The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set Read online

  Seems he should have slowly defrosted it with heat instead of trying to force it to work. Now it’s useless!

  So I was given the lovely task of hauling in snow—bucket after bucket of it. I am SICK of snow. We have four bathrooms in this ridiculous house and I was supposed to fill all the tubs. After filling just one my arms and legs were aching and my hands were starting to freeze. I begged Mom to let me rest. The layer of ice on everything makes it real work to get that stuff in a bucket and then into the house and then into the bathroom.

  Mom said I could do more tomorrow. I thought, Perfect! We’ll probably have power by then! I got warmed up by the fireplace and then went up to my room to hide. I didn’t want Dad to see me and make me do more hauling. While I was out there he did help a little because he was making a depression in a wall of snow to put a cooler with the rest of the food that was in our freezer. (Even though the house feels so cold, it’s still colder outside and he thinks it will keep better out there.) But his mood was still foul because of the broken pump and I had to ignore a good deal of “colorful” language while he dug.

  I asked my mother why he’s so angry. She says it’s because he can’t get to work or even call in and it makes him feel crazy. He’s a workaholic, so this is sort of killing him. He’s also worried he’ll get fired for not going in. And she thinks he’s worried that other people are still going in and getting their jobs done while he’s helpless out here in the plat, which is kind of isolated by surrounding farmland.

  “Why would they fire him?” I asked. “He can’t be expected to get to work when there’s no power and no vehicles.”

  “They won’t fire him,” she answered, taking the single big black pot we’ve been using for heating food. She opened a few cans of stew, emptying them into the pot and I followed her as she brought it to the fireplace and positioned it on the camp stove. “He’s just worried because he’s like that.”

  It figures that my father is more upset about work going on without him than he is about what’s happening here. This is the gist of what’s really getting to Dad. HE CAN’T DISAPPEAR TO WORK AND BURY HIMSELF IN HIS JOB. What if his co-workers have power? What if things are going on without him as usual? He can’t handle the thought. He’s worse than I am about having to live without my stuff working.

  A strange thought hit me, though: Maybe he’s just afraid. He’s used to being in control of things and feeling like he’s good at what he does, like in his office. Here, I don’t think he knows how to take care of us with this outage. He’s in upper management and calls the shots at work. Now he’s only got us to boss around. Otherwise he’s as powerless as our gadgets.

  When I returned to the living room the boys were doing a puzzle on the floor and mom was sitting with the baby, just staring ahead. It was like she was watching TV, only of course it wasn’t working. Our useless big-screen sits in the corner like an altar. At first it looked like mom was staring at it. But she wasn’t. She was staring at nothing, lost in thought. I want to throw a sheet over that huge, silent TV. It’s just a reminder of what we can’t do.

  JANUARY 13

  DAY THREE

  I woke up to find Dad’s been burning my books for heat! I can’t believe it. Of all the stuff he could have picked, of course it had to be books that were mine. And he had the nerve to complain they weren’t burning well! He says today we all have to scour the property for branches and anything that will burn or else he’ll start using furniture!

  “Can’t we wait and see if the power comes back?” I asked.

  “It’s ten degrees out there, Andrea,” he said. “We can’t wait.”

  It’s not like we have a forest out there, either. Our property is one acre, most of which is carefully landscaped lawn and flowers when it’s not covered in snow. So we have a small stand of trees and bushes before you reach someone else’s property. Mom calls it a natural privacy fence. Dad said it’s the best place we’ve got for finding anything to feed the fire.

  We’ve never had long outages before. We were always lucky, even after a bad storm that took out electric for thousands of people, ‘cos we live near a substation. Since they always get that up and running quickly we’ve always had power restored really fast. After last year’s hurricane we only lost our electric for a day and a half. And my cell phone still worked. And our cars started. What is going on?

  So Dad walked all the way to that power station today. Normally you can’t walk on our main road, at least not safely. If you leave the plat you take your life in your hands because everybody speeds on the main road. But today it was eerie quiet, Dad said, and he passed four cars that were dead and abandoned in the middle of the road. He wanted to ask questions but the substation was empty. Dad’s not sure if it was empty because there’s nothing they can do or if it’s because no one could get to it. Another thing—usually if you get close to the station, you can hear wires crackling. Today Dad said he heard only one thing: a whole lotta nothing.

  I so want to wash my hair. And I really want to talk to Lexie. I wish I was at school! Just so I could do something normal instead of having to haul in snow and now look for wood! And with all that snow and ice? How will it even burn if it’s frozen?

  I trudged out to the stand of bushes and trees hoping someone was going to lose their job over this. Somebody somewhere must have done something wrong to cause this power failure. If you ask me, heads should roll!

  When I got there I was glad to be alone for a change. Even the silence didn’t bother me. Snow cover always brings a muffled quality with it but today it felt different. It took awhile for me to realize it was because there wasn’t a single sound of civilization; no one warming a car engine before leaving for work or to go shopping; no one using a power blower to clear their sidewalk or drive of snow; no one’s radio or television turned up too loud and wafting out from their house. There wasn’t a single sound except my own feet crunching in the snow.

  I didn’t find much to burn. Sure, there were bushes, but I had nothing to cut them with. I gathered the few sticks and branches that were sticking up out of the snow but everything else is covered. It didn’t amount to a lot. When I went in complaining my feet felt like ice, Dad said, “Just be glad we have a fireplace.” I wanted to give him a sarcastic answer because he’s said about a hundred times, ‘It’s a good thing we have a fireplace.’ A hundred times. And if you ask me, a fireplace is not good enough, because unless I’m right up next to it, I’m still cold.

  EVENING

  Jim is back! Jim is our neighbor on the right. Dad stepped outside and saw a faint flickering light coming from his house. He went to speak to him right away. Turns out Jim was at Wal-Mart when the power went out. Wal-Mart is about thirteen miles from here. Jim spent the first night at the store with other people who were stranded but he’s been walking home ever since. Jim’s not a young man, or he might have made it sooner. He managed to bring one bag of stuff from the store. He said he bought a lot more but had to leave it in his car.

  “So there’s no power there either,” my mom said, flatly.

  Dad shook his head. “Nope. Same as here. You should have seen Jim. He looked awful, like he barely made it home. He stopped by a few roadside fires people had going but he thinks he may have frostbite on both his feet.”

  “My goodness,” said Mom. “Poor man.” Then, “Does anyone know why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why this happened to the electric? Was it the snow? And what about cars and cell phones?”

  “No one knows for sure. It’s anyone’s guess.”

  My mother sighed. “Did you ask him about water?”

  Jim’s well has a manual pump like ours which hopefully isn’t broken. We’ve been going through the bottled water my mom buys to mix up baby formula for Lily, but we’re almost out of it. Hauling in snow and having to boil it is like sheer misery. I hope his pump works.

  “I’ll ask him tomorrow. He didn’t want to talk right now.” He paused. “He also said that if
I had a gun, I should make sure it’s ready to use.” You could hear surprise in my father’s voice.

  “What does that mean?” I asked. I thought I must have heard him wrong. My dad looked at me. My mother was waiting to hear his answer too.

  “He said we might need to protect our homes. Looting could start soon if help doesn’t come. If the power doesn’t return. He reminded me of what happened after Katrina.”

  “But we’re out here in the country. Who’s going to loot us?” Mom asked.

  Dad shrugged. “I think Jim’s a little paranoid.”

  “Did he see any looting going on?” Mom persisted.

  Dad nodded. “Yup. He said people were starting to panic at Wal-Mart because they wouldn’t accept anything but cash. And some people actually started walking out with their arms full of stuff they hadn’t paid for.” He shrugged. “I mean, who carries cash today? Nobody.”

  “But if you did have cash,” I said, “you could buy food and water. At least people in cities can buy that stuff. Unlike us out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  Dad gave me a dark look. “Yeah. For a few days. And then it all runs out. And then they come looking for more.”

  “Well, they won’t find it here,” I quipped. I’d been noticing our pantry wasn’t all too stocked. I didn’t usually pay much attention to that stuff since it was mom’s job to shop and cook. But already we were eating the less desirable items from the pantry like peanut butter and jelly. The boys actually like this so for them that’s just dandy. I would be fine if I never ate peanut butter again in my life.

  Anyway, we’re going to run out of food, and then what? Nobody knows how long this is going to last. And no one knows why it’s happening. I wish I could get on Facebook and ask my friends. I wish we could watch the News and find out. I feel so alone.

  Another thing; the quiet inside the house is driving me crazy. Outside it seemed okay, even restful. But in here? I never realized how appliances make noise, but with nothing working in the house there’s a strange silence that is grating on me. It’s like a lull before the storm. It’s quiet but not peaceful.

  And I think the storm has already hit.

  JANUARY 14

  DAY FOUR

  Today is the FOURTH day without power in this freezing house.

  I hate it.

  I can hardly believe it’s been four full days. I never thought this would happen to us. I know other people have experienced long outages after a bad storm or tornado, but we didn’t have a bad storm! We had snow, and it froze overnight, but that’s happened before without causing a power failure. I’m really sick to death at how nothing is working. I WANT TO TEXT MY FRIENDS. I WANT TO TALK TO SOMEONE. I WANT TO USE MY COMPUTER.

  It would help if we knew what was going on and how long we’ll have to wait for power to come back. But there’s no way to know anything—I feel crazy.

  Dad went to the main road hoping to get information from someone—anyone—but when he got back his mood was darker than ever. I heard him talking to Mom.

  “Yeah, I saw people. Pulling sleds loaded with stuff.”

  “Why?” asked Mom.

  “They were heading to town to look for an emergency shelter.”

  “Maybe we should go there,” I said.

  “You really want to walk to town in this cold?” Mom said. “That’s five miles. I won’t take Lily out in this weather.” She looked at my father. “Maybe if the car is working…?” He shook his head.

  “Nope. I’ve tried it every day. I’ve tried them all.”

  “Do you think there is a shelter in town?” she asked.

  “I have no idea.” He shrugged. “Maybe in the Civic Center; or the school gym. Other than those places, I don’t know where they’d be able to accommodate a lot of people.”

  I thought of trying to squeeze into the gymnasium with people I knew from town and thought better of wanting to go. Who would want to be stuck inside with all those people? Even the thought of seeing friends didn’t appeal to me. I hadn’t showered in three days and my hair felt like dry spaghetti. Then I wondered if they might have running water. If they did, I’d go, no matter how I looked. Hot, running water—the very idea filled me with longing.

  “If there was a shelter would there be running water?” I asked.

  “Not unless they’ve got power,” said Dad. He looked at my mom. “If nothing changes by tomorrow, I’ll make the walk into town and see what’s what.”

  “What about those big water towers?” my mom asked. “They would still work, wouldn’t they? Because of gravity?”

  “For a couple days, maybe longer,” Dad replied. “But once the pressure falls, they’ll fail, just like everything else.”

  I thought of the three jugs of water mom had left for baby Lily’s bottles. I got up and put on my gloves and a pullover hat.

  “Where you going, Andi?” asked Aiden, scampering over to me with bright eyes. He looked utterly normal. The twins, seven years old, weren’t feeling nearly as deprived as I was. They missed video games and television but didn’t seem to mind that nothing else worked. They layered t-shirts under their clothes as if it were second nature, and couldn’t care less that hot running water was a thing of the past. They liked the whole family being in one room every day.

  I tousled Aiden’s hair. “I’m gonna collect more snow. I think we might need it.”

  Mom looked appreciatively at me, though she said nothing. Dad was elsewhere, lost in thought. He was often like that; present, but not really there. I wondered what he was so busy thinking about.

  “Can I help?” Aiden asked, looking up at me eagerly.

  “You certainly can!” I replied.

  “I can too!” yelled Quentin, not to be outdone by his brother.

  I found two mop buckets this time and mom gave the boys empty Chinese food plastic tubs. She stood at the door and received our snow-laden containers to take them to the nearest bathtub, emptied them into it, and then returned the containers to us to fill again. With the boys and mom helping, we were able to fill up all the tubs. I was exhausted when we finally scrambled back inside and settled in front of the fireplace.

  As I sat there cross-legged with Aiden and Quentin leaning up against me, their little faces red from the cold, I realized I was enjoying the fire. Both its warmth and mesmerizing depths. I liked the way different colors would appear within the flames here and there, and the crackle of a spark now and then would pop out like mini fireworks. I was even enjoying my little brothers being near me. It felt like we were a cozy family.

  Then to my delight mom filled the kettle with snow and announced she was making hot chocolate. She brought in granola bars and crackers on a tray. The boys got a burst of energy and started dancing around the room.

  Then Lily woke up and started fussing. I was ready to get her but mom asked my father to. It was the weirdest thing: When he picked up the baby I saw no emotion on his face. He sat back down holding her. I couldn’t help staring, startled by the sight. It occurred to me that I never saw him holding her; Mom always had her. It looked truly strange. I wondered why he never held her, but I didn’t say anything. He still seemed to be elsewhere anyway, even while he held her. He wasn’t looking down or enjoying her the way most people enjoy a baby. He was staring at the fire, lost in thought. I felt sorry for Lily. Then I felt angry. My father is a loser! I don’t care how much money he makes. I will never marry a man just because he earns a good income. I want a guy who looks into my eyes and sees who I am. I don’t understand how my mother fell in love with my father. It seems impossible.

  EVENING

  It’s dark and I’m restless. There’s nothing to do except read. Dad found a couple more flashlights in the garage so I’m using one, but it’s a pain. A flashlight doesn’t seem heavy until you have to keep it at the right angle for reading. A candle isn’t bright enough unless I hold my book right up next to it and that’s not comfortable. So I only read a chapter and then I’m tired from the effort.
r />   We had the last of the burgers tonight. I can’t wait for this to end so we can get more food.

  I miss hearing from my friends more than anything. I picked up my cell phone for the thousandth time just to see if it might work. (I knew it wouldn’t but I couldn’t resist trying.) When it just stayed black and didn’t start up, I felt like throwing it in the fireplace. I would have too, except my father was in the room. I didn’t feel like getting yelled at.

  JANUARY 15

  DAY FIVE

  We are in much worse shape than I thought. I mean, regarding the power being out. I thought it was just temporary like in the past but my dad doesn’t think so.

  I was helping Mom get ready for lunch, taking out paper plates, napkins and plastic forks, while Dad was outside grilling hotdogs. Suddenly she said, “Your father thinks he knows what’s going on.”

  I stopped and stared at her. “What? What’s going on?”

  She gave me a look. “He won’t say. You know your father.”

  “Oh, wonderful, ” I said. I was tempted to get on my mother’s case and tell her she ought to force it out of him. We had a right to know, didn’t we? But I thought about how moody and angry my dad is, and how if you push him, he just flies into a rage.

  Mom added, “He says he doesn’t want to believe it yet.”

  “Believe what?” I asked.

  “What might be happening.”

  “I don’t get it, “I said. “What might be happening?”

  Mom turned and folded her arms across her chest. “I’m wondering if we might be at war or something.” I felt a chill creep down my spine which had nothing to do with the cold. Such a thought had never occurred to me. My idea was that a major storm had taken down power lines but I never would have thought of war.

  “Who would we be at war with?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. North Korea? Russia? Maybe radical Muslims? They’ve hated us forever.”

  I thought about that a moment. “My world history teacher said Islam is a peaceful religion.”