Yield (30 page)

Her eyes are beyond emotion. The executive producer moves past him and leans inside the open sliding van door, laying a hand on Dave
’
s shoulder. The young engineer pulls the headphones up off his left ear and squints back.

“
We
’
re cutting in! Two minutes,
”
she shouts, motioning two fingers at him.

“
I can only give you audio,
”
Dave yells over the static in his ears.
“
Our stinger barely has enough power to hit the translators from here. We won
’
t have the bandwidth for video.
”

“
Just give me what you can.
”
Jean quickly plugs a hard-wire mic into the audio board and passes it to her reporter.

“
Mic check. One, two,
”
Kevin says.

Dave eyes the VU meter, riding the levels up to -12 DB.
“
Good to go!
”
He gives a thumbs-up to his producer. The engineer glances behind him, hearing feedback growing in his headset.
“
Close that!
”

Kevin climbs inside and slams the van
’
s sliding metal door.

*  *  *

Static hisses and pops for what seems like an eternity. The gathered survivors of Flight 661 look at the wreckage around them, waiting for answers to emerge from the noise. But the small radio
’
s hiss just bounces across the silent Seattle freeway.

“
There have been reports of men of Arabic descent on planes bound for those cities,
”
the national news anchor returns.
“
But there has been no confirmation of whether terrorists were the cause of today
’
s events
…
”

Chris
’
s eyes drift coldly down to Abd. Flickering images of Darius flash through the teenager
’
s mind. His dead friend
’
s eyes stare back into his soul. The dazed look of invincible finality is carved into his face.

“
What?
”
Abd shouts. His sunken eyes shoot around, returning stares from the survivors now turning at him.

In an instant, Chris is on the Arab. He swings vengeful fists like lightning through the air.
“
Son of a bitch! You did this!
”
he bellows. He catches Abd
’
s chin with a hooking blow and sends him reeling backwards to the ground. The towering basketball player lunges down at him.

The crowd is silent. They watch the ferocity with a vicarious thirst, eager for equal blood.

“
You killed them all!
”
Chris
’
s dark hands tear upon flesh and pavement, feeling neither.

“
We don
’
t know that!
”
Devin shouts. He reaches out and tries to grip the huge teenager around the chest. The pulsing, sinewy body continues on, refusing to slow his advance. The firefighter
’
s arms tighten and lift, arching his entire body back. Veins strain to the surface of his arms.

“
Stop it, Chris!
”
Isabel scream
s
, stunned by the normally gentle boy
’
s fierce and insatiable fury.

Slowly at first, the surging athlete inches away. The brief distraction allows the jarring blows to finally miss. Abd rolls from under the black man, his wild eyes looking like game in the mouth of a lion. The Arab
’
s right hand darts out for traction to pull himself along the rough asphalt. Instead, it finds a sharp metal remnant from the plane. Without hesitation, he whips it up and into the stomach of his attacker.

“
You will not touch me again, black dog!
”
Abd spits. Blood and words both spew from his mouth as he stands.

“
Easy!
”
Devin barks. Chris falls backward into him, sending them both to the ground.

Abd turns, brandishing the weapon at all the other eyes still upon him.
“
I didn
’
t do this!
”
he yells.

They slowly back away, unsatisfied. Hungry for vengeance.

The radio signal begins to
pop
in and out. The shrill roar of noise cuts through the crowd. Their attention turns to the tiny radio speaker, the hissing sound like a siren
’
s call.

Abd drops heavily to a knee. He tucks the shiv into a frayed pocket, wiping the blood from his face.

“
This
…
”
a staticky voice fades in. The words are broken and choppy through the interference. The survivors edge closer, information now their only solace.
“
This is Kevin Green reporting
…
from the ruins of the KOMO newsroom
…
I
’
m not sure how long
…
we
’
ll be able to broadcast, but we
’
ve just received
…
new details about the tragedy that struck Seattle this morning
…
”

The reporter
’
s words begin to fade away. Electrical noise from the radio speaker returns in the silence.

“
This is insane,
”
someone whispers.

“
I
’
m now going to
…
read you a statement
…
just prepared by what
’
s left of the Associated Press
…
”
Kevin
’
s voice cuts in.

Devin
’
s heart pounds. He cocks his head, straining to decipher words through the interminable static.

“
At 12:22 P.M
…
.Eastern
…
Standard Time
…
a
…
”
the voice starts. The noise begins to swell again all around it. The hissing words cut off abruptly. An alert tone suddenly begins to blare through the three-inch speaker.

“
What?
”
a choir of survivors gasp.

“
Who did this?
”

“
Quiet!
”
Devin shouts impatiently.

The single tone continues to blare defiantly across the ruins of the freeway, its piercing cry echoing off the death and devastation resting so peacefully along it.

*  *  *

“
No, no, no. Come on!
”
Dave yells from inside the KOMO news van. He taps the green-hued waveform monitor and the solid audio line now splitting the screen beside him. He slams the metal door open.
“
We
’
ve lost our link, Jean.
”

“
What?
”

“
It
’
s gone. Out of juice, or cut off,
”
the engineer says. He turns back to retest the levels on his audio board.
“
I
’
m not sure which. But it
’
s gone.
”

“
We can get cut off?
”
Kevin asks. He sets the news script down with shaking hands.

“
I think we just did.
”

Airline
passengers stumble across the debris-covered freeway, collecting south of the ruins that carried them there.
They are confused. Hollow. The
lives they knew died somewhere up inside the tranquil clouds. Now, they stand on the brink of a hell they cannot comprehend.

The survivors cluster by a ring of what used to be vehicles. Fire inside their empty frames still burns upon the concrete, even as the rain continues down. Scraps of cars rest by blackened skeletons littering the interstate.

Devin looks questioningly toward a group of souls huddled around a blistered truck hood. A national news report teases in and out of reception from the battery-powered radio set on top. Clutching tightly to Terra, Devin quickens his pace and joins Isabel and Chris in the crowd.

Abd kneels next to them. His light blue Mariners jersey is soiled and gray with ash. He fumbles with strips of cloth scavenged from the remains, trying to tie a sling for his separated shoulder. He winces. Pain shoots down his left side whenever it moves. Abd struggles to grip the ends of the ripped cloth
,
but t
he fabric keeps slipping out of his good hand.

“
Here,
”
Devin says, leaning down.
“
This may hurt some, bloke.
”

The Arab
’
s black sockets shoot up with suspicion.

“
It
’
s alright. I
’
m a firefighter. I help people,
”
Devin winks.
“
On my good days, that is.
”

Abd
’
s eyes barely soften. Cautiously, more out of need than trust, he leans toward the redhead. The Arab grimaces as the tightened knot pulls the pieces of his shoulder back together.

“
Most likely dislocated,
”
Devin says. The fireman works his fingers gently over the edges of Abd
’
s clavicle and ball joint.
“
Can
’
t fix you up proper, but this
’
ll hold you a bit.
”

The daggers of pain slowly begin to subside. Not used to thanking strangers, Abd stiffly nods.

“
Any word?
”
Devin asks, turning to the others.

Chris
’
s eyes refuse to leave the burnt truck hood. He just shakes his head, fearing to speak over the tinny sound echoing like prophecy from the small black radio.

The noise and hiss gradually begin to clear. Eager hands adjust the tuning dial, locking in on the only station still broadcasting.
“
…
Reports are now coming in
……
mass destruction all across the U.S
…
.
”

Static and silence follow the words, chilling Devin to the bone.

The news anchor continues in a voice shaking with barely-restrained emotion.
“
We have
…
unconfirmed accounts of widespread damage
……
parts of New York state
…
Washington, D.C
…
.and the West Coast
…
”

“
No!
”
a middle-aged woman next to them cries out. A haunting look fills her eyes.
“
My kids
…
”
she whimpers. Her legs buckle. Another survivor catches her, trying to give the woman what little comfort is left.

“
The whole country?
”
someone asks behind Devin.

“
ABC News has lost all contact
…
with bureaus in the affected areas
…
We
’
ll bring you any new information as it becomes available
…
It is unknown at this time
…
the extent of the damage or whether more cities have been attacked
…
”

*  *  *

RENTON, WASHINGTON - 10 MILES SOUTHEAST OF SEATTLE

Jacob Leder eases himself unsteadily down onto the couch. His grip tightens on the wooden armrest. Conducting a TV interview in the city just a few hours earlier, he shivers,
looking up at the antique bronze clock on his wall. 10:04 A.M.