Yield (37 page)

He looks back toward the instrument cluster at the front of the van.
“
If the pulse got to the ignition components, there
’
s nothing I can do.
”

Jean climbs out of the truck. She smooths down the front of her low-cut red blouse and grins flirtatiously back at him.
“
But you just said you went to M.I.T.
”

He stares back at her for a moment. Her eyes dig through his reasoning.
“
Yeah, but
…
”

“
You kept a major market TV station operating for years on low budgets, Dave.
”
She lays her hand on his forearm like a grenade.
“
Fixing a couple of news rigs shouldn
’
t even be a challenge.
”

The young engineer looks back into her mischievous, violet eyes. He knows she
’
s manipulating him but enjoys it all the same.

Two stories under the street, Jean Barlow and her remaining team sit on the metal floor of KOMO
’
s
news van
. The open sliding door casts a dim light along the garage
’
s concrete flooring. Kevin Green sits just inside, his legs hanging out of the rectangular opening. A stick mic lies across his lap. He stares down at the last update KOMO 4 News will ever receive.

Dave
’
s stubbled face glows from the audio levels of the alert tone overlaid on his waveform monitor. The lines that had continued so boldly across are now weakening. He brings the master slider on the small audio board all the way up until it pegs the top, but the audio just keeps fading as the signal strength wanes.

The emergency lights that straddle the ceiling
’
s large metal girders begin to dim. Jean looks over at the generator. It shudders several times and finally dies. The parking garage lights immediately dim then pop violently off. Several blow on the circuit
’
s edges when the power spikes one last time. The electronics in the van go dark, leaving only the interior light and lanterns to illuminate the black garage.

“
Well, that
’
s that,
”
Dave says. His hands refuse to leave the controls.

Jean sighs.
“
There
’
s nothing more you can do?
”

“
That was all of the generator fuel we had,
”
Dave says.
“
Corporate didn
’
t want us keeping it in the building.
”
He grins, changing to an officious, just because I wear a suit and tie I know more than you do, tone.
“
Insurance felt it was a fire risk.
”

“
Thank you, Corporate,
”
Jean says. An exaggerated smile spreads across her face.

“
Wouldn
’
t have mattered, though. That tone was still overriding our signal up until the jenny died.
”

“
Why couldn
’
t we get around it?
”
Jean asks.

“
It
’
s coming in over the EAS path,
”
Dave says.
“
But here
’
s the weird part. The signal is so strong it
’
s covering up everything else on our other pipelines. It
’
s like the tone is bleeding over into all of our back-up channels on purpose.
”

“
On purpose? Why?
”
Kevin asks.

“
Why indeed,
”
Dave nods. His mind races as it analyzes the possibilities.
“
Maybe to control the flow of information to an attack populace. Or to coordinate messages across a defined target area. Maybe they just want to black out access to unsanctioned news reports. Whatever the why, there really isn
’
t a reason I can think of with good intentions.
”

The three-person
department
sits silently in the dark garage. Dust rises through shards of light inside the news van. Dave
’
s words are like knots in their stomachs. The reality of today still seems like a twisted shade of what should be.

“
So, how do we patch around it?
”
Jean asks. The executive producer
’
s eyes light up at the challenge.

“
Hmm,
”
Dave pauses, rubbing at the growth along his face.
“
I think we
’
d have to hardwire in at one of the tower sites. All the metros are probably gone, but maybe the translators up in Ballard or Victory Heights could send out a burst.
”

Jean lays her hand lingeringly on the engineer
’
s shoulder. The EP found out long ago that a pretty girl can wield physical touch like a weapon.
“
Can you get this thing running?
”
she asks sweetly. Jean shines her flashlight up at the passenger headrest beside her.

“
I went to M.I.T., not Mazda,
”
Dave scoffs. Color jumps to his cheeks. He glances down at her delicate hand.

She slowly releases his shoulder, staring back at him with a cocked head.

“
Look,
”
Dave begins. His mind tries to simplify the explanation. Touching his fingertips together, the engineer forms a circle with his hands.
“
A nuclear weapon just detonated over our heads. When that happened, it sent out an electromagnetic pulse. We
’
re below street level down here, but dispersion is not circular,
”
he says, extending his fingers up and out to form a ball.
“
It
’
s spherical, in all directions.
”

He looks back toward the instrument cluster at the front of the van.
“
If the pulse got to the ignition components, there
’
s nothing I can do.
”

Jean climbs out of the truck. She smooths down the front of her low-cut red blouse and grins flirtatiously back at him.
“
But you just said you went to M.I.T.
”

He stares back at her for a moment. Her eyes dig through his reasoning.
“
Yeah, but
…
”

“
You kept a major market TV station operating for years on low budgets, Dave.
”
She lays her hand on his forearm like a grenade.
“
Fixing a couple of news rigs shouldn
’
t even be a challenge.
”

The young engineer looks back into her mischievous, violet eyes. He knows she
’
s manipulating him but enjoys it all the same.

“
Bloody hell!
”
Devin yells. His muscles tighten, his arms straining against the plastic undercarriage of a steering column. Lying on the floorboard of a slightly
damaged Lexus SUV, Devin
’
s legs squirm out from the driver
’
s side door. He grunts in triumph when the plastic finally snaps in his hands.
“
There!
”

“
Is it started yet?
”
Abd asks, ducking his head into the passenger window.

“
Well
…
no,
”
Devin stammers.
“
I just
…
”
His exultant smile quickly fades. He holds the plastic cover up like a trophy, but the Arab just stares back at him unimpressed. The firefighter sighs. He tosses the cover aside, lowering his voice to an angry mutter.
“
Give me a flipping second here, bloke. I don
’
t exactly keep a tool chest in my knickers.
”

Chris leans over the open hood to look back at Isabel and Terra. The basketball player
’
s troubled eyes soften as he watches them. Isabel wraps an arm around Terra
’
s shivering body, rubbing the silent girl
’
s back to keep her warm.

Devin touches several exposed wires to one another under the torn-open steering column. Metal graces metal, but there
’
s no sign of a spark. He moans. Devin pulls himself up with the steering wheel and leans back into the plush leather seat.
“
Would
’
ve been nice,
”
he says to himself. His hands trace along the soft, supple grips of the luxury automobile. Steeling himself for what could be a long journey, he sighs again.

“
Looks like we
’
re walking,
”
Devin says when he rejoins the others. Disappointment is etched into his face. He puts a hand to his lower back, trying to ease the deep ache spreading up along it.

“
What about one of the others?
”
Isabel points toward a handful of intact vehicles around them on the Interstate.

“
I
’
m guessing none of the cars out here will start, love,
”
Devin says.
“
Otherwise they
’
d probably be gone already. Electronics don
’
t get along well with big explosions,
”
he adds with a smile.
“
Funny thing.
”

“
Maybe if we get outside the city?
”
Abd asks.

“
We may have to walk a ways,
”
Devin says. His emerald eyes scan down the freeway
’
s broken edges, but see no motion. Only a few survivors mill about.
“
So, you
’
d all best get used to the company.
”

Chris groans, slamming the SUV
’
s hood. The teenager looks angrily at the southern horizon. His teeth are clenched so tight his jawbones bulge out
.
Chris stares at the
Arab
now clinging to them like a disease. His filth is invasive. Dangerous. Just the sight of him makes Chris
’
s blood boil.

“
Chris
…
”
Isabel scolds, her tone sharpening.
Yeah, I see you.
Her eyebrow shoots up to show she means business.

Chris reluctantly turns. The fierce Latina
’
s gaze has always kept him in check. But this time is different. He
’
s different.
“
What?
”
Chris shouts at her. The basketball star storms off, his thoughts as black as the poisoned clouds swirling above them.

Isabel watches h
im go, saddened and unsure. The gentle boy she helped raise is gone. The man now with them
―
so full of rage and violence
―
is more a stranger to her than the Arab. The thought terrifies her.

She pulls Terra closer. The girl
’
s shivering is getting worse. T
he rain has stopped, but the wind continues to whip into their thin, damp clothes.
“
You gonna be okay?
”
Isabel asks. Motherly concern fills her eyes.

Okay?
The word shrieks mockingly back within the darkness of Terra
’
s mind. Her normally pale face is almost pure white, except for the deep shadows cast over her eyes by the curves of her black hair.

“
Honey?
”
Isabel asks.
“
You
’
re as pale as a ghost.
”

Chris glances back at the two women. He sighs, looking out to the rubble as manners and instincts compete. It doesn
’
t take long before his mom
’
s voice echoes the lessons of chivalry in his ears.