The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  They looked at each other. Quentin looked back at us. “We just want there to be less bad guys,” he said, his eyes big and earnest. “If there’s no bad guys, we can play outside like we used to.”

  Andrea and I exchanged glances. She got on one knee in front of the boys. “You still get to play outside,” she said, softly.

  “Only a little. Not as much as we used to.”

  “It’s summertime,” added Aiden. “We used to play outside a lot more in summertime.” He dragged out the last syllable, tiiiime.

  “It’s only spring,” Andrea said. “And nobody gets to play as much as we used to.”

  The boys nodded. Aiden sniffed. “Are you gonna take us outside today?” he asked.

  I spoke up. “I am.” It was part of our rotation on the schedule. Besides two hours we were supposed to spend on lessons, we shifted between childcare, nursery, kitchen chores, and livestock chores. Kitchen chores could be lots of things, but the other stuff was fairly routine. I liked doing childcare, whether playing with the kids or leaving them to their own devices. When they were happily entertained among themselves, I could read. They were never happily entertained without me for long, but it was something.

  When the boys didn’t even crack a smile, I added, “Well, I’M glad I’ll get to play with you!”

  When they remained silent, Andrea turned to me with a sheepish grin. “They like it when it’s my turn because I raid food storage for treats we haven’t had in a long time.”

  I gasped. “Andrea!”

  The boys giggled.

  Andrea put a finger to her lips. “Shhhhh!”

  “We know,” said Quentin. “It’s a secret.”

  “My folks would kill you if they knew you were doing that!” In truth, I felt angry. I liked the treats from food storage as much as anyone. There hadn’t been any shopping since the EMP. That meant the only chips or chocolate bars or packaged cookies we ever got to eat came from storage. And there wasn’t a great amount of that stuff. My mom had concentrated on nourishing food when she did the storing. I made a mental note to get down to the main storage area and check the buckets labeled “GOODIES.” The only way Andrea could be scavenging for treats was from those buckets. I was surprised she’d discovered how to open them, but they were like gold, now. I’d reseal the ones she got into and hide the bucket opener.

  Suddenly we heard a barrage of fire. It sounded close.

  “Get down!” Andrea pushed her brothers to the ground. Aiden started whimpering.

  “Get under the bed now!” I ordered.

  Quentin said, “It’s okay, Aiden. We’ll get the bad guys. Maybe we’ll get them all!”

  Aiden quieted. Andrea grabbed her rifle and the two of us crouched beside the windows. We peeked furtively outside. The fog was lifting. I gasped as I saw a figure holding a handgun dart out of the brush on one side of the house, heading towards the back.

  “We’ve got company, all right! Number fours!”

  “Company?” called Quentin. “Who’s here?”

  I raised the window enough to take a shot if I got one, frowning as I did so. I had no idea who was there, actually, but it wasn’t military so that left four possibilities and three of them had just been eliminated. A non-threatening person didn’t go darting about one’s property, holding a firearm. Jared had obviously messed up. He’d said all was clear; but all wasn’t clear. Someone was out there, and probably lots of someones—looters rarely came alone—and they were after our animals, at the least. At worst, they were after us.

  “Who’s out there, Lexie?” Quentin asked, again.

  “Bad guys.”

  I heard our dogs barking from behind the house. Someone, please, get the dogs inside! Pets, we’d learned the hard way, were fair game for hungry looters. We’d lost our beautiful, harmless golden retriever, Kasha, last month during a raid. How anyone could eat someone’s pet—my thoughts were cut off by another volley of fire ringing out, also coming from the back.

  “They’re at the barn or the coop!” Andrea said, turning to rush from the room.

  “No, stay here!” She looked at me, questioning. “My dad and the others will be back there. We need to be here so if they retreat back this way, we can give them grief.”

  Giving them grief was really not an accurate way to put it. We were supposed to shoot anyone who had used violence while trying to steal our animals or supplies because these people, if not stopped, were dangerous and would always come back. So far, I’d never had to shoot someone for stealing or for trying to. I prayed I never would.

  Andrea returned to her window. We heard more shots, still from behind the house. And then just as I leaned my rifle down for a moment to put my hair up with a stretchy band, a sudden ping at my window, right near my head, had me scrambling to get back in position to fire.

  “They’re back out front!” I gasped. Andrea already had her rifle at the window, leaning it on the sill as she took aim at something. In her slow, calm voice—Andrea was almost mystically calm during dire moments like this—she said, “No. They’re not. There’s just more of them.” She glanced at me. “We’ve got to hold them back.”

  Worriedly, I looked out at the front. A line of ghostly figures, just visible through the lifting fog, were emerging from the brush that faced the street side of our property. Andrea was right! There were a lot of them and they were armed. One had a raised shotgun. And with a skirmish already going on in the back, I feared she and I were alone to contain this second wave of marauders.

  I wasn’t sure I was up to it.

  Chapter 3

  SARAH

  The earth shook. I sobbed, numb with terror, and begged God to protect us. Richard’s arms tightened around me as I felt us both being lifted. I had unknowingly grabbed hold of something which I now clung to for dear life. Richard’s hold on me increased while I felt the terrible pulling trying to sweep us away. Then, without warning, he let go! He lifted off me and was gone!

  I screamed but didn’t let go of my hold, fighting the pull that had whisked him away like words on the wind. With every bit of strength I possessed I dragged my body into a crevice where my head had somehow found its way. I hadn’t even realized the crevice was there; either that, or it had just been created when the embankment shifted from the force of the storm. Clinging to what felt like a large tree root, I huddled in the fetal position while the world around me screamed in protest, cracking and lashing and pounding.

  The crevice shuddered as the embankment felt the power of nature’s fury, taking the pummeling. I tasted dirt, wondering if it would cave in around me, on top of me, leaving me buried. And then, as quickly and surprisingly as it had come, the force suddenly lessened. A few seconds later it was gone! It was like the air had been let out of a giant balloon. The roar moved on.

  Blinking away soil, I lifted my head, withdrawing it from the crevice. The sky flashed. I saw I was next to a jutting root system, part of which had formed my crevice. If the trees to that system had been uprooted I’d have gone right along with them. But the air felt charged, electric. I heard the rumbling again, the warning sound we’d heard right before the tornado hit. The sky flashed and I saw another wall of sky, twisting and alive, coming my way! Was it a second funnel? Or had I been in the eye of the storm?

  The roar increased quickly and I dove back into my crevice, this time clawing at the wall of dirt, trying to get deeper. I felt the embankment jump, heard the same awful snapping and tearing of trees and branches struck by the swirling madness. I covered my head with my arms and prayed. An indescribable sound filled my ears as the wind wreaked havoc on the brook and the opposite bank, and then its awful scream grew more distant. The train wreck of nature had passed, this time for sure. The only pounding left was my heart, echoing in sharp thuds throughout my being.

  I crawled backwards from the crevice and sat on my haunches, taking deep breaths and getting my bearings. Our tree, that stooping witch during the storm, had unbent itself. The creaking and groan
ing and rain had ceased, leaving a silence so deep it was eerie.

  Distant lightning blinked, and I saw the crevice again. It was the sort of hole which normally you couldn’t pay me ten thousand dollars to stick my hand into! The thought that I’d crawled into it without even thinking about it, folding myself up like a dinner napkin, seemed unreal. Yet it had saved my life. But Richard! How would I find him?

  Darkness was deep, broken only by occasional flashes from the sky revealing a greenish-brown atmosphere, more brown than green, now. But only one thought filled my shaking, weak-kneed body: Where was Richard? And, when I found him, would he be alive?

  When I felt strong enough to rise, I took a few tentative steps and called Richard. My voice was weak but, desperate to find him, I kept calling. I hoped, by some miracle, he was close by.

  I climbed up the opposite embankment. When I reached the top and made my way through a flattened thicket, I saw the path the storm had taken through the trees. Then lightning jagged the sky about a half mile away and I saw the next grove of trees bowing like meek subjects before the furious gale. More lightning. And there! The plume! Before we’d been too close to see it clearly but now I did, a gigantic, rotating black thing, wider at the top, writhing along at its condensed bottom like an enraged, twisted demon, clearing all in its path.

  I fell back down. All I wanted to do was sit and cry. I did not want to be alive if Richard was not. He was all I had left in the world. I reflected how he’d lifted off me like a moth in a fan’s breeze. Would it be possible for him to be alive? I remembered reading about people who had survived tornadoes after being caught up in the air, sometimes traveling for miles before landing somehow, somewhere. These accounts were from people who had survived. Richard might have, too.

  I couldn’t tell if my hope was reasonable or born of desperation—maybe even starvation. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight. But the thought that other people had survived such storms gave me hope and I got up. I slung off my pack and dug inside for the flashlight. We considered it almost sacred, this flashlight. We didn’t use it for convenience. If we had, it would have died long ago. We saved it for only the direst circumstances. To my mind, finding Richard fit the bill. As I groped inside, my fingers came across the last piece of a granola bar I’d been saving. I grabbed it and ate it quickly, trying not to think about the fact that Richard had been carrying the rest of our food, meager as it was.

  The one good thing about not having light most of the time was that now using the flashlight felt magical. It raised my spirits, and I began calling out to my brother, moving in the path of the storm, working my way around debris and brush.

  The wake of the storm was obvious, for trees in its path were mostly stumps, some as high as my waist; but following it was another thing. Limbs, broken branches, and trunks littered the path. Trees half-pulled from the ground leaned at odd angles. I had to watch my step to keep from walking into them or getting tangled or falling.

  Seeing the wide swath of destruction, I realized that the force which had snatched Richard from me probably wouldn’t have deposited him anywhere close. But just in case, I moved slowly, calling Richard and searching trees that were intact for his body. I half expected to find him hanging lifeless from a tree limb, high in the air. But I fought against such thoughts and trudged on. I resolved to search as long as it took. There was nothing else for me to do.

  I couldn’t go on without Richard.

  Chapter 4

  LEXIE

  The band of marauders crept closer, and I panicked. “Andrea, let’s pray!” She was zeroing in on one of the intruders, getting ready to shoot, and didn’t answer.

  “What if they’re friendly?”

  “Lex, they just put a bullet in your window! That could have been your head!” She let out her breath and I saw her finger squeeze the trigger. The shot made me jump though I knew it was coming. I turned and ran to my dresser. I threw a pair of protective ear muffs at her and put down my rifle to position my own pair. I’d been in skirmishes before which had left my ears ringing for hours and I hated that sensation.

  Outside, Andrea’s shot must have reached its mark because the intruders scattered to all sides (some, back the way they’d come! Hoorah!). Andrea kept shooting while there I was, taking stock of the situation like a bystander, not a soldier. But I am supposed to be a soldier. We all are. We have to be.

  I returned to my position, crouched, and aimed. I took a single shot and then suddenly Blake knelt beside me.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, his gaze quickly scanning the view out front. More of our people entered the room to get to our windows, which gave a good vantage point for the front. Jared dropped down beside Andrea, falling into position to shoot. It seemed to be as natural for him as breathing.

  I felt better having the guys with us. But then I heard the sound of a window crashing in below us.

  “They’re getting in the house!” I cried. Jared and Blake’s eyes met. They jumped up.

  “We got it,” Jared said.

  “Be careful!” I whispered to Blake. I grabbed his hand and he gave mine a squeeze.

  Before taking off with Jared he stopped to say, “Lock the door behind us.”

  As I did, I said, keeping my voice low, “I wish we’d gotten the kids to the safe room.”

  “This is more fun!” Quentin’s muffled voice came out from below the bed. I had hoped the boys wouldn’t hear me. Andrea and I shook our heads. What kind of boys would the twins grow up to be if they thought armed encounters were fun?

  “He doesn’t understand,” Andrea said. “To them, we’re playing cops and robbers.” We heard a shot from downstairs, then another, then another. My heart was in my throat.

  “I see movement!” Andrea cried. I spun back to my post in time to see two people who had just emerged into view from the porch beneath us. A second later she took a shot and one fell. Andrea is an amazing shot—it’s a natural skill for her, like horseback riding is for me. I have trouble staying calm and focused when it comes to hurting other people—even when we are under attack. Andrea seems immune to misgivings about it. Like she’s trained not to see marauders as people. I have to sternly remind myself they mean us harm, that they’re the enemy, or I can’t handle fighting.

  While I mused and tried to get the other guy out there in my scope, Andrea took the shot and felled him. Downstairs we’d heard a few more shots but it was quiet now. We stayed at the windows watching. Minutes ticked by and all was still. Andrea turned to me. I hurriedly lifted my ear protection. “What?”

  “Why didn’t you shoot one?” Her voice was calm, but in her eyes I saw something lurking. I just stared at her a moment. I hadn’t meant NOT to shoot.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. You got it done.”

  “Yeah. Thanks,” she said, heavily. Turning back to the window, she added, “You’re not a bad shot, Lexie. You could have taken one of them, too.”

  I bit my lip, staring at the front. So maybe it did bother her, having to kill people. I had let her do the dirty work. I’d let my dislike of shooting at human targets stop me. I loved shooting as a sport—but it wasn’t fun, anymore. It was deadly serious.

  I gave her my feeble defense. “They were leaving,” I said. “I can’t shoot anyone in the back.”

  Andrea’s eyes widened. “They came to kill us and to steal! You know we can’t let them get away after they shoot at us! You know the rules, Lex! They’ll come back! You can’t pick and choose who to fight when they start it. If you do that again, I’m gonna tell your dad!”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time.” I could hardly stand to look into Andrea’s large, reproving eyes at that moment.

  Quentin and Aiden crawled out from under the bed. “We can come out now, right?” Quentin asked.

  “No!” Andrea’s sharp cry startled them. I saw Aiden’s lip quiver, but his brother said, “C’mon, Aiden. It’s okay.” They backed under and were out of sight. I was still feeling guilty and look
ed at Andrea, trying to come up with an explanation. To my surprise I saw her cheeks were wet! Andrea was rarely emotional after a skirmish. I felt helpless. I didn’t know how to comfort her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. She ignored me. But then we heard two shots from outside. It wasn’t over!

  Coming to attention at her window, she said, “C’mon! There’s more of them. Help me this time!”

  I did. I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood. I saw people out there grow blurry and realized I was crying. I wiped away the tears quickly so I could focus, but I couldn’t deny I hated having to live on the defensive with rifles practically attached to our bodies. We went nowhere unarmed. I wanted to be a normal teenager again. Not a soldier in this civil war where survivors fought survivors.

  If there really were foreign troops on the ground, wouldn’t it be better for everyone if all Americans came together to resist them? But instead we had to constantly be on the alert for the ruthless “number fours” whose existence meant we were never safe. And there seemed to be a lot of them today.

  I could hear shots hitting the house but fortunately our people downstairs and at other strategic places on the grounds were giving return fire. Shots rang out for the next fifteen minutes, on and off, and at least two more men out there fell within our view. The “bad guys” were hurting. I heard my mom, evidently from the room beside us at her window, cry out, “Take that, you rascally varmint!”

  Andrea and I giggled through our tears. When my mom got emotional she reverted to southernisms from her youth. No doubt “rascally varmint” was a favorite saying of her grandma’s or grandpappy’s. We’d tease her about it later. We laughed too much—I think we were slightly unhinged. It was taking an emotional toll on us, living this way.

  There was sporadic cross-fire for a few more minutes—then silence. Thank God, silence.