The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  I grabbed a knife which lay beside the loaf of bread and cut a thick slice. I slathered butter over it and quickly ate it with the stew. Suddenly I felt like I had all the time in the world. After all, if anyone had been around, surely wolf-dog’s barking would have brought them. I refilled my bowl and cut off another fat slice of bread, staring at it with appreciation. It was so wonderful to have bread!

  I am the Bread of Life.

  Wow. I wasn’t sure where that thought came from. But I knew it was Jesus who said it in the Bible. Thank you, Lord, for this bread!

  I was about to take a bite of it when I remembered my brother. I wished he was here enjoying this bounty, too. I saw then, in my mind’s eye, last night’s hooded figure drawing the sword. It occurred to me I could be eating while my brother lay dead somewhere in the woods. I had to get out of there! I jumped up. Oh, God, please don’t let Richard be dead! Please, God!

  I am the Bread of LIFE.

  I halted, struck by the emphasis on the word, LIFE. It was strange. Words crossed my brain, but they didn’t come from me. At the same time I felt warmed from the inside, like a burning that feels stirring but not painful. It’s the Lord! He’s speaking to me! I stopped and thanked God again. I realized that if God took the trouble to speak to me, then it had to be something important, something true. If he’s the Bread of LIFE and he’s telling me so right when I’m worrying about Richard, then I needed to believe my brother was alive.

  Resuming my seat, I took a bite and held back a tear. I have days where I’m emotional and days where I like to think I’m normal. This was feeling like an emotional day. I can be a fool when it comes to emotions. I cry over the simplest things. In the old days, before the pulse, if I was premenstrual, I’d cry over certain commercials. Richard used to shake his head at me. He wouldn’t do that now, I know it. Richard! I know you’re alive, but where are you?

  I got up still chewing to look for a drink. My first thought was to find the fridge. I had to remind myself there could not be a working fridge. But there was in fact a small steel gray metal box, what they used to call, I think, an ice-box. I opened it, a wave of wonder coming over me. It held a pitcher of water, which I grabbed with zeal.

  I found a cup and had just taken my first gulp when I heard something run up against the door of the house. It barked, and then lapsed into a low growl. That horrid wolf-dog.

  I gulped down the rest of the cup and grabbed another slice of bread, not bothering with the luxury of butter. I ran over against the wall and tried to peek outside. I now saw there were two dogs, different breeds. The wolf-dog must have been some kind of husky; the other looked like a Shepherd. They were both big and menacing. The wolf-dog came and growled beneath my window, but at least it didn’t bark as furiously as before. And then, with a sudden whimper, both dogs ran off until I couldn’t see them.

  Here was my chance to get away! I hurried to the door and grasped the handle, but I heard sounds. Voices! Pushing aside a curtain, I saw the dogs had run to two people who were approaching the cabin.

  The hooded being was one of them, but the other was Richard! I felt such relief seeing him alive, I barely noticed his limp. They were conversing and my sense of alarm receded like a wave at low tide. I would have run outside to greet him except for those animals. As they got closer, the stranger bent over to tie up the dogs. I pushed open the door and ran to Richard. The dogs barked up a storm, tearing at their leashes. The hooded man astonished me by scolding them—because it wasn’t a hooded man after all. It was a woman!

  “Is everything okay?” I asked Richard.

  “It’s great,” he said, nodding at the stranger.

  I turned to meet the mysterious hooded person—a woman—who removed her hood to reveal a stocky blond with pretty green eyes. She smiled at me. “Hi, Sarah. You feelin’ better?”

  I nodded. “Thank you.” I must have been gaping, because she grinned and said, “C’mon in, y’all. Let’s have us some lunch!” I was still trying to comprehend that our angel of death wasn’t a scary phantom, wasn’t even a man. This was the darksome being who had scared the daylights out of me? The one I’d thought was going to slaughter us with a sword? She threw off her cape and surveyed me for a moment, bright-eyed and friendly looking. She looked to be about my mom’s age, maybe a little younger.

  “My name’s Angel,” she said. For a ridiculous moment I almost laughed. I’d been thinking angel of death and her name was Angel? “Short for Angela. But my friends call me Angel so you can, too.” She went towards the kitchen and I shared a look of incredulity with Richard, who smiled.

  “It’s cool,” he said.

  “Feeling better with some food in your stomach?” she asked, turning back to smile at me as she stirred the stew.

  “I’m sorry; it smelled so good,” I said.

  She chuckled. “I understand. That’s fine! Come and sit, you two, and we’ll talk.”

  I looked at Richard wonderingly as we sat down. “Angel pulled you out of the pit last night.” He smiled. “We used one of our plastic bags to carry your weight. We had to drag you back.” Ruefully, he added, “You may be skinny, but it was still a job, getting you here.”

  Embarrassed, I said, “I’m sorry.” I looked at Angel, who was carrying over the heavy iron pot. “Thank you for helping us. I’m sorry I passed out.”

  Angel turned and nodded at me. “That’s okay. You’re undernourished, and probably used to having terrible things happen.” She paused, studying me. “You’re safe here for now. Your brother and I reached an agreement. He’ll explain it.” She uncovered the pot and added, “After he helps me check our traps.” She paused. “I’m gonna check on something in back. You two help yourselves.”

  Her words rang in my mind. Help yourselves. Despite the packaged food we had in our packs from the house, this was real food. Things you could eat hot. I felt like a kid in a candy store.

  “So this is the scoop,” Richard said. “It’s like at the Steadmans’. I have to chop wood, check traps—Angel said she’ll teach me how to set them, too—and do anything else around here that takes hard lifting.” I nodded, but a sudden image appeared in my mind.

  “She must be strong herself…I thought it was a man who pulled me out of that hole last night.”

  He nodded. “She’s muscular. Did you see those?” And he nodded towards the weight bench and weights at the far end of the room. “I’ll bet she trains a lot.” We were both digging into the stew by now. I was not truly hungry anymore, but I ate anyway.

  “So she says we can stay here until her husband gets back; after that, it’ll be up to him.”

  “Where’s her husband?”

  “He’s out on a hunt, or trying to get in touch with someone—I didn’t quite catch where he went. But as long as we help run the place, Angel says she’d rather have us with her.” He hesitated. “Especially since I can shoot.” He eyed me sideways. Richard was not a trained gunman. He’d only shot the rifle a few times, always when trying for game—and only once didn’t miss. His pistol had been used once to scare off a small group of unsavory looking wanderers. But he was no sharp shooter.

  “You told her you can shoot?”

  He nodded, swallowing a spoonful of stew. “I can. I can shoot.”

  I stared at him, and he shrugged. “Look, I can shoot. I didn’t say I was a good shot and she didn’t ask, okay?” We fell into silence, eating. “You’ll have to help, too. Cleaning and cooking, feeding the chickens, that sort of thing.” He eyed me warily. He was probably waiting for me to object, call him a chauvinist or something, but right now those jobs sounded heavenly to me.

  “I’d love to!” I said.

  “You would?” he seemed pleased.

  “Definitely! It beats living out there with nothing!”

  He nodded at me, looking thoughtful. “You’ve changed.”

  I studied him for a moment, considering his words. “The world has changed.”

  The wolf-dog’s name is Kane, and Angel
has two more, Kole and Kool. Kane is the leader of the pack, and the one most likely to attack a stranger, so Angel showed me how to make him my friend. She said I wouldn’t be afraid of him once we’re friends (but I think I’ll always be a little afraid of him. He looks like a wolf and he’s got a big wolf snout, and big wolf teeth!)

  I tidied up while she and Richard went to check traps but there wasn’t much to do beyond washing dishes. I searched the bookshelves and came across Mere Christianity, by C.S. Lewis. I started reading it. I’ve only read a few chapters but I now realize I knew nothing at all about Christianity! I thought I did, but I didn’t.

  So when they got back, with a big fat raccoon—Angel had Richard shoot it dead outdoors—she brought wolf-dog in on a leash. He immediately snarled at me something fierce. I noticed he wasn’t snarling at Richard like that.

  “I fed him,” Richard explained. “That’s what you’re gonna do.” Angel had already taken a container from somewhere in the kitchen and handed it to me. A foul odor emanated from it.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Entrails,” she said. “Dogs love it.” I blinked, trying to remember what entrails was, but Richard said, “Animal guts.”

  “Ugh.” I hesitantly held out my hand, making Angel chuckle.

  “OK, you see how Kane can smell it?” He was whining and pacing, as if he’d start climbing the walls if he didn’t get it soon. I knew how he felt, having had my own brush with the tantalizing aroma of good food so recently. “Let him watch you put it in his bowl,” she continued, holding tightly to his collar. I walked past fearfully, thinking the dog would’ve jumped me if he could!

  In full sight of wolf-dog I emptied the innards into the bowl. He watched me, whimpering and salivating. When it was safely in the bowl, I moved away and Angel released him. I had to close my eyes as he bounded towards his bowl—and me—but he went right past me to the food, and devoured it in seconds. Angel made me wait for him to finish and then had me call his name. He regarded me more calmly than before, and slowly came, sniffing. He didn’t growl or snarl!

  “Go on, pet him,” Angel encouraged.

  I tentatively extended my hand, going for the area between his upright ears. Amazingly, he allowed me to nuzzle his head with my fingers.

  “Now you’ll be best friends,” she said, smiling. “They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but it’s even more the way to a dog’s heart.”

  It was true. That snarling menace who seemed to want my jugular was now docile, simply because I’d fed him. Angel told me later not all dogs would be like that, won over so easily, but it was wolf-dog’s nature.

  Having made peace with the dog was a big relief for me. Now we only had to worry about Angel’s husband. I hoped he’d be gone for a long time, because, could we win him over too? Or would he send us back to the road?

  I didn’t think I could handle that again.

  Chapter 38

  ANDREA

  “It looks like they’re leaving,” Marcus said, in a tone of unbelief. We’d watched in silence while the frenetic activity of the soldiers suddenly ceased; there was excitement of some kind going on down there but we had no clue what it was about. Right before our eyes, they were abandoning the siege. The trucks in the street slowly started up and drove off, and the soldiers who had been moving debris headed back to the remaining truck.

  “Why would they leave now?” the new guy asked. “They almost cleared a path.” He gazed over at us.

  Marcus shook his head. “I have no idea. They must be in touch with other units. Maybe they need backup somewhere else.”

  The last of the soldiers scurried into the truck, and then it backed out of the driveway and drove off. A sense of euphoria came over me and the new guy let out a whoop. “All right! This is awesome!”

  Marcus and I smiled, enjoying his exuberance. Marcus stood. “Hey Roper, I’m gonna go see what the scoop is.”

  Roper! What kind of name was that?

  “I want to find out if this outfit was really FEMA, too,” Marcus continued. “Because I don’t think they had a friendly visit in mind. Imagine our own government turning on us. Can you stay and watch? Just in case they have a change of heart,” he said, wryly.

  “It is the duty of the patriot to protect its country from its government,” said Roper. “Thomas Paine.”

  Marcus said, “Huh?”

  “Sure, I’ll watch,” Roper clarified, with a wry grin.

  I stopped, amazed. One of our home-school subjects was to memorize sayings of the founding fathers. I couldn’t believe he’d just quoted Thomas Paine like one of us! It’s not like most people go around quoting early Americans.

  Marcus left us. I wasn’t ready to follow him and Roper was watching me. I said, “Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God. Benjamin Franklin.” His eyes sparkled at me. He smiled. My heart skipped a beat. He assumed a mock serious expression.

  “It is the first responsibility of every citizen to question authority. Also Benjamin Franklin.” He eyed me with interest, waiting for my response.

  I said, “If tyranny and oppression come to this land, it will be under the guise of fighting a foreign enemy. James Madison.” He nodded approvingly. My heart was thudding, but not, for a change, due to fear. I hoped I could out-quote him; but whether I did or not, I was having fun! Lexie and I often practiced memorization together and held similar contests, so I felt I was on solid territory. Sometimes Mr. and Mrs. Martin joined in. I never liked having to memorize these quotes, but I was glad now that I had. I hoped I could hold my own with Roper.

  “The means of defense against a foreign danger historically have become the instruments of tyranny at home,” he cited. “James Madison.” He raised a brow at me, as if to ask if I could top that one. I took a breath and gathered my thoughts.

  “Experience hath shewn, that even under the best forms of government those entrusted with power have, by slow operations—”

  “Have, in time, by slow operations.” That gorgeous smile.

  “Darn!—have, in time, by slow operations, perverted it into tyranny. Thomas Jefferson.”

  He nodded. “That’s a good one.” His blue-grey eyes surveyed me a moment. “I’m Roper.” I told him my name, still drinking in the sight of this earthy, handsome guy. He wasn’t high school age like me; I guessed in his early twenties.

  “So what kind of name is Roper?” I asked. To my ears, it sounded like something you’d name your pet, not a person. I checked his left hand and felt a small thrill when I saw no wedding ring.

  He gave me a funny look. “It’s a last name.”

  “Oh!” I giggled. “Okay. Why do you go by your last name?”

  He turned to scan the front; we were supposed to keep an eye out there in case our enemy returned, but he seemed to be thinking about his answer. “Because I prefer it to Jerry.”

  “So your name is Jerry Roper.”

  “No, not Jerry.”

  A mischievous grin lit his face, and his eyes searched mine, brightly. He has beautiful eyes, I have to say again. They’re sort of blue but also sort of grey. It’s hard to describe. All I know is, I love it when they’re looking at me. “It’s Jerusha.”

  “Oh!” I’d never heard the name, before. “I like it.” It was better than Roper.

  “Oh yeah? Well, I don’t.” But he gave me a little smile.

  “Why not?”

  He smirked. “In the Old Testament, it’s a woman’s name. My mother didn’t know that, and she somehow heard the name and fell in love with it.”

  “Do you know what it means?”

  He nodded. “Literally? ‘Taken possession of,’ like, in ‘married.’”

  That gave me a perfect reason to ask, since some men didn’t wear wedding rings even if they were married. “So are you?”

  He looked at me. “What? Married?”

  “Yeah.” I was smiling.

  “No.” He chuckled.

  “When did your mom find out she’d giv
en you a girl’s name?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, I was little. So they started calling me Jerry. But I hate ‘Jerry.’”

  “So do I have to call you Roper? Or can I call you Jerusha?”

  He smiled ahead, looking out the window. Softly, he said, “Call me whatever you like.” Then, turning back to me, “Any other questions?” His eyes were merry.

  I stared at him a moment, wondering if he was just making conversation—or was he inviting me to get to know him better?

  “Okay. How old are you?”

  He chuckled. “Twenty-four. How about you?”

  “I’ll be seventeen in September.”

  He nodded, looking thoughtful. “I took you for at least eighteen.”

  “I get that a lot.” We both laughed. Outdoors we saw no movement except for our own guys who were now out there putting back all the logs and debris the soldiers had moved. Usually when I’m stuck watching after a skirmish for anything that may be there but never shows up, the minutes begin to drag pretty quickly. Today I was relishing the time because it meant I could chat with Roper.

  We talked about our lives since the pulse—or I should say he got me talking about my life. How my family had hardly survived until the Martins brought us to the compound, which wasn’t a compound then, but only their farmstead. I told him about my dad and that led to how my mom was missing. I explained how Mom and I weren’t on the best of terms when she left and that led to how Lexie and I weren’t speaking either. I never intended to tell him so much but he was the perfect listener. He seemed very interested and nodded or looked at me sympathetically whenever it was appropriate. I hadn’t talked so much in ages, and I was enjoying every second of it.

  “So what happened with you and Lexie?”

  Uh-oh. This was one thing I did not want to explain. But I said, “Well, it was a misunderstanding.”

  He raised a brow, waiting I supposed, for a better explanation. I blushed. “She thinks I’m after her boyfriend.” Now both brows were up.