Yield (62 page)

He takes out his treasured Nintendo DS from a backpack containing the rest of his small world. The boy hesitates for a moment, looking longingly at the device.

His stomach gurgles again. The boy grudgingly takes the four double-A batteries out and stuffs them into the radio. It pops on with a whine. His heart jumps. The boy twists the round dial and turns up the volume, putting the device up to his ear.

Only static and a high-pitched alert tone hiss back from all channels.

His deep blue eyes tear up in disappointment. The orphaned boy snaps the broken radio off. He curls up around it, settling down for a
restless
and hungry sleep.

Weary travelers emerge from the night, stepping through two sliding warehouse doors that stretch to the building
’
s roofline. Three open chemical drums light the lower floor of the warehouse with their flames. The shadows they cast send the immense structure
’
s edges into darkness.

Clusters of people huddle by the firelight. Close to twenty haggard souls rest sporadically throughout the warehouse, trying to find warmth inside the cold metal hostel. Some glance cautiously up at Devin and his group as they enter. Most just stand or sit
,
staring into their vivid fires. Dejection and fear smear their faces.

The fireman stuffs the barrel of his shotgun into the unzipped bag over his shoulder. The gun handle hangs out within easy reach. Not wanting to attract attention, they approach the smallest commune on the far right side of the warehouse. Devin holds his hands out and moves slowly into the fire
’
s glow.

The flames reveal three men and a woman crowding around the barrel. All look up in suspicion when the newcomers stop. Their hands clench, ready to defend what is theirs.

A Creole man standing closest to Devin turns and scowls when he hears the shuffling of feet behind him. The man
’
s eyelids are blistered shut. The wounds create deep shadows across his face. In his late forties, the blind Creole wears a mismatch of new clothes over his deep black skin. The tattered edges of a cream dress shirt show from under a hooded sweatshirt.

“
Mind if we join you?
”
Devin asks. He scans their unwelcome stares for the leader.

“
‘
At depends on what
‘
chew have,
”
the blind man says in a rumbling New Orleans accent.

Chris grabs Devin
’
s arm, turning to leave.

“
It
’
s okay,
”
Devin reassures.
“
I can handle this, mate. Bag of chips and some bottles of water work for you?
”
the fireman asks. He digs inside the canvas equipment bag and holds up his offering.

“
That it?
”
The blind man swallows hard.
“
What else you got?
”

“
I
’
m not interested in buying this here warehouse, bloke. Just need to rest a bit. We can take our things elsewhere if you like,
”
Devin says. He eyes the other two men, meeting their icy looks.

“
No need for
‘
dat now,
”
the blind Creole says. An eager tone replaces the confrontation in his voice.
“
Welcome to
‘
da party.
”

“
Splendid,
”
Devin sighs. His manners are forced and draining.
“
Why don
’
t you all get some sleep,
”
the fireman whispers to Chris.
“
I
’
ll stay up for a while and try to get some news from our hosts here. Portland
’
s still a hundred-fifty miles or so. Maybe they can tell us what the hell
’
s going on out there.
”

The fireman sets down the black munitions bag next to his companions before returning to the fire with his tithe.
“
Here you go, mate.
”

“
Much oblige
’
,
”
the Creole says. He rips into the chips upside down, putting a handful in his mouth before passing the bag to the others.

*  *  *

Several feet from the burning drum, Chris gently takes Terra
’
s shoulders and helps her to sit.
“
Here we go,
”
he says. Concern softens his usually deep and hardened voice. Chris
’
s body sinks to the concrete beside her.

“
Thank you,
”
Terra whispers, almost too quietly to hear. Her sapphire eyes drift over to the fire. It crackles, shooting sparks up to their death with each sound. Shivering, she clutches her knees and pulls them tightly to her body.

“
That jacket works pretty good as a blanket, too,
”
Chris says. The ruddy glow of the flames sparkles along the girl
’
s black hair. Light pirouettes over her exotic features. It
’
s hypnotizing.
“
Maybe even a sleeping bag for you,
”
he laughs.

Isabel clears her throat, setting the Huskies bag down next to them.
“
Oh, boy. I remember that look.
”
A grin flashes across her face.
“
Been a while. But I still remember.
”
She settles down a ways in front of them, her eyes sparkling.

“
Izz,
”
Chris growls. He looks back at her with embarrassment rising to his cheeks. Chris unzips the purple bag, still glaring at his annoying nursemaid. He pulls out a candy bar and sports drink.

The slow sound of the zipper opening makes Terra jump. Her eyes dart around.

“
Your five-star dinner, madam,
”
Chris says. He holds the main course out with a bow.

Terra
’
s body relaxes. Her protector
’
s smile, however, looks awkwardly pained.

Chris
’
s legs started to cramp almost immediately after he knelt onto the concrete. His body starts to lean, trying without success to relax the muscles firing all along his right leg.

Terra smiles at the unexpected chivalry. The huge teenager is literally falling all over himself to wait on her. She cracks open the bottle and takes a drink, letting a contented sigh escape.

Like magnets, Chris
’
s eyes slowly stray back to hers. The blue seems dampened. Lost. It
’
s as if the color is clinging to the darkness even as he tries to pull it back from the abyss.

Wavering firelight moves over their faces. Sparks shoot out above them
—
the fireflies dancing in the night.

Terra
’
s eyes soften then yield under his gaze. There
’
s a piercing sort of innocence within them. Calming and safe. Her stomach flutters. She
’
s felt it every time he looks at her.

He can
’
t save you
…

Terra shivers. Flames steal her eyes away again. She turns, watching the snapping fire bugs ballet up into the black.

“
Let
’
s get you warm,
”
Chris says. He scoots closer, rubbing his hands on the white leather shoulders of the letterman jacket to stop her shaking.

She leaps out of his hands like a cornered animal, her startled eyes snapping back.

“
Sorry, I
…
”
Chris stammers.
“
You just looked cold. And I
…
”
his mortified voice falls off. His eyes buckle. Hers could melt ice.

Terra
’
s face slowly relaxes as she looks at him. The man
’
s expression is horrified. She leans forward and wraps her arms around her legs
again
. Tighter and tighter, she clutches them. The teenager stares distantly into the flames, her chin resting atop her knees.

“
I
’
m sorry,
”
Chris whispers. His face is averted like a scolded child. Color flushes his cheeks. He puts a hand down to the concrete, beginning to stand.

“
Please
…
”
Terra
’
s musical voice whispers,
“
stay.
”
She grabs his knee before he can move away.
“
I
’
m just
…
”

Chris looks back at the thin hand holding onto him in surprise. His body sinks down again, following Terra
’
s eyes to the fire.
“
You don
’
t have to explain anything to me, Terra,
”
he says. Flickering light bounces all around their sanctuary. It paints motionless bodies still trying to drift away from the nightmares of the real world, seeking solace in whatever dreams they can.

“
Honestly, girl, I can be a real dipshit sometimes,
”
he smiles.
“
It
’
s probably not a secret, I know. But I
’
m not what you
’
d call intellectually gifted. Sports were always my thing.
”

Terra
’
s eyes drift back to
the
curious man beside her.

“
My friend D used to call me his big ox on the court
…
”
Chris starts. His smile quickly shatters. Thoughts of his lifelong best friend
cut
through his mind.
I
’
ll never see him again.
The reality rips into him like a
gunshot
.
D
’
s dead. They
’
re all dead
…
He will never again get to laugh so hard at one of Darius
’
s practical jokes that his sides ache. They will never be able to bail each other out of trouble at college or grow old in the same neighborhood. Their kids will never meet, never know how one could always make the other better
…

“
Damn,
”
he whispers, trying to blink back the tears in his eyes.

“
Was he
…
”
Terra asks. She dreads the answer even before the words leave her lips.

“
He was sitting next to me on the plane. Right next to me,
”
Chris says.
“
How come he died and I didn
’
t? He was the funny one. The smart one. The one that was always gonna do something.
”
Chris looks away, wiping a tear roughly from his cheek.
“
I
’
m just a baller. Why the hell am I still here?
”

Terra looks at him, feeling the same pain
,
the same loss, deep inside her.
“
To help
the ones
you can,
”
she says. She leans closer, laying her head on his shoulder.
“
That
’
s what my mom always used to say.
”

*  *  *

Devin and the blind man stand, arms outstretched to the fire. It hisses and pops loudly inside the drum, the sounds snapping back from the steel walls.

The Creole wipes the chip grease from his hands down the front of his light blue sweatshirt. He feels the stranger
’
s questioning stare even through the fire
’
s glow.
“
How bad was it whe
’
you were?
”
the New Orleanite rumbles.