The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  I lifted my head to study her face. “Mom, it’s January! If we have to wait for warm weather to see anyone, that will be months!”

  “Shhhh,” she said. “We don’t know anything for sure, yet. Let’s wait until we know what’s going on before we worry over it.”

  Dad hadn’t returned yet so Mom and I began breakfast clean up. I went to the nearest storage area which was a front closet and pulled out some water jugs. It was strange to do that, because in the past we’d only used stored water when we were replacing it with newer, fresher water. We did that with all the supplies, rotating usage to ensure that nothing in storage got too old. This time I had no replacements to put back.

  When dad returned, he announced the generator did work. Nevertheless, I abandoned the dishes in the sink and sat there morosely while he and my mother discussed the situation. I was still obsessing over the fact that we had no working vehicles. This was probably less important than the loss of power, internet, and so on, but for some reason I could only think about my world narrowing down like the way clogged arteries do, which we’d studied in Health class. I felt sorry for myself, truth be told. I mostly saw my friends only at school. Our homes were too far apart to walk the distance, even in good weather.

  Dad disappeared downstairs again while we finished cleaning up. Afterwards I got out the school books for the twins and called them to the table. Dad walked in.

  “Okay, I got on the broad-band and heard some talk. We’ve had some kind of a catastrophic hit. Either there’s been an EMP from the sun, or an enemy of our country set off a bomb which caused it. Either way, there’s definitely been a catastrophic pulse, at least to Ohio.”

  “Can I listen to the talk?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Not right now. I put it back. Just in case there are more blasts, or pulses. We’ll use it sparingly until we know better what’s happening.”

  Dad had put a few essential items, like his ham radio and a regular radio, into a homemade “Faraday cage,” a shielded, reinforced container designed to protect sensitive circuitry from damaging surges of currents like those caused by an EMP. Lots of preppers do this. I knew Blake’s family had. At least I wouldn’t lose touch with Blake.

  “No one knows what caused it?” Mom asked.

  “Not yet. But the good news is, no one’s reporting seeing or hearing a blast or a detonation, so it was more likely a solar flare than a bomb.”

  “If it detonated over Kentucky or Kansas we wouldn’t have heard or seen it. I wouldn’t be too quick to assume anything,” Mom said.

  “You can see or hear a blast for hundreds of miles,” Dad responded. “I don’t think there’s been one or someone on the radio would have reported it by now.” He paused. “Anyway, there are a few things we need to do.” He looked at the twins. “You two go on upstairs and play for now; your mother will call you when it’s time for school.”

  “I think we’ll pass on that for today,” said Mom. “I’ll have enough to do getting out supplies for when the generator runs out.”

  “Yay, it’s a snow day!” shouted Lainie. The two scampered happily off.

  “Dad, are you absolutely certain we’ve had an EMP?”

  “Absolutely certain?” He paused, thinking. “No.” He looked at me. “If it was just the electric that was out, I wouldn’t think so at all.” Then he pointed out that the phones are dead, and took his cell phone and plopped it on a stack of school papers that were on the table.

  “This is all it’s good for now,” he said. “A paperweight.” He looked seriously at me and added, “When the cars won’t start, phones are out, computers are dead, it all adds up to an EMP. I can’t think of any other explanation. But it is hard to believe….” He paused. “I think we ought to treat this like any other black out until we know definitely.”

  “So,” Mom said, folding her hands calmly in front of her. “What do we do, now?”

  My father looked thoughtful for a moment. He reached his hands out, clasping one of ours in one of his. “We pray.”

  Afterwards I wanted to run outside, expend energy, do something to use up the surge of unrest that was filling me at the thought of what was happening. I’d done my chores in the barn before it was time to leave for school so I asked, “Can I put the doe with the buck?”

  “The rabbits?” Dad chuckled. “So much for treating this like a routine blackout; that wasn’t my first line of action, but sure, why not? May as well get a start on it. The more we breed them, the more meat we can offer our neighbors and friends—or trade—if it comes to that.”

  “I want to do it! I want to do it!” yelled Laura, coming out from behind the doorway into the kitchen. Lainie, her partner in crime, was right behind her.

  “You little stinkers,” my mother said, in her southern drawl voice, “You were supposed to be upstairs.”

  “We want to help,” said Lainie, who wasn’t usually so altruistic. “Can I put the rabbits together, daddy?” asked Laura.

  “No, I’m gonna do it!” Lainie protested, giving her sister a shove for emphasis.

  “You apologize to your sister this instant,” said Mom. “And neither one of you are going to do it, because Lexie will.”

  “Sorry,” Lainie said, not looking at Laura.

  “Look at your sister when you apologize,” my mother instructed. “An apology doesn’t mean a thing if you can’t look someone in the eyes when you give it.”

  The girls had heard this a hundred times of course, but always managed to forget. Lainie looked hesitantly at Laura. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Now, git!” Dad said and the two ran off, this time going upstairs to their bedroom.

  “Sweetheart,” he said to my mom, “Maybe you can dig out the emergency candles and a bunch of those oil lamps you and Lex made that time. We’ll use the generator just for refrigeration and hot water. I’ll check the wood and fill the bin in the mud room.” We all spun into motion. You’d think we’d been practicing for this sort of thing, the way we scattered and got busy. As I went out to the rabbits I realized that in a way, we had. My mother and father had anyway, mentally, a hundred times. It stood us in good stead at the moment.

  The rabbits had portable housing so we could move them around the property. Right now they were in the barn on account of the cold. I opened the female’s cage, moving aside the oilcloth cover.

  “C’mon, sweetie. Time to put you to work.” The doe moved away from me, her whiskers twitching. I spoke softly to her. In a minute she turned in my direction. That was my cue, and I took her by the scruff of the neck and then cradled her in my arm.

  I opened the door to the buck’s cage. “You’re gonna like this, big guy,” I said, placing the female in the far corner from where he was. We never pushed the rabbits close to one another. They had to decide on their own when to get friendly. But once they do, they breed quickly and we would be counting on them for meat.

  I liked to watch and see how long it takes for the animals to approach one another, not to mention we needed to know if they’d mated. But I was too restless and returned to the house, making a mental note to check on the rabbits again in an hour. I’d just removed my coat and gloves when I heard knocking at the front door. We live far off the road and get few callers, but my heart lifted at the thought that Blake had arrived. Who else would come all the way down our quarter-mile drive this early in the morning? Maybe dad was wrong about an EMP! If Blake’s truck worked, he had to be wrong! Mom came rushing out before I could get to the door, and opened it.

  “Hello!” she said, surprised.

  I joined her. There was a man in the doorway holding a little girl in his arms. It wasn’t Blake.

  “Hey,” he said. “I’m a school bus driver. I need to use your phone. My bus broke down on the road.” He nodded sideways, indicating where it happened. “And I guess you don’t get good cell reception out here ‘cos my phone’s dead.”

  “Our phones are out,” Mom said, “but come on
in from the cold.”

  “Your phones are out, too?” he asked, stepping forward. Behind him we now saw there were about eleven more kids trailing towards the house. He saw our gaze. “Oh, I didn’t want to leave anyone in the bus in this cold.”

  “Of course not,” said Mom, looking worriedly out at the line of youngsters. “You all had quite a walk to get here!” she said, marveling. The kids looked weary. But she smiled for them as they filed in, looking curiously up at her and then me. Despite the huge realization dawning on us of how life had instantly changed, we had to help these kids without scaring them.

  “Bless your little hearts!” my mother drawled in her most southern sounding accent as they marched in. She grew up in the South. It only came out strongly now and then, her drawl, but when it did, it was straight from the heart o’ Dixie.

  I welcomed them, noting how cute they were, all bundled up in their winter clothes. Some were shivering despite that.

  I led them into the living room and around the wood stove as Dad came and spoke with the bus driver. I pulled off gloves and mittens, showing them how to safely warm up their fingers. Then I helped them remove all their gear while Mom got out the big cast iron kettle and filled it from the water jugs. She put it on the wood-stove to heat up for hot cocoa, and then went to talk with Dad and the driver.

  Kasha, our golden retriever, was delighted with the extra company. I supervised her eager explorations of the kids, while they shrieked with excitement. Hearing all the noise, the twins rushed downstairs. They stood open mouthed, taking in the scene.

  “Wow!” Lanie breathed.

  “Wow!” echoed Laura.

  “Let’s get our dolls!” In minutes the floor was strewn with what I call the world’s largest collection of Barbie dolls, as well as children, pillows, and Kasha running wildly about in the midst. I joined the adults in the kitchen.

  The bus driver, who said his name is Roy, did not believe my father’s assessment that a probable EMP had occurred. He had to try our phone for himself and our cell phones. Then, surveying us and the warm atmosphere he said, “You all don’t seem very upset about this.”

  “Oh, we’re not happy about it,” my mom interjected quickly. “We’re just not that surprised.”

  “Really? You expected this?”

  I figured this was going to launch a conversation about politics and terrorists, or divine judgment and I got up to find disposable hot cups for the hot chocolate. From the pantry, I could hear the conversation.

  “We didn’t expect it,” my dad said. “We knew it was possible, because NASA’s been warning the public for years that a solar flare could take down the grid.”

  “Solar? You mean the sun did this?” The man sounded dumbfounded.

  “It could have, yeah,” dad said. “But whatever caused it, our first order of business is getting these kids home.”

  “Oh, man,” Roy said, as I came out. He shook his head. “My first pick up was ten miles from here! How we gonna get them back if our vehicles don’t work?” He looked at my dad. “How long do you think this will last? More than a day or two?” My father’s eyes met my mother’s. I hastily went to check on the kids. The bus driver clearly had no idea how the rules of the game had changed and I certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell him. The children of course, had no inkling. I looked at their beautiful young faces and wondered if their parents had done any food storage. I hoped that when we got them home, they would be okay.

  Without asking my mother or father I took a moment to run downstairs and grabbed some packages from the storage room. Back upstairs, I announced, “Time for hot chocolate.” A chorus of happy cries ensued. In the kitchen I got a big tray and loaded it with what I needed.

  “I still don’t get how come I never heard about this, about a solar flare,” Roy was saying.

  Dad shrugged. “The media never really picked up on it.” He tipped his cup to get the last bit of his coffee. “I saw an article here or there, but I guess no one wanted to take the threat seriously.”

  Roy shook his head. “Sounds like our government, doesn’t it?”

  I got busy making the hot chocolate and handing around cups. I made the kids sit in a row, with strict orders to be still while they drank. I gave out raisins and cookies, too. Back in the kitchen, talk continued.

  “We need to get these kids home,” Dad said. “Look, it’s snowing again.” He nodded towards the window. “It’s only gonna get harder to move around, not easier.” He looked at Roy. “Can you ride a horse?”

  The man’s face blanched. “Unh uh. I haven’t been on a horse since I was a teenager.”

  Dad frowned. “It’ll take more trips, then. I was hoping to have three riders.”

  “I can ride,” my mom put in.

  Dad shook his head. “You’ll need to stay with the girls and Justin.”

  “I can do that,” said Roy. He looked embarrassed. “I mean, since I can’t ride, I may as well help out somehow.”

  My father looked at him thoughtfully, but he slowly shook his head. I knew that was coming. No way would my father trust a stranger with the care of his children.

  “No, my wife will stay with the baby,” he said. “We have a toddler.” The three little ones shared a room which even had its own insulated wood stove, a round modern marvel that Dad had specially fitted. We often used it in winter, so I knew the baby was snug and warm.

  “I’ve watched babies before,” the man said, “so I know I could handle a toddler.” There was eagerness in his voice—or something—that set me on edge and I guess my folks felt the same way. My mom said, “No need. I’m staying.” He looked ready to protest but I spoke up.

  “Um, you HAVE to come with us.” Everyone looked at me, so I explained. “These kids are too little to show us how to get to their houses. You’re the only one who knows where they live.”

  The driver scratched his head. “She’s right. But how will I go? I don’t ride.”

  “Dad, we ought to try the cart,” I said. My father gave me a warning look but I’d already said it, so I added, “Otherwise, we’ll have to go back and forth who-knows-how-many-times and all the while these kids’ parents are worrying their minds out.”

  “They’re not worrying,” Dad said. “They think the kids are safe at school.”

  “Still,” I reasoned, “Do you want to be doing this all day? The cart will be quicker.”

  My mother stood up to collect cups. “I think you’re right, Lex,” she said, with an apologetic nod at my dad.

  “The cart’s never been tested with a lot of weight,” my dad said, thinking it out. “You think it’ll hold them all?” He looked at the roomful of children, most of whom were all over the floor again playing.

  “It’ll have to,” my mom said, softly.

  He nodded, accepting that his hand-built cart was going to get that weight test, ready or not. “Lex, go and harness Spirit and Promised Land to the cart. You’ll ride Rhema and take one or two of these little ones with you on the saddle—think you can handle that?”

  I nodded, certain I could. I often took the girls with me for rides around the property or on our horse trail.

  It was the harnessing I wasn’t so sure about. Dad had demonstrated how to do it but it was a long time ago and I never actually used the cart with the horses. He’d built it, showed me how to harness it up and then used it a few times himself. That was it. Now its day had come. I prayed as I walked out there that I wouldn’t make a mistake getting it ready for such a precious load of passengers.

  I did the best I could, and then covered the bottom with handfuls and handfuls of hay. Hay is a great insulator from the cold. Back in the house, I helped Mom get the kids ready. It took some doing to match everyone up to the right boots, coats and hats and gloves. Then there were the inevitable last-minute bathroom breaks, which meant some kids had to get OUT of their coats and gloves all over again.

  In a few minutes one little boy came and gazed at me solemnly with big, brown e
yes. He was uber-cute.

  “Yes?”

  “Your baf-room is broken,” he said. “It didn’ work.” I stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Then it dawned on me. The plumbing would be affected by the electric failure. A toilet will flush once or twice before it runs out of water from the holding tank, but that’s it. It had evidently run out, since lots of the kids were visiting the restroom.

  I nodded. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It’s o-tay.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  He smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. “Max.”

  I smiled back. “I’m Lex.”

  He held my eyes for a moment with that inquisitive look kids have and then unexpectedly drove his head into my stomach, making me gasp. I tousled his head, realizing I’d been given a sure sign of approval from a kindergartener.

  “C’mon, y’all,” I heard my mother call. I grabbed Max’s hand and helped him into his coat and hat and gloves.

  “You’re nice,” he said, this time, our faces close while I zipped him up.

  “So are you.” I tweaked his nose. One day Justin would be his age. It was a cute age. I tied a scarf around his head to cover as much of Max’s head as possible, but he pushed it back down towards his neck.

  “No,” I said, gently bringing it up again. “You’ll be glad to have it over your face once we’re out there.” I nodded towards the front door.

  He let me fix it.

  Outside, we piled the kids in the cart. They were thrilled, as if it were a joyride. I took out the box of treats I’d grabbed from our storage room, giving one granola bar to each child. Roy looked at me expectantly, so I handed him one, too. Somehow, even though a single granola bar isn’t much, I couldn’t let those kids go home empty handed. My dad looked on and nodded at me approvingly.