The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  I just stared at her while my heart sank. I didn’t know. I never thought about it. We went outside and I showed her where I’d been poking around the past few days.

  She pointed. “There. That’s poison ivy. See the leaves? Remember this: Leaves of three, beware of me.”

  “Would’ve been nice if you told me this BEFORE we started foraging!”

  Lexie looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I thought everyone knew what poison ivy looked like.”

  So now I’m itchy all over, even on my sore arm, which is like adding fuel to a fire. Mrs. Philpot is treating my spots with anti-itch cream but it only helps a little. And she keeps “tsk-tsking” me for not being more careful. I have to wear long sleeves and plastic gloves in order to pick up Lily, and then I’m even hotter and itchier than usual. That itching can be fierce! I never dreamed anything could itch so much! And I have to be careful because if I scratch it I could spread it to other places on my body. I shudder at the thought. I thought life was bad before.

  This is sheer misery.

  NEXT DAY

  This morning I awoke to find a new red blotch—on my face! I cried. The itching is torture and now it’s on my face and it’s ugly and I feel ugly enough already. If I hadn’t been forced to go foraging, this wouldn’t have happened! That book should have a warning section on what NOT to touch.

  I am not doing any more foraging. What can they do, kick me off the compound?

  This afternoon I saw one of our men building something along the side of the barn. I asked what he was building, and guess what? It’s cold frames! It means we can grow extra food—but I’ll have more gardening to do even after the cold weather sets in! Just perfect.

  I’ve been thinking a lot lately of my old life. If I could only have ONE day like it used to be! A hot shower, faucets that worked, internet, cell phones, computers and games. I feel angry that it’s all gone. And worst of all? My parents, gone!

  This poison ivy is sending me into a deep pity party. I cried myself to sleep last night. I ask God why, why did he take it all away?

  People here say it was judgment for the sins of our nation. But how long do we have to pay? How long do we have to suffer? Won’t things ever get back to normal? Mr. Martin says they will. We just have to wait.

  Well, I’m waiting.

  chapter 21

  LEXIE

  So Andrea has poison ivy and is whining a lot. I almost feel like we need an attack—it would remind her we’ve got bigger things to worry about! But I do feel for her—poison ivy is miserable, I’ve had it.

  I haven’t written about Blake in a while. I think about him all the time, though. I’ll be seventeen in two weeks, and he’s going to ask my dad if we can get married! I’ve been hoping and praying that we can! I mean, Andrea is right about us not knowing what’s gonna happen tomorrow. And what is that famous line? “Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?” I agree!

  Despite how busy we are, I manage to see him every day even if he’s not at breakfast with us. One of my sneaky methods is to bring him lunch. He gets so involved in the task at hand—no matter what he’s doing—that he’ll just forget to eat. That’s Blake. So I use that as a good excuse to grab lunch for the both of us and then I go off and find him.

  He hardly ever does lookout these days, so I don’t always know where to find him. (It’s not that we don’t need lookouts; we do, as much as ever. But Blake is scientific, so he’s been reassigned to other work to take advantage of his brain.) Right now my dad has him working on a number of projects for the compound, such as the water-power. And he’s in charge of irrigation—which I remind him of all the time—and today he finally came up with something!

  Andrea and I were dying for him to work out a way for us not to have to haul water to the garden. He wanted to set up a system using hoses and trenches but we don’t have the hose. That was enough to stop him from doing anything—Blake’s a bit of a perfectionist—but since I complained so much, he came up with another idea.

  First, he told me and Andrea to ransack the garbage dump for containers that could hold water—but they had to be safe, not used for anything toxic. (The garbage dump is on the property, because, well, it has to go somewhere! It’s far enough not to bother us with an odor but close enough so we can reach it reasonably fast and without needing more than one person to stand guard. If having a dump on the property sounds yucky, consider that some people just throw their garbage all over their lawns, according to Roper! At least we keep ours in one heap, and burn whatever we can. We even bury some, but that takes a lot of manpower.)

  Anyway, the containers had to withstand being buried in the ground through the growing season. That meant cardboard was out. We gathered a whole bunch of empty tin cans. Blake said they weren’t big enough if we wanted to save labor. So we had to go back to that smelly dump and rummage around until we found a few #10 cans, and a whole bunch of empty 2 liter soda bottles.

  Before the pulse we used to clean empty soda bottles and fill them with filtered water. The bottles came in handy when the power went out –I wish we had more of them! But we used them up. So that’s why we had lots of empty ones and now we would put them to another good use.

  Blake put holes throughout the containers—which was tricky because he wasn’t allowed to use our battery-operated drill—and meanwhile we dug holes near the biggest, water-hungry plants. He put the containers in the holes, we filled them with water, and then tamped down the dirt around them. We left enough visible to make refilling easy. It was a lot of work. But it’s untold bliss to have less watering to do!

  Blake is such a whiz. I’m very proud of him.

  He’s helped us now not only with that irrigation but with creating vertical growers; and he was the one who came up with the recipe for the mortar the men use in building. The vertical growers (my name for them) is what he calls “stepped boxes.” My mother took one look and exclaimed in delight that we now had “terraced” gardens. Whatever you call it, I think it was pure genius. I told that to Andrea this afternoon when we both came in for a glass of water. My dad was passing through the dining room at the moment. He broke into a grin.

  “Don’t you think it was ingenious?” I asked him in surprise. “It’s like vertical gardening—space saving.”

  His eyes twinkled at me. “Honey, people have been building raised beds for thousands of years.” The smile left my face.

  “But WE haven’t. Maybe other people did, but YOU didn’t think of it.”

  He nodded, and his look changed abruptly. “Well, you got me there.”

  “And Blake is a genius, Dad, you know he is,” I added, determined to make him concede defeat and give my future husband his due.

  The twinkle was back, as he said, “He is a very bright young man, I agree.”

  As he walked off, I called, “So does that mean I can marry him?” Andrea clapped a hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh.

  Dad didn’t even turn around. “In a couple years, sure, honey.”

  I rolled my eyes and turned to Andrea. “We ARE going to get married sooner than that. Why can’t he just accept it?”

  Andrea was scratching her arm. “Because he’s your father. Fathers don’t accept it when their little girls fall in love.”

  “Don’t scratch!” I scolded. “Go get more anti-itch cream. If you scratch you’ll only make it worse.”

  She gave me sad eyes. “That’s what everyone says. But I don’t think it could possibly get any worse!”

  “It can keep spreading.”

  She frowned. “Look, about your dad. You didn’t really expect him to change his mind because of Blake’s superior intellect, did you?”

  I sighed. “No. But I don’t want him to forget that we are ready. Whatever they say, Blake and I are ready.”

  She studied me. “Did Blake say that? I thought he wanted to wait.”

  When I didn’t answer immediately, Andrea frowned. “I thought so. If he wants to wait, and your fol
ks want you to wait, you just have to wait.”

  “Blake is ready! And besides, I thought you were all for NOT waiting.”

  “I am! But it’s not up to me.”

  The next words came tumbling out of my mouth. “You’re only saying that because Roper and Jared are gone and you don’t know if you’ll see them again, and you don’t want me to get married while you can’t.”

  Andrea’s mouth hardened. “That’s not true!” A heavy pause. “You think I’d marry either of them, like they’re interchangeable or something?”

  “You want to marry Roper; but if he dies, you’ll settle for Jared.” I should have kept my mouth shut—why was I provoking Andrea, my best friend?

  She stood up and slammed her chair against the table. “I’m thrilled that you know me so well!” She glared at me. “And thanks a lot!” Then she stalked off, followed by Bach, who had been sitting at her feet.

  A pang of guilt assailed me. “I’m sorry!” But she was gone.

  I’ll apologize later. I don’t know why Andrea and I fight so much. Before the pulse we were friends and never fought at all. Now, it’s like we’re sisters more than friends. I guess it’s normal for sisters to fight. But if I want to show my folks I’m ready for marriage, I’d better start acting more mature.

  I went outside to see what Blake was up to and met him coming towards the house. He looked sun-browned and swarthy and handsome—in a sandy-haired Clark Kent kind of way. Meaning he seems totally oblivious to the fact that he’s a looker. He gave me a little peck of a kiss in greeting but his eyes were somber. “I was just coming to find you. I have to go shopping.”

  ‘Shopping’ is a euphemism for scavenging. It means they’ll be looking for abandoned homes that might have good clothing, tools, hygiene items—anything we’d normally buy at a store if there were any stores to buy from.

  I felt my face crumple into a frown. “Who’s going with you?”

  “Your dad and Mr. Simmons.”

  “All three of you?” Shocking. Seldom would my dad risk the lives of three men who were vital to the running of the compound, all at once. Shopping was avoided unless absolutely necessary because it was risky. But if deemed necessary, then whoever went out was charged with bringing back whatever they could find that would be useful.

  At one council meeting Cecily suggested we put an end to such trips. As she spoke, she looked confident and strong. In fact, whenever I see her I admire her tall, brown beauty. Though she wore jeans and a t-shirt, she always struck me as someone who would look more comfortable in an evening gown. “First off,” she said, in her calm voice, “it’s stealing, isn’t it?”

  Jared had been here then, and he snorted. “From the dead? They don’t need it,” he said, heavily.

  “But it isn’t ours,” she insisted.

  “Look, you don’t have to use anything we bring back.” Jared’s eyes blazed. My dad broke in and said, “Okay, look folks, Cecily has a tender conscience about this and I can understand that.” Jared stared at him warily. “But Jared has a point. We aren’t taking anything from anyone who’s alive to use it.”

  “What about when things return to normal?” Cecily asked. “What if a relative comes to these houses and finds them wiped out? Aren’t we stealing from them?”

  “We’re surviving!” Jared cried, with harsh finality. He seldom showed much emotion at council meetings and his outburst surprised me. “If there’s relatives who come, it means they survived, and we have no idea what they did to do that, or what they took from anyone. We are doing what we have to do. We can’t think about a future that we may not live to see. We have to think about today.”

  Cecily then suggested we label goods with the address where we took them from. My dad said he wasn’t about to let Cecily go along on a shopping spree so she could affix labels of ownership onto everything, risking life and limb in the process. The atmosphere felt tense then, until Bach, our German Shepherd, loped into the room, went straight to me and rose on his legs. Tail wagging, he put his great big paws on my lap, but then he looked at Blake and growled, which made everyone laugh.

  But still, it is my father and my husband-to-be risking life and limb! Why do they both have to go? I asked my dad about it and he insists he needs Blake, and that he has to go also. He won’t say why, so I’m thinking he must be on the look-out for something special. And Mr. Simmons, I suppose, being our only ex-cop, is probably there to watch their backs.

  I intend to pray hard and keep praying hard. Tonight is Bible study and I’ll make sure everyone else is praying for them, too. I guess now I know how Andrea must feel with Roper being gone. We live with the knowledge that we might fall under attack at any time, and I’m sort of used to that. But knowing Blake is OUT THERE—off the compound—fills me with greater dread.

  Chapter 22

  ANDREA

  So today I was helping the children at lunch when Lily looked up and called me “Mama” again. I’ve told her not to do that. I feel like it’s proof that our mother is dead. I said, “No! I’m Andrea! Silly.” My little brother Aiden came over and took Lily’s hand. She smiled happily at him and then back at me, and stroked the side of my face. “Mama,” she repeated.

  “She thinks you’re Mom,” Aiden said. He turned his big eyes to me. “When IS Mom coming back, Andi?”

  Quentin was suddenly there too, which was no surprise since the twins are rarely apart. “Yeah, why isn’t Mom back yet?” he asked. And then Laura and Lainie, Lexie’s twin sisters, perked up their ears and stared at me. And then I saw that the little Buchanans, all four of them, were also looking at me, staring. All the children were interested.

  What could I say? I tried to smile at my brothers. “I don’t know. Remember, she can’t call us.” I wasn’t about to say she’d probably never be back. I don’t ever want to say that to the kids!

  “There’s no phones,” Quentin intoned, nodding.

  Aiden’s face lit up. “She could write a letter! Right?”

  I frowned, and shook my head. “There’s no mail, sweetie. We just have to wait.”

  “Wait for what?” Aiden asked.

  “For Mom to get back,” I said. But I was beginning to feel dishonest. Who was I kidding? How long should I try to protect them from the truth? The boys returned to playing, and soon Cecily ushered them away. She often does child-care, thankfully, because she’s got amazing patience and genuinely loves the children. Lexie and I do less with the kids now during summer since we have so much more outdoor work.

  I sighed and stood up with Lily balanced on my hip. I’d check her diaper—though I hate changing them because we only have cloth diapers now—and then hand her off to Cecily or another child-care worker.

  “Mama,” she said again, and giggled.

  “I’m not Mama!” I scolded, but she just surveyed me with her blue Lars eyes. I don’t understand it. She knows my name, so why does she call me that? Lexie said it doesn’t mean anything, but it’s like an omen to me.

  After giving her to Cecily, I had to escape upstairs for a while. I still had chores waiting, but they’d just have to wait. I flopped onto my bed and cried.

  I’d been trying hard not to think about my mother, and especially hard not to blame her for being gone. But right now I was mad. Why was she so—stupid—to leave the compound? Why hadn’t she thought about her children needing her? Why hadn’t she realized that meant I was all they had left—and I didn’t want to be all! I didn’t want to take her place and be Mama.

  I used to pretend she was okay somewhere, getting along fine with Mr. Washington. Even when Rhema came back, I convinced myself they’d sent the horse away because they couldn’t feed and care for her. That makes sense, right? But when Lily calls me Mama, I can’t hold on to those fantasies. I know what it means: My mother really is gone! Forever. And I have to live with it. That makes me—all of us—orphans! Ugh. I hate that word.

  Maybe I’m too old to be considered an orphan. I hope so. But nothing can change the fac
t that I have no parents. And my mother was stupid!

  Chapter 23

  LEXIE

  I don’t know how to comfort Andrea. What could someone say to me if my mother was presumed dead? Would there be any way to comfort me? I can’t even remind her about heaven and the hope we have in Christ because I have no idea if her mother was a believer. Anything I come up with sounds empty to my own ears.

  So I’m just not saying anything; giving her space so she can grieve in peace. Besides, we still don’t know for sure. It doesn’t look good that Rhema came back without them, but if they had really fallen into evil hands, how would a horse have escaped? People are not above eating horse meat these days, let me tell you.

  Tonight when we should have gone to sleep, it was oppressively hot. The air was heavy and humid. The shutters to our room were open, so I sat at the window and watched the blackness outside through the screen. Nights are truly dark now unless the moon is full. But sometimes, somewhere far off, I’ll see a vague light. It reminds me we’re not the only survivors, not the only ones using oil lamps and candles, not the only ones getting by! I wish it were safer out there so we could contact these people. If they used amateur radio we might be able to communicate with them. But neither Dad nor Mr. Buchanan have been able to reach anyone really close by.

  After a few minutes my eyes could discern between the darkness of the tree line and the slightly less black of the sky, broken up by an amazing number of stars. Some nights we can see the outline of the milky way! What amazes me is the thought that it’s always been there, exactly the same, only we couldn’t see it because of electricity and all the lights of civilization. It seems ironic that having so much light made us miss this remarkable spectacle of creation.

  I heard Andrea moving in bed, and then she was beside me, falling to her knees to join me at the window. “It’s hot,” I said.