Yield (43 page)

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.

“
Chris!
”
Isabel
’
s voice echoes from behind. The teen stops several feet inside of the store
’
s entryway, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Broken glass sparkles back bright rays of light setting through the windows. All power is off within the building. Torn bags of food litter the slick linoleum aisles.

To his left, Chris
’
s eyes lock onto a body lying face-down by one of the registers. The contents of both now spread across the floor. He stares in dread at the murdered man and the forming pool of blood around him, quickening his pace down the front of the store.

Chris glances back and forth from the aisles to the glistening crimson. His eyes are unable to break away from the body, even as his long legs continue on. Gruesomely entranced, he doesn
’
t even hear the footsteps before it
’
s too late.

The basketball star slams headlong into two men turning out of the frozen food section.

“
What the hell
’
s your problem?!
”
Derrick Leong screams, pushing the teenager back. Shotgun in hand, the ex-felon eyes Chris coldly. The Japanese symbol for war is stitched into the skin just beside his left eye. Light glints off the steel 12-gauge barrel in his hands.

Fear begins to churn deep inside Chris. The man
’
s eyes aren
’
t just vacant. They
’
re terrifying
—
empty of any doubt or restraint.

Behind Derrick, a heavyset black man with a barbwire tattoo encircling his neck adjusts the large bag over his shoulder. His hardened face looks like it was carved with a hatchet.

“
No worries,
”
Chris mutters in a shaking voice. Slowly, he raises his hands.

Derrick
’
s blinding white eyes flash. Shadows surround them, swallowing the black void around the Asian
’
s tattoo.

Chris
moves to the side. He closes his eyes tightly, trying to block the intense smell of gunpowder and death from the body 20 feet behind them. But it lingers, ravenously beginning to feed upon his courage.

“
Oh, there
’
s reason to worry,
”
Derrick sneers. He loudly cocks his shotgun, advancing on the teenager.
Even though Chris stands more than a foot taller, his large body shrinks away.
The tattooed Asian smiles wickedly.
“
Just a little bitch.
”
Derrick takes a quick, provocative step towards Chris, grinning as the basketball star flinches again from the sound.
“
Aren
’
t you?
”
Derrick leans close to Chris and lays the cold barrel of the shotgun on his shoulder.
“
You scared?
”
he whispers.

Gritting his teeth, Chris
’
s 6
’
7
”
frame stands frozen. His muscles refuse to move.

“
You should be,
”
Derrick continues softly.
“
Just give me your money and this will all go away.
”
The stink of hard alcohol on the man
’
s breath burns in Chris
’
s nose.

The intimidating teen is silent. His mind races. The fearful doubts of courage and consequence blur together into immobility. He finally opens his eyes, trying to summon strength from his trembling body.

Derrick leans back and crushes it instantly. He smashes the butt of the shotgun hard into Chris
’
s right shoulder.
“
Are you stupid?!
”
Derrick shrieks. The shrill sound is like a sharpening knife. He viciously grabs the back of Chris
’
s head and forces it down, screaming each deafening word into his ear.
“
Do
…
You
…
Have
…
Money?!
”

“
No,
”
Chris spits out. His throat tightens. The muscles in his shoulder start to throb, shooting pain all the way down to his fingers.

“
You better hope so.
”
Derrick flings Chris
’
s neck away and grabs at his pockets. The tattooed Asian rummages into the back ones, tearing out a wallet. His evil eyes narrow.

“
No
…
No
…
No!
”
Derrick says, throwing plastic card after plastic card at the teenager
’
s face. He hurls the wallet down the aisle and pushes the gun barrel up into Chris
’
s cheek.
“
Well, what good are you then?
”

Derrick
’
s index finger settles eagerly onto the curved trigger.

Chris
’
s knees buckle as he realizes he
’
s going to die. Thoughts and prayers for his parents are irrevocably forgotten, replaced with his own burning appeals to survive.
Please, God
…

“
Oh, I think you
’
re scared now.
”
Derrick leans closer. Chris can feel the Asian
’
s drunken voice on his skin.
“
Aren
’
t you?
”

Derrick smiles, his face barren of any control. Only rage flashes from his black eyes. Slowly, his finger squeezes the trigger.

A group of looters come around the corner of the front walkway. They stop
,
looking with concern at the confrontation. Several other hungry bodies climb through the broken door and begin into the store unaware.

“
Come on, man,
”
the barbwire thug grunts out, adjusting the heavy strap slung across his shoulder.
“
It
’
s gettin
’
busy in here.
”

Unconcerned, the tattooed Asian starts to pull the trigger again. But the black man suddenly grabs his arm. Derrick spins, glaring back with fierce eyes.