The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  We followed Father Benedict to the kitchen, a large room meant to accommodate more than one priest. He had us sit at the table. He motioned to a man who turned and got busy doing something, his back to us. When he came and set bread and water in front of us, we stared at it in shock. Bread and water! It was like a feast. We hadn’t had a clean glass of water that we hadn’t had to collect from a pipe in so long it felt heady, like having champagne at a wedding. Then we stared at the food while the man, unbelievably, refilled our glasses.

  I looked at the priest. He nodded. We fell eagerly at the bread, but my mother said, “Wait.” She carefully cut the loaf into three pieces—one for Richard. As she cut it, the man brought a little dish with seasoned oil in it. We dipped our bread into the oil before eating it. I don’t think it was olive oil. It should have tasted plain, maybe even nasty. But it wasn’t. It was good.

  He asked if we were members of the parish and my mother hesitated. We hadn’t actually bothered to register with the church when we moved into the apartment. She tried to explain. She didn’t volunteer that we weren’t good Catholics, didn’t go to church as a rule. I had made Communion and Confirmation at our old parish, and that was the end of church-going. I considered telling him about my encounter with Jesus at the library. I thought better of it.

  This was yesterday. My stomach ached after eating. I wasn’t used to stuffing my face, even with bread. Right now I’d love to have another piece of it.

  Richard has his seeds, I have the $100 of mall money I never spent, and we are going to make a new life in Indiana. If we get there. He’s managed to find us a tent and some camping gear, a few knives, and matches for a fire. That’s it.

  I haven’t said so to Richard, but I sense my mother will not make it to Indiana. If not for that bread from the priest, I don’t think she would have made it out of town. I guess we’ll see.

  The thought of continuing on, just the two of us, Richard and me—is so surprising. I’ve always been the weak one in the family, the one who panics, fears, loses it. I shouldn’t have made it this far. I shouldn’t be alive when Jesse isn’t. I shouldn’t be able to go on if my mother is not. Maybe I’m kidding myself and I won’t make it out of town either.

  I hope for Richard’s sake that I’m wrong.

  LEXIE

  The pounding on the door changed into hard whacks. Someone was hitting it with a solid object, something heavy, trying to bang it down! My mother rushed into the room, rifle in hand.

  “Lex, open the window, for crying out loud! You need to take a shot if you get it!”

  “Mom, they’re right out there! Someone’s at the door!” They pounded again, and she went over to the door, slowly, aiming her rifle right at the middle of it. Pound. Something cracked the wood, right in the middle. And then my mother, my gentle, loving mother, shot right near the spot where it had cracked, aiming just a little higher up. We heard a thump. Then the sound of someone running off.

  I peeked out from the side of the window. I couldn’t see the door but I did see part of a body.

  “You hit one of them,” I said. The body moved. The man, holding one arm against his middle, and bent over in half, appeared, leaning heavily on the rails of the porch. He was trying to walk away.

  “He’s leaving,” I said.

  To my surprise my mother unlocked the door and then, even as he turned in horror, shot the man again, this time in the head. He fell instantly.

  Outside, we couldn’t really see anyone distinctly but we heard movement, like people running off. My mother rushed down the steps and took a few shots towards the sounds. The black cloud had dispersed, meaning they could now be anywhere on the property. I hoped they would go for the animals and forget about us in the house. If they kept trying to gain entry, it seemed inevitable they’d succeed. My mother came back to the front door and stopped, staring at the crowbar still stuck in the wood. She handed me her rifle and tried tugging it out, grasping and pulling, but to little effect.

  “Help me, Lex,” she gasped.

  Together we were able to pry it loose and we took it inside, and then locked the bolt on the door behind us. I wondered where Blake was. I saw no sign of Andrea or the kids, either, so I prayed they’d gone to the safe room.

  My heart was thudding painfully in my chest, and I was blinking back tears. What a watchman I was! Practically useless!

  My mother touched my arm. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll get through this. Trust in the Lord.”

  I nodded. She told me to get down on the floor, my back against the wall beneath the window. I was to look outside from time to time, but most of all, stay alert for intruders who might get in the house. If anyone crossed the threshold into the room, I was to shoot to kill. (She also reminded me to “holler like a stuck pig,” in that event. Another of her southernisms. I knew this meant she was as tense as I was.) She ran off to check another area of the house.

  I stared at the open doorway, praying no one would appear in it. If they did, I’d have to shoot. I heard more shots, but couldn’t tell which direction they came from. I had no idea if it was enemy fire or our own. Suddenly, my ears perked up. Someone was running towards the room. My heart flew to my throat as I raised my rifle. Stay cool, I told myself. You can’t afford to muck this up.

  My mom poked her head in.

  “Lex they’re all in the back. C’mon!”

  I ran behind her, glad not to be alone when and if I had to face the enemy.

  I saw Dad and Blake kneeling at windows facing the back. I fell to my knees at a window that looked out at the left side of the property. This side had the fewest windows and needed a sentry. I could just see the black outline which was a side of the chicken coop.

  “We can’t let them get any animals,” Dad said. “If they get a single chicken, they’ll be back for more. We need to make them wipe our farm off their radar.”

  I wondered how he proposed to do that, but said nothing.

  “Keep your eyes on the barn and the coop,” he said.

  Neither task was easy, particularly watching the coop. The moon wasn’t full and, although I could see the outline of the hen house if I squinted, I wasn’t sure I’d see if anyone tried to enter it. I hoped the chickens would put up a noisy fuss if they got disturbed. The barn, fortunately, had a solar light over the door which didn’t give a bright blaze, but was something. My fear was they’d somehow find a ladder and climb into the barn by some other way. However, they couldn’t exactly take the cow or a horse out of a window. If they were going for the big stuff, they’d have to use the door.

  “So you don’t think I need to stay in front?” I asked, thinking of the easy approach to the house the gang would have now, with no one around to spot them.

  “They’re after the animals and looking for a root cellar,” Dad said. “They’re not typical burglars trying to get at valuables.”

  “They want meat,” Blake added, darkly. I remembered the Buchanans had already lost a bunch of hens to thieves.

  “What about the guy who tried to break down the front door?” I asked, “Mom had to stop him.” I couldn’t bring myself to say she’d had to shoot him.

  “He was a fool. Only a fool would do that, knowing we’re armed,” Dad said.

  “I’ve put out all the lamps,” Mom whispered. “They can’t see us, but we can see them if we let our eyes adjust.” I stared at seeming blackness, seeing nothing. I could see the treeline where the sky made a slightly lighter backdrop, but on the ground I couldn’t make out much of anything. Would my eyes really be able to adjust? Then suddenly I saw movement. Someone was approaching the chickens.

  “Dad, the coop!”

  Everyone shifted into a shooting position. Mom got up.

  “I’m going upstairs,” she said. “I think I’ll have a better shot from the kids’ room.”

  “We’ve got to take a shot from here,” Dad said. “We can’t wait. The lock on that coop isn’t strong.”

  “Take it,” she said. “But I’m sti
ll going up.”

  “I’ve got a shot!” Blake hissed.

  “Take it, son,” my dad said.

  Crack!

  We saw dark figures scattering like balls on a pool table. Suddenly we were all shooting as the moving apparitions came into and out of range. Ghostly figures came stalking beneath my window but I spotted them and sent down warning shots. Further away, I saw three go down. My heart was pounding wildly, throbbing through my veins in a way that was almost painful. I knew I wasn’t holding the rifle as steadily as I should be. Every creeping figure outdoors filled me with dread, so I banged away, but it was like operating on pure adrenaline. I emptied a magazine and reloaded as quickly as I could. I always found reloading a chore.

  Mom came back and knelt beside my father, sticking her rifle through the opening of the window. Blake appeared at my side.

  Suddenly I heard from outside a deep guttural man’s voice. “Aim for the windows!”

  Blake and I started blasting in the direction of the voice, probably not something my father would have thought sound defensive practice but it must have worked because we neither felt or heard any return fire. It was to our advantage that the majority of their weapons were not guns. I heard my mother make an odd exclamation in her throat and my heart froze. Had she been hit?

  “Mom?” I called. I couldn’t hide the fear from my voice.

  “I’m fine,” she said. But I felt as though it had been a close call and suddenly my blood was boiling. I don’t get angry often but when I do, I’m formidable. (I like to think so, anyways.) They’d tried to hurt my mother! That, and the encounter at the front door suddenly loomed in my mind as unacceptable dangers.

  It was like something inside me snapped into place, and all my training came into play. My nerves steadied, and I took aim. I was a good shot. Years of target practice were behind me. I no longer saw innocent people out there, people who were hungry. I saw attackers, invaders. I saw threats. I zeroed in on a dark figure making his way, zigzag, in the direction of the front. I took a shot.

  He fell.

  For a few seconds my newfound coolness left me and I broke out into a cold sweat.

  “Great shot,” said Blake. I looked over and actually saw a smile glint out in the dark. That helped me pull it together. I returned to the battle, started shooting at one intruder, then another, sometimes missing, but seeing others fall. Some fell because of Mom and Dad or Blake; and then, in a wave of sheer ecstasy, I saw a black cloud of maybe seven men turn and run.

  “They’re running away!” Mom cried, happily. She’d managed a whispered shout but I think she would have sounded it from the rooftop if it had been safe to do so.

  “Keep at them!” Dad barked. “They need to know not to come back.”

  We raced to the front of the house, leaving only Dad at the back. I saw a few dark figures and shot in their direction, but I have no idea if I hit anyone. Blake joined me at my window.

  More dark figures came shooting out from the sides of the house and we sprang into action. They were quickly fanning out as they ran, but Blake concentrated on the left and I took the right. We hadn’t even had to speak about it, it just happened, each of us taking a different side to focus on. Later I thought of that as a good sign. It meant we had a natural knack for working well together.

  A volley of return fire sounded, close.

  “Get down, Lex!” Blake had never called me Lex before; only Lexie. I ducked down, but with a glow in my heart.

  “You be careful, too,” I cried. Another volley of shots rang out and hit the house. We fell to the floor.

  “Someone out there’s got an AK,” Blake said. “Guess he was a latecomer to the party.” The next volley came from closer range and bullets flew into the room, hitting the walls behind us. The glass of our dining room hutch shattered, sending a wave of shards cascading to the floor. I found that incredibly upsetting. My mom crawled over to our window, and she whispered, “Give me space.”

  I moved aside. My mom had a look I’d never seen on her face before.

  “I’ve got babies in this house!” she growled, peeking over the sill with her rifle at the ready. “I’m so mad I could spit nails!” Then suddenly she fell silent, motioning to us to be quiet too. Moving her rifle to point sharply to the right, she aimed. She moved it even further, almost pointing the gun back inside the house, it was that far over.

  Crack! Then, a thud. It was right outside the window. I felt weak with fear, realizing how close the guy had gotten.

  “We need to get that gun,” Mom said.

  Blake said, “Not yet! There could be more—”

  “Hey!” Someone was yelling to us from outdoors. At that moment my father edged into the room. “Hey, don’t shoot!” the voice called again.

  He came and peered carefully out. “I can’t see anything,” he said, his voice low.

  “It’s me, Roy!” came the voice. “I didn’t know they wanted to hurt anything,” he said. My father practically snorted.

  “Look! I’m unarmed,” Roy called. And then we saw him. He was coming towards the house, his arms up in the air. The clouds seemed to move aside and let a stream of moonlight through. It was the first good moonlight we’d had all night, but I could see Roy pretty well now. I didn’t see anyone else.

  My dad put his face to the window. “You brought them here, Roy!”

  Roy stopped moving for a moment, uncertainty on his face.

  “I didn’t know they would hurt anything,” he said.

  “You’re lying!” my father returned.

  “He thinks we’re dumber than a stack of bricks,” my mother murmured. I would have snickered at this southernism if I wasn’t too busy being creeped out by Roy.

  “No, really,” Roy said. He started walking towards us again. “I didn’t know, honest! They woulda killed me if I didn’t tell them somewhere to find food.”

  My dad had his rifle pointed out. He lowered and raised the lever, causing an unmistakable click as it snapped into place. Roy stopped.

  “Turn around and don’t look back,” Dad ordered.

  “C’mon, I’m just a bus driver,” he began, his legs moving again.

  Crack! The shot whizzed past him and Roy stopped, seemingly surprised.

  “C’mon, man, I’m just looking for some food. I’m starving, man, really.”

  Dad readied the gun again, the clacking sound winging out into the night so Roy had to have heard it. “Turn around and keep going,” my dad said.

  Roy shook his head, and kept shaking it. “There’s nowhere to go, man,” he said despairingly, drawing out the syllable. “Just give me something, anything, to keep me alive, huh? That’s all I’m askin’.”

  My mother said, “Should I get him something?”

  Amazingly, I, too, felt sorry for Roy.

  “Absolutely not!” My father’s tone surprised me. He was seldom harsh, but he sounded that way now. And then, without warning a second man was at our window, and he swung something hard and black towards us. We flew out of range, all of us falling on one another, and then he was climbing in and I saw him holding that big black thing, I guess it was a crowbar, over my dad’s head. There was just enough light from the night sky to see that awful silhouette in the dark, and then I screamed. Someone else screamed, too, I think it was my mother.

  Crack! The man fell! He fell right onto Dad, who pushed him away quickly. My mother had a flashlight out now and I’d hardly grasped what happened, didn’t even have time to wonder who had made the shot, but saw my father get back and rush towards the window. Someone else was climbing in! It was Roy!

  “Watch out, Mr. Martin! Move!” came a scream from behind us, from across the room. I thought for a confused moment that it was Andrea’s voice, but it couldn’t be Andrea. She was with the kids, and besides, she’d only just started taking gun safety lessons with Dad. She’d had maybe two or three lessons, and had only taken a couple of shots in her whole life.

  Again, the same voice screamed: “
Move, Mr. Martin! Move out of the way!”

  My dad, startled, did. The second he moved, there was a shot.

  Crack! Roy froze, staring in at nothing, as if seeing nothing that is; then he fell backwards. He’d gotten one leg straddled across the window sill, but it slithered off as he fell. The shot, we saw later, had landed directly in the heart. I turned to see who our sharp shooter was.

  To my shock, it was Andrea.

  SARAH

  So we’re stuck in the apartment for at least another night. Mom is sick.

  I am praying she doesn’t die like Jesse.

  The apartment is a moldy, disgusting mess from the pipes that burst. There is nothing here for us.

  When Richard first starting catching mi—rodents, is what I’ll call them—I thought things could not get worse. Then I got used to eating again. It was protein, right? I thought everything would be okay. We would survive.

  Then Jesse died.

  And now Mom’s sick.

  If she gets worse—or dies!—I don’t know how I’ll take it.

  LATER

  Mom’s hot with fever! Richard is going to walk to the nearest hospital to see if there’s any medicine. Our cupboards were emptied by the looters so we have nothing, not even aspirin.

  I guess I fell asleep waiting for Richard to return because I just woke up from a dream.

  In it there was a really skinny man, skinny like us. He came slowly towards me and suddenly I thought I recognized my father! I ran towards him. As I got closer, I saw it wasn’t my father. I didn’t know who it was. But he kept coming closer and then I saw. It was him! Jesus! The guy who showed me where to get water at the library!

  He took my right hand. I didn’t see him speak, but I heard words. At first I didn’t understand them but after I woke up, I thought I did. I’m pretty sure the words were, “There is no suffering on earth that can compare.”

  That was the whole dream. I feel disappointed. Compare to what? Compare to what? I still wonder.