The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  I am definitely no longer a normal American girl. How can I be? There is no longer a normal America.

  This is my life every night: A long, hard hike with few breaks and precious little to eat or drink.

  Richard helped me get my large daypack on my back. I adjusted the straps until they weren’t digging into my shoulders, and we moved to the door of the barn. I waited while Richard peered out. He looked in all directions, then stepped out and looked around again. He turned to me and nodded.

  I took a deep breath, and walked out of the barn. We’d been safe and relatively comfortable there. Would we find another refuge by morning?

  I’d only gone a few feet when I started feeling it. Something wasn’t right. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  “Richard--I don’t want to go tonight.”

  “Why not?”

  I looked at the scrubby field of grey stubble around us. Normally by this time in May, the fields would be rich brown, plowed and ready for the new year’s crops. Soon the scene before us would be a rolling swell of greenery. Instead, it was barren, dotted only with weeds. Most farm machinery had died with the EMP, so there was little large-scale planting. Bare farms like this were common. But it wasn’t the desolate field that had my attention, giving me pause. It was the sky. Dusk was usually yellowish-brown, sometimes blue-brown, but tonight it had an eerie greenish glow.

  “I think weather’s coming in.”

  Richard surveyed the sky. “I think it’s from that.” He pointed to my right. A plume of smoke was visible, rising above the tree line. We’d seen it the day before when it was much stronger. We’d seen lots of houses burning since we hit the road. Dark plumes were depressingly common. It seemed to be one of the new dangers since the EMP; out of control fires. Anyway, I didn’t think the greenish sky had anything to do with that fire.

  “No; it’s the whole sky, especially that way.” I pointed west. But as I said, Richard never listens to me. He took an impatient breath.

  “I’ve told you, Sarah, time is everything. If we don’t reach Aunt Susan’s before summer there won’t be time to grow food. If we don’t grow food, we don’t survive next winter. We have no choice. C’mon.”

  I knew he was right, but I felt sure we were in for some kind of storm. “Just one night! I’m tired.”

  “Look, if we don’t move, we starve. And I don’t mean next winter. We’ve got enough provisions for two more days. The fact we’ve not already starved is a small miracle. I’m not going to push our luck. We have to keep going while we can, while we’ve got something to nourish us. If we run out of food before we get there we’re dead. You understand? Dead.”

  Sometimes Richard’s laser focus on getting us to Indiana was helpful. Having Aunt Susan’s farm as a goal, a place to look forward to—even if we were living in fantasy land—helped my spirits when the weariness set in. And it did, making me want to give up, collapse, die on the spot. Why not? Mom and Jesse had died, my father was probably dead, my previous life was a faint memory, like a childhood book I’d read and enjoyed, but which was never real—but Richard’s quiet talk about how our lives would improve when we reached Aunt Susan—it gave me hope.

  Hope is a powerful thing. Like food, it could get me moving.

  Tonight I wasn’t thinking about hope, or the future, or anything other than that ominous looking sky. The last storm we’d been caught in left me miserable for three days because that’s how long it took for my shoes to dry. I didn’t want that to happen again.

  But I followed my brother. We usually went to the edge of fields just inside the brush line, out of sight, staying west as much as possible. We did that tonight. Richard said we had to wait for thicker darkness before hazarding a road. After awhile I thought maybe I’d been wrong about bad weather coming in. Maybe the sky just looked greenish sometimes and I’d never noticed it before.

  Then, little by little, a breeze picked up. By the time we’d gone maybe three miles, it was strong. I tried to ignore it. I didn’t want to say, “See? I told you so,” because Richard is such a good brother. Except for not listening to me, he is a much better brother now, than before the EMP.

  But as the wind increased, dark clouds—visible even in the night sky—scudded with increasing speed across it. A jagged bolt of lightning revealed the greenish glow I’d seen earlier. Sudden, heavy rain pelted us, and I got cold—fast. I’d lost my hat the week before and was sorrier at that moment than ever; my head, with only two inches of stubby hair, was unprotected. And the wind was gaining force. The trees to our right were bending low, and sounds of snapping branches surrounded us.

  “C’mon,” Richard called. He motioned me away from the edge of the brush-line, deeper into the stand of woods. The brush and trees we came to for shelter were now alive with energy, snapping, twisting and hitting us in the face and arms and legs. I covered my head with my hands, trying to protect my face.

  “I’m looking for shelter!” Richard called, much to my relief. He was no more than a foot away but I almost hadn’t heard him above the wind. Walking felt more and more difficult, like fighting an ocean tide. This was no thunder storm like any I’d ever experienced!

  Then, we heard it. At first, it was a low rumble like a distant train. Soon it sounded like a roaring crowd at a packed stadium. We stopped, squinting into the wind and dust and stood there, gasping, gaping at the incredible scene before us. The sky was alive, reeling and churning. Branches and other objects too dark to recognize were swirling eerily aloft as if being played with by some giant, invisible hand. We were looking at the growling belly of the storm, approaching like a snarling dog.

  “What’s happening?” I screamed.

  “It’s a tornado!” Richard yelled. His words terrified me. I felt paralyzed, leaning hard into a wall of wind, fighting to keep myself from flying backwards like a dandelion scattering in the breath of a child. Even my weighty backpack offered no extra resistance against this force.

  Richard grabbed my hand and pulled me. “C’mon!”

  “We’ll never outrun it!” I panted, feeling heavy and defeated. Panic was sapping my strength. I tried to unstrap my pack, I wanted to be lighter, but he cried, “No!” and yanked me along.

  “This way!” He dragged me after him behind a huge old tree, and shoved me unceremoniously to the ground, against the trunk.

  “Put your head down! Maybe the tree will shelter us!”

  “Trees aren’t safe in a storm!” I yelled. “They’re lightning magnets!”

  “It’s not lightning we have to worry about!”

  As we huddled behind the tree, I looked past Richard’s head and up into the green sky. The top of our tree swayed above me like a dancer taking a bow. My eyes widened. Richard couldn’t see it. His head was over me, facing down. I stared, horrified but unable to look away. How far would it bend?

  Around us the woods were alive, dancing like demons, the very trees possessed of a passionate dark tune that threatened to engulf us forever. We’d be killed at any moment, I just knew it! Amidst the awful swaying was a continual ripping and cracking of trees and limbs and branches—a symphony of terror. Then, thud! Something landed beside my head. How long could we survive?

  Above us, outlined against the green sky, the treetop bent lower like a witch hunched over her cauldron. Lower, lower, she stooped.

  “It’s going to break!” I gasped. Richard didn’t hear me.

  The roar was louder still. The tree held, but something inside me snapped. My sense of peril was unbearable. I felt a spurt of energy, pure adrenaline I’m sure. I jumped up and ran.

  “Sarah!” There was no time for me to reason with Richard, and I couldn’t stop anyway. In seconds I could feel him behind me, glad he was there, and kept going, not knowing how long we’d be able to run before the snarling twisting mass in the sky would bowl us down like ants on a sidewalk. I hardly noticed the branches whipping my face or arms now. I didn’t care. That living, moving, howling force behind us was what frightened me.r />
  I usually struggled to keep up with Richard during the nightly hikes, but now I ran like wildfire. We’d been living on fumes, dreams of food, for so long I guess my body was used to functioning on practically nothing. We came to a sharp drop, a ravine which held a narrow brook and I froze at the precipice.

  “C’mon!” Richard jumped. I didn’t want to move but he grabbed my hand. As I flew over the edge after him helplessly, a sudden flash of lightning revealed every line on his face. His eyes were wild. We were in the air for only a second, but it felt like slow motion. I heard a cry as I went and knew faintly that it was me.

  Richard had forced us off the edge where the ground sheared away into darkness. I hit the dirt—hard, falling against the bank, landing on rocks, roots, mud and whatever else was there. The roar was deafening. My heart pounded painfully through my whole being but all I heard was that ferocious roar.

  “Keep your head against the bank!” My brother’s muffled yell was unnecessary because I was already huddled against the earthen wall as small as I could make myself while terror coursed through my body. Holding my eyes shut fiercely, I stifled a scream. Just when I thought I might pass out, Richard threw himself over me. His weight felt crushing.

  I knew he was trying to protect me.

  Chapter 2

  LEXIE

  MAY 12

  Four months after the pulse

  The sound of a shot, piercing the silence and my lovely dream, woke me. I blinked awake while an uneasy feeling saturated my being. Something was wrong. Then I realized: A shot! I came fully awake and went into autopilot, grabbing my rifle from its high perch on my dresser and rushing to the window. Carefully, so as not to give someone a target, I stayed to one side, peering out from behind the curtain.

  Dawn had just broken. The landscape surrounding our farmhouse was a sultry, foggy cloud, leftover moisture from last night’s storm. Anyone could be hiding out there. What I needed to know was who had fired that shot? Was it us, or them?

  I saw nothing. Taking a quick peek at the top bunk to see if Andrea had heard it, I saw she was up already, her bunk empty. For a moment I wavered between throwing on clothes or keeping my lookout. Since I hadn’t heard more fire, I hurried to slip on jeans and a light sweat top. It would be chilly until the sun got higher in the sky.

  Just last night at the council meeting we’d been warned: Every day as the weather warmed more people were on the move, people who would come our way. They were not to be trusted. Some, it’s true, were harmless; others, possible allies, maybe even future members of our compound. But we couldn’t assume anything. And if they’d fired first, that told us all we needed to know. They were “number fours”—threats.

  An even greater threat than number fours was the possibility of foreign military. Rumor on the AR (amateur radio—my dad’s a ham operator) had it that enemies of the US were using the EMP to try and take over our country.

  There’d been sightings of guerrilla outfits on our soil. So far we hadn’t seen any, but how long would it be until we did? Even worse, how would we ever fight them off? Our little compound of thirty or so people could hardly put up a resistance to trained soldiers. Most had no experience with firearms. The very idea terrified me. I tried not to think about it.

  Number fours were bad enough, marauders who roamed the land and stole food and supplies from people, often killing those they’d just robbed. Our compound had successfully fought off more than a few bands of such people. (Have I mentioned the compound before? Probably not. I stopped journaling because I had no energy at the end of the day. Chores are all-consuming. And time with night-lights is rationed—oil and batteries run out and we never know if we’ll get more—and most nights I’d rather read than write. It seems like a lifetime ago that we had electricity, though it was only four months.)

  Anyways, the compound started out as a small community of Christian preppers, but we’d grown, taking in others who brought skills or knowledge we needed. They in turn got food and shelter. My science teacher would say it was a symbiotic living arrangement, a way for all of us to survive in a world gone dark and dangerous.

  At first it was just us and the Pattersons. They hadn’t done any prepping but we took them in, mostly because Andrea is my best friend and I knew her family needed us. Plus, we felt led in prayer to help them. Then the Buchanans joined us, whom I’ll talk about later; and slowly, other people. Many of them had only survived since the EMP by the skin of their teeth, barely keeping starvation at bay. But we all knew we’re vulnerable individually, even those of us who stored food and supplies. There’s safety in numbers. Banding together was really the only solution.

  Some people didn’t want to leave their land or home to join us. There were arguments about where to build, whose property was the best for defense, for farming, and for water. But we had the best land assets of anyone else—a high hill (which is a natural vantage point for lookouts), a well with a manual pump, a running stream, flat farmland plus some woods, not to mention chickens, rabbits, a cow and horses—so in the end our farm was chosen.

  I was glad it was chosen because it meant we didn’t have to leave everything and start new somewhere else. And there’s something comforting about the sounds of work going on around us. The pounding of hammers, the steady rhythm of saws making logs and beams from downed trees; even the shouts of men as they talk and work together. It means we’re not under attack. But privacy, and our old way of life is gone. It was gone anyway due to the EMP—and it’s a blessing to have other people in our lives, people we can trust and form close relationships with. But Mom sometimes looks out at the work sites, the clearing of brush and trees, and looks wistful. I miss having our house and land to ourselves, too.

  Except for the Buchanans! Blake’s family started building a cabin behind our barn shortly after we brought Andrea’s family here. Their livestock was raided so often they got critically low. When their last rooster got stolen they decided to join forces with us. (We have a few roosters. You don’t need a rooster for eggs, but if you want to keep getting eggs for years and years, then you do. A hen only lays well for a couple of years and then you need a younger one.)

  Anyways, with the birds disappearing and the increasing foot traffic on their road, the kids weren’t able to play outside anymore. Their house was on a main road. So they will have more cover here, more protection. And so will we.

  I feel bad they had to leave their home but it gives me a happy feeling to know Blake will be close by now. Everyone knows Blake and I will get married one day—as long as we can stay alive that long. (He hasn’t formally proposed, but I know it’s coming.)

  Andrea entered the room, nonchalant, not acting like we were under attack. She saw me with my rifle and said, “Oh. It’s okay! It was a warning shot and they’ve gone.”

  I peered out at the misty fog hanging over the land, giving even the detached garage, adjacent to the house, a ghostly demeanor. “How can they be sure? We can’t see anything out there.”

  Andrea smiled. “Jared’s on duty and says so.” Andrea likes Jared. He’s new to the compound, ex-Army, and came with a lot of surveillance tips and defense practices and other know-how. His word is sort of law. If he said it was all clear, then it was all clear.

  I put my rifle down and considered returning to bed. I didn’t have to be up so early as morning barn chores were Andrea’s today. If I could sleep in, I liked to. But I thought of the coffee that was probably hot in the percolator (which had a permanent spot on the woodstove these days) and my mouth watered. I didn’t used to drink coffee. Now I’ll drink anything that’s available. Nothing edible or potable is ever taken for granted.

  By the specks of straw clinging to her jeans, I could see Andrea had already been to the barn so I asked, “How’s Rhema?” She met my eyes. Andrea’s a pretty brunette. Since coming to live with us, she’d changed. The new Andrea hardly wears make up, doesn’t complain about clothes that haven’t been washed properly in months, doesn’t do her
nails or hair, and has basically become a lot like me. Actually, I don’t miss the old Andrea. I always liked Andrea, but I guess I did think she worried about all that girly stuff too much.

  “She’s good. Wanna ride today?” We both loved riding. I was teaching Andrea but I usually managed to get in some time with my horse, Rhema, too. We need riders because none of our vehicles work (except one small diesel tractor, which we’ll use until we run out of fuel. That was dad’s least favorite piece of farm equipment—until the pulse!) Anyways, sometimes we have to search out new supplies. So Mom designated “Horseback Riding” as a new school subject. And she appointed me, the best horsewoman in the family, to teach Andrea.

  “I’ll ask Dad.” We both knew it wasn’t on our schedule. Everyone in the compound had to follow a schedule, even we teenagers. And, while homeschooling was important, running the compound had to come first. Without electricity, almost every single thing we do takes more work, more time, more planning.

  The door opened. Aiden, one of Andrea’s little brothers, came bouncing into the room, followed swiftly by Quentin, his twin.

  “Don’t come in without knocking!” Andrea scolded. “How many times have I told you that?”

  Aiden’s face fell but Quentin was unfazed. “I heard a shot before,” he said. Gleefully he added, “Did we kill anyone? Did we kill anyone?” His eagerness was eerie and, not too long ago, would have been unthinkable.

  Andrea frowned. “You should be happy because no, we didn’t have to kill anyone.”

  “Oh.” They’d spoken, in unison, the way twins sometimes do. They were disappointed.

  “C’mon, you guys,” I said. “Your sister’s right. It’s GREAT, we didn’t have to kill anyone!”