Yield

by Johnson, Bryan K.

A swelling choir of fear combines with machine gun fire on both sides. It envelopes them, drowning out all voices like a sonic black hole. The spinning rotors of military helicopters roar overhead. Dirt and dust whip all around them, thundering toward the rear of the camp. The deafening noise almost pulses in the air. Every sound shoots down to the bone.

  “Medic to the north gate!” the other soldier barks into his handset. More bodies push him aside as refugees now run unimpeded through the entrance. “Critical injury. N.Y.D. Medic to the north gate. Now! Over.”

  Minutes tick by. Devin looks around, feeling Isabel’s body stop shaking in his arms. “Where the bloody hell is he?”

  “They’re on the way, sir.”

  A wiry soldier wearing a white and red cross on his sleeve over the green fatigues finally arrives at the gate. The man is sweating profusely as he kneels beside Isabel. He takes her wrist and times the unsteady beats.

  “She went down and hasn’t regained consciousness,” Devin yells with a cracking voice. “There were people all around, just running over her. I couldn’t…”

  “Quiet!” the medic shouts. He jumps to his feet and leans over to check Isabel’s breathing. The soldier looks up in alarm when he hears none.

  “What…” Devin trails off. His words are silenced by the look on the man’s face.

  The medic spins back to the other soldier, pulling his face close. “She’s not breathing,” he hisses, pointing to the camp’s rear. “We have to get her back to the medical station. Now! Clear a path!”

  The wiry man turns to Devin, his arms out for Isabel’s limp body.

  “Not on your blooming life, mate,” the fireman growls. His eyes flicker dangerously. “Just lead the way.”

  The medic takes a step back from the intimidating man. Nodding, he puts his arm behind Devin and escorts him forward into the mob. The soldier sets off ahead of them, barking and pushing at the people still blocking their path. “Move! Out of the way!”

  The sun dips below the horizon in their eyes, illuminating the camp in a fiery haze.

  Chapter 39

  The smell of death lingers in the air. Its stench fills the lungs with a sickly linger, clutching to everything and everyone. The rancid odor steams out from the jumbled piles of structures thrown all around. Human remains are trapped somewhere within, their anonymous graves never to be known or honored.

  A solitary vehicle rumbles over the ruinous earth. Jonathon sits in the passenger seat, silent just as he’s been for hours. He stares out at the blackened scenery moving past his empty life. Jon’s eyes are bloodshot, desiccated. They look out the glass with contempt.

  Sleeping most of the day after the horrible nightmare of last night, the survivors started out shortly before sunset. They’ve headed steadily northward out of the remains that were once their home.

  Dave has glanced over occasionally throughout the drive, hoping for some sort of reaction to his questions—some response to the loss of their friends…

  The loss of Jean.

  But KOMO’s creative director just sits, his face stripped of all emotion.

  Jonathon stares out into the dark. He isn’t interested in freeing the burdens of his mind or talking about pains that are far too fresh. None of that is going to help them. They’ll all still be dead, and he’ll still be sitting right here. Alone and empty.

  The whimpered sounds of those sitting in the cramped box cabin ebb and flow behind them. Their sorrow is scarcely audible, yet it comes in waves as regular as the waters washing over an eroding beach. Grains of sand are lost at first, too small to be recognized or appreciated for all that they are. But as the clumps of rock closest to us are pulled away, the rest begins to crumble and fall. The world caves in upon itself, leaving behind a barren hole that cannot be ignored anymore.

  “You okay?” Dave risks again. The silence makes him more uncomfortable with every mile that passes.

  Jonathon jumps, having forgotten that there were others here. “What do you think?”

  Dave looks over at the once stoic and inspiring man. He’s now hunched over in his seat, withering into the darkness. “I’m sorry, Jon.”

  “Yeah, well…” Jonathon trails off. His temper begins to flicker below the forced conversation.

  “I know you cared about her,” Dave says. He pauses, nervously running a hand through the thickening stubble along his jawline. “If you need to talk…”

  “Don’t.” Jonathon’s voice pierces through clenched teeth.

  “Jean was…”

  “What?!” Jon booms. He slams his fist into the dashboard. The blow sounds like a gunshot echoing inside the truck. “You don’t get to talk about her! Now shut up and drive the goddamn truck!”

  Hushed voices behind him cry out. Fresh tears run down their dirt-streaked faces. The glow of eyes cowers back. They are filled with uncertainty. Fear.

  “Excuse me?!” Dave shouts. “I lost her, too…”

  “That’s enough,” a voice interrupts from inside the truck cab. Neal scoots forward, positioning himself between their two seats. He glares at both men. “We don’t need this right now.” The photographer rubs the bushy gray hair at his temples, trying to stop the migraine that’s been growing all evening.

  The cracking sound of stone under the sat truck’s tires is like the breaking of lives in the dark.

  An orange glow emerges in the distance. It’s flanked on either side by burnt-out buildings. Dark scars cover their brick and metal faces, pulling the structures with them into the abyss.

  Jonathon adjusts his glasses, watching the approaching firelight through a split lens. The fractured image somehow looks both welcoming and worrisome.

  “What’s that?” Dave asks. He squints, trying to focus through the ash-covered windshield.

  Neal powers his XDCam up and settles it into its usual home atop his shoulder. The photog switches to telephoto, adjusting focus on the first survivors they’ve seen. “Looks like some burning cars and transients trying to keep warm,” he says. Neal drifts up to the darkened faces standing by the fire. The light silhouettes them in the viewfinder, obscuring all detail except for the shapes of their bodies.

  “Jon?” Dave asks, more out of courtesy than respect.

  The rising buildings create a long and enclosed gauntlet along the street ahead. The alley mouths between them look like they’re blocked with piles of debris. A single row of burning cars in the middle of the road flashes brightly in the dark. Silhouettes standing closest to them look back at the two approaching headlights with growing interest.

  “Keep going. There’s room,” Jonathon says. He points at the small space to the right of the flaming vehicles.

  “This doesn’t feel right,” Dave says. His stomach knots as he looks down the narrow spaces on either side of the burning divider. The tapered paths lead up onto the sidewalks, just feet from the broken storefront windows. There’s no room to turn, no room to escape if they have to.

  “We have to get through,” Jonathon growls. “Can you do it or not?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Then drive!” Jon yells. “Jesus.”

  “Jonathon,” Neal says. Doubts suddenly begin to churn inside the photographer, unsure now if the rage-filled man—KOMO’s only living manager—is still capable of leading his people.

  “No!” Dave snaps. The young engineer throws the transmission into park, his hands shaking. “Just because they died doesn’t mean we have to, Jon. Maybe that’s what you’d like, but I’m not going to let you kill us, too.” Dave’s eyes go wide, wishing he could take the words back even as they lash from his lips.

  The broad-shouldered man beside him wrenches over. Their faces scream through his mind. Their accusing eyes stare back at him, unblinking and still. I killed them all…

  “Jon, I…” Dave tries to apologize.

  “Guys!” Neal yells. The faces by the fire have shifted several feet closer to the light. Their foreign features and military uniforms are haloed in red. Neal�
�s blood freezes.

  Dave slams the transmission arm into reverse and guns the engine.

  An explosion rips through the abandoned vehicles in his rearview mirror. Fireballs shoot across the ground just feet behind. Red and orange claws rip through the air toward the KOMO news rig, leaping, like enraged dragons, through the black.

  Chapter 40

  A stack of crisply folded sheets falls to the medical station’s dirt floor. The fabric billows, recoiling back from some unseen blow. Even before the disinfected white hits the ground, Isabel’s body is up on the examination table’s cold aluminum surface.

  The fireman’s arms drop to his side. His heart clenches. Isabel’s face is now almost completely absent of color.

  Her life is fading right in front of him.

  “Somebody, get me the AED and a ventilating bag!” the medic shouts. He pushes Devin away and begins chest compressions.

  The soldier’s words scream in Devin’s mind. They pull him back from the fear that threatens to paralyze him, back from the crippling guilt. His eyes dart around the aid tent, snapping back into the world of first response.

  The only other medical personnel inside is a nurse far too young to hold fate in her hands. Devin watches on as she fumbles with the cables of a portable EKG unit. They’re going to kill her…

  “AED?” Devin shouts, rummaging around the storage cabinets closest to him. “That’s defib, right?”

  “Yeah,” the medic snaps. He shoots Devin a skeptical glance. “You trained?”

  “Fire rescue EMT.” Devin looks through several dark rectangular cases before pulling out a laptop-sized device. He sets the defibrillator down onto a rolling cart next to the medic.

  The fireman snatches a rubber face mask off a nearby shelf. Gently, he lays the clear plastic mask over Isabel’s nose and mouth. “Ready,” Devin screams, glancing impatiently at the doctor.

  “In time with me,” the medic orders. “Every third. Got it?”

  “Got it.” Devin squeezes the bag in rhythm with the soldier’s steady movements.

  “Where’s my EKG?” the medic yells. “I need both vitals!” The doctor pushes on Isabel’s cracked ribcage, trying to keep her blood pumping.

  His nurse jabs the sensors onto the pregnant patient’s chest and stomach. “Online now,” she says, her words coming out in a frantic rush. She flips on the LCD screen and sets it to dual mode. The nurse hooks the final EKG cables to the back and looks up at the two sets of lines drawing on-screen.

  Devin squeezes the ventilating bag again, relief rushing out of him. Both mother’s and baby’s beats are spiking on the heart monitor.

  The top line on the monitor beeps several more times, much slower and more out of rhythm than the bottom. Suddenly the spikes start to slow.

  Sharp peaks are traced by longer flat areas separating the heart’s normal activity. Just to the left of the etching black signs of life, a single red warning light begins to flash. The alarm’s squeal shoots down Devin’s back.

  All eyes are pulled to the monitor. Its sound seems to freeze time itself, surrounding them in this terminal moment.

  The medic immediately stops chest compressions and begins flipping switches on the defibrillator box.

  “Get that bloody thing on!” Devin shouts. The fireman pushes again on the ventilator bag. Dread carves his face.

  “Come on!” the medic says, hearing the device slowly whir up as it charges. He looks back at the motionless mother and the unborn innocence fading inside her.

  Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep………………………

  “Izz!” Devin yells. The tone almost buckles his knees.

  “Shit! Where’s the atropine?!” the medic screams. He drops the defib paddles and begins pushing on Isabel’s chest again.

  The nurse hands him a syringe filled with a light amber liquid. Her hands are shaking so much she nearly drops it.

  Without a moment’s pause, the medic slams the needle into Isabel’s heart, driving the critical stimulant deep into her arteries and heart tissue.

  “Jesus!” Devin shouts as the four-inch needle disappears into his friend’s left breast. Trembling, his hands squeeze the ventilator grip.

  A bleep from the EKG sounds beside them, soon followed by several of Isabel’s heartbeats close together. The medic compresses her chest, eying the monitor with satisfaction. The heart is beating in normal rhythm again. “There we go,” he sighs. “You can do it.”

  Like a sprinter fading in the final leg of a marathon, the notes at the top of the EKG begin to drift apart and slow.

  “Clear!” the medic barks. He snatches the defibrillator paddles.

  Beep……………..Beep……………………………….

  All hands pull away as electrical voltage courses through Isabel’s arching body. Her eyelids shudder. Pain jumps her brown-speckled eyes awake.

  “Devin,” she mumbles, weakly looking around.

  “Hey, love.” An exhausted smile spreads across the fireman’s face. “You had us worried for a second there.”

  “The baby…” she whispers. Isabel tries to blink away the growing blur in her eyes. The world is soft, frayed at the edges…

  The beeping sound of the EKG chimes in rhythm once more.

  * * *

  Flickering images swirl through Isabel’s mind like specks of dust sparkling in the sunlight. She sees herself smiling in a dewy meadow, pushing her beautiful daughter on an old rope swing. Overwhelming happiness pours over her when she sees the little girl smile. Dark braids tightly wind into a bun at the back of her daughter’s neck, just the way Isabel’s mother used to braid hers.

  The images drift by, faster and faster. Isabel tries to cling to them, but the fragments slip like sand through her fingers.

  She shields her eyes. The setting sun catches in the silver crucifix around her neck. Isabel smiles, seeing herself walking hand in hand with her children along the bank of a river. There’s an untempered joy on every face. They run and smile back at her, uncertain why her smile saddens each time their hands part…

  * * *

  The beat of Isabel’s fiercely loving heart slows, taking with it the future that will never be.

  Beep…..Beep…………….Beep……………………

  “Baby…” she tries to whisper again. Her eyes drift up to Devin’s face. “Save the baby……”

  Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep…………………….

  “Clear!!”

  The medic fires another jolt of electricity through Isabel’s body. Doubt shoots through him when the sounds of life fade even more quickly than before.

  “Isabel!!” Devin shouts.

  The medic drops both paddles and restarts chest compressions. “Squeeze it!” he yells, pointing at the ventilating bag.

  Anguish covers the fireman’s face. The EKG’s singular note gets louder, shattering through any hope that remains.

  Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep……………………..

  “Save the baby,” the fireman mutters. His words come out in a gruff whisper.

  Devin looks over at the medic continuing to push on Isabel’s crushed chest.

  Tears jump to the medic’s eyes. They ripple and fall unchecked. Still his body surges, refusing to let this woman die.

  “Save the baby!” Devin says louder. He lifts the oxygen bag away from Isabel’s face and reaches for the medic’s arms.

  The soldier glares back. He pushes Devin’s hands away and continues compressions.

  “She’s gone!” Devin yells. He grabs the man’s thin shoulders and pins them to his sides. The fireman’s own words twist inside him.

  The medic looks back for a long moment. His eyes suddenly widen, shifting priorities back to the life still in danger.

  “Crash C!” the medic shouts. He pushes out of Devin’s weakening grasp and turns to his nurse. “Get a scalpel and retractor ready, now!”

  Devin’s legs finally give, sending the fireman crumbling to the floor.

  He looks
at Isabel’s pretty face. The gentle lines around her smile, the crease above her frequently-raised eyebrow from those loving lectures she was always so quick to give…

  His heart feels like a hollowed shell.

  The monotone cry of the EKG echoes around the camp. Night darkens, its clutching shadows enveloping all light.

  Chapter 41

  Fire glows on all sides. The flames scatter like liquid, blooming across a thirsty ground.

  Dave jumps on the brakes. He skids into the burning vehicle behind them before the sat truck’s tires change course. Heated rubber slips and sticks. It grabs the rough asphalt and shoots them forward.

  “Get us out of here!” Neal yells. The light above his bouncing camera lens is blood red. “They’re coming!”

  The front wheels propel them closer to rows of flaming wreckage fifty yards beyond the glass. Crackling firelight reveals dozens of stone-faced men racing toward them. They’re all dressed in dull green jackets striped with red along the shoulders. Polished black rifle barrels catch the fire’s glow even as they take aim.

  “Over there,” Jonathon barks. He points to a small alley mouth to their left. Jon turns to the other passengers, his deep voice booming. “Get down!”

  North Korean bullets slam into the side of the KOMO sat truck. The empty metal gasps as its ripped apart. Flickering orange light shoots into the truck cabin just behind the jagged holes. It illuminates the survivors’ terror, crouched upon the floorboards.

  The truck smashes through a loose barricade of garbage pushed into the alley. Gunfire sweeps across the rolling rear door. Projectiles scream past metal and flesh. Their high-pitched sound squeals inside the cabin, bullet after deadly bullet flashing through the air.

  “Hold on!” Dave shouts. He yanks the wheel hard to the right. The truck tips into the sharp turn, its tires pulling off the pavement before the engineer can steer it into the slide. Screams from his passengers ring out just as the truck reaches equilibrium.