Yield (57 page)

The fireman turns, shielding his eyes.
“
I think there
’
s a light up ahead in that building.
”
Devin squints to the south. A faint glow emanates from a warehouse two blocks away. The building is surrounded by five and six-story structures, still untouched by the fires of anarchy behind them.
“
We need to get out of this bloody rain.
”

The vertical sheets of metal that surround the building
’
s double-doors look rusty and worn, even from this distance. Chris
’
s jaw tightens. He feels an arm slide around his waist, pulling him tight. The basketball star smiles. The lavender scent of Terra
’
s black hair cascading over his shoulder is intoxicating.
“
I
’
m not going anywhere,
”
he says, looking down into her worried eyes.

Caution knots inside Isabel
’
s stomach. She speeds up to put some distance between her and the two teenagers.
“
You sure we want to go in there?
”
Isabel whispers. The single orange glow flickers through the rain, beckoning like a dangled lure in the darkness.
“
People haven
’
t exactly been too welcoming lately.
”

“
Whoever it is has fire and shelter,
”
Devin says. He wipes the rain from his face. The torrent continues unabated, shimmering in the reflected firelight of the warehouse.
“
Right now, that
’
s looking pretty blooming good, love.
”

The Brit raises the shotgun barrel up to his shoulder. A charismatic grin flashes across his face.
“
We
’
ll be careful.
”
He turns back to Chris and Terra, walking arm in arm just behind them.
“
Come on, now. Let
’
s go say hello to the neighbors.
”

Lightning flickers overhead. Four shapes stumble into the alley behind Warshal
’
s Sporting Goods, their steaming bodies begging for rest. Unusually warm showers bite into their skin, doing little to cool the weariness.

Devin and the others turn and head up the narrow pathway. They force their feet on, eyes darting around for any new signs of danger. The world is black. Even the light has abandoned them.

The group staggers over the uneven ground toward the glow of fires along Second Avenue.
“
Got turned around a bit in there, mate,
”
Devin whispers to Chris. The fireman crouches down behind a large dumpster at the alley mouth. He motions for the rest to hide.
“
How do we get back to the freeway?
”

People running down Second pass the alley fewer in number now. Only a couple of orange jumpsuits can be seen before the street clears once more. Flames inside scorched storefronts and vehicles light up an apocalyptic view. Darkness dances back and forth with fire, shining all across a city of death.

Chris leans carefully out. His eyes narrow. The basketball star
’
s left hand is clutched tightly by Terra
’
s. His right firmly grips the gun handle at his back. He sees a flicker of orange on the peripherals of the roadway fade into the shadows as prisoners continue to let loose upon the night.

“
The freeway
’
s straight ahead,
”
Chris says, ducking behind the dumpster again.
“
About five blocks.
”

Terra looks up at him. Fear still stiffens her face.

“
It
’
s okay,
”
Chris says. He takes her small hand with both of his.
“
They
’
ve moved on. I
’
ll lead the way out to make sure.
”

Icy doubt stares back at him.
They
’
re hiding
…
The thought shrieks inside her mind.
Waiting in the darkness
.
Terra
’
s shoulders start to shake, feeling the cold touch of demons in the shadows.

Chris
’
s eyes never falter. Their certainty slowly fills Terra
,
c
alming her with a stolen confidence. She nods. The teenager squeezes tighter with both of her pale hands.

The survivors inch forward, moving slowly toward the light. Her heart pounds.

“
Easy, now,
”
Devin whispers. He cringes as Chris leans out into the wavering street glow.

Isabel clutches the back of Devin
’
s suit jacket. Her fingers dig into the fabric so tightly her hands begin to throb.

They wait
—
f
or an eternity of doubt
—
in the darkness
.

“
Go!
”
Chris growls.

Fear drives their fatigued legs. Hands cling resolutely to weapons and one another, crossing onto the six lanes of Second Avenue. Devin
’
s head snaps from side to side. His eyes scan over the rain-splashed streets. The shadows on the other side are almost
forty
feet away.

Breaking glass crashes beside them. Devin spins, training his 12-gauge.

Orange jumpsuits kick in the remaining windows of the sporting goods store, throwing another brilliant cocktail inside.

Devin pushes Isabel and Terra forward.
“
Move!
”
he barks, still
thirty
feet from the safety of the alley shadows.

Their legs burn to double the pace. The orange whips of Satan himself are upon them in the rain.

Cracked asphalt blurs under the survivors
’
feet. Voices scream out at them through the storm. The sound booms like thunder. Barbaric echoes bounce all around. So close
now
…

The group moves faster and faster, lunging into the welcoming shadows of the alley. All of the buildings along both blocks are on fire now. A red glow covers the entire world in blood.

Devin spins, stumbling backward through the black. His weapon trails across the bright fires behind them. It rockets into the surging orange, sending two convicts crumpling to the ground. Dozens more glare back. Evil looks out at him from the abyss,
hungering.
Aching.

The readiness in Devin’s eyes
is enough to keep their thirst at bay
.

Hesitantly, the orange drifts down the street.

The glow of chaos gradually dims as Devin and his group pass several more blocks. They sink into another alley heading east.

*  *  *

Bitter rains pound down. Seattle
’
s streets reflect images of devastation and despair up to the heavens. But no angels take flight to save them. Only more tears rain out, strengthening the approaching storm of men.

Weaving along Spring Street, Chris
’
s eyes widen. The dark shape of the freeway is just below.
“
Finally,
”
he says. His legs move faster towards the thankful sight.

Once they emerge from the alley shadows, his feet suddenly skid to a stop. The curving on-ramps and overpass supports lay cracked and crumpled upon the Interstate
’
s base
twenty
feet below.

“
Damn it!
”
Isabel shouts. The pregnant flight attendant pulls Terra closer to her. Both of their bodies steam and shiver in the downpour.

A broken web of civilization
’
s intersections looks back at them.
“
Figures,
”
Devin mutters.
A s
ea of tinfoil cars sit crushed underneath the massive chunks of concrete, their drivers still entombed.

The fireman turns, shielding his eyes.
“
I think there
’
s a light up ahead in that building.
”
Devin squints to the south. A faint glow emanates from a warehouse two blocks away. The building is surrounded by five and six-story structures, still untouched by the fires of anarchy behind them.
“
We need to get out of this bloody rain.
”

The vertical sheets of metal that surround the building
’
s double-doors look rusty and worn, even from this distance. Chris
’
s jaw tightens. He feels an arm slide around his waist, pulling him tight. The basketball star smiles. The lavender scent of Terra
’
s black hair cascading over his shoulder is intoxicating.
“
I
’
m not going anywhere,
”
he says, looking down into her worried eyes.

Caution knots inside Isabel
’
s stomach. She speeds up to put some distance between her and the two teenagers.
“
You sure we want to go in there?
”
Isabel whispers. The single orange glow flickers through the rain, beckoning like a dangled lure in the darkness.
“
People haven
’
t exactly been too welcoming lately.
”

“
Whoever it is has fire and shelter,
”
Devin says. He wipes the rain from his face. The torrent continues unabated, shimmering in the reflected firelight of the warehouse.
“
Right now, that
’
s looking pretty blooming good, love.
”

The Brit raises the shotgun barrel up to his shoulder. A charismatic grin flashes across his face.
“
We
’
ll be careful.
”
He turns back to Chris and Terra, walking arm in arm just behind them.
“
Come on, now. Let
’
s go say hello to the neighbors.
”

Dave Jenkins blinks back the sand-papery dust stinging at the edges of his eyes. His hands steer north in silence. Uncomfortable small talk with the passenger sitting next to him ceased hours ago. Neither man has been in the mood for conversation driving through the crumbled remains of their city.

The truck moves slowly into the black, over piles of wreckage covering downtown. Dim arcs from their headlights barely illuminate the devastation. Its realm stretches far beyond, disappearing into the grip of nothingness.

A sole news van, all that remains of the intimidating KOMO fleet, follows closely behind their sat truck. The shock springs groan out, its tires rising and falling over the broken concrete. Neal Adams, the station
’
s 54-year-old career photographer, sits with his legs dangling out of the open sliding door. His shouldered camera shoots out across the haze.

“
The destruction is everywhere,
”
Kevin Green records into his stick mic.
“
We
’
ve been driving for hours and have yet to find any signs of life. Words simply can
’
t describe the level of damage we
’
re seeing traveling north over the ruins of Seattle.
”

Flames continue to pulse from inside the piles of indistinguishable debris they pass. Fiery pockets of light shine brightly upon the blackened earth. The smell of burning death fills the air. Row after row of twisted building frames are wrapped around one another, intense heat from the detonation fusing their remnants with an indivisible embrace.

“
Oh, my God,
”
Kevin whispers.
“
Over there used to be a middle school.
”
The burnt sign is bent diagonally down. Its metal support posts are melted, lying partially submerged under massive chunks of concrete.
“
My son
…
”
the reporter
’
s voice trails off. The thought of all those children lost in one singularly brutal instant slams into him.