The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  “Are you?”

  “Noooo!” I felt my face growing warm and suddenly I remembered I wanted to find out if my mom was back; and I wanted to hear the scoop too, if there was one, about why those trucks had left. “I’d better get moving,” I said, getting to my feet. “So I guess I’ll call you Roper?”

  “Roper’s good.” He flicked those wonderful eyes at me.

  “I’m sorry I talked so much.”

  “No problem.”

  “I didn’t get to hear your story, how you got here.”

  He shrugged. “Nothing exciting, I assure you.”

  “I still want to hear it.”

  He nodded. “Sure, another time.”

  “Okay, so long.”

  “See you later, young lady.” I grimaced, but he smiled—and winked again! It made my day. I got a lot of mileage out of that one small gesture. Somehow, it made me feel good on the inside. I needed that good feeling because downstairs Mr. Martin assured us those trucks would be back. And no one believed they were really from FEMA. Blake and Mr. Buchanan had binoculars and said they were armed with AKs, and did not look American.

  There was still no sight of my mother or Mr. Washington, and I had little hopes of getting anything but the cold shoulder from Lexie. She’d be sorer than ever because of Rhema’s loss. The only bright spot in my day, other than the sight of those trucks pulling away, was having met Roper. I hoped he didn’t consider me too young to be of interest.

  I found out he’d come to us by first approaching our lookouts on the east border. Apparently, he was alone after losing his friends, one by one, to sickness and starvation. He lived in California and had come east as part of a missions team from his church, visiting another church in Pennsylvania. His plan was to slowly make his way back, but it wasn’t working very well. After all, he’d only gotten as far as western Ohio. I had to wonder if he planned on staying with us or if he would move on as soon as he got fed and rested.

  “What made you let him stay?” I’d asked Mrs. Martin. Only people with a valuable skill or asset could be allowed to join us.

  “He’s going to be our new alarm system,” she said. “He can blow that trumpet mighty good!”

  “But anyone could probably do that,” I answered, after thinking it over. She was stirring a big pot of oats on the woodstove. I realized it was going to be one of those nights—when oatmeal was dinner. Sometimes we had to make do with such fare because the women were as busy as anyone and didn’t have time for more laborious meals.

  Mrs. Martin smiled softly. “He was an intern for children’s ministry and we’ve got a lot of children here. He can teach them the Bible better than the rest of us. I don’t have time for lessons these days,” she added.

  “He’s smart,” I said. “He knows quotes like we do!”

  She grinned. “Really! Founding father quotes?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Well, isn’t that fun. Let’s hope he knows his Bible as well.”

  I left then, to resume my usual chores. But I did hope Roper knew his Bible well. I wanted the compound to keep him!

  Chapter 39

  LEXIE

  The next few days passed in a flurry of activity. Between our usual chores everyone had to help carry garbage, broken logs and sticks, or whatever was available to the front of the property. We were building up our roadblock after seeing what quick work those soldiers had made of it the other day.

  I was in charge of harnessing two horses to Dad’s wooden cart and leading them with a full load of leftover wood and other building materials—as well as any debris we could find—to the front, where we all unloaded it and dumped it on the growing mound blocking our driveway from the street. When the mound was taller than I was, Dad called a stop to the work. No one complained, believe me.

  It looks strange, the huge pile. Like a dam against a flood, only the flood we fear isn’t made of water.

  I’ve been feeling bad about Andrea and I’m almost ready to be friends again. Yes, her mother took my horse and I could spit nails over that, but that wasn’t Andrea’s fault. I’m missing a horse, but she’s missing a mom! I just need to find a good time to talk to her. We’ve both been so exhausted at night we fall into bed without even talking. And forget about home-school. These days we’re doing more practice drills, and making sandbags to pile in front of the cabins, and other chores I hate, like laundry. If there was one appliance we could have working again, my mother would choose the refrigerator. I would take a washing machine in a heartbeat.

  Chapter 40

  SARAH

  Angel is teaching us much. I’ve started weight lifting, for one thing. (Skinny me!) She says it takes more food to feed muscle, but it takes more muscle to get food than it used to, and we need all the muscle we can get. I can see what she means.

  Tex, her husband, left wood for the cook stove, but Angel keeps Richard chopping more every day to store up for next winter. I’ve been helping with the garden and learning a lot out there. But Angel’s garden isn’t like any other I’ve ever seen. She calls it a survival garden and its spread all over the place. “Survival garden” is more than just growing food to survive; it’s growing hidden food to survive! Instead of a neat plot of rows fenced in or neatly bordered in any way, she has things planted where you’d least expect—or look, if you happen to be a wandering marauder.

  There are peas beneath apple trees, between other trees, and grape vines too. Grapes, she says, grow wonderfully with apples and it does away with the need for staking them. There are blueberry bushes at the edge of a field to the left of us, wild strawberries on another side and all kinds of things planted in the weirdest places. I’ve gone foraging with her and actually eaten dandelions. She says the best, young leaves are gone already, but they’re still edible; and she makes tea with the flowers. It’s only late May and we’ve already gone foraging and come home with a big basketful of greens, and berries, and morels. (Morels are the only mushroom we can forage. Angel says the others all have poisonous look-alikes, but morels don’t.)

  She says it isn’t enough to live on, foraging, but it’s important to get the greens into your diet. “It’s not like we can go to the nearest drug store and get some multi-vites,” she said, bright-eyed, as we were bending down to harvest wild onions. I nodded. I pictured our town before the pulse. How easy it had been to run out and do exactly that—get whatever we needed right around the corner or down a few blocks where stores lined the streets. I also remembered how different it looked afterwards—how those streets looked like a war-torn district of the Middle East you’d see on the News, all broken glass and shattered doors and empty shelves. I would never have believed society would go completely crazy so quickly—but I saw it happen.

  Angel never dwells on such things. She’s an optimist if I ever met one, and it helps me feel better, too. Despite everything that’s happened, she isn’t depressed or gloomy. Even with her husband away she doesn’t seem worried. I mean, he must be facing the same things we feared when we were on the road—people with no conscience. We did run into other normal folks struggling to get by in some honest way; but mostly we took to traveling at night because of the crazies; the people who feel life is cheap. They’d kill you just because they can, with no fear of law.

  I wonder if the pulse gave license to people to act the way they already were, deep inside, or if it changed them into worse people. Even my brother surprised me more than once with how ruthless he could be.

  Once we were passing a man curled up under an overpass. Richard drew close enough to determine if he was sleeping—or dead. It wouldn’t have been the first time we’d come across a dead body. But then he motioned for me to be quiet. I thought it was uncommonly nice of him, to be concerned about not waking up the guy; but he started rifling through his backpack, which was on the ground sort of between the guy’s legs. He pulled out a granola bar—it looked ancient, but Richard latched onto it like it was a hidden lode of gold, and then hurried me along to get away
from there.

  “You shouldn’t have taken that,” I said. Richard unwrapped it and took a bite, looking extremely gratified, chewing with great gusto.

  “This is great!” was all he said, as he broke off a half and tried handing it to me. I wouldn’t take it.

  “Don’t be noble, Sarah!” he chided. “This is not the time to develop a sense of honor,” he continued, taking my hand, and pressing the food into it. But I felt upset.

  “What if it was that guy’s last meal? It looks so old—he’s been saving it and now you’ve taken it away from him. Maybe he was saving it as his last meal before lying down to die!”

  Richard was nonplussed. “If that was his plan, I’m not sorry I took it. That’s a pathetic plan. Like I said, now is not the time to be noble.”

  “What is it the time for, then? What IS it the time for, Richard?

  He looked at me with somber eyes and then stared ahead as we walked. “It’s the time for survival.”

  I didn’t say anything. I was grappling with the fact that we did need to survive but I did not want to become heartless to do it.

  “Eat your half,” he said.

  “I don’t want it,” I insisted. When he tried to force it into my hand, I acted as though I would throw it away.

  He grabbed my arm. “Don’t be an idiot!”

  “I’d rather be an idiot than someone who would take somebody’s last meal!”

  We glowered at each other. “Fine! I’ll eat it. You’re already malnourished and weak, and I’m trying to give you a chance to help yourself—at least a little—and you’d rather be an idiot than be smart. Fine.” He took the half back and went to put it into his mouth in one huge bite, but thought better of it and broke the half into half.

  “I can’t be the only one with enough strength to keep walking. I need you to eat this.”

  When I just stared at it, he said, “Eat it, Sarah, or next time I’ll shoot the guy first, so you won’t have to worry about him needing what we take.”

  I stared at him, appalled at his words. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do.”

  I took the piece and bit it. Richard immediately looked placated, but I felt sick. I didn’t know whether or not to believe him. Would my brother really be so cruel? I figured I’d play it safe and not find out. Because if he did mean it, if he was really capable of being like that, I did not want to be the one responsible. I ate the rest of my piece.

  And Richard was right. It tasted great. I felt guilty for enjoying it.

  Anyway, I was helping put melon seeds right into the ground with Angel when she asked me to tell her our story, how Richard and I came to be there. At first she took us for husband and wife, but Richard explained we’re brother and sister. As I told her about our lives since January 11th, the day of the pulse, I had a hard time not bawling.

  I told her about Dad, and how Richard thinks he might still be alive. I said, “We were hoping, if we ever made it to our Aunt Susan’s in Indiana, we’d find him there.”

  “You know you are in Indiana, right?” she asked. And that’s how I found out we’re already six miles from the Ohio border! But I’m not sure I want to tell Richard. He might get ideas about going on to Aunt Susan’s—and I want to stay right here. My only misgiving is if my father did make it there, we might end up missing him. But deep down, I don’t think he did.

  I try not to wonder about him too much—whether he really is alive or not. But it bothers me that I can only picture him in the past, like Mom and Jesse. I see Dad at home watching TV, tinkering with his fishing gear (he liked to fish on weekends) and, inevitably, leaving for work. I can’t even remember if I saw him on the last morning when he left for work but never returned. I told Angel this and she said, “I think your father is probably alive.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  She shrugged. “Most men would be able to figure out a way to survive, I think.”

  I shook my head. “But how? He never made it back home—we have no idea if he lived through the winter.”

  She patted the earth firmly over the melon seeds and looked up. “Darlin’, people have been surviving harsh winters ever since mankind got scattered across the face of the earth after the Tower of Babel. People find a way.”

  “But food,” I said. “Dad worked in Columbus, and that whole city would need food.”

  She nodded but said, “Okay, but maybe he worked near the zoo. You know, the Columbus Zoo? That’s one of the bigger zoos in this country. There’s a whole lot of animal flesh in a zoo. Enough for a lot of people to live off, if they had to.”

  I didn’t think he worked near the zoo. But I was struck by Angel’s suggestion. I’d never thought about a zoo as a source of food. When people were starving, of course they would resort to zoo animals! Even Richard, pragmatic, practical Richard had never thought of such a thing. But Angel, with her unflagging optimism, had come up with it immediately after hearing about my dad’s plight.

  There was still no way of knowing whether he was alive but I liked that Angel thought so. I didn’t think he’d stick around Columbus, zoo or not. He’d head for home if he could. But if he had waited, maybe to see if power would return, or if the government would offer help— he’d still have to fight for food, zoo or no zoo. Dad was only one person out of thousands who would’ve been desperate to get their hands on anything edible.

  Still, it was a ray of hope. I wanted to believe it. After all, Richard and I were here, living in a place vastly better than anything we’d hoped for. Millions of people weren’t so lucky. How could I of all people not believe in miracles? After the Steadmans’, I never dreamed we’d find another place to call home. It was incredible that Angel took us in!

  Our only worry now was Tex. Angel had not promised we’d be able to stay when he returned. Richard had been making the loft of the barn into a room for us just as if we’d be staying. He insulated the walls with hay and fur and other stuff Angel gave him. I think she wants us to stay but her husband sounds scary.

  I hope Richard’s work on the loft isn’t in vain.

  And he hasn’t mentioned finding Dad again. If we stay here we obviously can’t meet up with him at Aunt Susan’s. I think Richard never really believed Dad was still alive. He just wanted me to have hope. Well, I do have hope, thanks to Angel’s optimism. And it’s a good thing, because if Tex turns us out we’re gonna need every bit of hope we can muster.

  Chapter 41

  ANDREA

  I was moving dishes from the drying rack into cabinets today when Jared came through from the dining room, saw me, and stopped.

  “Hey, you never got a chance to see my cabin. Still interested?”

  I continued putting dishes away, avoiding his eyes, while I thought how to answer. Roper popped into my mind—I was definitely interested in him but I didn’t want to alienate Jared. He was my last hope as far as my mother was concerned. I figured if I stayed friendly I could ask him about going to look for her.

  “Okay.” I peeled off my apron and stuck it on a wall peg. All of us women wear aprons on kitchen days since things get very messy without blenders and food processors to neatly do our chopping. I followed Jared out the back door and fell into step beside him. I would never get a better time to ask him. But how to do it?

  “So is your mom using the cabin now?” I hadn’t seen Jolene that morning, so I was hoping she’d be in Jared’s cabin. I didn’t relish the idea of being alone with him in a private space. Either way, maybe I could turn the conversation from his mother to mine.

  “She is,” he said. “But I need to get back to our house and cart a mattress over here. She wants her mattress.”

  “Moms are like that,” I said. It was a stupid comment, but my mind was busy trying to come up with how to ask him what I wanted. “My mom’s still missing,” I added.

  He nodded. “I know. I guess that’s tough, huh?”

  I peered up at him—and took the plunge. “Do you think—would it be possible�
��for you to look for her?”

  He seemed guarded, nodding his head, but then looked down at our feet, thinking it over.

  “Where would you want me to look?”

  My hopes soared. “Our house! I’m sure that’s where they went. We had a great house. She wanted a lot of her stuff. You know, like your mom and her mattress? My mom wanted clothes and kitchen stuff.”

  “Where is that—your house?”

  I gave him our address. “The Martins came and got us after the pulse. We were already out of food, and we’d have froze if we hadn’t gone next door where they had a wood-stove.” My voice dropped. “But my dad got killed coming back.” I met his gaze. “I know it’s dangerous.”

  He nodded again. “I heard something like that,” he said, “about your dad. That’s really tough.”

  I turned pleading eyes to him. “You see? That’s why I need to know—about my mom. I need to know if—” I stopped, unable to continue without tears.

  “Let me think it over,” Jared said. “I’ll help you if I can.”

  “Thank you!” And I meant it. I felt suddenly much better about Jared. Maybe he wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous like Roper; and maybe he wasn’t a barrel of fun, but he seemed, suddenly, like a good man. He was going to help me! He’d look for my mom!

  We were among the cabins now, and I nodded at Mrs. Wasserman, sitting on a chair at the doorway to their little log dwelling, baby on her lap. She nodded at me thoughtfully.

  We reached Jared’s cabin. Like the others, it was a log cabin, pretty in its way but plain and small. The grass around it was beaten flat from all the work, turning to bare dirt in spots. But to Jared, it was home. He turned to me, expectantly. “Here we are. What do you think?”

  I gazed at the new logs, uneven and rougher than modern log cabins; the one small window, still bare, and the starkly modern door—it stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. Jared explained he had to get the window glass yet, which I understood would come from an abandoned home somewhere. And that he’d installed the door—it even had a lock—just yesterday. I already knew why there was only one window—the cabin was safer with fewer points of entry. All the cabins were built that way, except for a few with no windows at all. The compound looked like an old Civil War army fort if you asked me, with its small wooden buildings dotting the ground. All we needed was a guard tower and a high front fence to make the look complete.