The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  I looked pleadingly at him. “I wish you wouldn’t do this.” The sound of gunfire from upstairs coming through the speaker made me desperate. “You hear that? That’s what you’re going up to! You’re going to—a war zone!”

  Richard frowned. “I’m sorry. I have to do this.” He turned away but stopped, looking halfway back. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He turned back to me then and gave me a quick hug. “When are you leaving?” I whispered.

  “Tonight, when they’re asleep.”

  I stared at him, deeply troubled. He met my gaze lingeringly, his eyes full—but also hard. “I’ll come back for you,” he said, softly.

  “I won’t leave Tex and Angel,” I said. “No matter what Dad says.”

  He nodded but made no reply.

  I finished my work, planning what I would say to Tex. I had no choice but to tell him what Richard was going to do. It would save his life. I loved my brother—I couldn’t let him carry out his stubborn, stupid plan!

  Richard must have known that I would tell. When I finished unloading the supplies that were my responsibility, I found Angel preparing dinner. She looked over at me with a strange expression.

  “Your brother’s gone.”

  “Gone?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  “We found the door unlocked,” Angel said ruefully. “Which means someone went out—you can’t lock it from the outside without keys.” With a sudden suspicion, I ran to the closet and saw that two of the packs were gone—Richard’s and Tex’s.

  Angel said, “We hid Richard’s pack, hoping it would discourage him from his foolishness—but he took Tex’s.”

  “Where is Tex?”

  “He went after him,” she said, but she’d turned around and wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I was coming out here to tell you that he was planning on leaving. But he told me he’d be going tonight! When you and Tex were sleeping!”

  She shook her head. “I sure wish I hadn’t shown him all that stuff. I think it encouraged him to go. I should have guessed he’d defy Tex.”

  “He’s so stubborn!” I said.

  Angel sighed. “He’s a strong-willed boy, that’s for sure. But I don’t think he wanted to go. I think he had to. I can imagine if it was my father up there. I’d want to do the same thing.”

  I started pulling out dishes to set the table. “Do you think Tex will be able to bring him back?”

  Again, Angel’s eyes were veiled. “I sure hope so, Sarah.” Suddenly she looked tearful. “I sure hope so.”

  Tex returned before we’d finished making the meal. Alone.

  Angel gasped when he came in and said, fearfully, “What happened? Did you--?”

  “He was already in the cabin,” Tex said. “I wasn’t gonna follow him in there.” For some reason, Angel seemed relieved.

  Then, as we ate, they gave each other strange looks and nods and I finally threw my fork down. “What is going on? What aren’t you telling me? Did something happen to Richard?”

  Angel just looked at Tex. He took a deep breath and turned to me. “I have no idea what’s happening to your brother,” he said. “But I’ll tell you what might have happened. If I had caught him before he got back up there, I would have stopped him. I would have done whatever I had to, to make sure he doesn’t compromise our position.”

  I remembered that Tex had come back with his rifle slung over his shoulder. Suddenly I realized he was telling me he would have shot Richard if he had to, in order to stop him!

  Somehow, the knowledge didn’t shock me. The truth was, I couldn’t blame Tex.

  He saw my face and said, “The rifle was backup, Sarah. I was counting on being a whole lot stronger than your brother.”

  Angel said, “Well—I am really glad it didn’t come to you having to hurt him. Richard left in defiance because he felt it was necessary.”

  “Sometimes it is necessary,” Tex said, leaning back in his chair. “Sometimes it’s the only way to get justice or righteousness. But this time, it was plain stupid.”

  I gave a big sigh and stared down at my plate. And then I had a thought: “Shouldn’t we be listening?” I asked.

  Tex made a face. “Yes, we should.” He stood up and turned on the speaker. We heard some muffled sounds but nothing distinct. After some minutes of continuing to hear only muffled sounds, Angel said, “Let’s pray for him.”

  And so we did.

  While we prayed, I kept thinking about how stubborn Richard was to disobey Tex. I asked God to forgive him and watch over him. I pictured Richard sneaking into the cabinets—stealing supplies like a criminal! Then I pictured him undoing the locks and turning the wheel on the great, heavy door. I could almost hear it whoosh open. And I saw Richard step through it into the waiting darkness like going into the jaws of death.

  My heart brimmed with worry and sadness. Would he really find our father? Even more I wanted to know: Would I ever see him again?

  Chapter 37

  RICHARD

  Richard hurried through the tunnel using only a small penlight to navigate the multiple twists and turns.. He couldn’t help but feel like a rat in a maze, and so was glad to know the tunnel wasn’t endless. He stopped once to shine his beam at the ceiling, curious as to what held it up. He was both surprised and impressed that wooden beams like railroad ties crossed the dirt ceiling at regular intervals. Tex hadn’t said what he did for the government but it must have brought in a pretty penny. This tunnel and the bunker had to have cost a great deal.

  As he continued on, he noticed the profound silence. He hadn’t noticed it on their first walk through but he’d been with the others, then. Now on his own, he was acutely conscious of the isolation. He was traversing ground between the house and the bunker. There was nothing overhead but maybe fifteen feet of dirt. He was insulated from the fighting, the desperation, the madness. But he had to find his father. For reasons he couldn’t fully explain himself, he had a need to lay eyes on his father’s face, confront him with what he’d become. He would do it if it was the last thing he did; and he understood it might well be. Underneath, too, he wanted to let his father know that he and Sarah were still alive.

  He hoped it wasn’t too late. What if the soldiers killed their father? Or had taken him prisoner? Should he try to follow them? How far should he go to find the man? In the back of his mind, he half expected to find his dad badly injured, left to die. If so, it would comfort a dying man to know two of his children lived.

  He reached a dead end and kicked himself for taking one of the decoy tunnels! Backtracking, he began to recall memories of growing up, memories he hadn’t allowed himself to think of for a long time. His father had been rough, stern, not too affectionate, but Richard’s memories were mostly good. The man might not have showered praise upon Richard but he had showed up for ball games and helped with homework. He’d always been a figure of strength.

  He reflected how that strength must have come in good stead after the pulse, making his father a leader of a gang. But he had to believe his dad had no choice. He wasn’t a monster. He was still Dad, the man he’d grown up with. The man he had differences of opinion with, to be sure; sometimes strong differences, but he was the father Richard loved.

  A sudden sound from behind him made him stop, listening. Was that someone running? In a flash he knew: Tex was coming after him! He’d try to stop him! He doubled his speed, feeling like the tunnel was endless but then he rounded a bend and finally saw the ladder in the dim beam of his light. There was no sound of the staccato blasts of sporadic gunfire coming from the cabin—he hoped that meant the soldiers had left.

  He crawled up the ladder and came to his feet and then, staring at the wall, realized he didn’t know how to open the door. There had to be a mechanism—he’d seen Tex at the wall before the door had whooshed shut on them.

  He heard muffled shots, but none were loud and close—that reassured him the fightin
g was outdoors. He pinned the pen-light to his shirt and gingerly began to feel around with his hands, looking for something, anything, a lever perhaps, that might be the means of opening the door. It had to be there somewhere!

  He felt his first sense of caution. What if Tex was right and his father was dead already? What if he was on a fool’s errand and would accomplish nothing but getting himself killed? Why was he risking his safety—when he and the others were truly safe for now—when he had no guarantees?

  There was only one good reason to keep going and a thousand reasons why he shouldn’t. But that one reason—and maybe it was crazy—was that he believed his father had not fundamentally changed. When he saw Richard he’d break down, be his old self, and immediately want to abandon the gang in favor of his kids. Richard believed this—but he needed to give the man a chance to prove it.

  After feeling around the door and finding nothing, he shone his slim light up and down, back and forth. Nothing. He started again, going around it, then spread out to the dirt walls on either side. He slipped off the cumbersome backpack and shoved it towards a corner. He could search better without it.

  From the tunnel, he heard Tex hiss at him. “Richard! Don’t do it! Wait a minute!” He was trying not to raise his voice.

  In despair, Richard did a last search around the door, forcing his hands to move slowly, slowly, despite his thudding heart. He couldn’t let Tex stop him!

  Then, there! Near the ground, on the left, was a hole in the rock, angled so that you couldn’t see the opening—only feel it, if you knew where to feel. It was just wide enough for a large hand to slip inside—Tex’s large hand, he figured—but it reminded him of a snake hole, and he half expected to get bitten as he slid his hand into it.

  Tex had reached the clearing. His voice, getting louder, insistent, said, “Richard! Don’t be foolish!”

  Richard’s hand found only a metal box—an empty one. His heart sank. Then, at the back end of the box there was, not a switch as he expected, but a square, flat panel.

  “Clever,” he murmured, “but I gotcha now.” A single press from his hand would cause the door to slide open and reveal the hallway of the cabin. This is what he came for, what he wanted. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but feel that a single second lay between him and eternity. He stood waiting, listening intently. Tex had reached the ladder!

  “Hold on, Richard!”

  Weariness washed over him, and with it, doubts returned, stronger than before. What if he’d been wrong and it hadn’t been his dad’s voice? Even Sarah said she was no longer sure. If Tex was right, Richard might be rushing headlong to his death. And what if Angel was right about eternal damnation waiting? Was he about to jump into hell? He didn’t want to think about that. Heck, he wasn’t sure he believed it. But the thought persisted...What if?

  He lay his head against the cool metal of the door with one hand still poised on the panel. All he had to do was press it and he’d be back in the cabin. All he had to do was press it. Seconds ticked by.

  Tex’s head appeared over the ledge. “Richard!”

  Fear ran through him. Without another moment to weigh his actions, his hand hit the panel.

  The wall whooshed open, sending Richard sprawling to the floor in the hallway. Hurriedly, he pulled his feet clear—just in time for the door to whoosh shut again. He looked around frantically, saw no one and came to his feet. He went cautiously up to the nearest door—Tex and Angel’s bedroom.

  The wood was riddled with bullet holes. He put his ear to it and listened but heard nothing. After trying the handle, some instinct made him jump to the side—a good thing, because a barrage of shots came from inside. Standing back against the wall and out of range, he heard a voice—his dad’s! “See if you got him.”

  “What if I didn’t? I’m not opening that door.”

  “Did I ask you to open it?” Silence. “I TOLD you to see if you got him. Now open that door and check.”

  Richard’s mind raced. If his father knew who it was, he’d be safe. And suddenly he was calling, “Dad! It’s me, Richard! Richard Weaver. It’s me!”

  Hurried footsteps, the sound of something being pulled away from the door, and then it opened. A bearded man stared out at Richard, his face frozen in shock.

  “My God!” he said. Richard blinked, taking in the sight of a man who looked nothing like the businessman his father had been. He wore fatigues and combat boots, had long hair and a scraggly beard. A shadow crossed his father’s features, a darkening of the eyes, as though something was wrong. Richard felt a check in his heart but there was no time to examine or dissect it.

  “Get in here!” his father cried, pulling him roughly into the room. He stopped to look up and down the hallway, then shut the door behind them and locked it. He motioned with his head to another man, an individual who, rising from where he sat on the floor in the corner, looked wilder and more unkempt than his father. The man proceeded to push a heavy dresser in front of the door. Afterward he returned to the corner where he sank to the floor, rifle in front of him, and stared at Richard with open hostility.

  Meanwhile his dad shook his head, still staring in shock at Richard. “I can’t—I can’t believe my eyes!” he exclaimed. Slowly he broke into a smile. “It’s really you? It’s really you!”

  “He’s really who?” the other man demanded. He picked up his rifle and pointed it at Richard. “You trust him?”

  “He’s my son, you idiot! Put down that weapon!”

  The man didn’t seem impressed. Didn’t seem as if he believed what he’d heard. He looked Richard up and down. “You with that outfit?” he nodded his head towards the outside.

  “No.”

  “Then how’d you get in here? Who are you with?” he asked, suspiciously.

  “If you don’t mind,” his father said, “I’ll do the questioning.” The man sniffed and sat back but kept his rifle in his hands between raised knees. He continued to regard Richard with deep distrust.

  “Son,” said the older man, now faintly smiling. “I can’t believe it! I can’t believe you’re alive!” He stepped forward, arms out, as if to give Richard a hug. The younger man instinctively stepped back.

  “Son, son!” His father said, searching his face. Once again he opened his arms and Richard allowed the embrace, but his face was hard, the gesture on his part, half-hearted. What was wrong with him? He’d been adamant about seeing his father, wanted to see him with every fiber of his being. Risked his life to do so. But now in his presence he felt none of the affection that had fueled his search. All the nostalgic warmth he’d had in the tunnel now abandoned him and he felt, in its place, anger.

  “I just can’t believe you’re alive!” His father said, again.

  “I could say the same thing. I can’t believe you’re alive. Because the father I knew wouldn’t have abandoned his family if he was alive. He’d have done everything in his power to get back to them.”

  His father’s expression sobered. “Don’t you think I did that?” But then his face softened. “How are they? Your mother—.”

  “Tell me why you didn’t come back,” Richard replied, coldly.

  “I will tell you,” said his dad. “I’ll tell you everything but first you need to tell me a few things. Like, where is my family? How did you get here? How did you know I was in this room?”

  “I heard your voice,” Richard said. “I was hiding in this cabin, and I heard your voice.”

  “Hiding here? We went through this place with a fine-toothed comb,” he returned. “You weren’t hiding here, before.”

  “I was. You missed me.” He stared at his father belligerently.

  “Where were you hiding? Is it big enough for all of us?” Suddenly the man’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Is that where your mom and the others are?” When Richard stayed silent, the older man grasped him by the shoulders. “Richard! Speak to me, son! What is wrong with you?”

  Richard shook himself free and said, pointedly, “Why—didn�
��t you—come back?”

  Suddenly there were sounds in the hallway. His father rounded the bed quickly and motioned Richard to follow suit. They crouched on the floor, listening. The man in the corner lifted his rifle, pointing it at the door with the dresser in front of it.

  Minutes went by. The only sound was the far-off fighting Richard had heard earlier.

  “This place is really something,” his father murmured admiringly, as they crouched between the bed and the wall. “The walls are reinforced with steel or something. Is that how you survived this long?”

  “Maybe.”

  The other man said, “Walt, if this is your son, he ain’t actin’ like it. Tell him to cooperate, man! He’s holding out on us!” He stared at Richard. “Answer the d---- questions!”

  “Lay off!” Walt said, curtly. He looked back at Richard. “Where are the others? I want to see my family, Richard.”

  Richard weighed his options. He would not reveal the bunker—he’d promised not to.

  “Somewhere safe,” he said.

  “Oh, man, are you gonna make him talk, or do I have to?” the other guy cried. He stared at Richard’s father. “He ain’t talking. He needs encouragement. Like we gave that last son of a—.”

  “Shut up!” Walt cried. He turned back to Richard. “I need to know they’re alive. I need to see them with my own eyes.”

  This was the first argument that struck a chord with Richard. Hadn’t he felt the same way? “That’s how I felt about seeing you. Until now.” Sadly, he was filled with only a deep distrust for the man he once knew and loved.

  “What does that mean, until now?” He stared hard at Richard. “I’m glad to see you’re alive, son! But I need to see your mother and sister and cousin.”

  “I understand,” he said. He let his eyes roam over to the other guy. Without a word, he’d conveyed to his dad that he would not disclose their whereabouts while that man might hear it.

  His father looked over at the companion. “Oh, you don’t want Axis here to know?” The man turned hate-filled eyes on Richard, and pointed his rifle at him again. “Put that gun down, stupid!” Walt cried. “My son doesn’t know you from Adam. He’s just being cautious, is all.”