The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  Andrea and I had no choice though, but to stay as lookouts for as long as it took until we heard an official “all clear.” We saw no more intruders, and after about half an hour, sounds of normalcy, children’s voices, came from below. During a skirmish, children are hurried to the safe room and kept there until it was safe to come out. I was sure we could hear my little sisters and other kids below—which meant the threat had to be over.

  My dad finally popped his head in to give the all clear. Andrea and I sighed with relief.

  “Next time, Dad, could you send someone up here sooner?”

  “Sorry, honey. There was a lot going on.”

  We woke the boys who had fallen asleep—lulled by having to keep still.

  Downstairs, I hugged our German shepherd, Bach, while Mozart, our Great Dane, enjoyed Andrea’s attention. We learned that Jared had taken two guys with handcuffs, the ones who broke the window, I supposed. (Handcuffs: One of many “interesting” accessories Jared brought with him to the compound.) Their capture was supposed to be good news because it meant we could get information from them. When the attackers were organized in a group, we wanted to know who was in charge, how they’d organized, what their targets and plans were. Were they just passing through or did they plan on scavenging the area completely?

  Andrea and I were just starting to tease my mom, calling her a “rascally varmint” when we saw Jared marching the prisoners towards an out-building. The smiles vanished from our faces. We knew what awaited those men.

  Chapter 5

  SARAH

  I found Richard face down on the grass. I thought my heart would stop. I was sure he must be dead. I approached him feeling like I was a foot off the ground, like walking without feet. I couldn’t feel them. I’ve had lots of scary things happen since the pulse, and I’d been searching for Richard for hours—I don’t have a watch so I can’t say exactly how long—but this felt like the scariest yet. Because if anything happens to Richard, I’ll never make it on my own. I wouldn’t even want to.

  Dawn was rising. I fell to the ground beside my brother and shook his shoulder. Amazingly, his backpack was still there. I unlatched the strap circling his waist and gently drew it off him. Again I tried nudging him awake. When he didn’t answer, I started crying. I was too dehydrated to shed tears but my body shook with sobs. I pounded on his back.

  “Don’t be dead, Richard!” Stupidly I didn’t think of checking for a pulse; I just assumed the worst. But an amazing thing happened after I pounded him: Richard moaned!

  I gasped and tried to turn him over. He is as skinny as can be but I still had trouble turning him. He was like dead weight. I finally got him turned over. He blinked at me. I removed my pack and found the only water we had—a plastic bottle we’d been refilling from any source we could find. This water was from a little trickling spring, so we’d already treated it with an iodide pill—a miraculous concoction we picked up from a military guy (I’ll explain later about that). I didn’t want to waste a single drop of this precious water, so crouching down next to him, I raised his head and carefully placed the bottle by his mouth. He managed to take a sip, then another.

  “Are you okay?” His voice was croaky.

  “I’m fine. Don’t talk.” I gave him another sip and then let his head rest on the ground. I took a shirt from my pack and folded it up and put it beneath his head.

  “I gotta get up,” he said. “Gimme a hand.”

  “Don’t you think you should rest?”

  “No. Help me up.”

  But he hadn’t moved. A new fear washed over me. What if Richard had broken his back? What if he couldn’t walk?

  “Can you feel your legs?”

  He blinked at me again. In a second I saw his feet rise, first one, then the other.

  “Thank God!”

  “C’mon, help me up.” He lifted an arm towards me, so I got to my feet and braced myself to help pull him up. We got him to a sitting position.

  “I can’t believe it—the storm took you, and you’re okay!”

  He nodded, pulling in a deep breath. “I know.” He started to rise, so I hurried to help him. He plopped back down heavily, saying, “Wait. Sit down.”

  I sat beside him. “Are you dizzy? Is your head hurt?” A slew of worries were coming at me. Richard could have a concussion or hidden internal bleeding. He might collapse on me. He might have something like major whiplash from his tornadic ride. I have a long habit of cataloging things to worry about, and right now it was in full force.

  “I’m okay.” He grabbed his pack and rummaged in it, and then pulled out two MREs—”Meals, Ready to Eat,” issued by the military, originally for the armed forces. These are the best food we’ve found anywhere since we hit the road. I don’t mean they taste the best—but they’re dense in calories. We need all the calories we can get. Like our single flashlight, we treated MREs like gold. We’d eaten a few before, but resisted these last two since we’d gotten them. I didn’t like to think about how we got them. (How we got a lot of Richard’s gear, and even a couple of things for me. I’ll write about it one day…but not today.)

  Afterwards we each took a few sips of water. That was more nutrition and liquid than we’d allowed ourselves in days. Richard suddenly popped up, literally jumping to his feet. He winced in pain, though.

  “What is it?”

  “Just sore. I think I hit a tree before landing here.”

  “I knew it! That’s what I’m afraid of! What if you have a concussion?” I stared at him but he only shrugged. “Did you? Did you hit a tree?” We looked around. There was no tree close to where we were, and my fear went down a notch. “What was it like? Being swept away by a tornado?”

  He looked at me a moment, thinking. “You know, I remember letting go of you. I was afraid we’d both get taken. I felt this tremendous wind against me…and then…nothing. Like I was floating on air. And then…” he lapsed into silence, searching his memory. “I don’t remember how I got down. I feel like I hit something. I must have hit something, I feel sort of like a train wreck…sore all over. But otherwise I’m okay.”

  “You realize, God spared your life.”

  He looked away, moving his jaw as though stretching his jaw muscles. But he didn’t answer.

  Suddenly, I felt the long night’s ordeal catching up to me. I was exhausted. I lay back, closing my eyes.

  “Sarah, c’mon, we’ve eaten. We should get moving.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “We’re always tired. But we have to go.”

  “I can’t.” We were in the middle of a field, adjacent to the swath of disorder left by the tornado.

  “We can’t stay here. We have to at least find somewhere with cover.”

  I let Richard pull me to my feet. Minutes ago I’d had to help him. Right then I felt like it was impossible to move. The sudden rise in blood sugar had the opposite effect on me as it had on Richard. He’d gotten instant energy whereas I only wanted to sleep. I mean, I longed to rest. I felt drunk with the need. My body wasn’t used to getting quality nutrition, and I’d been up all night in dread of finding him dead. “I am really…tired.”

  “I know,” he said. “C’mon, we’ll find a shelter.”

  Chapter 6

  LEXIE

  Two shots from the outbuilding were enough for us to gather what happened. I was peeling the last of the potatoes from last year’s harvest for dinner that night, and stopped, taking in the sound.

  “Mom, can I go upstairs for a few minutes?”

  She was at the sink which was half-filled with hauled in water, doing dishes. She took one look at me and understood.

  “Sure, honey, you go ahead.”

  Knowing two more had died on our compound, even though they were “bad guys,” made me want to be alone. I needed daily prayer time, anyways. Sometimes I prayed about what a pain life is these days. Everything takes so much work! Work, work, work. Today, when I got upstairs I just sat on my bed and cried.

 
; I told God that none of this is right. Teenagers should be going to school, studying, making friends, having fun. We shouldn’t have to live like soldiers! I’ve told this to the Lord before. You have made your people see hard things; you have given us wine to drink that made us stagger. That’s Psalm 60, verse 3. It helps to tell God how I feel. But I came away with the same conclusion I always get. The United States is apparently under judgment, and judgment is bleak. In Zechariah 1, it says, The Lord All Powerful did as he said he would do, he punished us for the way we lived and for what we did. I know our country deserved this. But I don’t feel like we did, personally.

  My hope is for our nation to be restored—but I don’t see it happening. I think we need to repent, first. How do you get a whole nation to repent? Only God can. But it takes time. And in the meantime, people are still desperate and violent. And what if some marauders catch us off-guard one day? What if we run out of ammunition?

  Jared brought thousands of rounds, as well as an impressive collection of firearms. (My dad wanted to know how he got it all but Jared would only say, “It was waiting for someone to take it. Better us than them.”) And even my dad stockpiled thousands of rounds over time, building his stores. He made bullets (“casting bullets” he calls it) as well as buying them. It was a hobby. I often found him outside his workshop with a messy set-up of folding tables holding all kinds of strange equipment, melting lead, and with scads of used bullet casings which he cleaned in some kind of solution. He actually found this relaxing. (Proof that guys are a mystery. But I guess it’s no different than how Mom would hum away in the kitchen while she baked or cooked.)

  Anyways, he can’t make bullets indefinitely. He can re-use the cases and melt lead for bullets—but he can’t make his own primer or propellant. So even though we have a good amount of ammunition, it won’t last forever.

  And what if the government gets its act together and sends out troops and confiscates our weapons? They did that after Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans. Dad says it was totally unconstitutional but they did it anyways. They took legally owned firearms from people—just when they might need them most! And get this—they don’t confiscate firearms from the bad guys—they can’t. There’s no purchase record if you don’t buy a weapon legally, and the bad guys don’t. It makes me so mad! We’ve had to defend ourselves numerous times since the pulse. I don’t think we’d still be alive or have any supplies left if we didn’t have means to defend ourselves.

  I was talking about this to Andrea once in the kitchen when Jared came in after his lookout shift ended, seeking coffee. He overheard me talking and came over.

  “What are you worrying about?”

  Andrea smiled. All he has to do is come near us and she’s smiling. Personally, I find Jared on the creepy side. He always looks grim. Anyways, we told him.

  “If your weapons are from local gun dealers, don’t worry.”

  “Why not?” I did not subscribe to the “what Jared says is law” belief system Andrea lived by. I wanted a reason to take his word for it.

  “There’s no gun shop records to lead them here,” he said. “We can only be traced through their files. And there’s no files.”

  “What happened to the files?” I asked. For the first time since I’ve met Jared, a smile curled his lips. He leaned his head back, thinking. He seemed to be considering whether to tell us or not; but evidently the answer to my question amused him.

  He looked back at us. “Shops got burned down. Apparently, some people don’t like the government overstepping their bounds.” He paused. “That’s where I got a lot of my gear.”

  “From a burning gun shop?” My question made him level a stare at me. I didn’t like what I saw in Jared’s eyes. Challenge? Defiance? Had my question angered him?

  “Why not?” He asked. “Someone had to take the stuff.”

  “So there’s no federal file with those records?”

  “S’not supposed to be. No paper trail, no electronic trail—not that anything electronic is working. Including most of the government, by the way. But they’re not the only ones who might want gun records. Did you see “Red Dawn”?” Andrea and I shook our heads, no.

  “In the movie, the Russians try to take over the western United States and the first thing they did was go for gun owners and guns, using those records to trace them.” I felt a chill go down my spine.

  “How do you know for sure those records got destroyed?” This time the question came from Andrea. I did not see the same suspicion on Jared’s face as he answered her.

  “The shops burned to the ground. Nothing left.” He tipped an imaginary hat at us, and went to fill his empty coffee cup. Andrea smiled at me. “He’s great, isn’t he?”

  “He’s an arsonist and a thief!” I hissed, whispering so he wouldn’t hear me.

  Her face dropped. “You don’t know he was the one who burned those places down.”

  “So he just happened to be there when they did, and was able to help himself to the goods?” I gave her a sardonic look. “Really?”

  She wavered a moment, but then her face hardened. “Lighten up, Lex! He did it to protect us! I’m glad he got rid of those records.” She paused, staring at me. “Aren’t you?”

  “I guess.”

  “He did us a favor. We need all the favors we can get.”

  This afternoon Andrea and I got a rare break from chores. Seems the adults were talking about how we kept our posts at the bedroom windows during that skirmish yesterday and thought we should be rewarded. I grabbed Butler the cat and we headed upstairs to lie down and read or do nothing. Doing nothing is a luxury. I climbed up my bunk with my Bible and journal. Andrea was resting on the bottom bunk.

  “You like Jared, don’t you?” I asked.

  “Can you tell?”

  I could hear a smile in her voice. I tried not to laugh. “Um. Yeah! You break out in a big smile every time he’s around.”

  “He’s cute, isn’t he? Like in a cowboy kinda way?” Jared was tall and lanky, wore camo clothing, combat boots, and, often, an army issue cap. He didn’t look anything like a cowboy. But I didn’t want to hurt Andrea’s feelings, so I just said, “Well…maybe if he didn’t always look so sinister; like he’s angry at the world.”

  “Everyone’s angry at the world, Lex.”

  “But Jared looks extra angry.”

  “I don’t think he looks angry. Just intense. He thinks a lot.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “No. He doesn’t have to. I can tell.” I turned over, hanging my head down to get a glimpse of her beneath me.

  “Blake thinks a lot, too. But he doesn’t give me the creeps when he’s doing it.”

  “Jared gives you the creeps?” She stared up at me, wide-eyed. I nodded.

  “What do we know about him, anyway? When he got here he had stuff normal people don’t have.”

  “Like what!”

  “Like a new front door for the house.”

  “I can’t believe you’re complaining about that! Your door was all smashed up by Roy’s gang. You said yourself; it was a constant reminder of that whole horrible episode.”

  “It was, but still. Where’d he get a beautiful new front door?”

  Andrea shrugged. “Maybe he salvaged it from one of those burning houses. It would’ve been destroyed anyway, so it’s good if he did.”

  “IF he did. And how do you know he didn’t burn that house just like the gun shops?” I had to pull my head back up because it was heavy from being upside down.

  “You’re letting your imagination run away with you! How do you know he didn’t take it from his mother’s house? Lots of our people dismantled things from their own houses to use for building.”

  “Only expendable things. Not their front doors! And his mother’s house was old; she did NOT have that beautiful new door. It’s an expensive door.” And it was. It was made of reinforced steel but painted a deep blue-grey. It complemented the farmhouse look of our home. It also strength
ened it, being made of steel. I guess I should have appreciated that Jared brought it. But at the moment, all I could think of was reasons to distrust him.

  Before the pulse, Jared was mostly away, as he lived in Hawaii. His mother was a neighbor down the road with a little old house much like Mrs. Preston’s, only smaller, and in need of more upkeep. If Jared was so wonderful, why hadn’t he kept up his mother’s house better? Mrs. Preston’s son had hired help for his mother before he’d gone off to Europe on a business venture. Why hadn’t Jared done that for his mother?

  Andrea was silent, thinking. “You want me to ask him where he found the door?” Her voice was doubtful. Like she was hoping I’d say not to.

  “My dad already did. He says he just finds these things. That he’s not taking them from anyone who needs them. Like the windows, and mirrors, remember?” He’d even offered to replace our shattered hutch with a new one—but my dad told him severely that going around to gather furniture was foolhardy. Leaving the compound was always risky. No one was to do it just for the sake of getting STUFF. Only food, fuel, and necessary housing materials were worth venturing off the property for.

  “You never know, Lex. So many people are gone…” I knew what she meant. Gone, as in dead. “Jared is probably taking stuff from abandoned houses.”

  “No kidding. That’s what I mean.” I couldn’t see Andrea but I swear I could feel her glaring at me. Her next words confirmed it.

  “Even YOU took stuff from Mrs. Preston’s!”

  Blake and I had gone to Mrs. Preston’s to scavenge anything useful, but I did it knowing she would want us to.

  “That is so totally different! She would be GLAD we took it. And we labeled her things. If her son ever returns he’ll get it all back! That is nothing like looting the homes of strangers!”

  I heard her let out a breath of frustration. “I’m taking a nap,” she announced, in a voice that said, “conversation over.” But suddenly she added, “EVERYONE else is doing it! If Jared didn’t take it, someone else would have!”