The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  Mrs. Philpot joined us. “She was a bit dehydrated but I think she’s perfectly healthy otherwise; if you keep getting fluids into her, she’ll be fine.”

  Roper swallowed.

  “You need to learn how to do this,” added Mrs. Martin. “She’s your little girl, now.”

  Roper held his hands up. “Wait a minute. I only found her. I’m not the daddy!”

  Suddenly Cecily was there. Smiling, she said, “Oh, that makes you the honorary daddy. Even Jesus was adopted by Joseph, so adoption is a God-approved idea.”

  Little Hope started to whimper. Roper stared down at her.

  “Better feed her,” I said, smiling.

  “Would you want to do it?” he asked, hopefully. “I’ve seen you with Lily, you’re good at this.” I almost said yes, instinctively wanting to rescue him. But something made me hesitate.

  “No. I want to see you feed her.” He gave me a look of defeat and then proceeded to place the little nipple gently into baby Hope’s mouth. She took it with gusto and started sucking. I led Roper to the sofa where he could sit with her. There, I almost couldn’t see the baby through Roper’s thick blond hair, long and curly, hiding her as he bent over her in concentration.

  “She’s good at this!” he said, in a moment.

  “Sucking is a God-given instinct,” I said. I watched him affectionately for a minute. “You look good with a baby.” He pulled his eyes away and up to mine.

  “Something tells me you’d look even better. Here.” He tried handing her over but I laughed and said, “Oh, no. She’s yours.” I swallowed, found my courage, and added, “Of course, if I was yours too, that might change things.”

  He gazed at me with interest. “Are you proposing to me again?” He’d lowered his voice though most everyone had cleared out of the room. Only Cecily and Mrs. Martin were in a little pow-wow together, on their way out.

  “I am.”

  His blue eyes probed deeply into mine. “I may accept that offer. Once you turn eighteen. If you still want to.”

  “Oh, I’ll want to. But remember, I’ll be seventeen in two weeks. Lots of women get married at seventeen.”

  “Not in this country.”

  “Yes, in this country.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Well, they used to. When life got hard—they did it to form a team. Think of the pioneers. We’re just like them, now. Life is about survival.”

  “The thing is,” he said, inching closer to me, baby and all, “if we got married, it could really complicate things. Give baby Hope a sister or brother and then you’re talking real complications.”

  I blushed, frantically trying to think of the right thing to reply but my mind was coming up blank. After all, he had a point.

  In a low voice, I finally said, “We can be careful.”

  He gave me an amused look. “Careful? Sweetheart, my mother always told me not to get married until I was ready to support a wife and kids. She never said, wait until you can support a wife. It was always a wife and KIDS. And now, more than ever, we have to expect kids to come.”

  “Why more than ever?”

  He put his head back and gave me a mysterious look. “See, this is why you need to wait. You’re not ready.”

  “Just tell me why!”

  He lowered his head next to mine. “Because you can’t exactly run out to the doctor for birth control, okay?” I laughed, first because my question had been stupid—the answer was obvious. But I also wanted Roper to think I wasn’t embarrassed (even though I was).

  “Okay, stupid question,” I said. “But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.” I looked at him hopefully.

  He was silent, thinking. “I’m not sure I am.”

  I stood up. “Okay. Whatever. Think about it. But this is a limited time offer.” I grinned, and turned to go.

  “Andrea!”

  I turned back, smiling sweetly, my brows raised. “Yes?”

  He looked down at the baby and then back at me. “You’re not really gonna leave me here to take care of her on my own, are you?”

  Again I smiled my sweetest smile. “I certainly am.”

  That night I was called downstairs into Mr. Martin’s study. He sat behind his desk with Mrs. Martin standing beside him. Someone was in a chair facing the desk—Roper! They all looked at me expectantly. Mr. Martin invited me to sit. I took the chair next to Roper.

  “Where’s Hope?” I asked.

  “Cecily has her for the night,” he said.

  Mr. Martin got right to the quick. “Andrea, we’ve been discussing the matter of baby Hope; we all think she rightly belongs to Roper.” He paused, waiting to see if I had a reaction, I supposed, so I nodded.

  “And because of that, we’ve agreed—now, this is important, so listen up. We’ve agreed that IF you are READY, the two of you may tie the knot.”

  I gasped. Roper stretched out a hand and I grasped and squeezed it so tight he chuckled.

  “Oh, my gosh!” I said. “I’ve been praying for this.”

  Mr. Martin smiled gently. “Hold on—I’m requiring marriage counseling first, and—.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Roper. “Before we get to that.” He turned to me, eyes large in his face. “I can’t be responsible for the life of a child on my own. And I can’t think of anyone else I want to be responsible for her with, than you.”

  I smiled happily. I thought he was done with his say. But he continued, “So—will you, Andrea Patterson, marry me, Jerusha Roper?”

  I let out a breathy, “Yes!” His grip on my hand tightened, but I was so excited I got up and dropped myself on his lap and planted a big kiss on his smiling lips.

  I turned around to see Mr. and Mrs. Martin grinning. Mr. Martin cleared his throat. “Now, as I was saying...”

  We stayed for another half hour while the Martins gave us what amounted to a lesson—our first marriage counsel. We even had homework. We each had to write down ten things we believed to be true about the other person. Then we’d compare notes when we met back in the study with the Martins in two days.

  For once in my life I didn’t mind having homework. I’d be getting to know Roper better! And I’d do whatever it took to become his wife!

  We left holding hands. Roper walked me upstairs where we stopped in the hallway outside my and Lexie’s bedroom. Leaning against the wall, I looked up at him in the dim light that came from a small oil lamp he’d placed on the floor. I marveled that soon I’d be marrying this handsome man. It filled me with joy.

  “Ready for sweet dreams?” he asked. He pulled me close and nuzzled his cheek against mine.

  “They will be sweet, thanks to you.” I tightened my arms around him. But he pulled his head back and looked at me funny. “Uh-oh, joke time,” I said.

  He grinned. “Nah. Listen: Never give up on your dreams. Keep sleeping.”

  “Hah.”

  He lowered his head and we shared a sweet, slow kiss. I didn’t want it to stop but too soon it did. When I thought about the dangerous stuff he’d be doing with the airbag chemicals, I wished I could keep him with me forever.

  “So tomorrow you’re going to make the explosive?” I asked. “To blow the bridge?”

  He nodded. “I’m gonna try.”

  “What if you don’t have enough of the chemicals?”

  “Then the bridge won’t blow and we’ll have to get more.”

  “I’ll be praying we have enough. And for your safety!”

  “So will I.”

  “Promise me you’ll be careful!”

  “I will.”

  “Andrea, is that you?” It was Lexie’s voice, coming from the bedroom.

  “Be right in!” I called.

  “Good night, sweetheart,” Roper said. He kissed me one more time. And then he picked up the oil lamp and was gone.

  Excitedly, I told Lexie the news—Roper and I would be getting married! I expected her to be happy for me though also envious because she wants to marry Blake. She was
happy, majorly happy—but there was no need for envy. Blake’s close call with methane poisoning seems to have shaken things up, so now he and Lexie are allowed to marry also! We had so much to discuss, we stayed awake for ages planning our double wedding, and chatting about our guys and how much we love them.

  “So how did he propose?” I asked.

  Lexie said, “Well, we already knew we want to get married. Blake just decided to ask my dad again. So when Dad came to see how he was feeling—Blake asked him!”

  Blake, I knew, had remained on bed-rest for the day. She paused. “Dad didn’t seem surprised—not like I thought he would be. And he gave his consent—really fast!”

  We figured the adults had realized that what I told Roper today is true. We are like modern pioneers. Our lives are hard, and may be short.

  Before I fell asleep, I kept thinking about it. We are like pioneers but our frontier has post-apocalyptic dangers that the original pioneers never had to worry about, like foreign guerrillas or nuclear bombs. Then I remembered reading, The Last of the Mohicans, and how brutal some Indian tribes had been, not only to the Colonists, but to other Indians.

  Humanity, I decided, has never had it easy.

  Chapter 44

  RICHARD

  With flames beginning to lick along the floor of the hallway, Richard continued to search for the panel to make the hidden door swing open. Fear—and heat—made him move fast, maybe too fast, for he made two passes along the floorboard and still hadn’t found it.

  “What are you doing?” His father screamed at him.

  “Just leave!” Richard cried. “Get out if you want to!”

  Tex had shown him how to open the door from the hallway, so he hadn’t anticipated having trouble locating the panel. Behind him, his father started coughing. “Richie! What’re you doing! We’re gonna suffocate in here!”

  “Get out!” Richard gasped. He hoped his father would go, abandon him to the fire, but he stayed. Richard’s nostrils burned and his throat began to close—and his hand found the baseboard panel! His father grabbed his arm just as he pushed the panel, hard. When the wall slid open, he fell inside, just as hard and stupidly as he’d fallen into the hallway earlier. Only this time the landing was even worse, for his father was right on top of him.

  Richard’s first thought was to shove him off, remove the weight, but his father screamed, “My leg’s caught! My leg! Open this thing!”

  The door had automatically closed! Richard hadn’t expected that. He distinctly remembered moving totes from the hallway through an open doorway which meant there was a way to keep it from closing—but he didn’t know what it was.

  “Get off me!” Richard cried. “I’ll open it!”

  “I-I can’t move! I’m stuck!”

  With a grunt, Richard pushed himself out from underneath the older man, but smoke was pouring in through the narrow opening where his father’s ankle was caught. Unable to see in the smoky darkness, Richard felt his way to the wall and searched again for the hidden panel on this side. His father kept crying, “My leg! My foot! It’s caught! Help me, Richie!”

  The ledge was dark to begin with. The thick smoke stung Richard’s eyes, so that he had to use only his hands to find the rock that held the panel. As he searched, his father’s cries made him realize that the door, being solid steel, might cut his ankle clean in half if he didn’t get it free soon. Richard groped the floor around the door blindly, his hands spread wide—he couldn’t miss that recess this time! And then he found it, stuck his hand in and pressed on the panel. His father gasped and drew in his leg with a shuddering breath, and a wider torrent of smoke and fumes poured in as well when the door slid open. In seconds it whooshed shut.

  “Is your leg in?” Richard coughed and fell to his knees.

  “Yes.”

  They remained there in the dark, taking in deep breaths, letting the toxic air move on into the tunnel and dissipate. He heard his father pulling himself around and into a sitting position.

  After they’d sat in silence, drinking in deep breaths of air, his father said, “I think my ankle’s broken. Is there a light in here?” Richard fumbled in his pocket, drew out his penlight and turned it on. His father, blinking, surveyed their position, taking in the walls of rock and dirt, and the wall behind them, which now appeared solid. He didn’t even look at his ankle but searched the darkness in the other direction. “Where does this lead?” he asked.

  “Nowhere. It’s a ledge—drops to an underground spring. It’s just a temporary hiding spot; something we hoped never to have to use.” Richard felt as though his voice would somehow betray the fact that he was lying; so he added, “If it led somewhere, I wouldn’t have come back into the house, that’s for sure.”

  “Why did you come back?”

  After a moment’s silence Richard answered. “I heard your voice. I thought I wanted to see you.” He paused. “I wanted to see my father. Not you.”

  “I’m still your father, Richard.” A short silence ensued. “I know I’ve let you down...”

  “Let’s not talk about it, okay?”

  A silence fell while Richard shifted his position, trying to sit back against the door. It was warm, but not hot—yet. If the fire burned away the wood paneling in the hallway, the steel door would be revealed. Hopefully, those soldiers wouldn’t stick around to search the embers—and find them.

  “So, what do we do now, son?”

  The question pulled Richard from his thoughts. “Wait for the blaze to die down. When it’s safe, we’ll get out of here and then it’s back to what life’s been like since the pulse. Trying to survive; looking for a way to eat and stay alive.”

  “That’s right,” said his dad, strongly. “That’s exactly right. You know what it’s like, so you ought to understand I’ve only been doing what I had to do.” Richard made no reply. He didn’t understand. He saw a man who’d become ruthless, maybe even heartless. The world did require toughness, but not heartlessness.

  His dad had been sitting with his two legs stretched in front of him. He slowly drew up the injured leg.

  “You’re bleeding!” Richard said.

  “I am. Help me get my shirt off,” he said, grimacing with pain.

  “Wait, I’ve got some gauze.” Richard retrieved his backpack, thankful that Tex hadn’t taken it. He opened his first aid kit and took out some supplies. He examined the gash across the ankle—it was deep, ugly, and bleeding. He cleaned away dirt and some torn pants fabric using alcohol wipes—while his father sucked in his breath and tried not to groan. He sprayed the wound with antibiotic spray, causing another muffled gasp from his father.

  Then, as he bound up the gash, his father asked softly, “So, where’s your sister? Where’s Sarah? You said she’s safe. Why can’t we go to her?”

  “We can’t. I don’t know for sure where they are. We got separated after your attack,” Richard lied. He paused. “You wouldn’t be welcome anyway, like I told you. So just forget that idea.”

  “What about you? Don’t you want to find them? Sarah, and those people you were with? Aren’t you welcome?”

  Richard didn’t answer. He’d never go back if it meant leading his father to the others. He was already responsible for bringing the gang to the property; responsible, perhaps, for the fire that even now was destroying their wonderful cabin. He would not be responsible for leading anyone to the bunker.

  “How far in does this go? What is it, a cave?” His father tried to peer past the area lit by the weak beam of the penlight.

  Richard shone the light to the edge of the ledge. “It leads there—to a long drop. We don’t know how far down it goes, but it’s deep. And there’s water at the bottom.” He had to think of lies, talk fast, as if he was relaying facts; speak smoothly, and not as though his heart was pounding in fear that his father might discover the truth. He could not, must not know that they were a mere hundred or so yards from the bunker. As he finished the gauze dressing he added, hoping to bolster his story,
“If you drop something from the ledge, it takes ten seconds to land, so it’s far, and that water is likely hundreds of feet deep. This is all we’ve got. This little spot right here.”

  “Is that your drinking water?”

  “We used a well. But it’s probably the same water, yeah.”

  “You got any water we can drink right now, by any chance?” His sardonic tone conveyed that he didn’t really hope as much, but Richard did have some in his pack. He found a bottle and handed it to his father.

  He took it, saying, “A water bottle! Well, well. Just like the old days. Where’d you get this?”

  “We refill them,” he said heavily, remembering as he did that the seal on that bottle hadn’t been broken, yet. His father would realize that in a second.

  He grabbed it back, saying, “Me first, if you don’t mind.” He gave a loud, fake cough as he broke the seal—and hoped his father wasn’t paying close attention.

  “Thought I’d taught you better manners than that,” his dad murmured. “Making your poor old man wait.”

  Richard said roughly, “You shot a man in cold blood and then talk to me about manners?” He handed him the now opened bottle. His father hungrily grabbed it and guzzled down a large amount.

  Richard heard a muffled sound coming from the tunnel, from the direction of the bunker. He shifted uncomfortably. He hoped Tex wasn’t venturing out for his sake. He knew Tex’s first concern was to keep Angel and Sarah safe—so why would he leave the bunker? But who else could it be?

  His father heard the noise. “I think we got company in here!” he whispered, sharply. “You figure there’s any wildlife?”

  “Yeah, they’re called rats,” Richard retorted. He hadn’t actually seen a single rodent in his coming or going through the tunnel but he wouldn’t have been surprised if he had. After a short silence, his father said, “Rats don’t live in hundreds of feet of water.”

  “I’m sure they’ve got their tunnels,” Richard said.