The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  They have a manual pump for the well; heat with wood, like I said; and have an outhouse, which is over a pit Tex dug by hand. (This is the worst part of not having electricity if you ask me. OK, one of the worst parts—there are so many.) But Angel and Tex built this house planning on using an outhouse! She explained that every year or two Tex has to dig a new pit and then they take up the outhouse and move it over the new hole. Angel keeps a supply of peat moss in the outhouse which you’re supposed to throw in the hole after using it. She said it helps keep down the odor—but it also means the hole fills up faster, so they only use it if they really need it.

  She keeps an emergency toilet in the house, but we try not to use it. However, if it’s the middle of the night, I do. I won’t go out, even with Kane beside me. I just make sure I’m the one to clean it out in the morning. Angel calls it their modernized chamber-pot (modernized because she lines it with plastic bags, which she stored for years and has a ton of; and it has a lid in the shape of a toilet seat on top.). Anyway, she says people have used chamber-pots for hundreds and hundreds of years. “If we weren’t so spoiled in this country,” she said one day, “we wouldn’t be having such a hard time, now. People have survived on much less than we Americans have lived on since time began.”

  It does help to have her perspective. We’ve even made a game of finding passages in books we’re reading that demonstrate this. It’s an education in itself. We were a nation steeped in luxury! Even our poorest citizens had things much of the world has always lacked.

  What else? Refrigeration—I asked how the ice box works. (She and Tex are kind of brilliant if you ask me!) In the winter they cut ice from the pond—they have to work together on it because ice is heavy—and, using a sled, cart it in sheets to the ice house, and then layer it on straw. The straw helps keep the ice from melting. She showed me the inside of the ice house the other day because we needed new ice, and there’s still about four feet of it, including the layers of straw. The ice house is built right into the side of a hill, as is the root cellar which is beside it.

  They had a cow, but lost it—she didn’t say how, so I didn’t ask—but this is one of Angel’s rare sorrows. She misses fresh milk and butter and cheese. But she still has lots of powdered milk, and get this—powdered butter and powdered sour cream and powdered cream cheese! (Who ever heard of such things?) They also have a hen house with chickens INSIDE a fenced-in area for the dogs, who guard the fowl. On top of that, Tex hunts a lot and they fish in their pond. It’s about an acre across, Angel says. Sometimes she goes hunting with Tex but this time he went alone because all the traps were set and someone has to check them daily. The eggs need to be gathered every day, too.

  I’m sure glad Angel stayed home!

  At dinner one night Richard and I told her how quickly people lost it after the pulse. On day two looting began in the stores, and by day three there was nothing available anywhere. I told her again about the fire and how we had to live in the library with all the other people from our building; then I told her about the man who was shot trying to get in to Wal-Mart. She nodded, clucking her tongue from time to time, and shaking her head.

  “Haven’t any people bothered you?” I asked. I was thinking of the numerous warning signs we’d seen along the way. There must have been intruders, for them to post so many signs.

  “Well, living so far away from anyone else, we’ve always been wary of intruders,” she said. “Usually our signs are enough to discourage people.”

  “Have you always had the sign out there about killing people on sight?” I asked.

  She smiled sheepishly. “That one’s new. We figured there’s more desperation out there than we can handle.” She gave me a sideways look. “If you saw that sign, how come you kept coming?”

  I glanced at Richard. “We were heading for Indiana; Richard said we had to stay on course.” I hesitated. “He also said he thought it was a bluff.”

  Angel’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, you lucked out, didn’t ya? If Tex had been here, I have to tell you, things might have ended differently!”

  I’d seen a picture of Tex by now. Looking mean and grim, he was standing next to a sweetly smiling Angel. He reminded me of Hulk Hogan. I was not looking forward to meeting him. Angel was an angel, but it seemed to me that kind people often married their opposite, which meant that Hulk, er, Tex, was not going to look kindly upon us. To him, we’d just be two more mouths to feed.

  “Have you had to shoot anyone?” Richard asked.

  Angel shook her head. “No. But we will if it comes to that. If you’d been with a large group, I would have left Sarah in that pit, for one thing. But the two of you by yourselves didn’t seem too threatening for me. After you passed out,” she added, looking at me, “I about grilled your brother to death, finding out what you were up to and where you were going and whether or not there were more of you.”

  I suddenly had a vivid memory of her bending over Richard brandishing a sword.

  “I fainted because I saw you take that sword out and you were holding it over Richard! Why did you? Was it to scare him?”

  Richard seemed surprised. “That’s why you fainted?”

  Angel laughed. “I guess that did look scary now, didn’t it? I was just cutting off the rest of the rope that was hanging on him from my trap.”

  I shook my head. I had to smile when the two of them broke up laughing. “I thought you were gonna cut his head off and then take mine, too.”

  Angel placed a hand on her heart, still chuckling. “Oh, my word!”

  We’d been at Angel’s house for four glorious days and I was at the kitchen counter peeling carrots and potatoes. They came from the root cellar but Angel was fretting because the supplies of both are really low. “We need to pray that this year’s crop is a good one,” she’d said, handing me the vegetables.

  “So these are from last year?” I asked. It seemed no less than magical to me, that fresh vegetables could last that long without rotting. I had no idea. I’m certainly learning a lot.

  “They sure are,” she said, explaining that in the coldest months they kept them in a dark place in the basement, and during the rest of the time they stayed in the root cellar, which is completely unheated. It stays cool enough in warmer months to extend the shelf-life of most vegetables and squash, but only warm enough until a deep freeze hits. If the veggies froze, that would ruin them; or, if they froze and then defrosted, they’d start to rot. So they worked out a system between the house and the root cellar to keep things from one harvest to last almost until the next. To me, it was a small miracle I was peeling vegetables from last year and they looked perfectly edible.

  As I was thinking about this, I heard the door behind me open and shut, but I thought nothing of it. Richard, Angel and I came and went freely as we did our chores. Each morning at breakfast Angel would give us marching orders, our daily responsibilities. Richard was expected to chop ¼ of a cord of wood daily, so he didn’t have to be told to do that. But Angel would assign us other things too, like clean the chicken coop, or collect eggs, or mop the floor. But in a minute I felt an eerie sensation— like when someone is looking at you even though they are way over across a room. I spun around with a gasp.

  I expected to see Richard, because Angel was seldom silent as she came and went. I’d grown accustomed to her good-natured comments and enjoyed her companionship a lot. But when I turned, what I saw was HULK HOGAN. Tex was back! He had a hand-gun out, pointed right at me, his head tilted as he aimed with one eye.

  I stared at him in horror, wondering why he was going to shoot me. No words came out of my mouth. I could think of nothing to say. After all, I didn’t know this man. For all I knew, trying to reason with him could set him off even more, make him madder than he was. I stood there gaping.

  “Who are you?” he snarled, in a voice deep with distrust. “And what have you done to my wife?”

  Chapter 44

  LEXIE

  It was a beautiful morning t
o be on the hill. The early sun shone prettily against the vibrant green grass, which itself was fresh and moist with the scent of dew. Birds flitted about the woods near our shed, while birdsong infused the day with life and hope.

  Below us, even the cabin area with its scattered piles of timber, tools, and empty wheelbarrows looked picturesque, like a pioneer village. We happened to be 21st century pioneers, but there was no helping that.

  Dunes of sand and small rocks sat heaped next to the playground—the sand was needed for our version of homemade mortar, and sandbags. The rocks also went into the mortar. As of yet the playground was empty—the children would be having their breakfast by now and wouldn’t be out until later.

  I’d passed Andrea coming from the barn as Blake and I left the house earlier but I didn’t meet her eyes. Last night she’d asked me to forgive her, point blank. And, I can’t explain why, but I suddenly felt all my indignation again for how she’d kissed Blake, and how her mother had stolen my horse—maybe I was just ornery from being so tired. We exchanged words, and I didn’t feel good about it but I guess I’m kind of stuck. I never realized how stubborn I can be, ‘til now.

  Blake and I were enjoying coffee from our thermoses, and biscuits my mom had taken straight from a hot cast-iron skillet. We had butter thanks to Milcah, our cow, and jam from storage. Right now it didn’t matter that we had no electricity or world wide web. Our little compound was coping well, in my opinion. We ate just fine—most of the time.

  I’d just finished brushing the crumbs off my hands when Blake came to attention. He grabbed the binoculars that hung around his neck. “‘We’ve got company,” he said. “They’re back!”

  “What!” My heart sank. He passed the binoculars to me while he got on the two-way to sound the alarm. We were under attack. Again!

  “Four, just like last time,” Blake said to my father’s question. Then, “Yeah, the same kind. They say FEMA.”

  It all went like a re-run movie, the way the trucks stopped on our road with one facing the driveway, and men in green fatigues pouring out like ants from an anthill to begin clearing our debris pile. It was about seven feet high now, much more substantial than what they’d had to clear last time. But they seemed to throw more men at the blockade than before, so it seemed they’d get through it without a greater delay. I checked that all our mags were full and tried to ready myself for combat.

  Blake kept my dad updated. We could see the pile tumbling now and then, falling lower as the men worked it from the other side. I crouched at my window gripping my rifle, my heart beating hard and fast, my throat tight. I glanced up at the Scripture scrawled above the opening. For the LORD your God is the one who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies to give you victory. Deuteronomy 20:4.

  We sure need that victory, Lord, I prayed. We need you to fight for us! But as soon as I prayed, I remembered another verse, Psalm 144:1, Praise be to the LORD my Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle.

  Were my hands trained for war? My fingers for battle? I hoped so, because just then Blake said into the two-way, “They’ve breached it. They’re on the property.”

  “Get out of the shack,” my dad said. As we had on the previous occasion when the trucks had come, Blake and I grabbed our stuff and headed to the side of the ridge, flopping onto our bellies.

  We watched as the men on the ground made room for the trucks, which drove up in a slow line all the way to our second, weaker line of defense—the forsythia bushes, fronted with garbage and junk we’d put out there in another messy heap. The bushes had been a blazing row of yellow beauty two weeks ago, but were now spring green. They’d survived being transplanted. Their foliage struck an off note next to the dusty green camo trucks now lined up along the living fence.

  Two men jumped out of the first truck and approached the house. No one from the compound came forward to speak to them which made sense since we’d had it drilled into our heads to stay out of sight in the event of military or anyone we didn’t know coming onto the compound. Even if it had been U.S. military, many people didn’t trust them at a time like this, including my dad. My parents even wore “Support your Military” stickers and donated to Veteran’s causes during regular times. But dad says that historically when there is a breakdown in the structure of society, including law and order, “military powered efforts are often fueled by totalitarian mindsets.” I could hear him saying it.

  One of the men had a bull-horn and he lifted it and spoke. It was so effective we heard it all the way up there on the ridge.

  “This is FEMA!” he called. “We’re here to help. We have a safe place for you to live and you’ll have food and protection!” The man had a decided accent. “We are not here to do you harm!”

  “Sounds middle eastern,” Blake said.

  There was no response, no movement. I saw the man nod to someone behind him, and a few other soldiers leapt from the trucks.

  “I repeat. We are the Fed-er-al Emer-gen-cy Manage-ment Assoc-i-a-tion!”

  I looked at Blake. “Isn’t it supposed to be ‘Agency,’ not Association?”

  He nodded. “Yup. And he’s having trouble pronouncing it, too. This is not FEMA.”

  “We are your friends. Come with us. We take you to a place of safety—with food!”

  “Does he really think he sounds like an American?” Blake murmured.

  “Medical care! Protection!”

  “They sure try to make a good offer,” I said.

  “If it sounds too good to be true.....” Blake said. He added, “Even if they mean well, a refugee camp is what he’s talking about and the only reason to go to one of those is if you have to. We don’t have to.”

  “We might need medical care at some point,” I said.

  “Yeah. And so will everyone else in the camp. Winter comes and there’s an outbreak in the camp, everyone dies. There are never enough supplies to stop it or treat everyone. Even if they have supplies, they won’t have enough. Unfortunately,” he turned to me. “I don’t think that’s what we have to worry about right now.”

  Below us, more men were emerging from the canvas-covered back of the second and third trucks. “Now their true colors come out,” Blake said. He was on the two-way instantly. “They’ve got A.Ks!” he told my dad. “They’re coming out of the first two trucks.”

  No one exited the third truck.

  “They’re not FEMA!” my father said. “This is an attack! You know what to do. Do NOT come off the hill. I repeat, do not come down. We have some weapons that are gonna shake things up.” We heard other people talking at once in the background and then my dad clicked off.

  “What was he talking about?” I asked. “What kind of weapons could we have that will shake things up?”

  Blake looked through the binoculars again, and said, “Jared fixed up some heavy-duty stuff. Don’t know how he did it, or where he got his supplies, but we weren’t asking questions, either.”

  My heart pounded. I broke into a cold sweat. Just like last time, I wished I wasn’t up on the hill but in the house with the rest of my family. Encounters with marauders were bad enough, but at least we had a chance against other civilians. This was far worse. I was a sixteen-year-old farm girl, not a fighter. How ridiculous was it for us to even try our might against trained soldiers?

  He trains my hands for war…my fingers for battle.

  Blake sighted in the man with the bull-horn, who now stood in conference with a few of his men. “I could take him down,” he said. “Maybe.” We shared a smile. “I won’t take the first shot, though. Maybe they’ll decide to leave without a fight.” He gave me another look. “Get someone sighted in, Lex! If shooting starts, it’s gonna get hard to be effective from up here. We’ll need to strike fast and hard.”

  The men who had emerged from the trucks seemed to be awaiting orders.

  “C’mon, turn around,” Blake intoned. “Go away!” His finger was still on the trigger, and I got sighted in on one of the guys
in front. The soldiers had formed a line.

  “They’re gonna shoot!” I cried.

  “Here we go!” Blake said.

  I thought I was ready. I had on ear and eye protection, and my rifle was snug in a bipod. I had two extra mags—lookouts always got extra. I got ready to squeeze the trigger, letting my breath out first. I did not want to miss. But then, right before our eyes one of their trucks exploded, lifting off the ground with an enormous blast! Shrapnel flew in all directions, while soldiers scattered like pixie dust. I stared at the smoking truck, dumbfounded. Blake never lost his cool, and was taking shots as he got them.

  “That was a grenade! Good ol’ Jared,” he cried. Men were pouring out of the other trucks, and everything broke into pandemonium. The guy with the bull-horn went down. As Blake sighted in someone else, or tried to since now everyone was a moving target, I finally began to aim and shoot. Men were running towards the house now, and spreading out towards the cabins. My heart hammered in my throat. You can do this, Lex, I told myself. He trains my hands for war…

  Rapid gunfire filled the air. I saw soldiers fall but others were getting through! Worse, more of them were still piling out of the remaining trucks.

  “Go for the ones closest to us!” Blake said. I was operating slowly, so afraid of what was happening that I didn’t want to waste a single shot. But I felt almost drugged, like my mind was paralyzed. Even if I had a shot, I knew the odds of hitting someone from this distance were slim. Blake had been given more training with the AR-15, and had been able to pull it off. As I hesitated, he reloaded with a new magazine.

  “Shoot, Lex,” he said. “You can do this!” It was exactly what I’d been telling myself. But somehow inside, the real me wasn’t convinced.