Yield (99 page)

Jacob erupts into laughter. A deep, merry laugh rolls uncontrollably out of him, echoing back across the truck cabin. The sound is infectious.

Devin tries unsuccessfully to stop the smile spreading across his own face.
“
The tosser had it coming!
”
he defends.
“
Then the police got involved, and like I said, I was a wee bit drunk. The TV stations had a bloody field day with the story.
”
His face takes on an officious anchor scowl.
“
‘
Out-of-control fire chief. His drunken rampage at 11
…
’
I mean, really!
”

The general
’
s laughter ripples out in another wave. His once lethal hands wipe tears of joy from his eyes.

“
Not my finest moment, mate.
”

*  *  *

Sierra yawns, jogged momentarily awake by a series of potholes along the well-used freeway. The little girl blinks sleepily. She looks around before drifting back to sleep again, safe in her grandfather
’
s arms.

“
Have they hit any more cities?
”
Devin asks quietly.

“
Not that I gathered back at the camp,
”
Jacob says.
“
But no one
’
s even sure how they hit the ones they did. North Korea and Iran have both been testing long-range missile delivery systems. I know our satellite and radar defenses, though. And there is just no way they could have launched those a continent away without being intercepted by command. Maybe the bombs were smuggled in through our seaports or with air cargo. X-rays can be blocked. Security can be bypassed. It
’
ll be a while before they pick up the pieces.
”

“
I just hope pieces aren
’
t the only things left,
”
Devin says, his thick British cynicism returning.

He looks over at a flatbed pickup truck passing on their left. Its bed is filled with refugees. Some nod back to him. Some wave. Most just sit and stare unresponsively before zooming on.

More cars move along the lanes of I-5 as the truck approaches Tacoma. Dead vehicles litter the side of the road. One still has its hood up, pouring out steam into the misty sky. An elderly man with sunken eyes stands in front of another. He holds up a cardboard sign with red lettering: NEED GAS.

Cars zoom past him, humanity
’
s selfishness resuming in greater numbers.

The traffic continues to get heavier. They soon pass Tacoma
’
s last exit and approach Lakewood, then Olympia.

“
Looks like there
’
re still a few of us left after all,
”
Jacob remarks. Cars start to slow in front of them. Vehicles fight their way into the four condensing lanes.

“
Never thought I
’
d be happy to see a traffic jam,
”
Devin laughs.

“
One private I spoke with back at camp said there was an evacuation order for the rest of the state.
”

“
The state?!
”
Devin asks. He whips the wheel sharply to avoid some road debris.
“
Why? Where
’
s everyone supposed to go?
”

Jacob motions behind to the dark storm ravaging the skyline 40 miles away.
“
Remember those clouds in Seattle? All that nuclear dust got blown up into the stratosphere. It
’
s falling now and creating more toxic rain across the state, just like the storm we saw.
”

He leans his head out of the passenger window and looks behind them. The general
’
s graying military cut barely moves in the wind. Almost pure black clouds billow and grow over Seattle, pulsing across the earth with their lethal retribution.

“
We have to find another way south,
”
Devin shouts. The traffic is creeping bumper to bumper. They crawl across the pavement under darkening skies.

Just outside of Olympia, traffic is almost at a standstill. Row after impatient row of motorists tries to merge onto I-5. The rig slowly rolls around a turn, passing under an overpass that blocked their view of the interstate ahead. Devin
’
s eyes go wide.

A sprawling mess of vehicles is parked along the freeway. The glittering metal stretches for miles. Nothing is moving.

“
Shit,
”
Devin blurts before looking guiltily down at the little girl sleeping next to him.
“
Sorry, Sierra.
”

A flipped motorhome lies on its side, trapped between the posts of another overpass far ahead. Flames still burn along the sides of the blackened wreckage. All southbound lanes are blocked. The vehicles closest to it are merging onto the right shoulder to get around, one by one.

Devin glances to the right and signals.
“
Hold on!
”
he shouts. The fireman guns it, moving onto the shoulder towards the coastal Highway 101 cutoff. The rig jumps and bounces under them. One side of the vehicle rolls smoothly along the shoulder
’
s pavement; the other side is forced down onto the uneven gravel and dirt. Other cars and trucks soon fall in behind them, heading up the off-ramp.

Traffic lightens again as Devin drives west into the setting sun. The rays shine brightly through the front glass, illuminating specks of dust dancing around the cabin.

Sporadically at first, cars and trucks begin moving along I-5. More of salvation
’
s chariots merge onto the freeway as Devin rumbles past the city of Kent. Twenty miles to the north, black clouds still spread from horizon to horizon. Fire glows inside the darkness, continuing to feed on the ashen remains of Seattle.

Most vehicles they see are overflowing with refugees. Feet dangle from open tailgates. Bodies sit atop other willing laps. The acceptance of a shared fate seems to have pushed all modesty and selfishness aside, bringing those who are left far closer. The caravan of strangers looks at one another across the moving pavement. Stories of terror and survival are carved into every face.

“
I know you
’
d like to, Devin,
”
the general says,
“
but we can
’
t save everyone. Somebody
’
s bound to pick them up. We could have broken an axle if we added more weight back there. Then everyone would
’
ve been walking again.
”

Devin nods blankly. He knows Jacob
’
s right, but all he can see in his mirrors are the desperate faces of those they passed.

“
If there
’
s one thing I
’
ve learned from my years in the Army, son, it
’
s that a shared tragedy brings people together in a way that nothing else can.
”
Jacob
’
s steely blue eyes dart from car to car.
“
Just look around you. I bet you not a soul knows anyone else they
’
re riding with, but they still help each other because they know that
’
s all they have left.
”
There
’
s a hard-fought wisdom in Jacob
’
s face.
“
When everything
’
s been stripped away, we have only our values to guide us.
”

The freeway traffic continues to get heavier the farther south they move.

“
Well, it feels like I
’
ve done most of the talking the past few days,
”
Jacob starts again. Silence has always made him uncomfortable.
“
What
’
s your story anyway, Devin? Where are you from?
”

“
Originally?
”
Devin asks.
“
Liverpool, but I moved to the States with my family back when I was still in high school. Hated them a bit for that,
”
he smiles.
“
I suppose that
’
s where my daughter gets some of her rebellious nature. I left home two weeks before my eighteenth birthday and never looked back.
”

“
That
’
s a long time to be out on your own.
”

“
Not really,
”
Devin says.
“
I became a firefighter pretty soon after I left. Spent seventeen years running into fires. Even was a station chief back in Portland.
”

“
Was?
”
Jacob presses. Devin
’
s use of past tense jumps out to the general like a bright red flag.

“
I
…
”
Devin pauses. He glances out to the landscape whizzing by them, trying to find the right words.
“
I was put on semi-permanent leave a couple months ago.
”

“
Semi-permanent?
”
Jacob laughs.
“
What the hell
’
s that? In my day, Devin, they called it getting fired.
”

“
A blooming mess is what it was, mate,
”
Devin says. Color jumps to his cheeks.

“
So, what
’
d you do?
”

“
Why does it matter?
”
Devin asks. The fireman scoots his back in tighter to the seat, his body straightening.

“
Why are you answering a question with a question?
”
Jacob counters.
“
It
’
s a long drive, and I just realized I really don
’
t know a whole hell of a lot about you.
”

Devin sighs. He really doesn
’
t want to pick at old wounds. But the general is not the kind of man to drop it. Not after he smells blood.

“
Underneath this elegant veneer,
”
Devin begins,
“
I
’
m told I
’
m a bit of an ass. For some reason, people enjoy being so incredibly forward around me.
”
He glances accusingly at Jacob.
“
I was also told that I had a bit of a drinking problem, and I needed to get it under control. It was all rubbish, blown completely out of proportion by the bloody media,
”
Devin says angrily.
“
I suppose if you look forward to having a drink to take the edge off a rough day or to celebrate a good one
, p
retty soon you
’
re making up all kinds of excuses just to take a nip.
”

“
They
‘
semi-permanently
’
fired you just for enjoying a drink every now and then?
”
Jacob presses. He puts his fingers up in quotes to emphasize the fireman
’
s bullshit term.
“
How did any of that even get back to the media?
”

“
Well,
”
Devin grins.
“
There was also a minor dispute with one of my daughter
’
s boyfriends. Yes, I may have had just a wee bit too much liquid comfort in me at the time, but the 18-year-old cretin was in my house, trying to dilly-dally with my little girl! So
…
”
Devin pauses again, looking at the general
’
s rapt face.
“
I kindly escorted the bugger out. And down the driveway. And perhaps across the street into my neighbor
’
s bird bath
…
”
The fireman
’
s voice trails off. His eyes drift to the window, borrowing agreement from the barren landscape moving past.