The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  At the doorway Roper lifted my hand and kissed it. “Be right out.”

  I stayed in the hall out of sight but listening with every fiber of my being.

  Mr. Clepps said, “Jared? Jared, look, Roper’s here.”

  After a moment I heard Jared’s weak voice. “Are you going out for more?”

  “Oh—more airbags? Yes.”

  “Good. Listen. All we need is a simple high-explosive package. You can make that. No one’s asking you to make a smart bomb or a PGM.”

  Roper must have looked the question because Mr. Clepps said, “Precision-guided munitions, I believe.”

  “Right,” Jared said. “We don’t need something high-tech. All you gotta do is cause a big blast.”

  “Okay,” said Roper.

  There were silences between words, making me think that Jared must have been struggling to speak.

  “Don’t worry,” Roper said. “We’ll take care of it. You rest.”

  “Listen.” (Pause) “Get a whole bunch of ‘em, empty ‘em out and dump everything in a couple of containers, metal cans, whatever you got.” His voice sounded labored. I found myself biting my lip out there in the hall. He continued, “Bind ‘em together. Plant it beneath the culvert.” He stopped to take a deep breath. “Make a fuse; light it, hightail it out of there, and blow the thing up.” He went into a spasm of coughing.

  “Got it,” Roper said. “Don’t worry. I’ll get it done.” He spoke firmly, doing his best to reassure Jared. I loved him for it.

  Jared coughed again. “Don’t—.”

  When he didn’t finish the sentence, I couldn’t help myself and turned to peek into the room. Mr. Clepps and Roper were beside the bed where Jared, wincing in pain, was laboring to speak. His chest rose and fell heavily. The stump of his arm was bound up in thick layers of cloth, making a garish, rounded bump. I forced my eyes away.

  “That’s enough,” Mr. Clepps said to Roper, who nodded and would have turned to leave but Jared said, again. “Don’t!” Roper turned back to face the injured man. Heʼd hear what he was trying so hard to say.

  “Fail. Don’t fail!”

  “I won’t,” he said, looking down at Jared with somber eyes.

  “And take this.” Jared stretched himself out and stuck his good hand into a pants pocket. He pulled out a chain of some kind—or was it a necklace? “Give it,” he said, and then took a labored breath. “To Andrea.”

  My heart jumped into my throat. I turned back into the hallway. Jared had something for me? I felt terrible. I didn’t want something from him. I didn’t deserve anything from him. I heard Mr. Clepps say, “Okay, that’s enough. He needs to rest.”

  Roper said, “Wait. I gotta pray for him.”

  I waited a few minutes longer and then Roper came out. He took my hand. He opened it, facing my palm up, and laid something in it. When I looked down, I saw the chain I’d seen Jared take from his pocket. It was a necklace. And on it was my bullet. So this was what he’d done with it: he’d made it into a necklace for me!

  Roper said, “You okay?”

  I said, “I shouldn’t keep this. I didn’t think well of Jared.”

  “He made it for you. He wants you to have it.” He touched my arm. “Besides, you earned it. If he didn’t make it into a necklace, I would have.”

  “You would have?” I smiled.

  “Definitely. This is your badge of honor. A soldier’s souvenir.”

  He took the necklace from me and lowered it over my head.

  I held the bullet wonderingly in my hand. I couldn’t get over that Jared had kept it all this time for me. I looked up at Roper. “I need to say thank you.”

  He met my eyes and slowly nodded. “Good idea.”

  While Roper went on downstairs, I returned to Jared’s room. Seeing me, Mr. Clepps said, “He needs to rest.”

  “I just need a minute,” I said.

  I went over to Jared, whose eyes were closed. He must have heard me though, because he cracked open an eye and watched me. I held out the bullet. Unexpectedly I had to blink back tears. Jared’s eyes were sunken and his skin grey, giving him a pale, deathly look.

  “Thank you!” I said. “I’ll wear it every day!”

  He nodded. “Good.” His voice was raspy.

  I sat down on the bed beside him and took his good hand. It was hot—I’d forgotten he still had a fever. His fingers lacked strength when he tried to return my grasp.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I’m sorry you got hurt.” I think I meant that in more ways than one. We both knew my interest in him had vanished after I’d met Roper. I felt guilty about it.

  He nodded with eyes half open. “Goes with the territory.” Soon his eyes closed, as though it took too much effort to keep them open. I leaned over and softly kissed his hot cheek. He moved his head to look at me and then, because somehow I knew I would not see him alive again, I kissed him once more, this time on the mouth. I gave him a good kiss. As I came to my feet, he whispered, “Thank you.”

  It was all I could do to run out of the room before sobbing against the wall in the hallway. Why was I upset? I loved Roper, there was no question of that. But I felt terrible about Jared. He might have had his bad side but he’d helped our compound, and it seemed he’d really cared for me.

  Please God, I prayed, spare his life!

  As I tried to get a hold of myself, Mr. Clepps stepped out of the room. I hurried to dry my eyes while he said, “Tell Mr. Martin it’s time for goodbyes.” We were out of Jared’s hearing but he kept his voice low anyway. “He’ll know what I mean.”

  I nodded. Sadly, I knew what he meant, too.

  Downstairs I was directed to Mr. Martin’s “rig”—the room where he keeps his AR equipment. When he saw me, he removed his headphones and I delivered the message.

  Throughout the day Mr. Martin quietly went around telling people when to visit Jared. Jolene, I’m told, remained by her son’s side, holding his good hand. One by one the members of the compound, from the oldest to the youngest in their mothers’ arms, filed in and thanked Jared for all he’d done for us.

  Lexie told me later that Mr. Martin went in last with his Bible in hand. He prayed over Jared, and then slowly walked him through the gospel. He read Scripture to him about the life, death, burial and resurrection of Jesus, explaining that God the Father sent his Son to die for our sins. For Jared’s sins. So that we can be forgiven and live eternally in heaven with the Lord.

  Lexie said, “He could hardly speak, but he asked God to forgive his sins and he received Jesus as his Lord!”

  That is the ONLY thing which comforts me right now. Knowing Jared accepted Jesus gives me hope. Even if the worst happens and he dies, it helps immensely to know he’ll not suffer hell’s agony. We’ll see him again one day. On the other side. Thank You, Lord!

  Earlier, after I’d delivered my message, I found Roper getting a cup of coffee in the kitchen. I appreciated that he’d given me time to be alone with Jared. He came towards me, his eyes searching mine, and met me with a short kiss. He put an arm around my shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” I remembered that he’d be leaving soon, going back out to get more of those initiators. We sat down on a sofa in the living room. “When do you have to leave?” I asked, my voice laced with reluctant acknowledgment that his going was inevitable.

  “Later today,” he said, lightly. But his eyes were anything but light.

  “Don’t go far this time,” I said.

  “I’ll use every vehicle we come across that we haven’t hit already. And come back as soon as possible.”

  An hour and a half later it was time to say goodbye.

  “Please be careful,” I said. Roper and I were standing near the back door in the kitchen while Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Buchanan finished loading the men’s packs with homemade “road food.” They got hardtack, jerky, chia seed trail mix, and granola bars. They also had water filters, tools, guns and extra mags. I felt forlorn—and he hadn’t even g
one, yet. I took his arm and pulled him outside where, standing beside the door, we could have a few minutes alone.

  I gazed up into his beautiful face. Roper’s clear blue-grey eyes studied me in return and everything else fell away. I’d planned numerous things to say before he left but I forgot them all. Standing so close to his masculine beauty—there’s no other word for it, because Roper is just so handsome—my mind went blank of everything except the sweet nearness of him. Studying my face, he sighed, and took me in his arms. “Don’t worry.”

  I clung to him and blinked away tears.

  He pulled apart enough to meet my eyes. “What did the French chef give his wife for Valentine’s Day?”

  I had to smile, even though it seemed distancing—he was making a joke when I was feeling so serious. “What?”

  “A hug and a quiche.” He lowered his face towards mine and my annoyance vanished. “Here’s my quiche.” Time felt suspended when his lips found mine. I wrapped my arms around him as tightly as I could and he tightened his hold on me, pulling me up against him. Warmth and sweetness and comfort filled me. It was soooooo nice. He ended the kiss—and then I kissed him for an encore.

  From inside, I heard Mr. Simmons ask, “Where’d Roper go?”

  He gently closed our kiss, and then glanced at the house. “It’s time,” he said, apologetically.

  “One more?” I asked, raising my face to his. Smiling gently, he kissed me again, and it was our longest kiss yet. When I followed him back inside, knowing he was about to venture out into that crazy world again, my heart filled with longing and regret.

  As I write this, I realize there is only one thing that will keep me from ceaseless worry and heartbreak. Faith. I’m determined to pray like mad for Roper and trust the Lord to keep him safe.

  It’s the only way I won’t lose my mind with worry.

  Chapter 41

  ROPER

  Roper and Mr. Simmons were in somber moods when they got out to the road. They’d chosen to go on foot. Horses were highly visible and it would be a lot easier to hide from army trucks or other people without them.

  They’d only walked a quarter mile before spotting a vehicle. It was a Ford Focus, tilted to one side, with the driver’s side door facing the road. They circled the vehicle and decided it was stable where it sat, which meant Roper could climb in and get what they needed.

  The battery was missing—someone at the compound had probably removed it long ago, which meant Roper didn’t have to wait to make sure there was no juice going to the initiator.

  He climbed in while Simmons kept watch. Ten minutes later he was wrapping the device in cloth and he tucked it gingerly in his back pack. If they could keep going at this pace he felt they might be done in less than 12 hours. It would be great, he thought, if this road-trip was that short.

  As they walked from one vehicle to the next, the men chatted. Roper had known only that Simmons was an ex-cop. Now he learned the man was divorced and that his wife and two kids had moved to Oregon—her parents’ home—a year before the pulse. Since the pulse, he’d not had a single word as to their fate. He’d enlisted both Grant and Gerard (Mr. Buchanan) to try to find out about them via amateur radio contacts, but he’d never gotten any news. The recent report that Oregon had been hit with a nuclear weapon had him almost crazy with worry—another reason he needed to get off the compound and do something different. He needed distractions to keep him from imagining the worst.

  Roper was sympathetic. He himself had parents and siblings in California—and no way of knowing their fate. When Mr. Simmons apologized for being uptight and touchy on account of his worries, Roper shook his head. “Nothing to apologize for. I couldn’t tell you’re uptight or touchy.”

  He mused inwardly that compared to Jared’s uptight, Simmons’s was a barrel of laughs. If he fell into a dark mood, it would be understandable. Jared’s dark moods, by contrast, were mysterious and downright dangerous.

  It was late afternoon when they stopped by a Dodge van which had somehow landed completely on its side in a gully off the road. If they’d been driving by, they wouldn’t have seen it. They’d managed to get ten initiators so far but Roper wanted closer to two dozen before going back. They descended the ditch and circled the vehicle, as they did every car or truck they found.

  “You sure you want to try this?” Mr. Simmons asked. “You’ve done cars that were sitting at odd angles, but this one’s on its side. You’re gonna have to work in there—.”

  “I can do it,” Roper replied.

  Finding the doors locked, Mr. Simmons suggested they smash in the windshield.

  “No,” Roper said. “Too noisy. Just in case there’s anyone within earshot.” So Mr. Simmons went to work with his tool kit—and experience from years on the force—and got the passenger door open. The driver side door was flat against the ground.

  “Something smells foul in here,” he said, in disgust.

  “Pull the hood lock,” Roper said, unconcernedly. Foul smells were part of life now more than ever. It took Simmons a minute to climb in, swing his legs ahead of him, and then slide down to the driver’s side. He found the hood lock and opened it.

  But the hood was stuck closed, probably because the vehicle was on its side. So Mr. Simmons had to climb back out—not nearly as easy as climbing in—to help budge it open. Finally, Roper was ready to get what they’d come for. He handed Simmons his pack.

  “Don’t let this drop.”

  “Not on your life,” Simmons answered.

  Roper was about to hoist himself up and climb in—when they heard something. He stared at Simmons in amazement.

  “That sounds like a baby!”

  Mr. Simmons, alarmed, dropped Roper’s pack.

  “Careful! Careful!” cried Roper, horrified that he’d just dropped it. When nothing exploded, he saw that Simmons had drawn a pistol and was cautiously peering in the van.

  “What are you doing? That is a baby, I’m telling you!” cried Roper.

  “That must be a toy!” Mr. Simmons said. “How could anything be alive in there?”

  Roper yanked on his companion’s arm. “Let me look in there, move aside.”

  Mr. Simmons said, “I am the police officer, if you don’t mind. And this could be a trap. If there is a baby, it ain’t alone!”

  Roper, ignoring him, stuck his head in the van. “Hello? Anyone in here?” For response, an infant whimpered. Then silence.

  “I’m going in.”

  “Let me get by. I’ll go in,” was Simmons’s response, but Roper heaved himself up and climbed into the vehicle, carefully lowering himself so that his feet landed on the driver’s door.

  He tried to peer into the shrouded interior, and then, working his way between the front bucket seats and over the console, almost falling over in the process, he got into the second row of seats, planting his feet against the side for support. The infant’s cry! Louder than before.

  His eyes were adjusting to the dim interior. He saw a heap of clothing on the floor of the third row. Or was it a pile of blankets? Reaching his hands out, Roper pushed at the blankets—and felt something. A body.

  “So what’s there?” Mr. Simmons called. “Is it a baby?” With a terrible feeling of foreboding, Roper pawed at the heap, trying to find the opening, and then, there. Moving the blanket aside, he saw the white, lifeless face and staring eyes of a young woman, probably in her twenties. The whimper came again. Moving more of the blanket, he found the baby beside the woman’s breast. She must have fed that child with the last of her strength. He shut the eyes of the mother but just in case, checked the side of her neck and then one wrist, hoping to find a pulse. Her skin was cold but not stiff. He covered her mouth lightly with one hand, feeling for breath—but it was no use—she was gone.

  Simmons had been keeping up a chorus of “Well, what is it? What’d you find?”

  In a flat voice, Roper said, “One dead girl.” And then, with a slight lift in his tone, “and one living baby.”
The child let out a louder wail and Roper, his eyes filled with tenderness and concern, lifted the newborn carefully. The cord was still attached. Roper laid the baby back down to grab the blanket, but discovered it was mostly soaked with blood and body fluids. “Get the first aid kit and hand me some gauze–and—antibiotic ointment—and—something warm!”

  “What?”

  “You heard me! Gauze! Antibiotic goop! And a space blanket! Get them from the first aid kit.”

  In a few minutes, Simmons dangled the items behind Roper who turned and grabbed them. He cut the cord with his army knife, quickly doused the end with ointment and wrapped it in gauze. He hurried to open the space blanket and, pulling his bandana off, wrapped the baby in it, and then in the blanket. The child, eyes shut tight, whimpered louder.

  He turned, baby in his arms, and saw Mr. Simmons gawking at him in astonishment. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like? I’m saving this baby.”

  Mr. Simmons shook his head. “For what? Life after the apocalypse? You’re gonna bring another mouth to feed to the compound? We don’t know this child from Adam. We don’t owe this woman anything.”

  “You were a cop!” Roper replied, hotly. “Weren’t you trained to save lives?” He looked at him reprovingly. “You should have waited outside. Now we both have to climb out.”

  Mr. Simmons began hoisting himself up, pushing against the console for leverage. He grabbed onto the door frame and started pulling himself out, head first. Just as his head emerged, he cried, “Wait! Hear that?”

  Both men listened. There was a moving vehicle on the road, getting closer. Mr. Simmons lowered himself, landing again with his feet upon the driver side door. So far the only vehicles they’d seen since the pulse were either horse-drawn, or foreign army trucks. Now and then some intrepid souls on bikes were seen but surprisingly few—and this was no bicycle approaching.

  “We’re in a gully well off the road,” Roper said. “They ought to go right on by and never know we’re here.”