Yield (41 page)

“
Jesus,
”
Isabel says, glancing around at the chaos teeming throughout the streets.

“
No. I think he took the day off,
”
Devin says. His sharp British humor seems out of place amid the melee.

A look of protective understanding passes between Devin and Chris. They set out again in front of the others, heading east from the intersection. Rules of law no longer apply within the dying city. Sporadic packs of people push forcibly past one another, their surging elbows and disregard striking without cause or care. A crimson sun hangs low over the twisted metal of sheared buildings. The brilliant sunset glitters back from steel and glass, sparkling like fire along the boulevard
’
s broken dreams.

*  *  *

The front entrance of the market is completely smashed in. A shopping cart is caught awkwardly between the frame and floor. The store
’
s tall windows lie in small, sandy pieces all across the concrete. The dull sounds of panic echo from within. People push in and out around the shattered doors, clutching to whatever they can.

Devin stops twenty feet from the single-story building
’
s double doors. His emerald eyes narrow. Angry voices shout at one another from inside the dark opening. Devin
’
s stomach churns uneasily.

“
Let
’
s do this,
”
Chris says, his voice full of youthful eagerness. The teen turns toward the store.

“
Hold on, mate,
”
Devin says. He quickly puts a hand up to Chris
’
s chest.
“
I
’
m thinking you
’
d best stay outside.
”

“
Excuse me?
”
Chris snaps. He shoves the hand away, staring hard into Devin
’
s eyes. The towering basketball star takes a big step towards the redhead.
“
I can handle myself,
mate.
”

“
I
’
m sure you can,
”
Devin says coolly.
“
But the ladies need an escort.
”
He nods at the people swarming around them.
“
It
’
s like the wild west out here. Look around.
”
Devin turns to the injured Arab.
“
No offense, Abd, but you don
’
t look like you
’
re up for much of a fight.
”

Chris
’
s brown eyes flicker, trying to find a way around the fireman
’
s reasoning. Reluctantly, he sighs. His pained agreement comes out more like a grunted yell.

“
You
’
d better stay with us, boy,
”
Isabel chides. Her left eyebrow shoots up.

The basketball player
’
s eyes soften under her all-too-familiar look. Over the years, he
’
s learned better than to play with that fire. Nothing good ever comes of it.

His weight shifts uncertainly, feeling Terra
’
s eyes now upon him. Chris spins away before she can see the embarrassment rising to his face. The teenager
’
s armor flips on again like an electric chair switch once he realizes she wasn
’
t the only one staring.

A crooked smile cuts across Abd
’
s face. It fades quickly.
“
Why don
’
t I go with you, Devin,
”
Abd
blurts
. He takes a step back toward the fireman.
“
You
’
ll need some help carrying supplies.
”

“
Alright,
”
Devin says. He pauses, his eyes angling up with regret.
“
We could carry a lot more if we emptied out your bag, Isabel.
”

The pregnant Latina
’
s hand reaches out guardedly for the strap on Abd
’
s shoulder.

“
Not very gentlemanly, I know,
”
Devin says. His British charm tries its best to disarm her.
“
I
’
ll have to work on that for you.
”

“
You heard that back there, huh?
”
Isabel says. She blinks back a silly tear springing into her eyes. The flight attendant takes the bag and gently empties its contents onto the ground. Hesitantly, she hands it back to Devin.

“
You okay?
”
he asks.

“
Yeah.
”
She tries to smile.
“
It
’
s just sad that all I own is right here in this little pile.
”
Isabel wipes the emotion away just as it begins to run down her cheek.
“
My life now fits inside a carry-on. Pretty depressing, huh?
”

“
Our lives are much more than just the baggage, love.
”
Devin winks at her, backing away toward the store.
“
Remember that.
”

Devin
’
s smile and charm disappear once his shoes crunch over the fragments of broken glass littering the parking lot.
“
Speaking of baggage,
”
he shouts back to Abd,
“
well, come on then!
”
The fireman glances cautiously about. His hands tremble, holding the sharp metal door frame. Devin takes a deep breath before ducking
into
the darkening market.

*  *  *

Isabel sifts through the change of clothes and maternity magazines dumped out upon the black asphalt. She picks up her purple and gray University of Washington sweatshirt and pulls it on. A smile of immense satisfaction spreads across her face. The warm felt lining never felt so good.

The corners of an ultrasound photo flutter on the concrete, threatening to blow away in the wind.

“
Congratulations,
”
Terra
whispers, picking up the picture. Her voice is like the purest of music. Terra
’
s piercing blue eyes look hard into the high contrast image, wondering if one life can make up for so many others lost.

Isabel looks sharply back at her. Surprise at the mute woman
’
s words turns into a nurturing smile, so full of pride it almost glows.
“
Girl,
”
Isabel says, raising an eyebrow playfully,
“
after the first three, you don
’
t congratulate anymore. Trust me.
”

The flight attendant peers over Terra
’
s shoulder at her baby
’
s first trimester. Looking at the tiny features in her ultrasound, Isabel
’
s heart aches to see her family.

“
Boy or girl?
”
Terra asks.

“
My husband and I want this one to be a surprise,
”
Isabel says.
“
This will be our fourth, so it
’
s about the only surprise we
’
ve got left.
”

“
Are you
…
”
Terra begins, looking up from the photo with dread.

“
Oh, yes,
”
Isabel reassures. She lays a hand on her stomach.
“
We
’
re fine, thank God. I can still feel the little rascal squirming in there. They like to kick your ribs and stand on your bladder for some damn reason. Adds to the mothering experience, I guess.
”
Feeling with her right hand to mark a spot, Isabel reaches out with the other to Terra.
“
Here.
”

Isabel takes the hesitant girl
’
s hand and holds it to her stomach. Terra squints, trying to feel any signs of life. Slowly, a grin spreads across her face. Delicate toes push against the teenager
’
s fingers.

“
Feel that?
”
Isabel asks.

Terra smiles broadly, feeling the amazement of new hope growing inside.

BOOM!!!

Terra
’
s head snaps up as gunfire flashes from inside the store. The sound thunders across the parking lot. Crowds around them scatter, fleeing from the echoes of death.

Chris jumps up. Adrenaline instantly shoots through his athletic veins. He looks into the black just past the shattered door, pushing his own darkness down. His feet dig in, readying like a coiled viper.

“
Don
’
t!
”
Isabel screams. She grabs at Chris
’
s arm.

“
I
’
m not a kid anymore, Izz. Okay?
”
His dark eyes flicker, begging to prove themselves.
“
They need my help.
”

“
Chris
…
”
Isabel starts. The stubborn resolve of his mother is etched into the 17-year-old
’
s face.

“
I
’
ll be right back,
”
he says calmly. The basketball star loosens the fingers wrapped around his arm and backs away. He looks into Terra
’
s fearful blue eyes for just a moment, trying to reassure her. Without another word, Chris spins and lunges into the store.

Strange and saddened bodies walk with Devin along I-5, their backgrounds and beliefs at odds with the shared circumstance. More people emerge through whirling clouds of dust. They take shattered on-ramps down to join the mass migration south. Rainless clouds remain dark overhead, intermixing with the thick smoke of fires burning unimpeded over the ravaged and broken.

Refugees move slowly across their scarred homeland. Hundreds of timid eyes dart around for signs of help. But no one comes. No compassion is there to meet them. Only the dead surround, stretching far into the distance.

Mile after relentless mile, they trudge on. Angry murmurs soon ripple through the crowd,
s
preading more quickly than any plague.

“
Where the hell are the rescuers?
”
a tattooed 24-year-old asks. Circles of ink are stitched into the skin around his gaunt neck. He pulls down a black bandanna used to block the dust from his mouth.

Heads shake with uncertainty. Several voices respond from the crowd, almost too weakly to hear.

“
Don
’
t know. Maybe the terrorists got them, too.
”

“
They
’
re all dead, probably.
”

“
Terrorists? I heard we were under attack.
”

“
No, the people I met downtown said it was a weapons experiment.
”

“
Not a chance. It
’
s gotta be some crazy terror cell with a dirty bomb or something.
”

“
Shouldn
’
t the military be out here? Or FEMA?
”
another woman asks. Panic shakes in her voice. She holds a shattered left wrist against her body.

“
Our government doesn
’
t care about us!
”
the man wearing the bandanna shouts. Sounds of wrathful agreement rise within the mob.
“
We
’
re on our own now. It
’
s kill or be killed.
”