Yield (76 page)

Devin
’
s group moves quietly into the morning air. Uncertainty and weariness travel with them along the glistening downtown streets. Water running across the asphalt looks crimson under the fiery sky.

Smoldering car frames rest beside the skeletal aftermath of buildings. Decapitated structures are everywhere, seeming almost commonplace now as Devin leads the others back toward I-5. No other signs of life move around them. Only the wind still breathes, tossing random scraps of scorched paper through the wreckage.

Chris
’
s arm rests protectively around Terra
’
s shoulders. They walk just behind Devin in the rain. Terra clutches tightly to her guardian, her fingers digging into the side of his Seattle High sweatshirt. The violence of last night still haunts her blue eyes, but somehow the explosive release
has also brought with it a glimmer of something new. Something
…
unexpected.

It
’
s as if all of
her
pent-up emotion and pain roared out with that singular bullet. There
’
s a fragile peace now on her face, just starting to blossom after the winter
’
s unforgiving frost.

Chris glances down at the jet black hair blowing around him. The shadows normally covering the angles of Terra
’
s face have been pushed back by the ruddy morning light. Her sapphire eyes now seem to sparkle at the edges. The dull haze that covered them
yesterday
has almost disappeared.

Feeling his eyes upon her, Terra glances up. Her 6
’
7
”
protector looks deep in concentration, trying to gracefully slow his limbs to match her much shorter stride. A timid smile touches the corner of her lips.

Without warning, she pushes her shoulder into Chris, throwing him off balance. He stumbles a couple of steps before regaining his footing. A grin spreads across his
own
face after he returns the favor.

“
You two,
”
Isabel chuckles. She turns from their game back to the fractured landscape. Even in the chaos, a splinter of optimism builds with the new day. An indurate hope, like the life inside her, grows the f
a
rther they move from the dead city. Every step feels almost worthy of thanks now
,
a gift never to be taken for granted again.

She quickens her pace to join Devin and Jacob ahead of the teens. Sierra is perched happily on her Papa
’
s shoulders. Her feet kick out rhythmically to some random song in the girl
’
s head.

“
So, can
’
t you just call in some air support for us, General?
”
Isabel asks.
“
Thought the military took care of its own.
”

“
Most times, yes. But you piss off enough brass, and they stop answering your calls,
”
Jacob laughs. The 57-year-old isn
’
t even a hint out of breath as he talks
,
though he
’
s carrying both his bag and his granddaughter while matching Devin
’
s aggressive pace.
“
And it
’
s Jacob. I
’
ve been a civilian for a while now.
”

They walk down an undamaged on-ramp almost a mile south of the warehouse, joining the hundreds already gathered on the southbound interstate. Clusters of people from all walks of life walk together to flee the soulless remnants of Seattle.

“
Bet you
’
re glad to be retired from this mess,
”
the fireman says. He slows down, looking around at all the tortured faces stumbling along the freeway.

“
Don
’
t know about that,
”
Jacob says, his eyes lighting up.
“
Never been one to shrink from a good fight.
”

“
Hopefully just the ones you can win,
”
Devin says.

“
Most times. But scars can be good teachers, too. You don
’
t look like you
’
ve backed down from
many
either.
”

“
I used to run into burning buildings for a living, mate. Not the most brilliant of concepts.
”

“
That actually explains a lot,
”
Jacob laughs.

“
What does?
”

“
Why even though you might piss and moan, you helped these folks instead of leaving them back there,
”
Jacob says.
“
Knew there was something behind that. I just didn
’
t know why you were being such a prick to the lady.
”

“
You
’
re quite a direct chap, aren
’
t you?
”
Devin
s
hoots the ex-soldier a defensive glance.

“
Like I said.
”

“
And for the record, I was not being a prick,
”
the fireman says.
“
I just don
’
t want to wait while the whole blooming world decides to trot along with us.
”

“
There are six of us, Devin,
”
Isabel says.
“
Six. Why do men always exaggerate?
”

“
It helps us tell better stories,
”
Jacob says.
“
They get really good the more you tell them,
too
. Men are allowed a little creative license.
”

“
Not in my house,
”
Isabel says. She lays a hand on top of her large stomach.
“
I have four other creative licensees at home. Well, five, if you count my husband. He
’
s just a big dang kid anyway. But everything is such a huge deal with boys. I
’
ve never understood that.
”

Sierra nods in agreement from atop her granddad
’
s shoulders.

“
I knew you
’
d back me up, Sierra. And they say girls are the dramatic ones. Whatever,
”
Isabel whispers to the five-year-old.
“
So, how
’
s the view from up there?
”

Sierra shows the ruinous scene to her teddy bear before giving a reluctant thumbs-up.

“
Good deal. Just keep a look out for a drive-thru,
”
Isabel adds. She puts her hands on the little feet squirming hard against her belly.
“
Baby wants a breakfast burrito.
”

“
You going to be alright toting that beast around all day, mate?
”
Devin asks Jacob.
“
If she
’
s anything like mine, they
’
re a whole lot heavier than they look.
”

“
I was an Airborne Ranger, son. When you jump out of airplanes, you have to bring every damn thing you
’
re gonna need with you,
”
Jacob says.
“
I
’
ve gotten pretty used to walking through rough terrain with packs twice her size.
”

“
Alright,
”
Devin says. He looks up at the familiar sight of a teddy-toting child sitting up in what he always called the
“
captain
’
s chair.
”
A hint of jealousy sparkles from his eyes.
“
If you do need a break,
”
he adds,
“
these shoulders have carried more than a few adventurous young hooligans.
”

Isabel glances over at Devin. She smiles as the brash Brit
’
s softer side finally shows through.
“
And you didn
’
t want them to come,
”
she nudges.

“
Oh, I
’
ll be fine,
”
Jacob says.
“
It
’
s more the knees I have to worry about these days. Had a few sprains and blowouts over the years on tough landings. Needless to say, I don
’
t jump out of many airplanes anymore. Waste of a perfectly good aircraft, if you ask me.
”

Sunlight arcs through the clouds above. Mile after endless mile creeps under the survivors
’
feet.

Emerging from the ruins, Devin and the others move past more intact signs of civilization farther south. Thousands of bodies pour onto the freeway. The migrating desperate seem to swarm out of whatever holes they found to weather the storm.

The sun briefly peeks out while they walk. It teases them with warmth before fading back into the strangely colored rain clouds overhead. Their deep burgundy flickers with searing edges of white. Something about them makes the hair on the back of Devin
’
s neck stand on end.

Water begins down in sporadic waves. The drops tingle, growing hot when their toxic bite touches skin.

“
Let
’
s try to quicken our pace some,
”
Devin says. He lifts his torn navy suit coat over Sierra
’
s head. A leg from her teddy bear drags behind the little girl along the asphalt. The bear
’
s arm looks frayed and ragged in her grip.
“
I don
’
t think we want to linger out in this weather.
”

“
It
’
s acidic,
”
Jacob says, flipping the collar of his jean shirt up. There
’
s a solemnness in his steely blue eyes that
’
s chilling.

“
The rain?
”
Chris asks. He wipes the drops quickly off his shaved head.

“
Unfortunately, yes,
”
Jacob says.
“
Radioactive particles get blown out for miles after a nuclear blast. They get into the water supply, the air, even the clouds and weather systems. It
’
s what we call an ECE,
”
he continues. All grandfatherly warmth is gone from his face.
“
An Environmental Changing Event.
”

“
Changed. Like forever?
”
Chris asks. He looks back at the city he grew up in. Most of the buildings are intact this far south, but they
’
re uninhabited. The absence of life is eerie. Foreign somehow.

“
Basically,
”
Jacob says.
“
It will take hundreds if not thousands of years before this region is able to fully sustain life again.
”

“
Will we
…
”
Isabel asks, unable to finish her question.

“
That depends on how much exposure we get,
”
Jacob says. His gravelly voice drops to a whisper.
“
Being out in this rain doesn
’
t help our chances.
”

Steaming drops continue down onto rows and rows of the damned. The caravan of survivors strides on,
unaware under a venomous sky. Through sheets of rain, the water dances like a mirage in the desert. The growing heat causes the air itself to distort and bend.

Devin and his group move faster toward the dark shape of an overpass. Rain falls thicker all around them. The drops splash and splatter, sizzling from the tops of cars still stranded on the interstate. A wakening concern on the faces closest to them spreads as the rain now begins to burn with each strike.