Yield

by Johnson, Bryan K.

  Terra tightens her grip on Chris’s waist. Her terrified eyes refuse to let him go.

  “I’ll be okay,” he says, prying himself loose.

  She pleads silently up at him. But the couple’s screams echo back across the wasteland, freezing her blood. “Be careful,” she whispers.

  Chris turns and in an instant his long legs catch and stride past Devin, picking up more speed as they blur. Squinting, the athlete tips his head forward to keep the burning drops from hitting his face. They splash and tingle on the top of his scalp, deepening into a throbbing pain.

  He moves through wall after wall of toxic water. Finally, Chris’s basketball shoes skid to a stop. His hand shoots out and pulls the woman quickly to her feet, but she buckles again under the pain.

  In a single motion, the fireman slides and hoists her up onto his shoulder. “Come on, love,” the redhead grunts. He pushes off, jumping back into a full sprint with surprising grace.

  Just behind them, Chris pulls the man into a frenzied scramble back across the void.

  The drops continue down relentlessly. They coat the top of the basketball player’s head with liquid fire. He wipes at it, wincing as the pain shoots across his scalp.

  The uneven roadway feels like a treadmill moving backwards with every rough step. Foot by foot, their safety approaches, wavering in the distance.

  The burning is almost unbearable, every raindrop biting and burrowing into the skin.

  Chris and Devin both crumble under the overpass. Their bodies steam inside the shadows.

  “Here!” Isabel shouts. She tosses a bottle of water to Terra, pointing down at Chris. The pregnant flight attendant quickly cracks open another and pours it onto Devin’s face, trying to wash the acid off his skin.

  The water feels like glacial ice, instantly quieting the flames.

  “Bloody hell,” Devin gasps, “That was a bad idea.” His jaw clenches in pain. The frigid sensation all over his face turns into a dull ache. He touches gingerly at his forehead, testing the extent of his burns.

  “Thank you,” the woman he rescued says. Gratitude streams down her face.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Just a sprained ankle, I think.” She rubs at the side of her right foot.

  “Let me see,” Jacob says. He takes the woman’s pink hands and pours water over them. Faint white spots show through her skin, the blisters slowly rising to the surface. “Those are going to hurt a bit, miss.”

  “I’ll be okay,” the brunette says, turning back to her husband.

  Devin claps Chris on the shoulder. “You are blooming fast, mate. Awfully glad you’re on our side.”

  “Just don’t piss me off again,” Chris smiles, “or you’ll never even see me coming.”

  “You guys okay?” Jacob asks. There’s a note of respect in his gravelly voice.

  “Just peachy,” Devin says. He looks down at the birth of blisters on his own hands. “We’ve got a bit of history together, Chris and I. Not all whiskey and giggles. But we’re getting through it. Aren’t we, mate?”

  “Peachy,” Chris echoes.

  Terra kneels next to him, lifting his hands into her much smaller palms. She looks them over carefully.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Chris says. “I’ll live.”

  Her sapphire eyes find his. A look of admiration warms her pale face. Without a word, she runs a dampened cloth over the top of his head. Chris closes his eyes. The rag feels like a breeze whistling across a hot summer meadow. “Thank you.”

  “So, do you always act before thinking?” Jacob asks the fireman.

  “I told you,” Devin winks. “Old habits are a tad hard to get away from.”

  “Won’t be much good to your family if you go and get yourself killed,” Jacob says. He stands at attention over the two men, like a drill sergeant giving lessons to his platoon. “Like you said, you’ve gotta pick your battles, son.”

  “This from the guy concerned I was being rude to the ladies in my company?” Devin asks. “I don’t get you, mate. Leaving those two out to cook wouldn’t have been very polite either.”

  “It’s not about manners, Devin,” Jacob says. He drops to a knee in front of them. The general’s steely blue eyes settle on the firefighter. “I knew a lot of brave young soldiers who thought they knew the right thing to do, too. Heroism trumps planning for guys like that every time. They rush into situations first because they’re always compelled to help. Didn’t matter who or what. They were never afraid of the consequences.”

  The general’s eyes drift back out to the rain pounding over the faded roadway. Crimson paint from the fire truck streaks down towards them, creating murderous rivers that glisten in the light. “I attended a lot of their funerals over the years, too.” He looks hard at both men. Jacob’s face is etched with the scars of every battle he’s endured. “Sooner or later, you won’t be able to save them all.”

  Chapter 38

  Seattle’s toxic rains ease into submission, their barbed fury retreating under a steady wind. Clouds cut across the landscape. They pulse southward, searching. Devouring. The water’s bite is savage, eating into everything along its path. A trail of venom erodes both vegetation and structure. Lightning flickers inside the burnt orange that blankets the horizon. Glowing sparks shoot down as Armageddon’s wrath moves on undeterred.

  Cautiously, the fireman leads the others out onto the decaying freeway. Vehicles on both sides are streaked down to the steel. Rust grows quickly along their bodies, the pockmarked metal breathing deeply at the fallen sky.

  Devin’s eyes dart up, looking around for new storms. But the clouds of copper and red have all continued on their own exodus away from the dead city.

  “I think we’re through the worst of it,” Jacob says. His granddaughter is up on his shoulders again, chewing happily on a granola bar.

  “Sure hope so, mate,” Devin says. He tries to smile, but the tightening skin along his forehead thinks differently. The fireman’s eyes keep drifting nervously upward. Clouds stretch angrily across the horizon.

  “The prevailing winds are at our back now,” Jacob reassures. “Those will catch a lot of the particles and scatter them up across the atmosphere. They’re hottest here but should dissipate some the farther the winds take ‘em.”

  “Should?”

  Jacob’s face stiffens. The forced hope in his eyes fades to a growing certainty of what is to come. “Plutonium is real nasty stuff, Devin. It’s deadly for miles out in all directions.”

  “Lovely.”

  Between chunks of asphalt and abandoned vehicles, Terra notices a flock of ravens up ahead. Her eyes brighten. It’s the first sign of animal life they’ve seen outside the city. The black of their feathers almost blots out the colorless pavement. As they get closer, Terra’s graceful stride skids to a stop.

  Thousands of the dead birds lay scattered all along the roadway. Huge clumps of feathers are completely singed from their bodies. She shudders.

  The birds are still steaming.

  Chris moves quickly around her, using his body to shield the view. “No need for that, now. Let’s go see how Izz is doing.” The basketball star quickens their pace.

  “Don’t,” Isabel snaps.

  “What? I didn’t even say…” Chris starts.

  “You didn’t have to,” the pregnant woman interrupts. Isabel holds the sides of her stomach up to help ease the throbbing pain in her lower back. “Looking like this, I’m asked a thousand times every damn day. How are you holding up? How’s the baby?” She looks over at him, her left eyebrow shooting up. “I’m speed walking in my third trimester, Chris. My back hurts like hell, my feet are swollen, and I’m pretty dang pissed off about it. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Chris says in his most soothing voice. He looks back at Terra with wide eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t see how Izz is doing.”

  “I’m pregnant,” Isabel chides. “Not a status update.”

  Terra lets go of Chris’s waist and puts her hand g
ently up to Isabel’s shoulder. “Can I help?” her soft voice whispers.

  Surprised, Isabel looks back at the normally silent teen.

  Terra’s hand peeks out from the rolled-up white sleeves of Chris’s letterman jacket, her fingers outstretched. She lifts the bag strap up and over Isabel’s shoulder with surprising strength. The teen puts it over her own without a word, settling the weight behind her.

  “Girl, if I could reach you over the top of this beach ball,” Isabel says, rubbing at where the thin strap had been digging into her skin, “you’d have to fight off some serious huggin’.” She sighs, grateful for the twenty pounds she just shed. “Don’t suppose you can do anything about this one?” Isabel runs a hand over her enlarged belly. “I love kids, but this oven is so done, honey. No más. My husband’s Chiquita banana can find a new damn pastime!”

  The teen slowly smiles back.

  “Can I get that?” Chris points. His own chivalry is suddenly gnawing at him.

  “I’m fine,” Terra says, clutching the bag strap. A growing strength flashes in her eyes.

  More and more survivors join them, continuing south down the freeway. Hours drift on. Time itself seems to slow while the rhythmic march of tired feet ticks away. The procession of the walking hopeless grows. Bodies seem to double and triple at intervals while teeming over the fractured landscape.

  Fiery clouds still fill the sky, blocking out all blue from above. They haven’t seen that color in days. It’s as if the world itself will never again feel the uncorrupted touch of the sun’s gleaming kiss or taste the cool cut of winter pushing under a cloudless day. Instead, the wind rustles out of a darkened sky through the groves of browning trees they pass. It creates a steady noise, harsh and uninviting. The leaves wither and fall, billowing unseasonably all around them.

  Jacob cocks his head. A familiar sound echoes in the distance.

  “What?” Devin asks.

  “Maybe nothing,” Jacob says. He looks unsure. His eyes scan the sides of the mob, looking for gaps.

  Sierra’s feet shuffle tiredly alongside him. She glances up. Her grandfather’s grip continues to tighten around her hand.

  A buzz soon begins to ripple across the crowd. Murmured words spread like wildfire. The unintelligible excitement grows, gasping like life itself.

  “What’s going on?” Devin asks, tapping the woman’s shoulder in front of him.

  “Sounds like there’s a camp being set up for refugees ahead.” Renewed energy fills her face.

  “‘Bout bloody time!” Devin says. He cranes his head to the side, trying to peer around the sea of bodies. Pointed shapes are faintly visible in the distance. They’re surrounded by the sparkle of something metal. “I was beginning to think we’d be walking the whole blooming way to Portland.”

  Feeling an iron grip on his bicep, Devin turns.

  The general looks intently at the sky. One of his ears is turned upward, trying to hear above the growing choir of voices all around them.

  “Jacob?” Devin asks. His stomach sinks as he looks into the old man’s eyes.

  The scream of jet engines suddenly roars overhead. The sharp sound seems to come from every direction. Echoes bounce, again and again, back from the horizons. The engines’ cry fades away behind the clouds.

  The crowd jumps when the sound waves slam into them. Slowly at first, a halfhearted cheer erupts to welcome the unseen reinforcements.

  “Thought the cavalry forgot about us,” Devin says, smiling back at Jacob.

  The general’s eyes are sharpened steel. “That’s not our cavalry.”

  Explosions flash from behind them, blasting pieces of the defenseless crowds apart. Chunks of concrete are thrown into the sky. They land with crushing force down onto the packed rows of people just below.

  Chris and Terra are shoved forward into the others as survivors begin pushing desperately for their lives. All around them, the crowd begins to run as one for the camp gates. The weak and infirm are thrown violently to the ground, their cringing bodies trampled without a second’s pause. The embattled trek soon becomes a stampede of the savage and terrified.

  “Stop!” Devin screams. But more bodies continue to force their way through. “Get to the side!” he shouts to Chris and Terra. The fireman snatches Isabel’s left hand, pulling her toward the side of the freeway and a small pocket of space beyond. Isabel clutches her pregnant stomach protectively with the other hand. She winces in pain as limbs slam into her over and over again.

  “Get away from her!” a deep voice booms from the center of the freeway.

  Devin turns toward the authoritative growl, knowing it’s Jacob’s, even in the chaos. The general’s chiseled shoulders push and shove against the horde. He throws their bodies aside only to be replaced by dozens more. His head whips around, looking frantically for his granddaughter. The crowd quickly overtakes them just as Jacob lifts Sierra up into his arms. It swallows them both like a swarm of locusts.

  “Jacob!” Devin shouts. Bodies crash into him from every side, spinning the fireman around. Disoriented, he glances about. His eyes shoot around for the others, but only strange and terrified faces push by. “Chris! Terra!!”

  THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD!

  50-caliber machine gun blasts echo in the waning light. Their muzzles spark at the edges of the refugee camp, trailing the skies for enemy attackers.

  THUD-THUD…BOOM!!

  More explosions rip through the scurrying mass of people, detonating new terror into the footrace.

  Get her out of here, a steadying voice rings in Devin’s ears. The fireman’s trained impulses cut through his confusion like an ax. You can’t save the others… The words calm his mind even as his body screams out for his friends. Almost on their own the instincts engage, driving him forward to protect the two lives still beside him. He can’t risk Izz and her baby. He can’t risk everything just to look for what already may be lost…

  They have to move. The seething mob will run them down if they don’t. The smell of their sweat already sours the air as more bodies shove and slam against them.

  “Come on!” Devin yells, pulling Isabel out into the madness moving past. Elbows and shoulders hammer into them. People are everywhere, pulling—clawing at one another for their right to exist.

  The tightly-packed herd pulses across the ground. Their labored motion blurs over the bodies of those not so fortunate. A wavering oasis inches closer and closer. We’re going to make it…

  The fence line sparkles in the setting sun. The camp gates are only a quarter-mile away now, and closing fast.

  “Devin!!” Isabel shrieks. She stumbles, going down as the clustering feet step on her own.

  The eyes of those in flight are filled with selfishness and a primal savagery vacant of any restraint. Justification hardens their faces. The uncaring mass thrusts against them, forcing its way down the eastern edge of the freeway.

  The stampede rips Devin’s and Isabel’s hands apart.

  Survival surges forward again, moving viciously over the pregnant woman.

  “No! Isabel!!” the fireman screams. He pushes against the crowd, trying to fight his way back to her. “Damn it, move!” he pleads. But a new freight train of bodies smashes into him. Pushing with all of his strength, Devin’s shaking body is forced back. Step by step, he’s shoved farther away from Isabel’s outstretched hand. “Isabel!” he bellows, helplessness cracking in his voice.

  Through the chaos, he sees Isabel curl protectively to save the baby inside her. She cringes in pain. The woman’s crippled body disappears again as another faceless legion swallows her.

  BOOM!

  A shotgun blasts into the air, finally parting humanity’s indifference. They scatter from the weapon like cockroaches blinded by light.

  The fireman leaps toward Isabel, shooting the gun overhead again to drive back the approaching tide. “I’m here, Izz,” he shouts, glancing down to assess her injuries. Devin doubles over, his stomach aching as if he’d fired the shotgu
n into himself.

  Isabel’s pupils are fully dilated, her eyelids fluttering. The pregnant woman’s body twitches on the ground. Devin stuffs the shotgun muzzle back into his bag and puts two shaky fingers to Isabel’s neck. Her weak pulse throbs slowly under the skin, her breathing irregular and ragged. My God…

  Devin slides his hands carefully under her neck and lower back. He easily lifts Isabel up into his arms. The fireman’s emerald eyes dart around, searching frantically for any sign of aid. “Help us! Please…” he yells. But the mob just continues on without concern, pushing past even while he begs.

  Rage finally drives him forward. Devin cushions Isabel’s limp body, forcing his legs to move faster than the burning muscles will allow. He kicks and staggers toward the camp gates. Please, no. Not her…

  Tears of failure mix with the fear in his eyes. Her paling face is almost pure white now.

  * * *

  Two soldiers, rifles at the ready, man the gate at the camp’s razor-wire fence line. “Slow down!” they shout to an oblivious horde. Their eyes are still locked on the skies, searching for traces of foreign fire.

  THUD-THUD-THUD…THUD-THUD-THUD…

  The constant booming of anti-aircraft guns at the periphery of the camp creates a steady rhythm in the soldiers’ ears. It drowns out their own words even as they shout them. Gratitude and terror lurch past as more and more people push into Seattle’s bustling refugee camp.

  One of the soldiers quickly shoulders his weapon. Impulsively, he moves into the crowd, spotting an injured woman being carried toward them in the distance. His eyes go wide.

  The limp body is pregnant.

  He rushes to them, gently brushing the Hispanic woman’s hair back from her pretty face.

  “She’s unconscious,” the redhead carrying her shouts. “Maybe head trauma.”

  The soldier turns and screams behind him to the other guard. “Radio back to the aid station. I need a medic. Now!” There’s an urgency in the man’s voice that slices right through the chaos.