was terrified.

  SARAH

  We are back upstairs in our apartment collecting whatever useful gear we can find to make the trip to Aunt Susan’s house in Indiana. But we are a skeleton crew in the most literal sense. Skeletons of our former selves. Jesse—wait, I’m crying. I can’t write.

  LATER

  Jesse is gone! We buried him in the cemetery of the Catholic church (although technically we’re not members of the parish). Richard dug the grave and I read a Scripture. I chose Psalm 23, because it seemed the right thing to do. My mother was all cried out and just stood woodenly, not making a sound. Richard was still shoveling dirt back over Jesse’s little wrapped up body when a priest showed up. We didn’t even think to look for one or to ask permission to dig. I guess we figured they’d abandoned the place, because the church was locked.

  Anyway, he was thin like us. Maybe not quite like us, but his robes were hanging about him loosely, suggesting he’d lost a lot of weight.

  I wondered if he would tell us not to bury Jess there. If he would make us take him somewhere else. But when he saw the grave, how little it was, he just stared down at it, at Richard shoveling dirt, and his shoulders began to shake. He was crying! He put his hand upon my mother’s arm—and that did it. She sank to her knees in grief. I fell down beside her, both of us crying silently, tearlessly.

  We don’t cry tears. I think we have no water in our bodies for them.

  Jesse had been listless for the past week and so unresponsive that I’d already come to terms with the fact we were losing him. I felt almost glad he wouldn’t be hungry anymore, wouldn’t be suffering the way we were still suffering.

  The priest asked if we were Catholic. When my mom said yes, he disappeared for a few minutes and came back and then administered Extreme Unction over the grave, over Jesse. While Richard closed the grave with earth, the priest, Father Benedict he said, insisted we follow him back to the rectory. It was attached to the church and so we went. Richard would follow when he’d finished. I honestly don’t know how he had the energy to do that work.