Yield

by Johnson, Bryan K.

  “And if you shoot me down?” Abd asks, his body stiffening. “What will you tell your kids then?”

  Devin’s eyes turn to ice. The faint echo of children’s laughter begins to drift back to him along the cool night air. There is salvation in the sound, and an ever-present resiliency, trying to pull him back from the brink.

  “What lessons are you teaching them,” Abd continues, “when you abandon those still in your care?”

  The words eat away at Devin like a cancer. His anger and impatience fade, unable to defend his own reasoning anymore. The weapon in his hands trembles lower. He looks down at the bottle of alcohol, a mixture of desire and disgust on his face. “You’re a blooming nutter,” Devin groans, shoving the bottle deeper into his bag. “You know that, right?”

  “I’ve been called far worse, my friend,” Abd says. His crooked smile shines back the moon’s soft glow. There’s a fleeting sparkle of enlightenment in the Arab’s black eyes.

  “You’re the last bloke I expected to make any bloody sense out here.” A reluctant grin returns to Devin’s face. “Well, I’m sure the others are a might tossed at me. Let’s go see what all the fuss is about.”

  He tips the gun barrel up to his shoulder and turns around. Dozens of indistinguishable masses seem to blur together along the blackened streets. Devin tries to focus his eyes but can only make out shadows in the dark.

  The fireman tilts his head, straining to listen. He forces his swaying body to still. An eerie din of metropolitan silence thunders back. Even the occasional cricket call or bird chirp has been erased from existence. The quiet is somehow both violent and serene—more unsettling than any graveyard. Only the damned remain…

  The fireman swallows hard.

  The sounds of shuffling feet suddenly rush at him. He spins. Echoes bounce off the husks of buildings all around. He levels his weapon, eyes wide with fear.

  “Easy!” Chris’s voice barks. He escorts two trembling bodies out of the black and into the moonlight. Their weary faces are streaked with tears.

  “Jeez, mate. Now you’ve got me jumpy,” Devin says. He looks over apologetically to Isabel and Terra, but his gaze quickly crumbles. Their disgust pulses back at him, betrayed electricity slashing through the air.

  “I ain’t your mate,” Chris snaps. “Selfish bastard, you don’t think we’d rather be home?”

  Devin shrinks under the black man’s eyes.

  Out of nowhere, a whipping slap shoots across the fireman’s face, sobering him instantly.

  “I’m sorry, alright?” Devin defends, turning toward his assailant. His eyes lock on Isabel’s. “I have my own family to think about! We have no blooming idea what’s even going on out there, love.” Devin’s voice trails off. “The whole bloody world could be gone for all we know.”

  “What if it is?” Isabel cries. “Right now, we’re all each other have.” She rubs angrily at her eyes. “We can’t control a damn thing other than that!”

  Isabel storms away, but suddenly, almost regretfully slows. The Latina looks up into an uncertain face. She pauses for a moment before giving Abd a fiercely grateful hug. “Thank you for waiting for us.”

  “No time,” Terra says softly. The words are like wind through the leaves, falling away before anyone can hear them.

  “I…” Abd stutters. He looks uncertainly to Chris. The huge teenager nods his head ever so slightly. The gesture speaks volumes.

  “No time…” Terra whispers louder. Her eyes dart fearfully out to the shadows writhing around them.

  “What, honey?” Isabel asks. She gently brushes a lock of the teenager’s straight black hair away from her forehead.

  Terra’s sapphire eyes stare out into the dark. Terror blossoms within them.

  “You see something?” Devin asks.

  “You care now?” Chris says coldly.

  Devin’s eyes move across the beating black, uncertain of what they see. “How many?”

  Terra trembles next to them. Her voice is trapped inside.

  The night is deathly silent as it stalks…

  “How many did you see?!” Devin turns to Chris.

  “I don’t know,” Chris growls. “Just shadows. Moving in the dark.”

  In the distance, a woman’s scream pierces the night sky. Several male voices cut off her anguished sounds. The unseen attackers shout and laugh before they begin to ravage her.

  Terra’s hand shoots out. It digs into Isabel’s arm, pulling her tight. The haunted teenager’s body quakes. “Make it stop,” she cries, burying her head deep in Isabel’s shoulder. Terra’s eyelids snap shut. Clenched veins rise to her temples.

  “Please… No…”

  The scream fills them all with a frigid panic.

  Chris’s eyes dart around, seeing motion now in every shade.

  “Whatever happens, keep moving toward the freeway,” Devin says. He lunges ahead and motions them forward into the dark. The fireman loads his shotgun with the shells grabbed behind the blood-stained grocery store. He cocks the weapon before scanning the darkness again.

  Chris and the others follow quickly. The black shifts all around them. Sounds continue to grow as they walk.

  Terra’s head snaps to the right. Footsteps are just behind them. She sees hands stretch out for her through the pitch black, clutching for their next victim.

  Abd’s blade slashes at the exposed flesh. Dirty arms instantly pull back into the void.

  Chris spins, taking Terra’s shoulders and forcing her on. The basketball star pushes the women up closer to Devin. He glances out at the swirling darkness. Chris’s left hand rifles through the open duffel bag slung over the fireman’s shoulder and finds the butt of a flare.

  He strikes the red stick on the ground, pivoting and launching it as hard as he can behind them. The glowing missile arcs high into the air and explodes across the concrete. Hundreds of orange, prison-suited silhouettes scatter back into the shadows.

  “Jesus!” Isabel screams.

  “One shotgun won’t be enough!” Chris yells to Devin.

  “Bloody hell! What’s close to here?”

  “There’s a sporting goods store another quarter-mile ahead.”

  The fireman nods protectively toward Terra. “Stay close to her!”

  Their bodies quickly encircle the girl as Chris strikes another flare. Burning red flickers back from the nightmarish faces of the night.

  Burning sparks rain down above Chris’s head. His eyes dart around through the crimson smoke. The flare illuminates a shrinking circle of safety around them.

  Their bodies move faster and faster, running now through the darkness. At the edges of the scarlet shadow, the contours of innumerable others follow just behind. Ambiguous shapes come into the red briefly before returning again to the black. Orange jumpsuits frame evil eyes, glinting back the color of flame. They spread like wildfire before going dark once more.

  Deep Seattle clouds consume the moon. It plunges them all into black just as the flare burns down. Savage voices begin to scream out all around them. The sounds are close. So close. They stink of a vile and cruel fury.

  “Come here, girly,” they echo. Their primal calls are ice in Terra’s blood. “Gonna make you scream…”

  Another hand reaches out for them from the shadows. Its skeletal fingers move like a viper strike. They latch onto the back of Terra’s jacket and drag the screaming teenager back into the darkness.

  Unaware, the others sprint on at full speed.

  Abd feels something brush his side, moving so quickly out of their circle of light that he barely sees the white jacket sleeves before they’re gone. The Arab spins, his eyes widening with terror. The writhing bodies of at least a dozen animals stretch out for them in the black.

  “Devin!” Abd yells. He pivots in a single breath and launches himself at the convict gripping Terra’s jacket. The metal shiv rips at the arms and hands reaching out. Its serrated edge finds many in its arcing path. Hands pull at Terra, unwilling to lose their exot
ic prize. Abd jumps again at the body of the attacker, slashing at the skinhead’s stomach and chest until the beast finally releases her.

  Chris leaps over Abd, lashing out with powerful kicks and punches from his long limbs. He lifts Terra up into his arms and lunges away.

  Abd spins again toward the dark and whips his knife into the remaining tentacles of orange. Slowly, the shadows recede.

  The Arab backs cautiously away and turns to join the others. He takes only a few steps before a sharp pain shoots through his lower left back. Abd looks down at a set of dirty fingernails now gripping that shoulder.

  He stumbles forward to jerk himself free. Glancing behind, Abd sees a face with two teardrops stitched just below his eyes. The man smiles wickedly back. In the convict’s hand, a 4-inch blade covered in deep crimson flickers in the flare’s red light.

  “Come on!” Devin yells. He pulls at the Arab’s Mariners jersey, dragging him into a run. For some reason Abd’s legs feel weaker with each stride. Every footfall again summons more. He grits his teeth, trying to blink back the growing fog in his eyes.

  Frenzied footsteps and the stench of hot breath are right on top of them as they scramble towards the glass entry of Warshal’s Sporting Goods.

  Devin shatters the bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the concrete sidewalk in front. He smashes the butt of his shotgun through the glass door, kicking the rest in.

  Chris quickly helps Terra and Isabel through the broken shards just as the shotgun booms behind him.

  The wet streak of alcohol on the ground instantly blazes to life. Flames igniting within the battle lines of vice illuminate a legion of wild-eyed men in orange. The former inmates cringe back from the light. They move angrily into the shadows, gathering to watch their game flee.

  Devin pulls Abd to the door and throws him forcefully through. The surprisingly powerful arms of the fireman send the thin Arab man hurtling through the air. His body lands and slides painfully along the unforgiving tile floor. The wind rushes out of his lungs. Abd’s legs still churn, trying to drive him deeper into the store.

  The fireman backs through the frame after him, cocking his weapon as the animals lunge at them both. Devin tears down a display rack in front of the broken window. He fires his last round into a pair of violent hands at the doorway. The enraged prisoner crumples. Buck shot rips through his torso before he falls.

  Devin pushes over carts and stand-up displays to block the shattered door, staggering back into Warshal’s. Just outside, the shrieks of anarchy awaken and turn into a deafening roar. Orange soon fills the glass. A blur of savagery moves through the city, eager to speak its native tongue.

  Two inmates approach the door again, stepping on top of the dead man trapped inside. They climb through the broken window, their eyes glowing white in the darkness.

  Devin lunges toward the glass. He cocks the gun and levels it ominously. The last empty shell shoots out of the side, echoing loudly as it hits the floor.

  “Get the hell out of here!” Devin roars. He slams the shotgun barrel into one of the men’s faces.

  Seeing the familiar flash of one of their own in Devin’s deadly eyes, both men back slowly away. They glare at him with a barbarous hunger. Reluctantly, they turn and join the mob of orange jumpsuits screaming down the street in search of easier prey.

  Devin steps back into the shadows one guarded foot at a time. The fireman’s hands keep his bluff trained on the doorway. Behind him, he hears Chris raiding the gun counter.

  Randomly, the teenager grabs weapons and boxes of ammunition, placing both on the glass top. Terra cowers behind the safety of the counter closest to him. Her blue eyes are transfixed by the sea of orange still coursing just past the storefront.

  “You know what you’re doing?” Devin whispers. He backs quickly down the aisle toward them. His head whips back and forth, hearing a new crowd of inmates running by the broken entrance. The chants begin to grow outside in some kind of deadly anticipation. Worry twists through Devin’s stomach.

  The demonic choir is calling for blood.

  “Not really,” Chris says. His big hands are shaking. He can’t seem to match the numbers on the boxes to the artillery tags in front of him. None of the numbers line up.

  “Get those handguns there,” Devin points, “and hand me that box of shells.” He glances down into the glass case, dropping to a knee. The fireman’s head swivels back to the window as he empties a box of 12-gauge shells onto the ground. The rounds slide up into the dual-chamber with a click.

  Devin cocks the weapon and stands in one smooth motion. He points the shotgun at the front door, but even the dead body is now gone. Pane after pane of tall glass stands temptingly across the long entry area.

  Hundreds of wicked eyes stare back at them from just beyond the windows, plotting and planning in the dark.

  Chapter 27

  “Ever fired a gun?” Devin asks. His eyes are locked on the violence standing only feet away. Shadows around the downtown sporting goods store swell with brief shimmers of orange.

  “Sorry,” Chris says, his voice hardening. “Not every black man knows how to use a piece.” The 17-year-old snatches a lantern off a nearby shelf and slams it onto the gun counter. Its soft, yellow glow illuminates the girl sitting silently on the floor next to him.

  Terra’s thin arms are wrapped tightly around her knees. Her eyes are lost under strands of darkness. The beautiful teenager looks tiny and frail behind the glass cage, as if her entire body could be swallowed up at any moment by the horrors that stalk them.

  “Jesus, mate! Is everything a bloody argument with you?”

  “Only in certain company.” Chris’s eyes flash dangerously. “You and me are gonna chat about that later.”

  “Looking forward to it, love,” Devin smiles. He points at the front windows. “Until then, I need you to put your little testament to manhood away and focus on what’s happening outside that glass.”

  Devin picks up one of the pistols on the counter and pops in a clip. “I presume I can trust you with this?”

  Chris clenches his jaw, wanting to tell the man just where he can stick that weapon. He forces a nod instead.

  The fireman quickly cocks it, holding the weapon grip out. “Right, then. Guns are pretty simple. This is a Beretta, one of the first guns my father ever let me shoot. Safety’s on the side. Just flip it up, aim, and fire at what you want to bring down.”

  Chris takes the gun slowly. His eyes trace down the slick metal barrel and over the handle’s grain. The lantern’s dim light sparkles along its edges. Just holding the weapon is comforting somehow. His eyes narrow. Their deep brown flickers with a violent sense of empowerment. The feeling is strange. Invigorating. On the basketball court, he’s always been confident. But this is something else—invincible almost. Chris smiles.

  The teenager tests the gun’s dense weight before tucking it into the back of his jeans. He pulls his navy West Seattle High sweatshirt down to conceal it.

  “The rest of you should probably pack something more punchy, too,” Devin yells behind him. He glances around for the last two of their group. “Abd? Isabel?”

  Devin scans the dark store, his eyes growing worried at the silence. “You seen them?”

  Chris shakes his head. “Izz!” he booms.

  “Back here,” a soft voice reverberates from somewhere behind them. “Won’t get far on candy and Coke,” the pregnant flight attendant says. Isabel walks back up the aisles with a new purple Huskies bag bursting at the seams. “Healthy me. I went for the energy bars and sport drinks. There’s some water in here, too.”

  “Nice,” Devin says. “Is Abd with you?”

  “No, I thought he was with you guys.” Isabel glances around. “Abd?” she calls. Her eyes stop cold. “Devin,” she whispers. The breath hisses out of her.

  A jagged red line stretches from the entryway into the store. Death’s color traces across shards of broken glass on the linoleum floor, and turns the corner past a metal aisl
e display fifteen feet in front of them.

  “Hold on,” Devin whispers. He cocks the shotgun and begins cautiously toward the metal case. His shoes crackle on fragments of glass scattered all along the ground. Ten feet. Five.

  The fireman spins past the corner, his gun barrel raised.

  Abd sits all alone in the deep shadows of another display rack. The rise and fall of his chest seems more relaxed than normal.

  “Needing a breather, bloke?” Devin asks. “Or did you just decide to nod off on us?” He crouches down next to the abnormally quiet man, his charm trying to mask the concern.

  Devin sees the Arab’s answer spreading across the tile floor.

  “Just resting. I was cold,” Abd mutters. His pitch-black eyes glimmer as he looks up into the face of the fireman. “But not anymore.”

  “Let me see what we got here, alright?” Devin asks.

  Abd looks down at the fireman’s hands on his shoulders. The traces of a smile spread across his face. “I’m not much for hugs.”

  “No offense,” Devin winks, “but you’re not exactly my type either.” The fireman tips Abd’s chest gently toward him and glances down. The left side of the Arab’s aquamarine jersey is soaked completely through and dripping onto the floor. “Bloody hell, man. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Would you have cared?” Abd asks. The truth on his paling face slams into Devin like a jackhammer.

  The fireman’s eyes dart around the shelves closest to them, then back to Isabel. “Find some bandages or an athletic wrap to slow the bleeding.”

  “Is he alright?” she asks.

  “Now, Izz!”

  There’s a solemnity in Devin’s green eyes that makes her heart drop. She rushes off without another word into the store.

  “Chris! Watch the door,” he yells. “You see anyone popping their little head in, you be sure to give them a pop right back.” The fireman kneels and puts his hand to the Arab’s damp back. It pulses ominously through his fingers as he tries to apply pressure. Abd’s eyes look different in the latern’s dim light. There’s an odd sparkle at the edges—a flickering of understanding just below their dark surface. “We’re gonna get you all patched up, mate.”