Yield (68 page)

“
Just make a flashing slate leading into the feed,
”
a deep voice rumbles behind them. His shadow almost completely blots out the night peeking in through the sliding door.
“
That should catch their attention.
”

“
What do you mean?
”
Jean asks. She looks up into Jonathon
’
s eyes, glowing like navy blue stars above her. His hands are braced against the top of the roof just over her head. The warmth of his body feels so close to her skin.

He sits down next to her, letting his right leg rest against hers.
“
Well, if we can
’
t call the network, maybe we can just annoy them enough that someone decides to roll on it.
”

“
Could that work?
”
Jean asks, turning for her engineer
’
s counsel.

“
Maybe,
”
Dave shrugs. He scratches the back of his head, trying to shake away the fatigue settling into his normally quick mind. All he can think about is getting a couple hours of rest. His neck aches from driving over the wreckage. The rugged terrain shot through his shoulders at every bounce.

“
Patch the feed into the XDCam,
”
Jonathon says to Dave. He turns
,
then stops to hold his hand out. A plan sparkles from his eyes.

“
What do you have in mind?
”
Jean asks. He pulls her body gently up. A curious smile creases the edges of her mouth.

“
I need your help,
”
he says, forgetting to let go of the soft hand still in his. Jon
’
s long legs accelerate toward the sat truck, pulling her almost weightlessly with him.

Dave uncoils another cable and snaps one end into the sat truck
’
s router input. He plugs the other into the back of their XDCam. The engineer cranks on the sat truck generator, flipping on switch after control panel switch from memory, like a musician playing an instrument he helped build. The satellite dish atop the rig begins to rotate and point upwards into the dense, burgundy clouds. It sifts across the sky, tracking through the coordinates Dave entered. The dish slows to a stop, eventually facing east-southeast.

“
That
’
s odd,
”
Dave says, double-checking the direction.
“
Should be south.
”
He switches the sat controls from
receive
to
send
and jumps out.
“
We
’
re hot whenever you power up.
”
He passes the XDCam to Jonathon.
“
Just push play to roll the disc.
”

Jonathon nods. He pulls Jean back toward the driver
’
s side door.
“
Most of the footage is so dark there
’
s no way the network will know what it is. They won
’
t even know to look for it with all their other feeds coming down.
”
He gestures to the front of the truck with the lens of his news cam.
“
I
’
ve got an idea. I know it
’
s a little low-tech, but I need you to flip the truck lights on and off and honk the horn for me when I signal. I
’
ll be pointed right at your headlights.
”

“
I always did like it when you looked at those,
”
she grins.

“
I didn
’
t
…
”
he stammers. Jonathon adjusts his silver-rimmed glasses, looking down from her pressing gaze.
“
You always did know how to make me squirm.
”

“
I thought that
’
s what you loved about me,
”
she smiles. Jean leans against him. Her violet eyes flash.
“
I may not have been the one you brought home to Mom. But I was always the one you wanted to go home with.
”

“
Easy now,
”
he sighs, feeling his chest tighten.
“
We
’
ve got work to do.
”
The delicate curves of her face almost glow in the moonlight, her eyes catching the light like purple jewels.

“
Later then, lover,
”
she winks. Jean throws a low slap when he turns toward the front of the sat truck. His eyes whip back to hers. Jonathon
’
s smile is stifled at the public spanking, but cracking through the usual emotionless armor he always wears at the office.

“
Dave, I
’
m feeding bars,
”
Jonathon shouts behind him. He backs away slowly to the sat truck. Jean stares at him in challenge.

Jon flips the switch on the side of the camera from VTR to BAR. The brightly saturated strips of color jump to his viewfinder, signaling to the network the beginning of a new feed.
“
Give me some baseline audio!
”

“
You got it,
”
Dave says. He brings up the master fader and scrolls through hundreds of tracks recorded on his DigiCart. Dave
’
s eyes suddenly light up.
“
Oh, I got something real nasty for you, Jon!
”

“
What?
”

“
Just call it a little karma from the tone gods that should get our network
’
s attention.
”
The
young
engineer grins ear to ear as he punches up a recording of the emergency tone that hacked them. The doctored tone squeals out through his headphones. The single note is like a symphony attacking across the sound waves.
“
Let
’
s see how you like it.
”

Jonathon looks down at the cracked glass on his Rolex. He times out a minute on the pieces still ticking with precision inside.
“
Alright, kill the tone!
”
Jon pulls the camera up to his broad right shoulder, flipping the switch back to
CAM
.
“
Jean! Give me some light!
”

She turns the lights off and on in slow rhythm, accompanying it with horn blasts right into the face of the kneeling creative director.

Jonathon crouches four feet from the sat truck
’
s right headlight. He grimaces back the pain beginning to shoot through his knee. The echoing sound rings in his ears. Jon closes his eyes, feeling the light pulse in waves against his skin. It silhouettes his body against the blackened, ash-covered ground.

“
Kill it!
”
he yells to Jean, his right eye buried in the viewfinder. He snap-zooms the camera out from the dimming headlights and flicks on the mounted camera light in one smooth motion.
“
Logo card!
”
he shouts. His voice booms out with a command gained from decades of directing shoots.

Neal Adams pulls the color balancing card out of his bag and drops to a knee two feet in front of the camera.

Jonathon
’
s hands spin against the lens rings. He quickly sets focus on the large KOMO logo emblazoned in the middle of the multi-toned cardboard surface. His body is stone, holding perfectly still as the warm night air blows ash all around him.

“
And clear,
”
the creative director says. His finger gently eases the play button down atop the camera. The XDCam disc instantly spins up and begins playing through his viewfinder. Shots of Seattle
’
s ruins slowly roll past their news van. The video looks more like a junkyard than a city.

Jonathon pulls the camera from his shoulder and glances back up to Dave.
“
How
’
s the signal strength?
”

“
Good enough to hit space from here,
”
the engineer says.

“
Alright, then let
’
s finish feeding these clips up and get ready to move.
”
Jonathon looks back down the peak toward the brilliant reds flickering in the night. Fires continue to grow and ravage through the ruinous miles still below.
“
We should be out of the city by dawn.
”

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.