Yield (35 page)

“
To where?
”
Chris asks angrily. Everything he
’
s ever known is now gone.

“
Everyone on this side of
Seattle
is probably heading south,
”
Devin says. He points behind him to the people walking along the freeway.
“
Fallout from
whatever just exploded is probably bad news, bloke
.
”
Lightning flickers within the dark clouds above the city.
“
We need to get away from here.
”

“
Chris?
”
Isabel asks. She puts a hand on Chris
’
s shoulder, but the basketball star continues to stare down at the radio.

“
I can
’
t go south,
”
Chris finally says. He looks to the broken ground for answers.

“
Didn
’
t you hear me, mate?
”
Devin asks, his British accent growing more tense.

“
My parents,
”
Chris whispers.
“
They
’
re downtown. I need to
…
”

“
Need to what?
”
Devin interrupts. The fireman takes a step toward him.
“
There isn
’
t a downtown left!
”

Chris turns on him, his eyes again filling with violence.

“
I
’
m sorry, Chris. But look around you,
”
Devin says. He holds his arms out, refusing to back down.
“
The city
’
s gone!
”

Chris is silent. He glances back toward the smoldering remains of
Seattle
.

“
If we leave now, we have a chance.
”

“
Leave to where?
”
Chris yells. His insides feel like they
’
re tearing themselves apart.
“
Where the hell can we go?!
”

“
Portland,
”
Devin says. Thoughts of home and his family bring the firefighter instant comfort.
“
Anywhere,
”
he continues in a softer tone.
“
Just away from
all
this.
”

“
He
’
s right, Chris,
”
Isabel adds. The flight attendant walks in front of the teenager she helped raise over so many years of friendship with his mother. She stares up into the proud, brown eyes above.

“
How can you just leave them?
”
Chris begs.
“
You were their friend!
”

“
I love your mom,
”
Isabel defends. Her fiery eyes snap at the accusation.
“
You know that! But I also told her I
’
d look after you.
”

She points to the flattened horizon where skyscrapers should be.
“
There
’
s nothing back there but destruction and death,
”
Isabel says.
“
We
’
re all we
’
ve got right now, Chris. I need you.
”
She takes his hand and lays it on her stomach.
“
We need you.
”

The 17-year-old
’
s eyes go wide, feeling the life inside push against him.
“
Alright?
”
Isabel presses. The crack in his armor shines as brightly as hammered steel.
“
Let
’
s just go with them f
a
rther south. We can try to contact your folks from there.
”

Devin gently touches Terra
’
s shoulder. He follows the beautiful young woman
’
s unblinking gaze down the freeway towards the burning plane. The teenager
’
s pallid face looks on without expression. Her black hair casts deep shadows across her eyes.

“
We need to go, Terra,
”
he says, kneeling.

The words are like crackling in her ears. She stares into the flames as they ravenously feed upon the fuselage.

“
My name is Devin,
”
he says. The fireman slowly moves between her and the wreckage of their plane.
“
I have two kids of my own, and I think your mom would want someone to look after you. I need you to come with us so I can do that. Okay, love? We
’
ll get you back to whatever family we can.
”

Terra blinks, finally looking up to meet his gaze. The sky-blue color of her eyes gradually returns, shifting at the edges from a cool gray to a paling sapphire.

“
Come on,
”
Devin says, helping her up. The two begin walking alongside Isabel and Chris. They look out at hundreds of other troubled souls moving ahead of them into the devastation.

“
In my religion,
”
a coarse voice says from behind them,
“
if you save a life, you become responsible for it.
”

Abd tucks the small black radio into his sling and quickens his pace.

“
Excuse me?
”
Devin asks.

“
Helping others is one of the supreme acts in life,
”
Abd continues. He circles around so Devin separates him from Chris. Abd
’
s eyes glance worriedly up at the huge teenager. His split lip tries meekly to smile.

“
What does an Arab know about helping?
”
Chris says.
“
You just want to see the whole world burn.
”

“
No. Islam is a religion of peace,
”
Abd defends.
“
True followers of Allah would never do something like this.
”

“
But bringing down airplanes on 9-11 and cutting up people is alright,
”
Chris continues, showing the blood-stained shirt over his stomach.

“
Those people twisted my religion to fit their perverted goals,
”
Abd says. He shakes his head, his tone hardening.
“
I thought you were going to kill me. I would have done nothing to you otherwise.
”

“
Whatever.
”

“
This is all very interesting,
”
Devin says, looking skeptically at the Arab.
“
But I don
’
t quite understand why we
’
re having this little conversation.
”

“
I
…
”
Abd mumbles. His black eyes drift to the ground, unable to meet the firefighter
’
s.
“
I need to get back to Portland, too. And I just thought
…
”

“
Are you kidding me?! Find your own way,
”
Chris blurts. He turns to Devin.
“
You can
’
t trust his kind. What if he gets all crazy again? Or decides to carve you up in your sleep? Greasy little son of a
…
”

“
Hey,
”
Devin cuts him off.
“
We don
’
t know who did this. Or why. Skin color aside, all I see is a bunch of people in the same bloody situation we
’
re all in.
”
The firefighter looks back at Abd
’
s scrawny frame. The white sling and
gangly
shoulders might as well have been a bull
’
s-eye. He sighs, pushing down the warnings in his head.
“
Well, come on then, mate. You best not slow us down.
”

*  *  *

On the northbound side of the freeway, they pass a massive pileup of vehicles. Among the mangled metal and fiberglass is a blistered, red Porsche Boxster. Only the crumpled tail of the sports car is still visible, its vanity plate sticking out from under the discarded load of a multi-ton semi-truck.

Chris continues angrily on, walking as far from the Arab as he can. He passes just a hundred yards from the body of his mother as she lies entombed within the wreckage.

The survivors from what
’
s left of Seattle slowly fill the eight-lane I-5, migrating away from the damage one indecisive step at a time. Their clothing is ripped or stained with blood. Walking steadily onward, they clutch what meager possessions are left to them. Sacrifice haunts their eyes. These walking dead bring stories of survival, moving in a daze through the dwindling rain.

Fires continue to burn from remnants of the city all around them. The smell of death is everywhere. A jungle gym sits melted beside what used to be an elementary school. The school itself is now just rubble upon a scorched earth.

Turning from the group of plane crash survivors still standing around a battery-powered radio, Devin watches the growing number of people heading south. An alert tone sounds hollowly behind him. It
’
s replaced sporadically with static as a weary hand tries to find anything left inside the noise. Only the oppressive tone of dissonance greets them
—
blaring out across all radio bands.

Taking their cue, the remaining survivors grab what they can off the ground or out of burnt vehicles before joining the exodus. One after another, they leave the clustered pack until only a handful remains. Those left behind stand without purpose. They hope for answers from the box resting mockingly upon the car hood in front of them.

Abd
’
s eyes dart around. He strides up to the radio and begins moving the dial with his good hand. The Arab shifts through every frequency, compelled to verify for himself that there
’
s truly nothing
left
to find.

“
You should think about moving on, too,
”
Devin says, looking over to Chris and Isabel. Terra sits on the ground beside him, staring blankly ahead.

“
To where?
”
Chris asks angrily. Everything he
’
s ever known is now gone.

“
Everyone on this side of
Seattle
is probably heading south,
”
Devin says. He points behind him to the people walking along the freeway.
“
Fallout from
whatever just exploded is probably bad news, bloke
.
”
Lightning flickers within the dark clouds above the city.
“
We need to get away from here.
”

“
Chris?
”
Isabel asks. She puts a hand on Chris
’
s shoulder, but the basketball star continues to stare down at the radio.

“
I can
’
t go south,
”
Chris finally says. He looks to the broken ground for answers.

“
Didn
’
t you hear me, mate?
”
Devin asks, his British accent growing more tense.

“
My parents,
”
Chris whispers.
“
They
’
re downtown. I need to
…
”

“
Need to what?
”
Devin interrupts. The fireman takes a step toward him.
“
There isn
’
t a downtown left!
”