We continued moving around buckets, reading the wonderful labels: Dried Soup, Pinto Beans, Rice. Peanut Butter Powder, Dried Blueberries, Dried Peaches.
“They were here after the EMP in the winter,” he said, thinking it through, walking around and fingering items on the shelves as he spoke. “So, in winter, you have to heat your house somehow.” There were two fireplaces in the house upstairs, we’d noticed. “So, the smoke from the chimney gave them away!” He turned and looked at me, as though he’d figured out a mystery.
“Those soldiers probably came around real nice like and ‘invited’ them to the camp, promising food and an easier existence. So, in order to maintain their secret, they went.” He shook his head. “And are probably still there.”
I felt sad for them, whoever these people were. It must have taken a lot of work to put away all this food. And a whole lot of money. Hundreds of pounds of grains, pasta, rice, dried fruit and other dried stuff. They’d been so smart! And for what? So the government could come in with a monkey wrench and ruin it all! At that moment I hated our government. It seemed so unfair. If people were happy to stay at home and take their chances, why not let them?
Later that day, we felt like kings as we sat down to canned stew, peaches, tortilla chips and salsa. Richard said, “Thing is, we won’t be able to stay hidden in the winter any more than the people who lived here could. In other words, if we try to heat the house, they’ll find us.”
“You could still be wrong about the camps,” I said. Just then we heard the sound of a vehicle. Hurrying to catch a glimpse, we knelt out of sight as it approached. Another army truck. And in daylight we could now see without a doubt that the back of the truck held about a dozen people. People who looked like refugees—hungry, dirty, and tired. I recognized that look. You didn’t live out on the road looking for food and shelter and expect to look like a million bucks. If we hadn’t found this house, we’d be one of them.
As it passed, a soldier in the passenger seat searched the street, eyes sharp.
Richard jotted down the time they lumbered past. From then on, he did that, keeping track of their runs. He figures, being the military, they’ll run on a schedule. He thinks we may be able to chance an occasional food fire if we time it right. He is so smart and resourceful. He found black plastic garbage bags, and, using two of them, dumped in some water and tied it up tight and put it in the yard in a sunny spot.
He looked like a secret agent, checking out the yard and looking around every which way to make sure no one was watching; then he darted out in the sun, propped the bags against a stone bench, and darted back. The heat of the sun will turn that water nice and warm. I had a bath at Tom and Martha’s but I can’t wait to feel warm water on my body again!
I don’t know long we’ll be able to stay here, but it’s a reprieve. A blessed, welcome rest from the road.
Chapter 25
ANDREA
It all happened like slow motion and yet, in retrospect, at lightning speed.
I took my shot at the man holding Aiden and he fell backwards instantly, taking Aiden with him. The second intruder startled, turned and ran. Marcus shot at the running man, and more shots rang out from below us, but I wasn’t waiting to see what happened. I had to get Aiden!
I found out later the second guy survived our first round of shells but he was confused about which way to escape and made the mistake of climbing the fence into the riding ring. That put him in an enclosed area. He made a beeline for the far side of the fence but we had men on the ground. More shots rang out and he fell, his legs sprawled out as if still trying to run.
Mrs. Martin was outside ahead of me and already held a frightened, wailing Aiden in her arms when I got there. The moment he saw me his wailing got louder and he cried, “I want my Luuuuke Skywalker-er-er-er-er!” Through tears, I pulled it from my pocket and held it out to him. He reached for it, but kept up his caterwauling; now holding his arms out to me. When I had him, I gave him a fierce hug and kissed his head effusively. He drew in a few shuddering, shaky breaths—and finally quieted. Then, ignoring me as I continued to kiss his face and head, he held up his toy.
“See his helmet?” he asked. (Shuddering breath) “I’m gonna get one like that. When I grow up,” he assured me. “I’m gonna get a Luke Skywalker helmet.” He met my eyes. “Right?”
“Right,” I said, softly. Aiden threw himself against me then, his arms tightly clasped about my neck.
“Take him downstairs,” Lexie’s mother said. “Until we get the all clear.” I noticed her eyes were troubled. I figured later on after the danger was past, I was going to get my head handed to me. Both Mr. and Mrs. Martin certainly had reason to be upset. I’d delayed getting Aiden to the safe room. I’d gone outside to retrieve a toy after an alarm. I’d ignored clear directions and taken a shot at the man holding Aiden. They didn’t even know yet, that I’d also allowed a young man to get away with a rooster! That alone was bound to have repercussions, because he’d come back to steal more. They always did. Hunger definitely brings out the worst in people.
Downstairs, Aiden sat on my lap while I filled in the other women about what had happened. But after watching the other kids playing with their toys, he climbed down to join them, getting on his knees beside Quentin, who was racing matchbox cars. He let Quentin look at Luke but snatched it away when he went to take it.
“It’s mine! It’s MY Luke!” Quentin shrugged and went back to his cars.
I sat watching, amazed at the resilience of kids. Aiden felt safe again and was picking up right where he’d left off playing. Maybe he had no idea of the danger he’d been in. Did he know he might have been killed?
I shut my eyes, sitting back and hoping to rest. The day’s events kept playing in my mind like reruns. I was exhausted.
Chapter 26
LEXIE
Andrea has no clue how lucky she is. She put Aiden in harm’s way—during a skirmish—that happened while we were short on people! Jared, Mr. Wassermanm, and Mr. Buchanan were investigating the source of the smoke when those intruders came. After she shot that big guy who had her brother, lookouts reported seeing up to five more people escaping the property. It could have so easily gone the other way! The Lord had to be watching over us; that’s all I can say.
At least she knows I’m still angry at her even though Blake and I spoke to her before. She keeps giving me sad looks but I can’t forgive her yet. Even when my dad and mom called her aside after dinner—I knew she was in trouble for what happened with Aiden but I didn’t feel one bit sorry for her. Later I asked my mom what her punishment was and all she would say is, “You’ll have to ask Andrea if you want to know. It’s between her and God, now.”
This sounded mysterious enough to almost make me wish I was talking to Andrea. Almost. So I said, “Well, I’m not asking her because I’m still mad at her.”
Mom looked at me, nodding. “Still? I see you and Blake have made up.”
“I can’t find it in my heart to forgive her. She was so—wrong!”
“You’re looking in the wrong place, Lex.”
“What do you mean?”
“You haven’t found forgiveness in your heart because it’s not there. If you want to forgive someone, you need to find that forgiveness in God. He’s got it in abundance.”
I frowned. “But how do I get it from him? I don’t understand, Mom.”
She looked at me evenly. “You pray. You ask God to show you how much YOU have sinned and offended a holy God. When you get a glimpse of your own sinfulness, the depth of it, the scope of it—how evil we are in our heart of hearts—and then you realize that God has forgiven us for all of it!—you’ll be able to forgive Andrea. God has forgiven in us far more than we will ever be called upon to forgive in someone else.”
This just made me feel ornery. I knew she was right in a technical sort of way. But emotionally, I wasn’t there. “What if someone killed someone you love? That would be asking you to forgive a lot!”
&n
bsp; “Not more than God has forgiven us for. We killed his Son. He forgave us.”
“Well, I didn’t kill him.”
My mother gave me a searching look. “Oh, yes, you did, Lex. We all did. Jesus died for the sin of the world. Would you say you’re a member of the world?”
“But I wouldn’t have been in favor of killing him. If I was there, at the time, I would have been crying with Mary and John the Apostle, and whoever else was at the foot of the cross crying.”
“Even Mary needed a Savior. Crying for his death doesn’t take away your sin. Being sorry for it doesn’t take away your sin. Only his shed blood on that cross, his dying, could. Even for Mary and the Apostle John, and the Pope, and anyone else who has ever lived!”
I felt defeated. I knew the only way I was ever going to forgive Andrea was by getting on my knees first. I guess I’d been avoiding doing that. I clung to my remaining objection. “I don’t know if I could ever forgive someone who killed my son.”
“That shows you the amazing grace of God, now, doesn’t it? That he not only forgives us, but SENT his Son to die for us, to be a sacrifice for us, so we can enjoy peace with him now and heaven hereafter.”
I was already familiar with the gospel—I’d been hearing it my whole life; but now and then I heard it as if for the first time. When I forgot the fullness of God’s grace, as my mom pointed out; I also forgot how totally undeserving I was of salvation in Christ. I nodded my head, accepting this reminder, when we both looked up and saw Jared had entered the room. I wondered how long he’d been there, listening. He gave us a dark, unreadable look and walked away.
Mom met my eyes. “Now there’s a young man to pray for.”
I went up to my room and found—Andrea. Everything I had just heard about God’s forgiveness and how much he has forgiven me for went flying out of my head. I felt a surge of anger instead—I was even angry she was in my room, though I had happily invited her to share it when she first arrived here.
“Lexie, can we talk?”
I could feel my heart harden. I turned and left the room.
Some Christian I am!
I saw my dad in the hallway. “The smoke’s getting thicker; fires are moving this way. We’re calling a prayer meeting.”
“Did they find out what caused the explosion?”
He nodded darkly, and then shook his head. “Gas tanks. It’s a crying shame.”
Chapter 27
SARAH
We’ve been here a full week and seen the trucks come through twice a day at roughly the same time. There’s a morning run and an evening run. The first few times we saw the trucks we didn’t notice the guns. Thanks to Richard’s binoculars, we spotted them. Richard said they have AKs (whatever that is; machine guns, I guess.). But I try not to think about trucks or soldiers. Living here has been a dream. We’ve been reading their books and learning a lot about survival. The only downside is having to stay indoors most of the time.
Right after a truck passes, we feel safe enough to go outside, sit in the sun or the dusk and enjoy the spring air. We even feel safe from gangs here—the trucks are picking up anyone found in the area, so we don’t worry much about marauders like we used to. As long as we don’t let them know we’re here, the trucks are the only thing to worry about.
Richard took the precaution of putting boards across the front door, on the inside, just in case anyone gets any ideas of coming in. The window already had broken boards when we got here; so we look like every other house. It was sort of harrowing to make so much noise with the boards, nailing and what not—I kept a sharp eye out to see if our noise attracted anyone; but he did it right after a truck went through—when it was safest.
Our plan, if you can call it that, is to stay here as long as possible. We have food and water. We feel unbelievably rich! It’s only after you’ve had nothing for a long time that a broken down house with food and water feels like riches, I guess. But it does. When the cold returns, we’ll have to move on because we don’t want to get found out by heating the house. Richard says the soldiers can’t be everywhere.
There’s one other worry I have, but I haven’t told it to my brother. What if the people who own this house escape from the camp? What if they come back?
Chapter 28
LEXIE
So Dad called a prayer meeting even though we have scheduled meetings every Wednesday night. Thanks to a new woman in our compound who is a prayer warrior, Cecily Townsend, tonight's meeting was awesome!
Here’s what happened. It was sorta fascinating. I always got antsy during prayer meetings and wasn’t sure why, but now I think I know. Cecily raised the bar for us all. Compared to her idea of a prayer meeting, ours was tightly controlled. I’m not saying our usual prayer meeting was wrong—but now that I see how some people do it differently, I like the new way better. I feel like it's what I've wanted all along.
It started out like any other meeting as we sat in a circle on the sofas, side-chairs, and a few kitchen chairs which had been dragged into the room. Normally my dad would ask Blake to play his guitar and we'd sing a few songs. Then one of the adults would talk to us about something on their heart. Eventually, they'd announce it was prayer time, but then tell us what to pray for. (That’s what I mean about tightly controlled.)
I always hoped we’d get to pray about a lot of things—not just what was mentioned. It made me feel ornery when it was prevented —so prayer meeting just brought out the worst in me. I complained once to my dad who said, “Even a little prayer is better than no prayer. But if you want to ask the Holy Spirit to lead our meetings differently, go right ahead. ”
“I've read about praying really hard to get deep and reach the heart of God. But we need to spend more time at it,” I said.
My dad nodded. “Go for it.”
So when he handed around the sheet of songs as usual, saying we’d be singing the first two, Cecily took her sheet, looked it over and then looked puzzled. Maybe troubled is a better word. She’s a pretty black woman, beautiful, really, about my mom’s age. She wore a light, fringed shawl, and I noticed a gun clip on her belt before she sat down.
She said, “Excuse me, but is this meeting going to be for prayer?”
“Yes!” said my dad. “I thought we’d open with a few songs.”
She eyed him for a moment. “We only have ninety minutes, right?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m sorry, but tonight I need to pray for ninety minutes.” There was a pause. The room fell silent.
“I love singing to the Lord, don’t get me wrong,” she continued, “but, well, is this mini-church time or prayer time? I’d like to do what I’m called to do in a prayer meeting: PRAY.”
Mr. Wasserman spoke up, frowning. “What, just jump into prayer?”
Cecily smiled. “Yes.”
“You have an unorthodox idea of what a prayer meeting should be like, I think,” said Mr. Wasserman, to which my dad nodded his agreement.
Cecily smiled again. “I suppose it’s what you’d call a Pentecostal view,” she agreed. “We Pentecostals like to get down to business!”
I sat there amazed. Cecily was new, yet daring to question the status quo. Even more, she spoke with no anger and yet was compelling. I wished I could learn to be like that. If I had spoken up it would have come out with sarcasm or resentment. (Like, “Hey! I have a bunch of things to pray for, too. Like my missing horse!”) And I would have been embarrassed to pieces. But Cecily was cool, calm, and collected.
My father hesitated. “Well fine then, you can pray. While we sing.”
But my mother had been listening with great interest on her face. “I think Cecily has a point,” she said. “There’s a lot we need to pray about and we’re short on time.”
“We’ll still have time to pray,” Mr. Wasserman interjected. “And we need to conduct this meeting in an orderly manner. Grant and I made a list of what we should pray for.”
“No one is suggesting anarchy,” Cecily sai
d, gently. “The Holy Spirit knows what we need to pray about; and God will lead our prayers with or without a list.” She held up a hand as though to silence objections and added, “I realize lists can be useful; but to guide us, not to limit us! Let’s ask the Holy Spirit to guide this meeting.”
Mr. Wasserman frowned. “What does that look like—er, Cecily? What does that look like?”
She took a breath and smiled at us—or should I say, upon us. Cecily’s smile is magnanimous. She has very white teeth—not as easy to achieve as when dentists were around.
“Here’s what it looks like when a roomful of people decide to pray fervently. ” Her tone was hushed. “You walk into the room. People are spread around, some circling the room as they pray while others are holding hands and praying together. You hear a low murmur from all the voices—including perhaps, someone praying unobtrusively in tongues. You stop to check a prayer request board. If you have a need on your heart you take a moment and add it to the other requests.” As she spoke, her eyes smiled.
“You find a spot to pray and sit down or fall to your knees—whichever you choose. You start to pray, asking God to lead your prayers. Or you start with the needs on the board. When you’re done, you add other needs the Lord brings to mind or that are on your heart. Maybe your knees hurt; so you get up and walk as you continue to pray. Or—” (here her voice swelled with emotion) “Maybe you get under conviction and fall on your face!”
The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set Page 42