Yield

by Johnson, Bryan K.

  Bodies around the rusted Seattle warehouse slowly come to life. Their motivation seeps out almost as quickly when they realize their nightmares have not ceased with the new day.

  The haggard commune watches one of the newcomers’ rustling movements growing louder beside them. Their annoyance stares back through the crackling flames.

  Devin stuffs the torn navy suit-jacket he used as a pillow back into his bag. “You heard the news report,” Devin growls. “We’ve got to get the blooming hell out of here and book on. No one knows where these bastards are going to hit next.”

  “I know,” Isabel yawns. “But not all of us are morning people, Devin. It takes some of us just a bit longer to rejoin the human race. Shouldn’t we wait until it warms up anyway?” The pregnant woman pulls a purple Huskies blanket over her and Terra’s shoulders like a shawl. “We did have a late night, you know.”

  “So sorry to inconvenience you, love,” he says. His normally cheerful accent is thick with sarcasm this morning. He picks up the black bag and slings it across his body, adjusting the gun barrels to run diagonally along his back.

  The fireman sighs. He tries to summon the patience forged over his many years of saving strangers. “I could have just ducked out and let you all sleep in, Izz, but I didn’t. I can get you all down south to Portland, or to whatever help there is along the way…” his voice trails off. If Portland’s still there by then… Devin’s green eyes flicker. “If you’re coming, I’m leaving now. Simple as that,” he snaps. “I have a wife and two children of my own who need me every bit as much as you do.”

  Isabel glares back at him. Her own eyes flash with a confrontational reflex as natural to her as blinking. Isabel has never been one to back down from an argument, but there’s a growing dread in Devin’s face that for some reason saddens her. His eyes are wide with it even though his words are sharp with anger.

  “Alright,” she concedes. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot.” Isabel pulls the purple blanket off her shoulders and tucks the rest of it gently around Terra’s body like a cocoon. The pregnant flight attendant rocks her front-heavy body back and forth, trying awkwardly to stand.

  “Not very polite to abandon an expectant mother, son,” a gravelly voice scolds from behind them. The man’s chiseled hand, weathered by years harder than most, reaches down and pulls Isabel easily to her feet.

  Devin turns, irritated at the stranger’s harsh words. A pair of steely blue eyes stare back at him. Something inside them stops Devin’s quick tongue in its tracks.

  “Thank you,” Isabel says in surprise.

  Jacob Leder smiles and tips his head politely. The man’s military crew cut still looks crisp, but his face shows more weariness than the ex-Ranger normally allows. His shoulders are squared back and precise under his button-up jean shirt, like they were sculpted from stone and carved off the edges of his thick neck. His eyes instantly size up the redhead.

  “I wasn’t going to leave her,” Devin blurts, his face growing flushed. “I just…” The fireman tries to shake the same feeling of embarrassment he used to get from his Catholic schoolteachers. Public punishment didn’t work back then either.

  He stands up straight and thrusts his shoulders back. “What business is it of yours anyway, bloke?”

  “It’s not,” Jacob says. His deep voice rumbles even though he tries to speak softly. “I just don’t like seeing ladies mistreated.”

  “Mistreated?!” Devin shouts. “Are you bloody serious? I’ve helped this lot get through hell and back.”

  “Easy, son. Just call ‘em as I see ‘em. I’m not exactly bashful, case you missed that. Just never could keep my mouth shut,” the soldier smiles disarmingly. His eyes are still hard as granite. “Name’s Jacob,” he says, extending a hand. “Brigadier General Jacob Leder. Retired.”

  Devin reluctantly reaches out. He regrets it immediately. Devin winces as the 57-year-old’s grip crushes down harder than guys’ in his firehouse half this man’s age. “Devin,” the fireman says through gritted teeth.

  “Not trying to intrude, son. But I heard you mention Portland,” Jacob says. He glances over his right shoulder. A tawny-haired girl shyly peeks out from behind him. “This little spark plug is my granddaughter, Sierra. I’m trying to get her back to my youngest in Portland. Don’t let the shy act fool you, though. She’s as ferocious as they come.”

  Isabel kneels down in front of the girl, pouting her face in mock seriousness. “Such a look, Sierra. That’s how this one makes me feel, too,” she says, motioning up towards Devin.

  The little girl’s auburn eyes drift up from her tightly-clutched teddy bear to Isabel. Sierra pouts defiantly back. Her eyebrows are forcibly creased into a scowl. Gradually, like a ray of sunshine following the storm, a smile cracks through. It soon spreads across her face.

  “There it is,” Isabel says, her own forgotten smile returning.

  “Figure since you’re heading that direction anyway,” Jacob starts in a softer tone than he’s used to, “maybe you could use a little more company.” The retired soldier hates asking for favors. He’d rather be on the business end of a bazooka in some God-forsaken rainforest.

  Jacob wipes at the annoying grit along his forehead, shifting his weight. The militarily-precise creases and immaculate clothes from his KOMO interview yesterday have been replaced by scuffed-up khakis and a navy jean shirt rolled crisply at the sleeves. His coarse, blue eyes carry with them a maturing weariness, combined with a strained veneer of optimism whenever his granddaughter is around. He pulls her closer.

  “We’ve had all the company we could handle the past few days, mate,” Devin says. His eyes narrow on the stranger.

  “I know the feeling, son,” Jacob presses, “but we’re not that kind of company. If it’s feeding us you’re worried about, I brought more than enough MREs for myself and Sierra.” He pats the bottom of an Army-issued knapsack over his left shoulder.

  “Come on, Devin,” Isabel whispers. She puts a persuasive hand up to the fireman’s tensed forearm. “I don’t think these two are going to ambush us and leave you for dead along the way.”

  “Why do I always get twisted into the villain?” the fireman asks. Frustration shoots through him as the issues of everyone else continue to compound his own. “I know that, love. But the bigger the party, the slower we all go. You two don’t look like the quickest of companions, mate.”

  The grandfatherly sparkle in Jacob’s eyes vanishes instantly. “Son,” he growls, “I was jumping out of planes into jungles you wouldn’t survive a day in well before you were ever conceived. We can handle ourselves. I just thought I’d play nice and give Sierra someone to talk to other than her cranky old granddad.”

  “You may sound all civilized and proper, Devin, but you can really be an ass.” Chris leans back from beside Terra, his hands stretched toward the fire drum.

  “Unbelievable,” Devin mutters. He glances around at all the chilly faces staring so expectantly back at him. Sierra’s big auburn eyes melt through his remaining objections. “Alright,” he sighs, storming off to the warehouse doors. “Let’s get this blooming show on the road then.”

  * * *

  The rain commences anew, washing in waves across the scattered rings of damage below. Layers of billowing, burgundy clouds hang low over the dead city. They obscure the sun and cracked sky just beyond. Deep reds from the morning light paint the landscape, sending the ruins out into a bloody horizon.

  Devin’s group moves quietly into the morning air. Uncertainty and weariness travel with them along the glistening downtown streets. Water running across the asphalt looks crimson under the fiery sky.

  Smoldering car frames rest beside the skeletal aftermath of buildings. Decapitated structures are everywhere, seeming almost commonplace now as Devin leads the others back toward I-5. No other signs of life move around them. Only the wind still breathes, tossing random scraps of scorched paper through the wreckage.

  Chris’s arm rests protectively around
Terra’s shoulders. They walk just behind Devin in the rain. Terra clutches tightly to her guardian, her fingers digging into the side of his Seattle High sweatshirt. The violence of last night still haunts her blue eyes, but somehow the explosive release has also brought with it a glimmer of something new. Something…unexpected.

  It’s as if all of her pent-up emotion and pain roared out with that singular bullet. There’s a fragile peace now on her face, just starting to blossom after the winter’s unforgiving frost.

  Chris glances down at the jet black hair blowing around him. The shadows normally covering the angles of Terra’s face have been pushed back by the ruddy morning light. Her sapphire eyes now seem to sparkle at the edges. The dull haze that covered them yesterday has almost disappeared.

  Feeling his eyes upon her, Terra glances up. Her 6’7” protector looks deep in concentration, trying to gracefully slow his limbs to match her much shorter stride. A timid smile touches the corner of her lips.

  Without warning, she pushes her shoulder into Chris, throwing him off balance. He stumbles a couple of steps before regaining his footing. A grin spreads across his own face after he returns the favor.

  “You two,” Isabel chuckles. She turns from their game back to the fractured landscape. Even in the chaos, a splinter of optimism builds with the new day. An indurate hope, like the life inside her, grows the farther they move from the dead city. Every step feels almost worthy of thanks now, a gift never to be taken for granted again.

  She quickens her pace to join Devin and Jacob ahead of the teens. Sierra is perched happily on her Papa’s shoulders. Her feet kick out rhythmically to some random song in the girl’s head.

  “So, can’t you just call in some air support for us, General?” Isabel asks. “Thought the military took care of its own.”

  “Most times, yes. But you piss off enough brass, and they stop answering your calls,” Jacob laughs. The 57-year-old isn’t even a hint out of breath as he talks, though he’s carrying both his bag and his granddaughter while matching Devin’s aggressive pace. “And it’s Jacob. I’ve been a civilian for a while now.”

  They walk down an undamaged on-ramp almost a mile south of the warehouse, joining the hundreds already gathered on the southbound interstate. Clusters of people from all walks of life walk together to flee the soulless remnants of Seattle.

  “Bet you’re glad to be retired from this mess,” the fireman says. He slows down, looking around at all the tortured faces stumbling along the freeway.

  “Don’t know about that,” Jacob says, his eyes lighting up. “Never been one to shrink from a good fight.”

  “Hopefully just the ones you can win,” Devin says.

  “Most times. But scars can be good teachers, too. You don’t look like you’ve backed down from many either.”

  “I used to run into burning buildings for a living, mate. Not the most brilliant of concepts.”

  “That actually explains a lot,” Jacob laughs.

  “What does?”

  “Why even though you might piss and moan, you helped these folks instead of leaving them back there,” Jacob says. “Knew there was something behind that. I just didn’t know why you were being such a prick to the lady.”

  “You’re quite a direct chap, aren’t you?” Devin shoots the ex-soldier a defensive glance.

  “Like I said.”

  “And for the record, I was not being a prick,” the fireman says. “I just don’t want to wait while the whole blooming world decides to trot along with us.”

  “There are six of us, Devin,” Isabel says. “Six. Why do men always exaggerate?”

  “It helps us tell better stories,” Jacob says. “They get really good the more you tell them, too. Men are allowed a little creative license.”

  “Not in my house,” Isabel says. She lays a hand on top of her large stomach. “I have four other creative licensees at home. Well, five, if you count my husband. He’s just a big dang kid anyway. But everything is such a huge deal with boys. I’ve never understood that.”

  Sierra nods in agreement from atop her granddad’s shoulders.

  “I knew you’d back me up, Sierra. And they say girls are the dramatic ones. Whatever,” Isabel whispers to the five-year-old. “So, how’s the view from up there?”

  Sierra shows the ruinous scene to her teddy bear before giving a reluctant thumbs-up.

  “Good deal. Just keep a look out for a drive-thru,” Isabel adds. She puts her hands on the little feet squirming hard against her belly. “Baby wants a breakfast burrito.”

  “You going to be alright toting that beast around all day, mate?” Devin asks Jacob. “If she’s anything like mine, they’re a whole lot heavier than they look.”

  “I was an Airborne Ranger, son. When you jump out of airplanes, you have to bring every damn thing you’re gonna need with you,” Jacob says. “I’ve gotten pretty used to walking through rough terrain with packs twice her size.”

  “Alright,” Devin says. He looks up at the familiar sight of a teddy-toting child sitting up in what he always called the “captain’s chair.” A hint of jealousy sparkles from his eyes. “If you do need a break,” he adds, “these shoulders have carried more than a few adventurous young hooligans.”

  Isabel glances over at Devin. She smiles as the brash Brit’s softer side finally shows through. “And you didn’t want them to come,” she nudges.

  “Oh, I’ll be fine,” Jacob says. “It’s more the knees I have to worry about these days. Had a few sprains and blowouts over the years on tough landings. Needless to say, I don’t jump out of many airplanes anymore. Waste of a perfectly good aircraft, if you ask me.”

  Chapter 37

  Sunlight arcs through the clouds above. Mile after endless mile creeps under the survivors’ feet.

  Emerging from the ruins, Devin and the others move past more intact signs of civilization farther south. Thousands of bodies pour onto the freeway. The migrating desperate seem to swarm out of whatever holes they found to weather the storm.

  The sun briefly peeks out while they walk. It teases them with warmth before fading back into the strangely colored rain clouds overhead. Their deep burgundy flickers with searing edges of white. Something about them makes the hair on the back of Devin’s neck stand on end.

  Water begins down in sporadic waves. The drops tingle, growing hot when their toxic bite touches skin.

  “Let’s try to quicken our pace some,” Devin says. He lifts his torn navy suit coat over Sierra’s head. A leg from her teddy bear drags behind the little girl along the asphalt. The bear’s arm looks frayed and ragged in her grip. “I don’t think we want to linger out in this weather.”

  “It’s acidic,” Jacob says, flipping the collar of his jean shirt up. There’s a solemnness in his steely blue eyes that’s chilling.

  “The rain?” Chris asks. He wipes the drops quickly off his shaved head.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Jacob says. “Radioactive particles get blown out for miles after a nuclear blast. They get into the water supply, the air, even the clouds and weather systems. It’s what we call an ECE,” he continues. All grandfatherly warmth is gone from his face. “An Environmental Changing Event.”

  “Changed. Like forever?” Chris asks. He looks back at the city he grew up in. Most of the buildings are intact this far south, but they’re uninhabited. The absence of life is eerie. Foreign somehow.

  “Basically,” Jacob says. “It will take hundreds if not thousands of years before this region is able to fully sustain life again.”

  “Will we…” Isabel asks, unable to finish her question.

  “That depends on how much exposure we get,” Jacob says. His gravelly voice drops to a whisper. “Being out in this rain doesn’t help our chances.”

  Steaming drops continue down onto rows and rows of the damned. The caravan of survivors strides on, unaware under a venomous sky. Through sheets of rain, the water dances like a mirage in the desert. The growing heat causes the air itself t
o distort and bend.

  Devin and his group move faster toward the dark shape of an overpass. Rain falls thicker all around them. The drops splash and splatter, sizzling from the tops of cars still stranded on the interstate. A wakening concern on the faces closest to them spreads as the rain now begins to burn with each strike.

  “Ow!” Sierra cries. She pulls her left hand protectively to her chest.

  “Come on!” Devin yells. The fireman scoops the girl up and starts to run. His eyes lock on the sanctuary of the overpass, now less than a hundred yards away.

  Their feet splash in milky puddles. Warm liquid jumps up onto their pants and shoes, instantly beginning to eat away the materials’ color.

  Chris pushes Terra and Isabel forward, driving them faster than their own feet can move. The women almost float above the cracked pavement. His legs churn and force them on, struggling to keep up with Devin and Jacob.

  Chris grimaces. The drops pierce like bee stings, over and over on top of his head and neck.

  The overpass is still sixty feet away. Automotive paint streaks down the side of a fire truck they pass. The acid rain eats through the paint and into the metal itself, creating streams of blood along the ground.

  Fifteen feet. Ten…

  Devin lunges under the safety of the concrete overhang just as the rains become a monsoon.

  The storm dumps its dangerous payload down without remorse onto the vulnerable flesh below. Survivors scattered along the interstate dive for cover. Some break into vehicles; others dart under anything they can find. A desperate few run around in confusion. They scream out below the burning shower, their confused eyes searching helplessly for shelter.

  “Over here!” Jacob booms. He waves his arms to draw the attention of a young couple moving from locked car to locked car. Their exposed hands look bright pink as the rain continues pounding into them. They glance up toward the voice of safety, but the woman suddenly goes down. Her foot twists awkwardly inside a pothole.

  “Chris!” Devin yells. The fireman jumps back out into the blistering downpour.