Yield (101 page)

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.

A sole military transport darts in and out of shadows along State Route 8, its evergreen color blending into the trees. Small towns and lush Pacific Northwest forests zoom by the windows.

Out here, everything feels almost normal, like the troubles of the city can
’
t breach the dense tree line. Quaint local stores are open for business. Cars and trucks dart here or there. Life is almost as it should be.

Almost.

Grocery stores and gas stations overflow with unfamiliar customers. Columns of vehicles heeding the statewide evacuation order stretch out into long lines for fuel and supplies. Station signs are filled with hastily scrawled numbers, having run out of enough zeroes to properly gouge. The ones still with gas proudly display signs of $30 per gallon. Or more.

Approaching the turnoff for Highways 107 and 101, Devin banks the truck to the left. The 23-footer rolls over the rumble-stripped center line just to make the sweeping turn.

Sierra is bounced awake. The little girl squints up at the setting sun, glancing around at the strange scenery.

“
Welcome back,
”
Jacob smiles.

His granddaughter
’
s small mouth opens into a gaping yawn. She rubs the sleep from her eyes, coming to life for new adventure.
“
Where are we, Papa?
”
she asks excitedly.

“
Tough to say. We
’
re getting close to the coast, though. You can smell it.
”

The
5
-year-old sniffs at the air. Her nose quickly wrinkles, turning questioningly towards her grandpa.

“
No, not that,
”
Jacob laughs.
“
I guess we
’
ll have to work on our hygiene when we get back to your mom
’
s. We did have to walk a ways, you know, and I seem to remember having to carry some little girl whose legs were just too tired to move. Ring any bells?
”

“
Hmph,
”
she mumbles defiantly.

“
Hmph? Is that even English?
”
Jacob shouts. He turns to Devin.
“
Kids today.
”

Jacob pulls his granddaughter close, working his trained hands over her sides.
“
I
’
ll show you some hmph!
”

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.

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!
”