Yield

by Johnson, Bryan K.

  The teenager begins rummaging through the cupboards. “We’ll be okay, Ty,” she says, feigning cheerfulness for her brother. “Look, we can fix some Top Ramen for breakfast. Dad bought a huge box so he could take some to work. That’ll last us the whole week at least.” Haley tosses the small orange package to her brother. “You like those, right?”

  “You can cook?” Tyler asks, surprised by the sudden helpfulness of his big sister. Uncertainty scowls from his face.

  “I took a term of home ec., thank you very much,” Haley defends. Her eyebrows lower as she imitates one of her mother’s scolding expressions. “Of course, I did it mainly to get my GPA back up, and there was this really hot guy…” Her eyes drift up toward the ceiling. “Anyways, it doesn’t take a genius to boil water.” Haley smirks back at her brother. “Even you could do it.”

  “Thanks,” Tyler smiles. The subtle jokes and affection from his sister this week were hard to get used to at first. After years of condescension and fighting, Tyler had learned to just stay away from her. But not now.

  “Any time,” Haley adds. She winks at him, just like she used to when they were little.

  “Yummy,” Katherine mutters under her breath.

  Haley glares back. She pulls a saucepan out with a clang, filling it with water.

  Katherine looks up at the silent reprimand. The chastisement from her 15-year-old finally breaks through. “I’m sorry, Haley,” she says. Kat walks over to the range and turns it on for her daughter.

  “I know. I’m worried, too. But we can get through this,” Haley says.

  There’s a new maturity in her eyes that amazes Katherine. She pushes a lock of her daughter’s pink-streaked hair back behind her ear.

  “Have you been able to get a hold of Grandma?” Haley asks.

  “Not yet. Everything’s still down: phones, Internet, everything.”

  “They always keep their deep-freeze packed. She could bring some food out from the farm,” Haley says. She pauses, not wanting to risk her mom’s improving mood by asking again. “Or we could go out there.”

  “No!” Katherine shouts. “We need to stay here for your father. If he comes home…” she stops, catching herself. “When. When he comes home. If we’re not here, he might…” Her voice trails off again. She knows in her heart that Devin’s still out there—still on his way back to them. But her mind screams out with so many doubts.

  Tyler turns the television back on, changing the channel from news to cartoons. The 8-year-old can feel when another censored adult moment is on the way. He sits back on the couch, grinning at Batman’s impossible jump across Gotham’s rooftops.

  “It’s been almost a week, Mom,” Haley whispers. She adjusts the boiling pot of water on the stove. Her eyes sting with tears. “And we haven’t heard anything. I mean…”

  “He’s coming, baby,” Kat says. She’s not sure who needs reassurance more. “Your dad is too damn stubborn not to.”

  Haley manages a smile. She cracks the noodles into the boiling liquid. They quickly soften, their strength fading under the water’s assault.

  The teenager looks back at her mom, eyes narrowing. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Katherine turns sharply. She looks behind her to make sure Tyler is still watching the TV. “They aren’t releasing any insulin at the hospitals. Everything’s been redirected.”

  “What? They can’t do that,” Haley says.

  “They already have, Haley. I’ve been to every hospital and pharmacy from here to Salem. There’s nothing left.” Katherine looks back at her son laughing innocently on the couch. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  The rain begins to fall harder outside the kitchen window. Dark storm clouds flash violently overhead.

  Chapter 46

  Seattle’s ruins fade behind the small group walking south along a once-busy interstate. The unforgiving rains started soon after the refugee camp disappeared from view, attacking everything below with its constant message.

  Layers of ripped girders shear through the skyline far behind them. Metal rises into a black sky. They hang over the dead city like industrial grave posts for the forgotten—and a warning for those still to come.

  The fireman’s feet rise and fall with rhythmic urgency. He adjusts the shoulder strap from his black munitions bag, slinging it across his body to better distribute the weight. Devin’s clothes are now completely soaked through but the rain doesn’t burn anymore. His suit grips his body with a clinging chill. Only a handful of other survivors move along the split freeway with him in the storm.

  At restive intervals throughout the day, Jacob has held, carried on his shoulders, or walked beside his granddaughter. The general, although intimidating on the battlefield, has patiently obeyed the little girl’s every whim. The bored 5-year-old now rests behind his neck again, her small feet trying to kick away the rain.

  “Well, you picked a beautiful day to head out,” Jacob growls. He shakes his head, unable to stop the drips from running down his sharp forehead. “Couldn’t have waited for summer?”

  “God knows what the world will look like by then, mate,” Devin says. He runs a hand through his red hair and wipes at the water clinging to the back of his neck.

  “Are you always this optimistic?”

  “For the most part,” Devin says. “The rest of the time I’m a real prick. Life expectancy in my line of work doesn’t really give one much to hope for.”

  “I know the feeling,” Jacob agrees. “You can’t dwell too much on the maybes, though, Devin. Or you’ll start to miss the here and now. I can’t tell you how many times I was worried about that next mission, or some promotion coming around the bend. My wife couldn’t stand it. She used to complain that even when I was there, I really wasn’t.”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  “Well, don’t let it,” Jacob says. He glances sternly over at the fireman. “I know it sounds like a Hallmark card, but life is just too damn short. One day you’re on the TV talking to a whole city about how crazy the world is. The next day, that city doesn’t even exist.”

  Devin turns to the west, seeing something flash in the corner of his eye. The town of Renton pushes up from the flat land just four miles away. Flickers low on the horizon spark in succession. A crackling sound echoes back across the distance, like explosions mixing with thunder.

  The other side of the freeway flows with people heading to the refugee camp. Clutching whatever valuables they can carry, the unthinking herd migrates north along the government-mandated relief course. They join hundreds of thousands of others already on their way to the overflowing oasis.

  “They’re not all going to fit,” Jacob whispers. He shakes his head.

  “They need to go somewhere, mate.”

  “Maybe. But there’s no way in hell that camp can support, clothe and feed that many people.”

  “What are they supposed to do?” Devin asks.

  The general is quiet for a moment. “I don’t know.” His eyes drift over the sea of bodies moving slowly towards the hope of salvation. “There’s no protocol for something like this,” he says. “It gets talked about in some circles. Little plans get made here or there. But a cross-country national disaster has never occurred on American soil. This was a multi-point nuclear attack, Devin. Nothing we could have prepared for would have made a damn bit of difference.”

  Southbound travelers start to disappear the farther Devin and Jacob move from the refugee camp. Those who remain are all bundled tightly against the cold Washington winds.

  Abandoned vehicles are more spread out now. Some are parked gracefully along the roadway. Others violently embrace one another. Hopefuls periodically check the doors and ignitions, eager for the comfort of more efficient transportation, but they all begin walking on again into a storm of familiar disappointment.

  A red sun rises above the interstate. It passes behind dense rain clouds, gradually arcing across the sky. The haze of devastation still hangs low in the atmosphere. E
verything is colored with the same ruddy hue as the past few days.

  “I’m tired, Papa,” Sierra says. Her white Sketchers scuff and slide along the top of the concrete. Her teddy bear’s back leg is almost completely torn off, exposing the soft filling from being dragged for miles behind the 5-year-old.

  “Me too, Sierra,” Jacob says. He rubs at his right knee. The general’s limp has become much more pronounced throughout the day.

  The cramping burn of his own feet finally convinces Devin to stop. He’s pushed them at an unrelenting pace all morning. “Alright then,” he grunts. The fireman sinks down on the side of the freeway. “Let’s catch a bit of lunch then, shall we?” Devin pulls a Power Bar and bottle of Vitamin Water out of his black bag.

  He didn’t realize how thirsty he was. Alcohol or not, right now his mouth is too parched to care.

  Sierra and her grandfather gratefully settle down next to him. Jacob grunts out a sigh. His joints pop sharply all the way to the ground. “I hate getting old,” he groans.

  “At least we get that opportunity, mate,” Devin says. Images start to flash and fade in his mind. He’s fought it more and more frequently over the past few days, but whenever he stops now, whenever the world is quiet, his thoughts drift back to all the faces of the lost.

  Debbie Yun. Abd. Isabel. The fireman tries to shake the feeling of hopelessness that now follows him, wishing their dying eyes didn’t linger every time he closed his.

  Devin looks out to the mass exodus continuing on. Weary legs drag exhaustion towards the promise of a better life. Individuals seem to blur, their very identities lost in the unnamed pulse of the mob.

  “You’re right,” Jacob says grudgingly. The words feel like a foreign language coming out of his mouth. The hardened soldier could count on one hand the number of times he’s ever admitted to being wrong, at least in so many words. He doesn’t make mistakes. “I know I shouldn’t be complaining. Just getting crotchety in my old age.”

  “Here,” Devin says, holding his water bottle out. The offering is quickly snatched up by Sierra once she sees the shapes decorating the label.

  “I love starberries!” she squeaks.

  “Who doesn’t love starberries?” Jacob says, passing up the opportunity to correct her. That particular mispronunciation always makes the grandpa smile. “I bet you even Devin loves them starberries.”

  The fireman looks over at the little girl. Somehow, happiness still fills her resilient face. It beams with hope even now, after all of the horrors she’s seen. “Bestest ever, love,” he says with a wink.

  She giggles before turning her attention back to the bottle.

  “We need to find some transportation,” Devin says, watching the general rub gingerly at his right knee.

  “Don’t you worry about me. I can keep up.”

  “Right.”

  “If memory serves,” Jacob says optimistically, “there should be a military depot a few more miles south of here. A lot of decommissioned rigs pass through it. We might get lucky.” He grins back at Devin. “You look like you’re getting tired of walking anyway.”

  “Well, let’s get a move on then, General,” Devin smiles. He starts to stand, his eyes narrowing at the general’s bluff.

  Jacob’s hand reaches out for the fireman’s shoulder with lightning speed. “Now hold on just a minute, son. I think we can get a little food in us first.” His growl sounds more like an order than a request. “It’ll still be there.”

  After a brief lunch of protein bars and lukewarm water, they set out again. The rain soon begins to break.

  Devin scratches at the wavy red hair sticking to his head, trying to shake out all the water.

  Another mile down I-5, the concrete eerily starts to clear of all traffic. The fireman’s eyes dart suspiciously around. Abandoned vehicles have disappeared from the freeway as far as he can see.

  “I noticed it, too,” Jacob says. “All the cars are gone.”

  “Why?” Devin asks.

  “Hopefully that means we’re outside the EMP radius and electronic components still work out here.”

  “Blooming hope so,” Devin says. “We could use a bit of good luck for a change.”

  “There’s the depot,” the general nods. He points to a large parking lot barely visible up the freeway embankment on the right. The top of the 10-foot-high fence surrounding it is lined with coiling barbed wire. The metal has rusted to a deep orange, displaying its battle scars from Seattle’s constant rain with pride.

  They walk up the adjacent off-ramp and approach the front of the vehicle lot. Through diagonal strips in the metal fencing, Devin can see dozens of large green trucks scattered across the pavement. The gate is closed with a heavy-gauge chain and deadbolt.

  A bright red piece of laminated paper is zip-tied to it.

  EVACUATION ORDER

  TRESPASSERS WILL BE DETAINED

  DEADLY FORCE IS AUTHORIZED

  “Deadly force authorized,” Devin reads ominously. “Best hope you still have mates in there, General.”

  “Shouldn’t be anyone here if there’s an evac in place.”

  “I’ll let you go first then,” Devin smiles. He pulls the shotgun out of his black canvas bag and looks around. The muzzle makes a dull clink when he places it against the lock’s square body.

  Sierra cups her hands over her ears, squeezing her auburn eyes closed.

  The gun blast thunders across the desolate landscape. Echoes bounce for miles down deserted streets. No birds flee from the sound. Nothing even moves.

  Uneasily, the fireman glances about. He was almost hoping for some sort of response: animals scattering, soldiers running towards them. But nothing alive has remained in this part of the city. Devin shivers.

  “It’s alright,” Jacob says, noticing the look in the fireman’s eyes. “Let’s just find what we need and get back on the road to Portland.”

  Devin nods. He slides the chain off and pulls the gate open with a creak.

  Jacob takes the lead, Sierra’s hand protectively in his. The general’s steel blue eyes fly over the lot, instantly assessing options and entries for defense. He waits.

  Nothing.

  They walk past freight and equipment transports over to a row of 23-foot evergreen trucks. Even though the rigs stand as tall as two men, the trucks are still the smallest vehicles left on the depot lot.

  “Anything less conspicuous?” Devin asks. He looks up at the unmistakable green box cabin and canvas canopy of the military personnel transport.

  “They used to have Humvees, but those were all probably reinstated for combat. This old M35 will have to do. We’ve been using them for years.”

  The fireman checks the door, then braces his feet. Small shards of glass explode as he slams the butt of his shotgun through the passenger window. They cascade over him, shimmering down to the wet ground. “Let’s see if you’re right about that blast radius,” he says, popping the hood release.

  Devin disconnects the battery cables and taps the connectors on exposed metal. “There we go,” he smiles. A blue spark of hope jumps from the steel frame.

  “Anything else?” Jacob asks. A smug grin spreads across his face.

  Twisting the battery cables back on, Devin hops into the truck. His eyes dart across the cabin. “Alright, you cheeky bastard. What’s the standard parking procedure for keys?”

  The fireman pulls down both visors and digs through the glove box. He checks under the passenger seat next, lifting out a white medical kit.

  “Usually keys are checked in, but I’ve known a few disreputable plugs who liked to leave a spare under the driver’s side. Found it useful for a little off-mission R and R.”

  The fireman reaches under him. His fingers are met with the cold touch of deliverance. “Thank you, General!” he shouts. Devin’s body tingles as he stuffs the keys into the ignition.

  The vehicle gasps and whirrs but refuses to fire. Devin pumps on the pedal, disappointment creeping through him. “Come on, yo
u dirty bit…”

  “It’s probably thirty years old, Devin,” Jacob says. He lifts Sierra up into the passenger side. “Let the glow plugs warm up a little.”

  The whirring turns to a sputter, and suddenly the engine growls to life. The metal cabin shakes to the sounds of the rumbling diesel.

  “Yes!” Devin screams. The fireman leans out of the cabin and pulls himself up over the open door. He almost rips the hydraulic hood off its hinges pushing it closed. Two seat belts quickly click beside him.

  Cranking the wheel over, Devin pulls the rig out and swings it back towards the freeway.

  By truck, his family is now only three short hours away. Even though no other working vehicles are around them, the fireman still flicks on the turn signal.

  Less than a mile down the road, they can see the bright green freeway sign.

  Heads crane back in disbelief. Packs of survivors turn and wave pleadingly when they hear the military vehicle approaching down the on-ramp.

  “What do you want to do?” Jacob asks calmly. His voice is completely neutral, placing the decision entirely at the fireman’s feet.

  Devin looks warily back at them. Even though his compassion beckons, his foot begs for speed. Devin’s mind begins to swim with questions about the strangers’ intentions. His eyes harden. I’ve got to get back to Kat and the kids, he justifies. We don’t have time for this…

  He pushes the pedal down and accelerates.

  Jacob looks over at him, biting his tongue to stop the all-too-eager advice on his lips.

  Devin can hear the general’s growling disapproval even though the man never makes a sound.

  “Bloody hell!” he shouts, pounding on the steering wheel. Everyone has someone to get back to…

  The thought lingers, providing all the moral direction his racing mind needs.

  Devin backs off the throttle. The high-pitched downshifting of the transmission shrieks across the silent freeway.

  Jacob grins, nodding beside him.

  “Don’t push it, old man,” Devin says. He glances over at the general’s smug smile returning.