The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

He began trying doors on the cars he passed. Not surprisingly, they were locked. Breaking windows was a noisy proposition, so he kept going until he found one whose window was smashed in.

  Tying his horse to the passenger side door handle, he grabbed the tools he’d seen Roper use, and went around to the driver’s side. He also knew from Roper that it’d be easier to extract that airbag than the one on the passenger side since it was right in the steering wheel. Roper would have taken both but Jared would make do with only one from each vehicle. After prying out plastic cover pieces and removing two side bolts, he felt relieved when the whole middle apparatus—which held the airbag—came out easily in his hands. He was right—he could do this!

  He lifted it, but it was still wired to the car. Jared suddenly remembered Roper had always disconnected the battery before cutting these wires. In fact, disconnecting the battery was the first thing he did even before entering the car. He’d forgotten that step.

  But heck, the batteries were probably dead anyway—even Roper had acknowledged that. Cars don’t take nicely to sitting and doing nothing for long periods of time; it drains their power. If he cut this wire without disconnecting it, would it deploy the bag?

  He considered his options: If he disconnected the battery, he’d have to wait a minimum of three minutes for residual power to dissipate. (According to Roper who played it safe and opted to wait ten.) If he followed Roper’s method, it would mean ten extra minutes per car. But these cars hadn’t moved since the pulse! Roper was an absolute girl when it came to boldness, and probably way more careful than necessary. Even three minutes seemed needlessly cautious.

  Why, Jared remembered a time when a car battery died on him after sitting unused for only four months. These cars had been dead since January, through freezing temperatures—unfriendly to car batteries—and it was now late July. That settled it. He grabbed a wire cutter and snipped a yellow wire connecting the airbag to the car.

  When Jared awoke some time later—the sun was more to the west—his head was pounding. His whole face ached. Something else was wrong—his left arm and hand. He tried to lift it, to get it in his line of vision, but it was shockingly difficult. He felt strangely heavy and unable to move. His arm and hand throbbed, and when he finally got it lifted and into his line of sight, he wasn’t surprised to find it bloody and burned. And fuzzy. Wait-fuzzy? That was his vision. He blinked, looking around, and realized he couldn’t see anything clearly. Slowly he recognized the whitish material in front of him—the deflated airbag. The airbag had deployed! So car batteries could hold charges for that long! It was a painful lesson, and he realized he was lucky to be alive.

  He took a better look at his left hand, blinking, willing it to come into focus. He tried raising his head. Other sounds were outside—his horse was scraping the ground with its hoofs and nickering. The explosion would have frightened the animal. She’d be impatient to get moving. Jared had no idea how long he’d been out, but realized he had to get up, go soothe the horse. Then he heard another sound, and it made him curse at himself under his breath. There were people out there, coming his way, no doubt. Had they heard the blast? Perhaps. In any case, he was in poor condition to defend himself. And all of the stuff he’d gathered—it was all in the saddle bags! He had to get out of there—with the horse—pronto.

  With his left arm throbbing violently now, he tried to pick himself up with only his right for leverage. He had to get out of the car. He was woozy—unbelievable that an airbag could do so much damage, but then again, he’d been holding it when it blew. How stupid of him! So Roper hadn’t been too cautious! That knowledge only added to his fury.

  Getting shakily out of the car, he accidentally put weight on his left hand as he slid out. Red hot pain shot up his arm, enveloping him in momentary agony and almost making him cry out. He must have broken it, in addition to the burns and seeping flesh wounds he’d sustained on it.

  His rifle—still on the car seat! He bent over to grab it with his right arm while simultaneously peering through the front window to see what was approaching. Looked like four men—at least there were only four. Normally that number wouldn’t worry him too much, but he was handicapped. One of them had on a cowboy hat—thought he was in the Wild West. He pulled the rifle out, swung it over the edge of the car door window for support—he’d need that support to shoot with only one hand—and crouched behind the door, resting his bad arm on one leg. It was fortunate the window was smashed in; it put the rifle at a good height, and the door made decent concealment. But would it offer cover? He hoped they’d have to use AK47s to get a bullet through it—either that, or a supremely lucky shot—and so far he hadn’t seen any rifles. Not that he could see all that well, but his sight was improving by the minute.

  The men had seen him by now and came to a stop.

  “I’m armed!” he shouted. “Turn around and keep going!”

  “We’re armed, too,” one man replied, reaching to his waist. At that moment, a shot rang out, a shot that came from the wooded right side of the road. It rang past the head of the man who’d been reaching for his weapon. Jared had no idea who the shot had come from but as the men reacted, ducking and scrambling for cover, he saw a tactical advantage and used it.

  He aimed as best he could and took a shot at the men but he couldn’t be sure if he hit anyone. “I’m not alone, morons! I got guys in the woods here. Now turn around or you will all be slaughtered!”

  The men took cover behind a white Toyota about fifty feet from where Jared was crouched behind his car door. “He’s lying!” The cowboy said, looking sharply into the sides of the road where trees and bushes might have hidden any number of men. “I think he made that shot. I think he’s all alone.”

  Jared heard the remarks, marveling that his ears seems to have escaped damage. If one of them stepped out from behind the car, they’d be in range. He struggled to get his wobbly sight on one because they weren’t buying his bluff. But then another shot came from the woods, neatly shattering the Toyota’s side window facing the thick green brush. Jared wondered fleetingly if the unknown shooter was as much a danger to him as them—but so far he’d only sent shots their way, so he called, “Get moving, or we’ll shoot—and this time it will be to kill!”

  “Show yourselves!” shouted the cowboy, looking at the woods. He came to his feet and stood with his hands up. He had on jeans and boots and even a western-style holster in addition to the hat—a real cowboy wannabe, Jared thought, with disdain. Jared’s finger was on the trigger of his rifle. He bent his head to get the guy in his sight. His vision was still not what it should be but he could get a fuzzy figure in his sight as good as a sharp one.

  He could only take down one man at a time in his condition—and there were four of them. He couldn’t depend on help from the stranger since he had no idea who it was or what his motives were. So he waited at the ready but did not fire. He was not going to shoot first. This was one battle he’d rather avoid.

  The cowboy nodded at his companions, saying, “Don’t hit the horse!” —and then everything happened at once. Shots came at Jared, pinging into the car door as the men fired and then scurried behind the Toyota and out of sight. One peered around from the back pointing a pistol at Jared, who quickly sighted him and took a shot. Luck was on his side because the bullet sent the guy backwards, head first. It must have landed square on his forehead. Jared felt no relief for bullets were still landing around him. The front windshield to his right shattered, sending glass pieces flying, and making Jared crouch even lower behind the door. But there he was blind to the scene! Also, he knew his feet and legs were visible.

  A momentary silence revealed that the horse was scraping and stamping. Whinnying, it attempted to break free. As Jared glanced over, the animal reared against the car. No sooner had he raised his head to get a look when a volley of shots ensued, plunking into the seat and body of the car. He’d be dead if they had AK47s! But the horse hadn’t been shot—at least, not yet.

 
; As he considered his options a voice cried out—it was the cowboy again—“Leave us the horse and we’ll let you go!”

  Jared was silent for a moment, thinking. Then he shouted, “Come and get it!” He was weak; his arm was bleeding heavily and his hand felt enormous, grotesque, like it was ten times its normal size as it throbbed—though a single glance assured him it wasn’t. He badly wanted to field dress it and get out of there. But there was no way he would leave the horse. They’d shoot him in the back, for one thing;

  and he’d shoot the horse rather than let them get it.

  “We’re coming out!” The cowboy called.

  Jared readied himself to take a shot. He watched as the cowboy and one other man approached, holding up their arms. “We’re not gonna shoot! Don’t fire!’

  “Stop!” Jared called. “Stay where you are!” He wished he could shoot the two of them on the spot but with his injuries he felt he’d only get one quickly; then the second would kill him. They halted, but said, “Look, we only want the animal. There’s a lot of meat on a horse. We got hungry people to feed.”

  “So do we,” Jared said, tightly. “But we don’t eat horse meat. You don’t need to, either.”

  “Oh, yeah? You got another food source you might want to share, stranger?”

  Jared thought for a moment. “Farm silos. They got grain, and they’re all over this part of Ohio.” He knew, as he spoke, that many of the silos were already empty. The pulse had hit in January—not after harvest. Farmers had been going through their grain, either by using it themselves, or selling it, or finding it stolen.

  The men looked at each other; Jared could see they’d been too stupid to think of that before now. “That’s nice,” the cowboy said. “But we need meat.” He peered keenly towards Jared—preparing a shot?

  “Let’s talk about it!” the cowboy called.

  “Ain’t nothing to talk about,” said Jared. “Turn around and get going or you’ll end up like your buddies!” He had only taken down one guy but he gathered, since there were only two of them in sight, that the unknown shooter must have taken down another. Whoever it was, he owed him big-time.

  The men moved forward a step, but Jared yelled, “Don’t come any closer! I WILL shoot!”

  “If you’re not going to eat that animal,” the cowboy said, “you have no right not to let us have it!”

  “Yeah? How about ownership? This horse belongs to me, not you.”

  “Haven’t you heard?” the cowboy replied, sardonically. “There ain’t no ownership no more.”

  “Forget it!” Jared called. “You come one step closer and you’re dead.”

  “Fine!” said the cowboy. “But if we can’t have him, neither can you!” He swiftly pulled his pistol out, as did his companion. At the same moment, a shot rang out from the woods, and then a second shot. The gun dropped from the cowboy’s hand and he turned and ran, holding an injured arm. The second man had been hit in the shoulder and he, too, turned and started running. Even so, a final shot—from the stranger!—blew the hat off the cowboy’s head. Jared’s rifle had swung to the side and he frantically maneuvered to get it back in position but he was getting weaker by the second. He wanted to finish them off if he could, even as they retreated—but he couldn’t.

  The stranger in the woods—whoever it was—had saved his neck. The throbbing in his left hand and arm was becoming all consuming. He felt dizzy and nauseous. His vision seemed worse than before.

  As he lay back against the car, gasping in deep breaths to try and get stabilized, the world began spinning. He lost his grip on his rifle, and felt himself slipping from consciousness. And then he saw it—the shadow of the stranger from the woods, coming from his right—and he could do nothing to defend himself. It was a horrible realization. No doubt he was about to die at the hand of this unknown person. Then he saw something else, something that settled his mind in an unexpected blanket of relief. It came just at the moment when he was slipping away into unconsciousness.

  A face appeared in front of him. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.” To Jared’s astonishment, he knew that voice. He knew that face. It was Roper.

  Chapter 27

  LEXIE

  The whole compound is in shock! Dad’s latest news from the radio—it’s crazy! He was in touch with a new contact from Arizona who told him there were nuclear strikes against California, Oregon and Washington State! Why would anyone want to nuke the West Coast instead of the East? New York City, Washington, D.C.—these are the cities we usually think of as nuclear targets. It doesn’t make sense. Dad and Mr. Buchanan are taking turns so that one of them is on the radio 24/7 until we get further word. Everyone wants to know, how big were the strikes, will there be more, and who caused them?

  The idea of nuclear war has made everything we’ve done (and are doing) to prepare for the next attack seem pointless. We can’t deflect a nuclear strike with barriers or a fence, no matter how strong they are. The cabins would be useless in such an attack. Every cabin family suddenly wants to find a bomb shelter, or at least, a basement, because they know they can’t all fit into ours. I’ve never seen such unrest among our families.

  No one feels safe anymore. I mean, it’s been a long time since we’ve felt really safe even here on the compound, but we had confidence in our preparations, in Jared’s ideas of building bombs and defenses; we had hope! The idea of a nuclear strike makes all of that seem meaningless. It’s like trying to fight a forest fire with a cup of water.

  After hearing the terrible news Andrea and I went up to our room. We cried, we held hands and prayed, and we talked about possibilities. I reminded her that our safe room was big enough for not only my family but for her and the twins and Lily.

  “How safe is the safe room?” she asked.

  “We built it in case of nuclear war,” I said, “But it depends on whether or not we’re in the strike zone. Dad doesn’t think we are. Wright-Patt Air Force Base will be, but we’re upwind. Being upwind is important.”

  “So what are you saying?” she asked. “Is it safe—or isn’t it?”

  “Well, like I said, it’s safe if we’re not in a direct strike zone—and we’re not; not unless their bomb goes off target and hits us by accident. And it’s safe from fallout—if you get early warning and get down to the room and stay there for a few weeks.”

  “Haven’t we emptied supplies from the safe room to make it a nursery?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Somewhat. We have what’s left in the storage room, but we’ve been going through that stuff. I don’t think we still have the supplies we’d need to hunker down for a few weeks.”

  Andrea sat on her bed, heavily. “This is so unfair! Like it wasn’t bad enough that we have to be ready to fight for our lives at any moment because of foreign morons!”

  I went and sat beside her. “Look. My dad’s called a council meeting tonight. We’ll probably talk about all this stuff.” I took a deep breath. “In the meantime, let’s just try to live as if we didn’t know about California, or Oregon. There’s a chance the information is wrong! It could be rumors.”

  “Wars and rumors of wars,” she said, sadly.

  “Right! Jesus said that would happen! Let’s try to hope for the best.”

  She nodded. “Okay.” Then she looked at me plaintively. “Would you do me a favor?”

  “Sure, what is it?”

  “Could you scratch my shoulders?”

  I almost laughed but it wasn’t funny to Andrea. She was still in the throes of poison ivy which had somehow crawled up her arms to her shoulders and the back of her neck.

  “I can’t. You know it’s not good for you—it only makes it worse!”

  “It’s driving me crazy!”

  “Where’s the cream? I’ll put more on for you.” Using a cotton ball, I dabbed on cream.

  She said, “Imagine if this was radiation poisoning—how much worse that would be!”

  I nodded, though she couldn’t see me behind her. “I know.
But don’t think like that. We do have the safe room.”

  Afterward, Andrea and I tried to get back to business as usual, but everywhere I went I saw people talking in groups rather than staying to their usual tasks. I found Blake coming in from the field and walked straight into his arms. He knew how I felt—he understands me so well.

  “We don’t know for sure, yet,” he murmured, and then planted a kiss on my cheek. “My dad says they’re waiting to get confirmation from another source.” He paused. “There are people who try to learn our frequencies for the sole purpose of spreading fear and lies. So—don’t lose hope.”

  I looked up into his amber-brown eyes. I love Blake’s eyes. He has a lot of feeling in them. “Your dad was talking about going back to your house! Because you guys have a safe room. You know it’s been totally ransacked—probably burned by now!”

  His eyes clouded and he nodded. “Maybe. But a basement is a basement. We can’t all fit in yours.”

  I stared up at him. “But you could. You could stay with us!”

  He let out a breath. “I don’t know. I have to see what my parents say. They’ll need help with the little ones.” Blake’s four younger siblings, along with my twin sisters and Andrea’s twin brothers, and the Wasserman’s young tribe, were collectively called “the little ones.” Right now he meant his siblings, and I knew he was right. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to be with his family. But I ached at the thought.

  “If you go, other people will want to join you. Just like some have been asking my dad if they can stay in our basement room.”

  He nodded. “I know. I’ve heard the talk. They really want to find a bomb shelter.”

  “My dad says they’d be better off digging a cave into our hill, that all you need is a foot of dirt between you and fallout and you’ll be okay. Assuming they can close up the opening tight.” Blake nodded. “That would work. But it would take a lot of manpower.” He paused, and his mouth tightened. “We need to know for sure if those strikes really happened.”