Yield

by Johnson, Bryan K.

  The sound of her laughter brings with it an aspiring peace. The fireman smiles. His eyes sparkle with another hint of jealousy, wishing he were already home to hear the laughter of his own children.

  The truck pulls away from the stop sign and merges onto 101 South.

  “Remember the last time I took you to the beach?” Jacob asks, finally letting the little girl catch her breath.

  “Yeah,” Sierra pants.

  “And it took me all day to put together that darn kite?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “That thing sure was bass-ackwards. But damned if it didn’t fly.” Jacob leans closer to her. Looking around, his voice drops to a mysterious whisper. “You know why it was so hard to put together?”

  She shakes her head. Her auburn eyes open wide for the secret.

  “Made in China,” he declares. “That’s right. They had this all planned out from the start. Fatten us up with all-you-can-eat buffets. Then make us all feel stupid trying to figure out their directions. Can you believe that?”

  “No,” the little girl giggles.

  “No?” he gasps incredulously. “Well, hmph.”

  “Hey,” she laughs. “That’s my word!”

  “You own the patent, do you?”

  Sierra giggles louder as he starts to tickle her again and again.

  “Is it still your word?” Jacob challenges.

  The little girl’s face is bright red.

  “I don’t think you’re old enough to have your very own word.”

  Laughter echoes across the cabin from her Papa’s unrelenting attack. Their voices reverberate through the metal, its tinny sound rolling south along the coastal freeway.

  * * *

  All twenty-three feet of the military truck seem to squeak or rattle along the two-lane scenic road. Its very joints groan out in protest to the forced reenlistment.

  The vehicle is soon followed by many others, creating a caravan of refugee vehicles reaching back into the distance.

  Sierra looks out her window, her small eyes lighting up.

  Sunlight sparkles in the waters of Grays Harbor, ten miles inland of the Pacific Ocean. Glistening waves push and flow from the sea. Small islands dot the surface, artfully breaking up the expanse of blue-green inside the bay.

  The setting sun kisses the water, dipping into the space between heaven and earth. Very slowly, its light begins to fade—first to orange, then a vibrant red.

  To the west, dark storm clouds blanket the peninsula lips along Washington’s protruding coastline. Their rains begin down into the landscape. Thick droplets hit the truck with fury, splashing into the harbor and rippling up across the glass.

  The ocean comes in and out of view as the truck winds slightly east along the highway. They pass the bay and move through hilly roads flanked on either side by evergreens.

  Once the caravan passes Willapa Bay at the southwestern tip of the state, the sounds of thunder begin to grow louder. The fierce booms rattle screws and loose metal inside the truck cabin. Flashes of forked light fire within the charcoal clouds.

  Devin flicks the wipers and headlights onto high. Rain smashes into the windshield like bullets.

  The road twists away from the water as another peninsula juts out from the irregular coastline.

  Lightning flashes again, much closer to their truck this time. Bright white silhouettes their bodies, the light flickering for only an instant.

  Sierra buries her face into her grandfather’s chest, fearful of the building storm.

  The clouds light up one after another overhead.

  One thousand one. One thousand two, Devin times.

  The rumbling boom of thunder echoes back from a dark horizon. Hilltops and trees still separate the highway from the ocean.

  Even though the lightning flashes have now stopped, the sound of thunder begins to follow and rumble all around them.

  The tree line finally breaks after Devin rounds Baker Bay. Moving past the high rolling hillside, they can now see a panoramic view of the ocean, stretching out from the Columbia River.

  “Jesus,” Devin gasps.

  The fireman’s heart slams into his ribcage at the nightmare beside them.

  Chapter 49

  Massive battleships line the water. Their shapes flash and recoil with bursts of brilliant light. American ships block the coastline, taking heavy fire from Chinese and North Korean warships farther out. Huge explosions shine brighter than the sunset.

  The U.S. ships fire rhythmic volleys back into the foreign vessels. The sound of machine gun and large-caliber weapons thunders over the water.

  Detonations ripping through the battleships are mirrored by lightning blasts inside the black clouds above. Both flicker and pulse, raining down in deadly waves.

  Soldiers are entrenched all along the beaches, firing at foreign transports approaching their embattled shore. Several of the boarding crafts explode as shoulder-fired rockets and mortars find their mark. Flashes of color light up young faces still setting defenses along the sand.

  MIG-29s bearing the red-starred North Korean flag emerge from the darkness. They scream through the air, indiscriminately launching Adder missiles and 37mm rounds into the blockade. Arcing flashes rip lines across the American vessels, tearing through rivets and life.

  Three jets bank and peel off. Vapor trails shoot from their wingtips as they set up for another attack run. The remaining two MIGs continue east, eying the coastline for potential high-value targets.

  * * *

  Jacob’s eyes narrow. The beat of war throbs again in his veins. He reaches back with one hand into Devin’s munitions bag, still scanning the sky.

  Foreign jets are accelerating right towards them. Spray from the water jumps into the sky underneath the planes, chasing the roaring metal on.

  “Everybody down!” Jacob yells to the overflow of passengers inside the truck’s transport bed.

  The general’s shoulder bucks with a familiar rhythm, tracing just in front of the lead jet with a semi-auto SR-25. The long black rifle body hammers back into his left shoulder. Slowly, Jacob exhales, his focus shutting out everything but his mark.

  The jets open fire on the beach, drifting up toward the caravan of vehicles driving just above.

  Large caliber bullets blaze through the air. Ordnance tears through the top part of the truck cabin and into the canopy behind.

  Devin hunches over the wheel as bullets sing all around. Intense heat makes the rounds glow, light slicing into the dusk. Refugees in the bed cry out, the hot metal instantly cutting through their shock.

  Cars behind them swerve. The two closest to the truck burst into flames after the fervent shells find and ignite their fuel. Vehicles slam into one another under the gunfire, exploding all across the highway.

  Zigzagging over the pavement, a motorcyclist zooms north out of the war zone. The red bike flies towards the caravan in the oncoming lane, somehow unscathed. All of a sudden, he goes down under the fatal rain, both bike and rider sliding past Devin’s truck and into the fires behind.

  Devin punches the gas.

  The jets bank above them for another run.

  “Everyone alright?!” the fireman screams. His eyes snap back to Jacob and Sierra.

  The ex-soldier blocks the passenger window with his own body, reloading his rifle at the same time.

  Sierra looks up at him from the truck’s rubber floor with terrified eyes. Her hands are cupped over her ears to silence the screams. “Papa?!”

  “Stay down!”

  Jacob glances into the bed at the slumped bodies and crimson sprayed across the evergreen canopy. “They’re dying back there!” he barks. “Those jets can strafe us all night long. We’ve got to get off this highway!”

  “We’re almost to the Astoria Bridge! Just keep watching those skies!”

  Smaller Korean and Chinese landing craft are beaching under heavy fire from entrenched U.S. forces along the coastline. Their machine gun fire lights up the twilight. Artillery
shells launch huge plumes of sand into the sky.

  Random bullets cut into the truck from below. Devin can feel the hollow sound of puncturing metal, as well as the sickness of waiting for one to make it through. The horrific moans of their injured chill the fireman to the bone. Red hairs at the nape of his neck jump off his skin.

  He digs under the seat with his right hand. Yanking at the white handle, Devin shoves the medical kit behind him.

  “Somebody, take this!” he yells into the bed. “Help whoever you can!”

  Several willing hands grab the metal box. They begin performing triage even as bullets continue to shred apart the truck’s fabric canopy.

  The transport rumbles as fast as it can, southeast over the pavement.

  Devin cranks the wheel right then left, swerving around burning cars and trucks caught within World War III’s anonymous crossfire.

  Parts of the coastal highway are completely broken away. Landslides cave earth and rock down onto the left side of the road. On the right, the asphalt is split, tumbling into a steep cut of land and water almost 200 feet below.

  Pedal still floored, Devin moves into what remains of the narrow oncoming lane to pass the gauntlet.

  Debris closes in on both sides, but they’re almost through.

  Suddenly, the right rear tire dips. A chunk of the roadway breaks off, slamming the undercarriage of the truck onto a lip of concrete. Momentum carries the rig’s body to the right, causing it to roll.

  The weightlessness is nauseating. In a split-second, Devin lets off the gas then guns it. The right rear tire barks out as it pops above the pavement.

  “Bloody hell!” Devin yells. His arms twist, trying to stop the tall truck’s dangerous swaying. The left tires lift up, then the right. Smoking rubber screeches against the road.

  Fiercely gripping the steering wheel, Devin’s hands slowly bring the massive beast under control. His breath explodes out.

  “Hot damn, son!” Jacob roars, firing again through the open window. He pauses briefly to slap Devin’s shoulder.

  Looking back to the battle for new targets, the general shoots a tight burst across a landing craft’s bow. He smiles when several bodies double over into the bay. Jacob’s eyes open wider, noticing an unusual ripple in the water almost two clicks past the blockade line. It’s moving farther in from the large battleships and destroyers, closing on the Astoria Bridge.

  A dark shape with squared hulls slowly rises out of the water. The pitch-black metal is barely visible as the light continues to fade. A red flag is painted on top of a rectangular mast’s plated surface, surrounding stars of yellow.

  The colors of China seem to shimmer, water falling away from them in the wind. Doors on the stealth submarine’s stern begin to open. The bright yellow tips of nuclear warheads are visible just inside.

  “Is that…” Devin asks.

  Jacob rips the military radio handset off its base below the dashboard. He twists the dials, trying to find a working frequency.

  “Mayday. Mayday. Mayday,” Jacob barks. “This is a U.S. spotter at mile marker 4, Highway 101 along the Washington Coast. There is a nuclear sub in friendly waters. I repeat. A foreign submarine between the Oregon and Washington coasts. Approximately three clicks west-southwest of this position. Please respond.”

  SHH…. The hiss of static eats through his stomach.

  The two ground-assault MIGs launch another volley into America’s battle line. Firing missile after missile at the U.S. ships, they switch to guns, strafing up across the beach and highway. Soldiers on the coast disappear under the clouded sands.

  SHH……

  “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!” Jacob yells, switching to another frequency. “There is a foreign sub, possibly readying to fire on Portland, in the waters a mile and a half west of the Astoria Bridge! Close proximity, weapons cold. Take them out now!”

  SHH………..

  “Come in, damn it!” he yells. “This is Brigadier General Jacob Leder. Do you read?!”

  The MIGs fire again at the green bull’s-eye of the military truck. Bullets tear up the highway, obliterating trees before adjusting aim into the cabin. Glowing rounds buzz through the air, cutting past metal and glass.

  Devin’s window explodes. Shrapnel flickers in the half-light. The dimming colors are caught by the glass, launching sunsets all across the truck cabin.

  Out of nowhere, a squadron of jets screams over the hills from the east. Just 20 feet above the truck, the roar of their turbines is deafening. Displaced air from their engines shoves the truck effortlessly into the left lane.

  Still over the water, the foreign planes disappear under a rain of fire from U.S. and British F-22s. An American sidewinder tears through the lead North Korean jet. Flaming remnants of the plane fly just over Devin’s truck, landing in a ball of fire in the trees above the highway.

  The second MIG’s wing shears off from a glancing missile as it tries to bank away from the assault. The plane begins to roll uncontrollably towards the coastal road, plummeting through the sky ablaze.

  Devin floors the rattling diesel. His eyes dart up through the shattered window at the falling jet’s trajectory. “Hold on!” His impulses suddenly tell him to pound the brakes. The rear tires lock up, jumping and stuttering across the pavement.

  The spiraling aircraft accelerates as it falls, slamming onto Highway 101 just feet in front of the truck. Igniting jet fuel instantly engulfs the road. A brilliant line of fire shoots up into the night.

  The jet’s momentum slides its wreckage off the road just as their truck enters the flames. Tongues of fire push into the broken windows.

  The heat is hell itself, sucking all oxygen from the crackling air. Devin lunges to the side to escape the wrath jumping towards him. He holds Sierra’s head down. The green metal around them blisters from the superheated jet fuel, turning to an ashen black.

  Gaps in the flame twist and spread in front of them.

  “Come on!” Devin shouts, slamming the gas pedal down.

  Reluctantly, hell loosens its grip. Redemption shoots from its burning cage, the metal hissing in the ocean air.

  Devin leans back up, looking at the Astoria Bridge in the distance.

  Another piece of falling debris smashes into the rear of the truck, throwing the rig into the steep rock face on the left.

  The passengers under the canopy are screaming. The green tarp is on fire above their heads, dropping hot shards into the clustered bodies.

  “Hand me the extinguisher!” Devin shouts next to him. “Jacob?” Looking over, his stomach drops.

  The general’s frame is slumped forward.

  Devin grabs the fire extinguisher off the floorboard next to Sierra and throws it into the back.

  Stray bullets again hit the side of the truck, chewing past the softened metal.

  “Jacob!” Devin yells. Mist from the extinguisher blasts begins to fill the cabin. “Jacob!!”

  * * *

  The decorated general blinks in confusion. He starts to look around before he feels it.

  “Papa…” Soft tears roll down Sierra’s face.

  The warm pulse of blood flows from Jacob’s right side. A steady stream runs down his body and onto the door of the truck. The heat is somehow calming. It quiets his mind. Everything is suddenly so clear.

  A hard-fought peace spreads across his steely blue eyes.

  Sierra pulls her legs tight to her body, beginning to rock back and forth.

  “It’ll be okay, Sierra,” he whispers. More than ever before in his life, Jacob is certain of every word. The grandfather smiles lovingly down at her. He wanted so badly to see her grow up, to be there when she changed the world…

  His eyes blur as he applies pressure to the wound. The general looks back out to the ocean and the sub’s missile platform. Slowly, the yellow warheads begin to rise. Duty fights back the cloud of serenity inside him. Jacob fumbles for the radio handset, unable for some reason to lift it.

  “Jacob!” Devin yells
again. The cry falls deafly upon the wounded soldier as if struck down by some silent grace.

  * * *

  A single nuclear missile fires from the sub. It inches upward, beginning to accelerate. The orange glow of ignition shines brightly in the darkness. Exhaust flames flicker above the sub as the missile gains speed.

  Several feet above the stealth sub, the missile is suddenly obliterated. Machine gun fire and fast-attack missiles rain down upon it from the converging U.S. and British jets.

  Explosions blot out the metal with vindictive flame. They light up the dark waves where death’s carriage had just been.

  A giant splash of water falls back to the bay through bullets and fire. It hisses, bringing a shaky calm to the waves once more.

  The F-22s bank quickly and take off toward the enemy ships. A storm of missiles launches into the sky. Trails of smoke space out evenly from dozens of rockets hurtling through the air. They scream into the distance, the sound like a choir of patriots.

  Missiles slam into the foreign ships in rapid succession. Groans of crumpling metal echo out with explosive bursts of light. Massive detonations rip through the Chinese and North Korean warships.

  Deafening booms roll up the bay, even as the violence fades behind the military truck.

  Devin slams on the brakes, skidding to a stop once they reach the other side of the Astoria Bridge. He looks over at Jacob’s slumped body. The handset cord dangles limply from his hand.

  “Give me some gauze!” Devin shouts into the cabin. The fireman wraps a bandage around the general’s stomach. “I need help up here!!”

  “General Leder,” a gruff voice barks from the radio. “Message confirmed. Repeat. Message confirmed. Target eliminated.” The communication officer’s voice softens with gratitude. “God speed, General. Out.”

  Sierra’s shoulders shake. Her tiny body racks with confusion and a crippling fear. She watches the color drain from her Papa’s face, tears pouring down her own.

  The last rays of red and pink dip below the horizon. The world goes dark all around them, bringing with it a mournful silence.