The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  “Okay. 99.9% of people are a threat. Don’t stop to ask questions. Shoot first, talk later.” He gave a sardonic smile.

  “Shoot first?” Roper’s tone mirrored his shock. “I thought you meant ignore them, not shoot them!”

  Jared sighed as if he was trying to be patient with a recalcitrant child. “The only way to handle a threat is to REMOVE it,” he said, pointedly. “If you don’t remove the threat, it’ll turn and remove you.”

  They’d almost reached the gaping entrance so they dismounted and approached the first of the wide doors, half-open, swinging on its hinges. But Roper halted. He had to iron this out, now.

  “Look, I won’t shoot on sight, unless someone’s shooting at me.”

  Jared glared at him. “Keep your voice down!” he hissed. Then, answering him in a whisper, “That’s foolish. Anyone can be a hostile. A child can be a hostile.” He surveyed Roper coldly.

  Roper gave a little smile. “They could also be lost. I’d give them the gospel.”

  Jared snorted, unable to hide his disgust. “That is the stupidest thing I ever heard! Even if it wasn’t taking your life in your hands, we don’t have time for that! If we see anyone, we take care of them and we move on. That is the ONLY way to ensure the safety and success of this mission.”

  “Take care of them?”

  Jared motioned with his head towards Roper’s rifle. “That’s why we’re armed,” he said, as if it should have been obvious to a fool.

  “There’s no way I’m gonna shoot on sight,” Roper repeated.

  Jared shook his head. “Why did they send YOU with me? Of all the—.”

  “Most people aren’t dangerous,” Roper insisted. “And some could be an asset. I met a guy in Pennsylvania who was a scholar and medieval architect. He could have been helpful to the compound, showing us the best way to build defenses, old-style, like things castles used in the Middle Ages. I wish he’d stayed with me.”

  Jared poked his head cautiously past the first swinging door, looked around and then back at Roper. “So what happened to him?” he asked, still keeping his voice low.

  Roper was silent a moment. “He didn’t want to leave the city. Felt it would be safer in the long run.”

  Jared motioned them forward, and they went in, straining eyes and ears for anything that seemed suspicious. “Most professionals,” he said, and paused, listening. “Even the smart ones;” Another pause. “Weren’t smart about survival.” His eyes roamed the dim interior, alert as a predator. “They’re gone, man.” Continuing to stop and search between remarks, he added, “It’s people like you and me. Who are still here. Ex-military, survivalists. Homesteaders, preppers… We’re the only ones who knew how…to stay alive this long. And in my view, we’re also the most—dangerous.” He turned and looked full at Roper. “That’s why if we see anyone, I say, shoot on sight. Ask questions later.”

  Roper eyed his companion gravely. He sure hoped they would not run into anyone. Jared was seriously reckless, a danger to society—even post-apocalyptic society, which was already seriously dangerous. He’d noticed that Jared fell into dark moods, and seemed especially dangerous then. Once, he’d emptied a full magazine at a line of hedges after hearing a noise from behind it. Turned out to be a bird.

  “I don’t fit any of the categories you mentioned. I’m not ex-military, I’m not a homesteader or survivalist.”

  “You are now,” Jared shot in.

  “But I wasn’t before. I wasn’t ready for the grid to go down, but I’m still here. You’re not giving people enough credit.”

  Jared eyed him sideways. “You got lucky. Other people—those who DO fit the above categories, took you in. Or you’d be gone, too. Anyway, we have the compound depending on us to get back with supplies. And this is war. We shoot on sight.”

  Roper’s mouth hardened. “We’re not at war with fellow Americans!”

  Again Jared motioned them forward a few steps but shook his head, smiling humorlessly. “Where have you been since the pulse? How can you say that? Most of our conflicts have been with fellow Americans.” Sneering, he continued, “The foreign hostiles may be the most dangerous, better armed, but we’ve been fighting our wonderful compatriots since the grid went down. And that isn’t going to change. It only gets worse as more people starve to death.”

  Roper mused silently for a moment. “Sometimes,” he finally offered, “the secret to unexpected things—even great things—lies in welcoming strangers into your life. You shoot the stranger—heck, don’t even kill him, just fail to welcome him, and you kill the great thing, the thing that might have been.”

  Jared made no response. He was digging into his saddle bag for something.

  Roper continued, “Sometimes you have to move from your head to your heart before knowing what to do.” He swallowed. “God speaks to the heart before the head.”

  “You’re always spouting the Bible! What are you, a priest?” He pulled out a battery-operated lantern and held it in one hand while he closed up the saddle bag.

  Roper gave a gentle smile. “Not a Catholic priest, if that’s what you mean. But the Bible says all God’s chosen are a royal priesthood, a holy nation. So that includes me.” He smiled suddenly and even Jared could not be wholly impervious to Roper’s wildly charming grin. There was something winsome, inviting, and warm in Roper’s smile. It was an attribute totally foreign to Jared’s features and perhaps explained why he didn’t reply with a stinging bit of sarcasm as was his usual wont—but simply fell silent.

  “We’re moving in,” was all he said, once again motioning with his head for Roper to follow. But he paused and said pointedly, “Stay behind me and keep your mouth shut.”

  They proceeded slowly, leading their horses by the reins. The interior quickly grew dark. After ten feet or so it was inky black. The horses stamped and snorted uneasily. Roper stroked his mare’s head, speaking soothingly, while Jared switched on the lantern. A wide middle aisle appeared before them, the air thick with stagnant dust. Jared directed the beam into each stall or storefront to their right and left, revealing the remnants of ransacked, ravaged goods.

  Everything was damaged. Perfectly good chairs and sofas were ripped across their middles as if someone in a rage had destroyed them for no discernible reason.

  Roper silently shook his head. He’d seen such sights before. It was as though something evil didn’t want anything to survive and be useful. It was needless destruction. Ripping up furniture, tearing apart clothing and linens—what good did it do anyone? It didn’t put food in their bellies or warm their homes.

  In addition to the mess, the place had the foul smell of a urinal. “People must have holed up here during the cold,” Jared whispered. “Still stinks.”

  “I think we’re wasting our time in here,” Roper said. He’d never been on a reconnaissance mission before, certainly not to find material to build weapons, but he’d been through plenty of abandoned buildings since the pulse—places he’d stopped for shelter at night or to escape the worst of a storm. He had a feeling about places, whether they’d contain anything useful. Nothing about the reeking remnants of this once bustling flea market held promise.

  And then they passed a counter of dried flowers, many still intact—Roper grabbed a garland of red roses with greenery and white pearl accents. He strung it across Scarlett’s saddle so that it hung down on either side. “Give me a flag and a lance, and my steed and I are ready for the joust,” he joked.

  Jared glared at him. “We’re gonna need every inch of that saddle and the space in your bags for important stuff.”

  Roper returned his look with one of innocent surprise. “It’s for the girls.” Besides, he added to himself, they hadn’t found any supplies thus far. He had plenty of space.

  He thought momentarily of Andrea. She’d like the garland. He caught Jared’s steely gaze upon him at that moment and somehow felt the other man knew he meant to give it to her.

  “What?” Roper asked.

 
Jared shook his head. His look was one of contempt but he said nothing.

  They moved on, passing stalls festooned with cobwebs and with empty, broken shelves and shattered boards and bricks. A former toy-store, eerily dark and still, held some toys and dust-covered stuffed animals. Jared said, “Wait,” and handed Roper the reins of his horse while he quickly scanned the aisles. He stopped and grabbed a boxful of something, and then another, tucking them beneath one arm. He moved on and grabbed a box of something else and finally returned to Roper in the main aisle.

  “What’d you find?” Roper asked.

  Jared was stuffing the boxes into his saddle bag. “BBs and firecrackers. Not enough to make me happy but it’s a start.”

  They kept going up and down the eerie aisles strewn with garbage, shining the lamp into stalls long enough to ascertain if there was anything left of interest. Turning at the end of one aisle, the foul scent suddenly grew stronger. Roper froze.

  “That is sick!” he exclaimed. Scarlett snuffled as if in agreement.

  Jared looked at him, annoyed. “We gotta keep going.”

  “The other way, man,” Roper said, coughing. “Something is—something’s gotta be dead in that direction!”

  Jared nodded. “Yeah, so what? We won’t have to worry about hostiles—they won’t stay with that odor. There could be good stuff. C’mon.”

  Roper shook his head, frowning. “Fine. Wait a sec.” He grabbed a bandana from around his neck and tied it over his mouth and nose. Jared watched, whether amused or annoyed, Roper couldn’t tell—or much care. Again it was evident the two were certainly not soul mates. Jared with his shaved hair and face beside Roper with his curly locks and beard—both of which had grown straggly at the ends. Jared had the discipline of a cadet, shaved with a disposable razor each morning (he seemed to have an endless supply of those) and somehow maintained a neat overall appearance that was totally impossible for Roper.

  Jared still dressed like an Army guy too, in fatigues and combat boots—even now at the start of summer when it was oppressively hot in direct sunlight. Only his head was bare. Roper sported well-worn jeans, a light cotton plaid shirt, and newer sneakers—a pair he’d found in an abandoned car shortly before coming upon the Martins’ compound. They’d come in handy since he’d long ago discarded his shoes in favor of winter boots donated by a Good Samaritan right after the pulse. He’d done a great deal of walking in those boots...from Pittsburgh to south- western Ohio.

  As they moved forward coaxing the horses along, their thoughts were as far different as their appearance. Roper understood what they were looking for but he couldn’t help searching for practical items like homestead equipment or clothing. He’d have been equally happy to come across sheet music or a new music stand though he wouldn’t have mentioned that to Jared for anything. Occasionally he got to play his trumpet at the compound but it wasn’t like the old days before the pulse, when he played in the worship band.

  That had been his old life. It had surprisingly ensured him entrance into the Martins’ compound since they recognized the trumpet as an instrument to sound the alarm if an attack was imminent. Good thing he’d held onto it...and there had been plenty of opportunities for him to ditch it. Trying to keep his mind on their mission, Roper couldn’t help the sudden memories that accosted him...

  Chapter 12

  ROPER

  (January 14th,

  Three days after the pulse)

  They were stranded. It was undeniable now. Roper and his fellow worship team members were stuck in Pennsylvania, thousands of miles from their home in Southern California. At first they’d hoped like everyone else that the outage and the failure of electronics was temporary. But now everyone agreed something irreversible had happened though the theories differed as to what it was.

  The fact remained, no matter what had caused their predicament, that Roper and his friends were unacceptably far from home. Still thinking that surely there’d be a fix, that things would start working again or somehow the government would mitigate the circumstances, he and his friends waited—weighing their options—and watched chaos descend upon Pittsburgh. Gangs, looting, violence—life was getting more and more dangerous but the weather was mortally cold. If it warmed a little, it snowed. Then the pastor with whom they were staying admitted he couldn’t keep feeding them. They had no choice but to begin the journey home.

  From the moment he and his band realized the grid was down indefinitely and they’d have to walk back to California, food, water, and heat—perhaps heat most of all—were the constant things on their minds. Still, if they could stay together Roper felt sure they would somehow make it across the country.

  Then, one by one, he’d lost his team. The drummer re-injured an old wound on the first day’s walk; Roper didn’t like doing it but they left him at the house of a church member. The family kindly took him in but they were already wondering how they’d keep feeding their own children now that the stores were empty. He hoped they wouldn’t force his friend to leave when things got really desperate.

  Then his bass guitar player who was overweight and not keen on making the journey decided home in California was too far. He bailed out when they came across a huge mega-church that said they had water for anyone who wanted it.

  “You can’t live on water,” Roper said. “We’ll fill our bottles and keep going. Together.”

  “I’ll only slow you down, man. I’m okay. Leave me here.”

  So now it was only Roper and Aaron, the second guitar player, and the female singers. They were Aurelia, who sang lead, and a duo of backup singers, Jocelyn and Jackie. Aaron was the youngest member of the team, a slim teen on his first mission trip. He was lean and lanky and seemed to be doing okay although he suffered from the cold more than the rest of them and required stops so his hands and feet could thaw out. The women walked faster than he did but Roper figured he’d spent too many hours playing video games instead of developing muscles.

  Eventually, even though they’d all managed to bundle up with donated clothing from the church before leaving, the kid was unable to get warm at all. No amount of layers did it for him. Unless he was plopped down right in front of a fire, he shivered. The whole team considered waiting out winter somewhere but Aaron wouldn’t hear of it. He badly wanted to get back to his family in California and insisted he could do it.

  Being Californians, the cold and snow was a shock to all of them. Every night was a struggle for warmth but there seemed to always be a business or store they could find a corner to hole up in. At daylight, they’d start out again. For awhile Aaron seemed to be getting hardened to the freezing weather.

  Roper’s presence was surely one of the reasons they managed to get as far as they did. He had a saintly attitude about their journey. Like a Franciscan monk, he trusted God for each day’s needs. Not just hoped, but really trusted!

  He’d tell the others, “Hey, God has made us dependent on him in ways we would never have been dependent before. Remember St. Francis? He embraced poverty, saw in it God’s gracious hand, the opportunity to rely completely on him for food and shelter. We can do the same.”

  And it had to be divine provision that kept them alive, considering that everywhere they went they encountered death. But at each business or empty home they chose to stop in, they’d find something—packaged crackers, cookies, even beef sticks. Some of the places had been thoroughly looted before they arrived, but even there they’d come across small things that hadn’t been found by their predecessors.

  Progress was slow due to the snow. They carried two donated sleeping bags and shared them at night—the girls using one and the guys in another. This helped them survive many a cold night with no fire. But days passed while they were forced to wait out a new snowfall. When they did move, they took advantage of roadside barrel fires or small bonfires other travelers were using to thaw frozen limbs and fingers—Roper’s belief that they could make it all the way home grew even stronger. At the outset, he’d hoped they
could. Now he was believing it.

  Until one morning when they went to wake up the kid—and he didn’t wake up. Roper was shaken. He felt responsible. Sure, they’d all been living on too little but aside from his sensitivity to the cold, Aaron hadn’t seemed sick.

  Aurelia said, “He was feeling worse every day.”

  “Why didn’t I know that?”

  She frowned. “He was a low-level diabetic.” When Roper turned indignant eyes upon her for he’d known nothing about it, she added, “He begged me not to say anything! He was afraid you’d make us stop somewhere; he just wanted to get back home.” Her eyes filled with tears. Roper nodded. He was aggravated that Aurelia had kept Aaron’s condition from him, but there was no point in chewing her out for it now.

  It was impossible to bury the boy due to the frozen ground. They waited a whole day in an empty small house in the middle of nowhere trying to decide what to do with his body. How could they dignify this young person’s death when the ground was frozen solid, covered in two feet of snow? Finally, they agreed it was best to cremate the remains. Afterward, Roper found an empty spice bottle in a pile of rubbish and they put some of the ashes in it. He had that bottle, still. One day, if he got back to California, he’d give it to Aaron’s family—if they were alive.

  So then it was just Roper and the three women. He felt a responsibility he’d never known before, being the only man in the group. It wasn’t easy for a single young man to have three women curled up around him, snuggling against him every night in the sleeping bags—which they zippered to form one large bag. But it was the only way to stay warm.

  As soon as the weather permitted they left the site of that misfortune. Roper tried to encourage the women, to bolster their faith and hope—and thereby their energy. “This is a pilgrimage, a pilgrimage of trust,” he said. “God will get us where we need to go, but we gotta hang in there. We gotta be willing to keep on keeping on.”

  “Trust God for what?” Jocelyn asked. “To stop the snow? To bring back electricity?”