Yield (67 page)

“
Not again,
”
Terra whispers. Hate burns from her sapphire eyes. The teenager
’
s finger squeezes against the trigger.
“
Never again.
”

“
I
…
I
’
m sorry,
”
the thief cringes.
“
I haven
’
t eaten. I
…
”
The man covers his face, cowering from the rage he sees pulsing from the girl.

Chris gets to his knees and puts his hands slowly up toward Terra
’
s. Her hands shake. Still the trigger continues back.

“
Terra!
”
Isabel screams.

“
Please, Terra,
”
Chris says calmly.
“
It
’
s alright. He
’
s probably just hungry.
”

“
I won
’
t let them touch me,
”
she says. Her eyes flash with a need for justice, even through her own tears.
“
Never again
…
”
Violence throbs within her. It consumes all shreds of restraint
,
calling her tortured soul to defend. She stares unsympathetically at the thief, readying to fire.

“
Look at me, Terra!
”
Chris yells. He tries gently to pull her hands off their target, but they won
’
t budge.
“
Remember what I said? What I promised? I won
’
t let anyone hurt you, Terra. Not again.
”

Her hands ache to let loose vindication, and erupt the fatal power from what was powerless only hours before.

“
Please. Just put it down,
”
Chris whispers. He feels her hands tense again. His eyes shoot wide.
“
Put it down!
”

The weapon bucks violently backward as it fires. The blazing red flames of ignited gunpowder send the chamber barrel hurtling back in her hands. Tears of immeasurable pain run down Terra
’
s face. She watches the bullet scream without regret into the cheek of her attacker.
Never again
…

His lunging body barely misses a fatal wound.

Images of her mother flicker in Terra
’
s mind. Through the flames, white-eyed animals look down at her hungrily from the shadows
…

The world fades away
,
leaving
only the evil that cowers in front of her. Terra takes aim again.

Chris jumps up, pulling her finger off the depressed trigger. He forces her arms down, his own body now
shaking
.

Terra looks up at him. Her sapphire eyes plead for forgiveness. She releases the gun and falls forward into his arms. Sobs quake through her. The beautiful woman
trembles
against him, all strength rushing out of her.

“
Crazy bitch,
”
the thief sputters. He holds a bloody hand to the side of his face.
“
It was your filthy kind that did this, chink!
”
He kicks the bag back to them and scrambles away into the shadows.

“
What
’
s he talking about?
”
Isabel whispers to
Devin
.

He
shakes his head.
“
I don
’
t know.
”

The warehouse
’
s awakened inhabitants stare back at them. Shattered peace flashes from dozens of accusing eyes.

The fireman cocks his head, about to tell this pissy horde to sod off when his ears suddenly twitch. The sound of electronic static grows louder from somewhere behind them. An alert tone bleeps several times in the distance. Its piercing cry is mixed with voices thick with distortion. He strides toward the noise, hearing the words become more distinct in the static.

“
Hey, I got something,
”
a young boy cries by one of the other drums. He holds a small wooden radio on his lap.

“
Turn it up,
”
Devin says. The muffled voices are infuriatingly close to being understood. Isabel quickly joins him, still wiping the sleep from her eyes. She leans her body against him, drawing from the fireman
’
s body heat.

“
Not
‘
til I get something to eat,
”
the boy demands. He pulls the radio protectively back to his chest.

“
For God
’
s sake, child
!
”
Devin blurts. All their answers are muffled in the boy
’
s dirty shirt. He glares defiantly up at the redhead, his lower lip pouted out.

Devin
’
s green eyes dart around for his bag. The black canvas is on the floor fifteen feet from them.

“
Here,
”
Isabel smiles, gently handing the child two granola bars.

Devin stares questioningly back.

“
What?
”
she asks. Her hands rub against the sides of her bulging stomach.
“
I keep snacks on me in case I get hungry. I am pregnant, you know.
”

The boy sets the radio on the concrete in front of him. He turns it up loud enough for everyone in the warehouse to hear.

“
…
.broadcasting
…
.
”
the crippling alert tone fades in and out. It digs into the sound waves before slowly losing ground to a familiar voice.
“
…
from Queen Anne, on the north side of the Seattle ruins,
”
the reporter continues. Kevin Green
’
s voice rises reassuringly through the static.
“
We
’
ve driven across the dead city for hours, and may be all that
’
s left. I don
’
t even know if there
’
s anyone left to hear this
…
”
he pauses.

The bodies once scattered across the warehouse now cluster around the radio. Re-stoked fires illuminate dozens of eager faces.
“
There was some sort of tone blocking our broadcast. But we
’
ve patched around it at our north Seattle tower. We don
’
t know what it was or why we were prevented from relaying the details of today. What we do know is this
…
”
The static hisses.
“
Yesterday at 12:22
P
.
M
., Eastern Standard Time, a preemptive declaration of war was issued against the United States of America
…
by the allied countries of China
…
Russia
…
North Korea
…
and Iran
…
”

A choir of gasps echoes around the warehouse. The words eat through doubt and hope alike.

“
The first strike was comprised of four maximum-yield nuclear detonations
…
with zero points just above ground level in Washington
,
D
.
C
.,
New York
,
Los Angeles
…
and Seattle
…
”
Kevin
’
s voice
grows quiet
.
“
These blasts were soon followed by a demand for the immediate
…
and unconditional surrender of the United States
…
”

Devin closes his eyes. His stomach starts to spiral
,
plunging downward with mankind
’
s descent into a third World War.

“
The allied countries have threatened more attacks if the U.S. does not comply with those demands
…
”

Bodies listen in silence to the rustle of papers through the radio. Its truth irreversibly changes everything in its path.

“
May God save us all
…
”

Isabel looks on, her hopes burning with the ashen drums. The cries of those around them begin with a despairing fury. The sound is heartbreaking. Empty.

What
’
s left of the KOMO news department huddles around the open van door. They stand just in front of their reporter, their faces drained of emotion. Armageddon
’
s message has filled each of them with a deepening regret. All the experiences they will never have rain down from their eyes. More than anything, a shared wish hangs fervently from their lips
—
hoping beyond all hope that the news is not as it is
…
T
he world
could
be made right again. Their lives
could
continue, just as they were days ago. Children could play. People could love and believe in a happy ever after again
…

But nothing will ever be the same.

That realization shreds through all the remnants of their shattered dreams, leaving nothing but desperation and darkness in its wake.

“
We won
’
t be able to broadcast any new information for a while,
”
Kevin whispers into his stick mic.
“
Like the rest of the city, our station is gone. The generator giving us power is using the same gas we need to get out of Seattle. So please,
”
the reporter says more intensely. Tears sting in his eyes.
“
If there is anyone hearing this: do not give up. Do not give in to the tragedy of this day. Stay alive, and find whatever safety you can. The world needs each and every one of us now.
”
Kevin looks around at the faces of his co-workers and friends.
“
Good luck.
”

Dave brings the master audio slider down. Pulling the headphones off his ears, he rests them on the polo cuff at the back of his neck.
“
We
’
re clear,
”
he says. The young engineer gives his customary thumbs up for the clean transmission end. The gesture
’
s irony almost makes him laugh.

He jumps back into the driver
’
s seat and turns the generator switch off. The device knocks loudly several times before sputtering into death. The interior lights of the news van dim, resuming their normal level after the extra juice cycles down.

“
We still need to feed our footage to the network,
”
Jean reminds. The EP leans in through the van door.

“
I know,
”
Dave says. He tries to avert his eyes from the attractive woman
’
s low-cut red blouse, hanging even lower than usual. His eyes dart around, finally finding solace on a familiar equipment rack.
“
I have to do that from the sat truck. The network
’
s broadcast path is a lot higher than the van
’
s mast can carry.
”
He pulls the quarter-inch shielded audio cable they just used to transmit from the rack
’
s router, coiling it up into neat circles.

“
How long will that take?
”
Jean asks. She sits inside, pulling her blouse up to stop the engineer
’
s squirming.

“
Depends on if there
’
s a satellite dish still there that
’
s able to receive us. We could try to send through the galaxy transponder from here, but the network will still need to know it
’
s coming.
”

“
How the hell do we do that? None of our phones have worked since the blast.
”
Jean pulls the former center of her universe out of a Gucci bag. The iPhone screen is still black and lifeless.