Yield

by Johnson, Bryan K.

  “I’m not a child, Devin.” Abd smiles at the man’s forced confidence. “I know what comes next.” The Arab looks up proudly into Devin’s face. “It’s okay. I’ve served my God’s purpose.”

  “Your Allah’d be a might proud of you back there,” Devin smiles. “Not the brightest chap. But you’ve got some bollocks on you for sure.”

  Devin’s smile fades. The sparkle is dimming in Abd’s eyes. “Hurry, Isabel!”

  He hears the crash and scattering of her futility across the floor.

  “Be responsible for them,” Abd whispers. He takes Devin’s hand, gripping it tighter than the fireman ever thought he could. Abd’s blurred eyes focus on Devin’s. An intense love spreads throughout his body, warming him with a deep purity he’s never known before. “Saving life is not enough. You must protect it…” The Arab’s eyes soften. A dark gray haze dances across, wrapping them in certainty and an unrelenting calm. “Protect it…….”

  Isabel runs up the aisle and drops to her knees. She rips into the packages of gauze and tape, thrusting them out to Devin.

  Chris and Terra emerge with her from the store’s deep shadows. They watch on as Devin closes Abd’s eyes forever. His tan hands clutch one another in his lap. The Arab’s slumped body looks almost peaceful, praying eternally into the night.

  Flickering orange beyond the glass storefront watches on—the evil waiting patiently within the darkness.

  * * *

  Devin paces through Warshal’s. His exuberant spirit feels like it’s been carved out of him with an ax. A brittle silence hangs on the air, the crushing weight of mortality and death threatening all still with a voice to test it. The absence of words is somehow fitting, as if speaking of those now lost would just bring more pain to a world that will never again be what it was.

  The fireman grabs another pistol off the counter. He slides down the chamber and looks inside its sparkling coffin. The metal feels like ice in his hands. Devin rummages through the stacks of fatal components around him, mechanically shoving bullets between the clip rails and slamming them into the gun bases of anything he can find. Weapon after weapon he fills with their deadly cargo. They soon lay in precise rows along the streaked counter top.

  Devin’s eyes close tight. Metal and glass shake in his grip.

  A delicate hand finds his shoulder from behind. “It’ll be okay, Devin.”

  “You sure about that?” Guilt continues to gnaw through him, feeding upon the tattered remnants of his hope.

  “If we can stay together and get out of this city, yes.”

  “How do you know?” He turns, trying to pull the answers from Isabel’s deep brown eyes. “What if we’re all just mice in some bloody maze waiting for our traps to catch up?”

  Her gaze drifts distantly to the window. “Faith,” she finally whispers. The darkness almost snatches the word from her lips.

  “That’s in short supply today, love,” Devin mutters. He motions toward the black beyond the glass and the orange still shimmering from its shadows. “You try holding onto your faith out there.” He picks up one of the pistols and holds the grip out to her. “I’d rather be holding one of these. You comfortable with a weapon?”

  “More comfortable than being without one,” she shrugs.

  Devin double-checks the clip and readies it before passing the flight attendant a Glock. “Same deal,” he says, pointing to the lever alongside the dark body. “Safety’s there. Keep it on unless you plan on hurting someone.”

  “Only if they deserve it,” the flight attendant glares. Her eyebrow shoots up to underline the point.

  “You sure that jives with your faith, love?” Devin asks. His eyes narrow on the pregnant, gun-toting Latina.

  “I’m Catholic, Devin, not stupid,” she chides. Isabel holds the weapon up, a mischievous smile spreading. “Besides, armed faith is the best kind.”

  A sudden grin disappears just as quickly from Devin’s face.

  “Stop it,” Isabel says, watching the usual spark drain from the fireman’s emerald eyes. Even though her fiery nature wants nothing more than to let the man who abandoned them suffer in his own darkness, Isabel’s hand drifts instead to the crucifix around her neck. She’s rubbed it out of habit as long as she can even remember. The metal at the bottom of the cross has now become much smoother and shinier than the rest. Somehow, it always helps clear her mind.

  She puts her hand reassuringly on his shoulder. “There’s been enough tragedy today. We don’t need to bottle more up just to carry with us.”

  “I just…” Devin starts.

  “They’re gone,” she says sternly. “All of them. More lives than we’ll ever know. You can’t change that, Devin. You can either dwell on it and turn yourself into a miserable British prick, or you can try to suck it up and get us through all this. Your choice.”

  “You alright, Izz?” Chris asks from behind them. There’s a defensive edge to his voice. The lumbering giant towers over the teenager at his side. His arm rests protectively around her slender frame.

  “Just getting some weapon tips and religious advice from our fearless leader here,” Isabel says. Her eyes stay trained on Devin’s. “One-stop shopping.”

  “Ouch,” the fireman winces. “You are fierce, woman.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Chris mutters. His deep voice almost sounds timid around his former babysitter.

  “Alright then,” Devin says, business returning to his tone. “We best pack a little heavier while we can. Were there more bags back here?” He eyes the door again before walking into the shadows at the rear of the store.

  “Aisle five,” Isabel yells.

  The fireman returns with a long, black canvas equipment bag. He grabs handfuls of shell boxes and more weapons, stuffing them on top of the chips and water already inside. He holds out the small carry-on he borrowed from Isabel back at the grocery store. “Told you I’d give it back, love,” Devin winks. “Look inside.”

  She unzips it, an amazed smile spreading across her face. “How did you…?”

  “I have two of my own,” Devin says, “so I know how important those first memories are. I picked it up just before we left that store lot.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers, looking down at her wrinkled ultrasound photo. Tears begin to fall from her eyes.

  “You are most welcome,” Devin smiles.

  The bell on the front door suddenly begins to jingle. Deep, maniacal laughter rushes through the shattered entryway.

  Devin’s eyes go wide.

  A cluster of orange jumpsuits surround the broken glass.

  The fireman hurtles toward the door, aiming his shotgun as he screams. “I said bugger off…”

  The figures duck away just as a flaming cocktail explodes into the door. Huge tongues of fire shoot into Devin’s body. The fireman instantly drops, rolling to put out the burning liquid on his arms and chest.

  Chris pulls him back right as another firebomb crashes into the floor. It blooms across the bubbling linoleum in front of them.

  Terra’s voice shrieks out. The fire quickly spreads across the front of the store, only feet from the gun counter. Chris’s head whips toward the sound, his stomach twisting.

  “Over here!” Isabel shouts. Flames writhe and grow all around them. She grabs Terra’s hands and pulls the teen to her feet.

  Heat surges against their skin. They run, legs driving down the tile floors. Terra’s hand suddenly slips out of Isabel’s. Ammunition sparks and bursts from behind them, fragments ricocheting and exploding through the air. The burnt stench of used gun powder fills the black swirling around them.

  “Come on!” Chris barks. The basketball star pulls Devin up and both men scramble back into the jumbled maze of aisles.

  Terra stops, dread freezing her footsteps. Monstrous voices shout at her through the flames. Sinewy legs kick through the windows, their orange tentacles twisting and moving like the fire itself. Dozens of evil faces flash in the red light. The savageness of
their smiles devours all shadow, slicing like white daggers through both innocence and faith. Her body shakes. Her knees buckle.

  Devin’s shotgun thunders through the glass at the bodies starting to climb through. It rips into vicious souls too consumed by their own violence to even feel the flames.

  Chris slides to a stop like in one of his basketball line drills. Something’s wrong, his gut screams. He touches his hand to the floor for balance and pivots, his eyes darting around. “Terra!” he yells.

  The basketball star leaps out of the starting gate. He lunges over the debris-covered floor, pushing through the low metal shelving around him. Fire is everywhere. He tips down a display full of sunglasses, fighting toward the other side of the store. His heart catches.

  The beautiful woman is kneeling just in front of him, bathed in a circle of orange. Softly, Chris takes her shoulders. His eyes lock onto hers. Flames flicker behind her pale face.

  Evil approaches with them. The red and orange shapes of predators are so close they’re reflected in Chris’s dark eyes.

  “I won’t let them hurt you, Terra. Not again,” he says. His jaw tightens. “I promise you that.”

  She looks up at him, her haunted eyes desperately longing for protection. Strength.

  “We have to go now,” he says. Orange jumpsuits are just feet away now. Their hands claw out even as the store crumbles down upon them. “Come on!”

  Chris takes her hand and turns to lead Terra into the fiery chaos. Flames leap and pulse at them. Chris’s chest burns. The growing heat sucks the very air from their lungs. He drags her forward, gasping, forcing them both to keep moving. “Almost there!”

  The voices fade. Still, Chris’s long legs drive on, slashing and kicking a pathway toward the back of the building.

  Hand in hand, Chris and Terra emerge from the flames. They leap past the storage room and out into the stormy night. Swirling wind whips at them, slamming the thick raindrops down.

  Chapter 28

  Lightning flickers overhead. Four shapes stumble into the alley behind Warshal’s Sporting Goods, their steaming bodies begging for rest. Unusually warm showers bite into their skin, doing little to cool the weariness.

  Devin and the others turn and head up the narrow pathway. They force their feet on, eyes darting around for any new signs of danger. The world is black. Even the light has abandoned them.

  The group staggers over the uneven ground toward the glow of fires along Second Avenue. “Got turned around a bit in there, mate,” Devin whispers to Chris. The fireman crouches down behind a large dumpster at the alley mouth. He motions for the rest to hide. “How do we get back to the freeway?”

  People running down Second pass the alley fewer in number now. Only a couple of orange jumpsuits can be seen before the street clears once more. Flames inside scorched storefronts and vehicles light up an apocalyptic view. Darkness dances back and forth with fire, shining all across a city of death.

  Chris leans carefully out. His eyes narrow. The basketball star’s left hand is clutched tightly by Terra’s. His right firmly grips the gun handle at his back. He sees a flicker of orange on the peripherals of the roadway fade into the shadows as prisoners continue to let loose upon the night.

  “The freeway’s straight ahead,” Chris says, ducking behind the dumpster again. “About five blocks.”

  Terra looks up at him. Fear still stiffens her face.

  “It’s okay,” Chris says. He takes her small hand with both of his. “They’ve moved on. I’ll lead the way out to make sure.”

  Icy doubt stares back at him. They’re hiding… The thought shrieks inside her mind. Waiting in the darkness. Terra’s shoulders start to shake, feeling the cold touch of demons in the shadows.

  Chris’s eyes never falter. Their certainty slowly fills Terra, calming her with a stolen confidence. She nods. The teenager squeezes tighter with both of her pale hands.

  The survivors inch forward, moving slowly toward the light. Her heart pounds.

  “Easy, now,” Devin whispers. He cringes as Chris leans out into the wavering street glow.

  Isabel clutches the back of Devin’s suit jacket. Her fingers dig into the fabric so tightly her hands begin to throb.

  They wait—for an eternity of doubt—in the darkness.

  “Go!” Chris growls.

  Fear drives their fatigued legs. Hands cling resolutely to weapons and one another, crossing onto the six lanes of Second Avenue. Devin’s head snaps from side to side. His eyes scan over the rain-splashed streets. The shadows on the other side are almost forty feet away.

  Breaking glass crashes beside them. Devin spins, training his 12-gauge.

  Orange jumpsuits kick in the remaining windows of the sporting goods store, throwing another brilliant cocktail inside.

  Devin pushes Isabel and Terra forward. “Move!” he barks, still thirty feet from the safety of the alley shadows.

  Their legs burn to double the pace. The orange whips of Satan himself are upon them in the rain.

  Cracked asphalt blurs under the survivors’ feet. Voices scream out at them through the storm. The sound booms like thunder. Barbaric echoes bounce all around. So close now…

  The group moves faster and faster, lunging into the welcoming shadows of the alley. All of the buildings along both blocks are on fire now. A red glow covers the entire world in blood.

  Devin spins, stumbling backward through the black. His weapon trails across the bright fires behind them. It rockets into the surging orange, sending two convicts crumpling to the ground. Dozens more glare back. Evil looks out at him from the abyss, hungering. Aching.

  The readiness in Devin’s eyes is enough to keep their thirst at bay.

  Hesitantly, the orange drifts down the street.

  The glow of chaos gradually dims as Devin and his group pass several more blocks. They sink into another alley heading east.

  * * *

  Bitter rains pound down. Seattle’s streets reflect images of devastation and despair up to the heavens. But no angels take flight to save them. Only more tears rain out, strengthening the approaching storm of men.

  Weaving along Spring Street, Chris’s eyes widen. The dark shape of the freeway is just below. “Finally,” he says. His legs move faster towards the thankful sight.

  Once they emerge from the alley shadows, his feet suddenly skid to a stop. The curving on-ramps and overpass supports lay cracked and crumpled upon the Interstate’s base twenty feet below.

  “Damn it!” Isabel shouts. The pregnant flight attendant pulls Terra closer to her. Both of their bodies steam and shiver in the downpour.

  A broken web of civilization’s intersections looks back at them. “Figures,” Devin mutters. A sea of tinfoil cars sit crushed underneath the massive chunks of concrete, their drivers still entombed.

  The fireman turns, shielding his eyes. “I think there’s a light up ahead in that building.” Devin squints to the south. A faint glow emanates from a warehouse two blocks away. The building is surrounded by five and six-story structures, still untouched by the fires of anarchy behind them. “We need to get out of this bloody rain.”

  The vertical sheets of metal that surround the building’s double-doors look rusty and worn, even from this distance. Chris’s jaw tightens. He feels an arm slide around his waist, pulling him tight. The basketball star smiles. The lavender scent of Terra’s black hair cascading over his shoulder is intoxicating. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, looking down into her worried eyes.

  Caution knots inside Isabel’s stomach. She speeds up to put some distance between her and the two teenagers. “You sure we want to go in there?” Isabel whispers. The single orange glow flickers through the rain, beckoning like a dangled lure in the darkness. “People haven’t exactly been too welcoming lately.”

  “Whoever it is has fire and shelter,” Devin says. He wipes the rain from his face. The torrent continues unabated, shimmering in the reflected firelight of the warehouse. “Right now, that�
�s looking pretty blooming good, love.”

  The Brit raises the shotgun barrel up to his shoulder. A charismatic grin flashes across his face. “We’ll be careful.” He turns back to Chris and Terra, walking arm in arm just behind them. “Come on, now. Let’s go say hello to the neighbors.”

  Chapter 29

  Dave Jenkins blinks back the sand-papery dust stinging at the edges of his eyes. His hands steer north in silence. Uncomfortable small talk with the passenger sitting next to him ceased hours ago. Neither man has been in the mood for conversation driving through the crumbled remains of their city.

  The truck moves slowly into the black, over piles of wreckage covering downtown. Dim arcs from their headlights barely illuminate the devastation. Its realm stretches far beyond, disappearing into the grip of nothingness.

  A sole news van, all that remains of the intimidating KOMO fleet, follows closely behind their sat truck. The shock springs groan out, its tires rising and falling over the broken concrete. Neal Adams, the station’s 54-year-old career photographer, sits with his legs dangling out of the open sliding door. His shouldered camera shoots out across the haze.

  “The destruction is everywhere,” Kevin Green records into his stick mic. “We’ve been driving for hours and have yet to find any signs of life. Words simply can’t describe the level of damage we’re seeing traveling north over the ruins of Seattle.”

  Flames continue to pulse from inside the piles of indistinguishable debris they pass. Fiery pockets of light shine brightly upon the blackened earth. The smell of burning death fills the air. Row after row of twisted building frames are wrapped around one another, intense heat from the detonation fusing their remnants with an indivisible embrace.

  “Oh, my God,” Kevin whispers. “Over there used to be a middle school.” The burnt sign is bent diagonally down. Its metal support posts are melted, lying partially submerged under massive chunks of concrete. “My son…” the reporter’s voice trails off. The thought of all those children lost in one singularly brutal instant slams into him.