The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  “Are we all locked up?” I heard Tex ask.

  The walls and door suddenly erupted into a symphony of plinks, thuds and cracks from outside as they took the impact of attack. I wondered how the marauders had managed to find such arms, when last time they were clearly lacking them. Anyway, with the door secured, I went to join the others in the front room.

  Angel was saying, “That’s it! I can’t take this anymore! I need us to leave!”

  Tex nodded. “Looks like we have no choice.”

  Kool was whining now, unhappy to be leashed. “What about Kool?” I asked. “You said there was no room for him in the escape plan.”

  Angel and Tex looked at each other. Angel said, “We have to bring him! We can walk him in the tunnel.”

  From outside we heard a voice. “Look—why don’t we work together? All we want is for you to share your stuff!”

  Tex shook his head and put up his hand, signaling us not to answer. After a short silence the voice returned. “We can burn you down, you know! Your house is strong, but not fire proof! All I’m asking is that you work with us. I promise you, we will not kill you—if you work with us!”

  Again Tex raised his hand, signaling for silence, but he went towards the door. “Give us time to talk it over!”

  Angel gasped. I saw by the look on her face that she did not think talking it over was a good idea.

  “You’ve got fifteen minutes!” the man called.

  Tex turned to us. Whispering, he said, “Quick! Let’s get our stuff out of here!”

  “Mercy!” cried Angel, in a loud whisper. “I thought you really meant to bargain with them!”

  He took one of her hands and kissed it. “Not on your life, sweetheart!”

  “And where exactly are we supposed to move our stuff to?” Richard asked, sardonically.

  “Follow us,” Tex replied, motioning us to do so. He turned into the hallway as Angel rushed ahead of him.

  Outside the storage room, I thought I heard voices and went towards the shuttered window. “Get every man we have to the front. We’re gonna get a wall down. Burn it if we have to.”

  “What about their stuff? If we burn it, we don’t get it.”

  “We’ll start with saws.”

  “They’ll shoot!”

  “If they can shoot out, we can shoot in. I think there’s a lot more of us than there are of them.” He paused. “Where the heck is Walt, anyway?”

  My heart constricted unexpectedly. Walter—that was my father’s name. His friends and my mother called him Walt. It maddened me that our enemy shared that name. It felt sacrilegious.

  “He’s in front. Got someone negotiating! As if that’s gonna work!”

  “Sarah!” Angel hissed, in a loud whisper from the doorway. “What are you doing? C’mon, we need you!”

  I told them what I’d overheard but as I reached them, I came to an abrupt stop. Tex and Richard were moving totes and boxes from the hall, taking them through an opening in the wall—an opening! I must have been gaping because Angel looked at me and smiled.

  “Welcome to Plan B.”

  Chapter 19

  ANDREA

  I never did get to talk to Lexie last night but this morning I am determined to confront her. I could swear I heard her throwing up again this morning! That has GOT to be a sign of pregnancy. She seems perfectly fine otherwise. Well, not perfectly fine. She does look tired these days.

  Anyway, I met her in the hall. “Are you sick?” I asked.

  Lexie frowned. “I’ve had an upset stomach.”

  I stared at her. “You were sick yesterday morning, too.”

  She nodded. “It’s been longer than that; a whole week, I think. But it seems to get better as the day goes along.”

  This sounded so OBVIOUS as to the reason that I cocked my eyebrows. “I guess you haven’t told your mother?”

  “It would just worry her.”

  I blew out a breath and leveled a “look” at her.

  “What?” she asked, puzzled.

  “C’mon, Lex. It’s kinda obvious, don’t you think?”

  She looked mystified. “What? What is? Do you know what it is?”

  I kept staring at her because I couldn’t say the words. I finally said, “Morning. Sickness?”

  Now her eyes widened. “Are you crazy? No!”

  “That’s what it sounds like. Did you—”

  “No! Just because the world is crazy doesn’t mean we are!” She said, harshly. “We’re still Christians, and we’re not married yet; that would be sin.”

  “Well, I know it must be hard to wait,” I began, but she cut me off.

  “You don’t know. Evidently you don’t know me because I wouldn’t do that! Blake wouldn’t, either.”

  “It might be a good thing if you did,” I said.

  “What?” She looked at me like I was nuts. “What are you talking about?”

  “Girls, what are you doing up there?” It was Mrs. Martin calling.

  “Be right there, Mom!” Lexie called.

  “Lily is crying for you, Andrea,” she added.

  “We gotta go,” Lexie said, but I grabbed her arm.

  “It would make them let you get married.”

  She just shook her head, looking at me like I was incomprehensible. I followed her downstairs and took a crying Lily from Mrs. Wasserman, whose own little girl was sniffling back tears. The Wassermans were one of the first families to join the compound and were good friends with the Martins. Mrs. Wasserman was often working in the kitchen alongside Mrs. Martin. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “No problem,” she said.

  As I bounced Lily on my knee during breakfast, I kept throwing glances at Lexie and Blake, who sat together as usual. They were nearly inseparable when they weren’t off doing different chores around the compound. I caught Lexie’s eyes and she glared at me. I just shrugged at her. I still felt she had to be pregnant. Her symptoms proved it!

  Looking around, I felt oddly lonely despite the presence of the Martins and the Wassermans and all the children. (Everyone else on the compound eats in their own cabins, now.) With a pang, I realized my loneliness was because Roper was missing—he was still off in harm’s way!

  Later as I was taking Lily to the play area downstairs, Lexie came beside us and walked along. “I just want you to know that I don’t appreciate your suspicions,” she said. “Or your so-called advice.” We stopped walking.

  “I think it’s wicked!” she added.

  My temper flared. “Look, Lex! Jared said those foreign soldiers could be back any day and with bigger guns; more weapons! Life is precarious! We don’t have a guarantee for tomorrow!”

  “I’ve got news for you,” she said. “We never did.”

  “I’m just saying—you should take advantage of the time you have together. Because you never know when--." and suddenly my eyes filled with tears and I had trouble continuing. “You never know if you’ll have another chance!”

  I saw the anger drain from her face and knew she was feeling sorry for me but I swirled and turned away, hurrying down the stairs with Lily. She didn’t follow me, probably because she had chores to finish. I was glad. I didn’t want to hear any more of her “holier than thou” sermons. I didn’t want to hear any of her objections.

  And when I think back to Roper and his hesitation about us because of my age, it just makes me sad! I could have loved him with my life. I could have.

  Chapter 20

  ANDREA

  So I’m sort of disappointed that Lexie isn’t pregnant—I guess I’m dying for some excitement! She’s a little miffed at my attitude. I get it. It would be wrong for them to “do it” without being married, I know that. I even agree. But I feel so restless! If only Roper would get back. I feel like everything would be more bearable if he were here.

  In the meantime, I need to keep my mind occupied. My hands are busy enough! I thought winter was terrible at our house in the plat, with having to haul in snow to melt for water. But
summer isn’t any better here. You know what life is like without technology in summer? Endless chores. And HEAT.

  And water is still a big deal and not easy to get. The Martins have a well, but we still have to haul the water—every day. Even with my injured arm I’m not excused, and Lexie and I have to keep the food crops watered. Which I think is so unfair. Water is heavy! I think men should do the water jobs but they’re doing construction at the cabins, or on lookout duty, or working on that infernal, never-ending fence.

  Water is like, one of the biggest hassles of life! I heard Mr. Martin say he was drawing up plans for a pump house that would be right outside the back door—he said they could build it and it would work—so my question is, WHEN? The days are getting hotter, the water feels heavier—the bugs are worse, and I don’t get to use our camp shower nearly often enough. Every day of hauling water simply sucks.

  That pump-house should be a priority but it’s not. If the adults were hauling the water, I bet things would change! We’d see that plan go into effect. But they don’t care because they’re not the ones doing it. All they think about is safety issues and getting ready for winter, even though it’s only mid-summer. And we’re still seeing dark plumes in the sky. They’re usually far off in the distance, but what if they get close? What if our woods were to get on fire? It could spread to the cabins and barn—even to the house! (Just one more lovely fear to contemplate!) But that’s another reason we should have a pump house for easier access to water.

  I try to keep my complaining to a minimum—except for here in my journal. But the reality is that when we’re not watering the garden, we’re mulching with sawdust from the cabin area, or pulling weeds or killing pests. Ugh. I never knew squash bugs and aphids existed, but Mrs. Martin gave us gardening lessons early in June and explained how we have to pick them off the plants EVERY SINGLE DAY. We even have to check the underside of the leaves for eggs and cut them out. They go into a glass jar of soapy water, where they die. You’d think you could get all the eggs and then relax, right? But no. They lay eggs like you wouldn’t believe! It’s a never-ending battle.

  And this is my life!

  I tried enlisting my little brothers. The children help with the chickens by feeding them, gathering eggs and keeping the water troughs full. I figured they could do a little more. And at first, squishing the bugs was a game for them and they were excited to help. But each day they got less and less enthusiastic.

  “It’s too hot!” Aiden would say, drawing out the word, hooooooooot.

  “I’m hot, but I’m still doing it,” I told them.

  “You have to,” said Quentin. “It’s not our job.” I glared at him but he was right. Lexie and I tried to make them help anyway, but we gave it up. It was more work than just getting it over with ourselves. Thing is, we have tons of squash plants, at least 1/2 acre, because they’re good storage foods. It takes the two of us at least an hour to go through that stupid garden checking for pests.

  Jared said once that he’d find us pesticides and Mrs. Martin said she liked her garden organic. Even now! When there’s so much other work to be done! I hope, when Jared gets back (And Roper! Please, God, let Roper come back!) that they’ll have pesticides. Right now we can’t worry about eating organic—we need to worry about eating, period!

  Mrs. Buchanan said to spray the leaves with a soap mixture to kill the bugs. We tried it—but it only slowed them down. And then Mrs. Martin said not to waste soap on the plants, anyway. So, despite all our efforts, we lost a few plants to those wretched creatures.

  By the time we’re done out there, we have shooting practice or raid drills, and then I have childcare, and then I have to help with dinner or cleanup. In the end, I feel like I don’t have a life. And that’s not including that I have to help in the barn! I wouldn’t mind the gardening or animal work too much except we can’t skip a single day—that gets to me.

  I’ve been asking Mrs. Martin to adjust our chore schedule so I can get a break from some of it—especially cleaning the horse stalls—that is my least favorite task. (I’d rather do milking than mucking out stalls!) Mr. Martin says “cleanliness is the biggest factor to having healthy livestock”—over and over. Mrs. Martin promised to make a new schedule but so far my entire summer has been the same. I said, “Lexie gets to keep the records of which animals produce the most and which might need to be culled—why can’t I do that?”

  She said, “There’s no reason you can’t do that. Why don’t the two of you work out a schedule so you can switch responsibilities?”

  “I already asked her. Lex says she likes record-keeping.”

  Mrs. Martin frowned. “Alright, I’ll get to it, sweetheart.” Well—that was two weeks ago. Meanwhile, Mr. Martin plopped a book down between me and Lexie last night and said, “Girls, here’s your new school subject.” I stared down at the book. It was a field guide to edible wild plants.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I asked, weakly. I had a sinking feeling he was serious.

  “The two of you can make a real contribution to the food around here by using this book.”

  “We’re the gardeners!” I protested. “We’re already making a real contribution!”

  Lexie seemed okay with it, which baffled me. I said, “Mr. Martin, what if we make a mistake and someone dies of food poisoning? I don’t want to be responsible for that.”

  “That’s what the book’s for,” he replied. “It’s got good, clear, pictures. I don’t think you’ll make a mistake. Just don’t touch mushrooms. They pose the biggest danger of being misidentified. You’ll be okay.”

  I groaned. “My arm is sore! I can’t do this with one arm.”

  He grinned. “You haul water with one arm. I think you can pick a few plants, little girl.”

  Now and then Mr. Martin calls me and Lexie “little girl.” I think he says it because we’re really NOT little girls, but it’s a term of affection, so I don’t mind. I started flipping through the pages of the book. “Some of these are roots! Roots are hard to pull! I’ll need both arms and I’m sure I’ll hurt myself if I try.”

  He blew out a big breath. “I don’t think so. If you need help, you’ll be with Lex. She’s done this before.”

  I looked at Lexie. “You have?”

  She grabbed the book out of my hands and began leafing through it. “Not recently,” she admitted. Then, “Chicory! I thought only horses liked that!”

  “Hey, that’s a great place to start! Find us chicory--it’s bitter unless you cook it right but we can grind the roots for a coffee substitute. You get us a coffee substitute and you’ll be everybody’s darlings.” He smiled, but I just sat there unhappily, resenting this new task while Lexie continued turning pages and making comments.

  “Oh, I’ve seen this plant!... This does NOT look edible… Even you can recognize this one, An.”

  Watching me, Mr. Martin said, “Look, Andrea, Lexie can go after the exotic stuff while you concentrate on ordinary things like dandelions. This farm is full of dandelions. Get the greens and the flowers, even the roots—we’ll use it all. You can do that, don’t you think?”

  “All except the roots,” I grumbled.

  “I’ll help with that,” said Lexie. “Even my little sisters could do that.”

  “Oh, thanks!”

  “I didn’t mean get the roots; I meant they can recognize dandelions.” Lexie touched my arm.

  Mr. Martin turned to leave. “Stay out of the pasture. We leave what’s there for the horses—except maybe the chicory!” He frowned. “Unless there’s too many weeds. Have you looked, Lex?”

  “What’s wrong with too many weeds?” I asked.

  Lexie said, “In summer it’s not a problem. But weeds get more sugar and starch in them when nights are cold. Too much of that can give a horse laminitis. We’ve had it happen.”

  I groaned. “Great! So we’re not just looking for edibles, we’ll be weeding—for horses!”

  My reaction seemed to amuse Mr. Martin, who was tryi
ng not to smile. “Maybe it won’t come to that.”

  Lexie said, “It came to that last year! But we have good tools—it won’t be so bad.”

  I had a thought. “Mr. Martin, when Roper gets back you should have him study this foraging book. He’s got a photographic memory. It’ll be easy for him to do the foraging!”

  He studied me kindly. “I know you don’t want to forage, Andrea; but that is precisely what you two are going to do. I read once that when people first went west across the plains and deserts—not the Indians, but pioneers and gold seekers and such—many of them ‘starved amidst abundance,’ because they couldn’t identify what was edible. We can be smarter than that.”

  “Fine!” I got up with a humph and came up here to write in my journal.

  When the Martins first rescued us from starving and brought us here, I thought we’d have a pretty good life. Maybe I’m forgetting how horrible it was to be hungry. And that awful Mr. Herman at the end of the block—he was a big worry. I know I should be grateful. But my parents are gone, and life is drudgery. I can’t wait for this season to be done.

  Then I remembered how I’d had to forage for wood last winter. It was blisteringly cold, and nothing came easily out of all that snow and ice. Maybe foraging for wild edibles would be much, much easier. At least it isn’t freezing cold out there.

  TWO DAYS LATER

  I was beginning to enjoy foraging—it is surprisingly satisfying to get praise from the adults for finding so many salad greens. And there’s something about picking a wild plant and being able to eat it that’s like—magic! I thought Lexie was right after all—foraging wasn’t too hard.

  And then I woke up this morning. My arms were itchy. Really itchy. There were red spots on them. Now they’ve become bigger reddish blotches, on my hands and arms, and they are itching like mad.

  Lexie took one look at me and said, “Oh, no! You DO know what poison ivy looks like, right?”