Yield (73 page)

“
Just take it!
”
Katherine shouts.
“
All I need is a couple weeks
’
worth of insulin. I
’
ve gone everywhere else. Please. It
’
s for my eight-year-old son,
”
she begs.
“
Please!
”

The pharmacist slowly pushes the money back under the window.
“
I can
’
t help you. I
’
m sorry. Next!
”

Too stunned to even move, Katherine can only stare back at her. She waits for some spark of compassion
—
s
ome semblance of humanity. But there
’
s nothing in the woman
’
s eyes other than the eagerness to deliver her next death sentence.

Kat shoves the money back into her purse.
“
Go to hell.
”

Bustling mobs of the injured fill the hallways of Portland
’
s Kaiser Permanenté Hospital. All along its swarming corridors, patients scream out in pain or cry for the help of a loved one. But the blue and white uniforms have all but disappeared, leaving only a handful to make their rounds through the chaos.

“
Code blue!
”
the loudspeaker above announces ominously.
“
New evacs coming in. Prep ERs one and two.
”

Slowly at first, the building begins to shake. A low roar fills the air. It pulses back from every wall, rattling both metal and nerves. The thundering of medical helicopters grows louder in the distance as the transports bank toward the rooftop
’
s helipad.

Pushing through a crowd of people in front of the pharmacy, a fuming mother shoves a slip of paper into the window slot. The mob starts to murmur impatiently behind the blond woman, growing larger by the second. Dissident voices whisper and shout at the delay.

Nurses push into the horde. They fight their way through the huge line, trying to get down the halls to their patients.

“
No, I
’
ve been to the other pharmacies,
”
Katherine pleads.
“
They wouldn
’
t fill my son
’
s prescription.
”
She stares at the heavyset black lady behind the counter. The ferocity of survival flickers in Kat
’
s hazel eyes.
“
Please! My son has type-1 diabetes. He needs insulin.
”

“
I
’
m sorry,
”
the pharmacist says coldly.
“
But all medicine is being redirected to the impact zones. I can only authorize prescriptions in the case of an emergency. If he has an attack, you
’
re more than welcome to bring him back in and we
’
ll see what we can
…
”

“
He almost died yesterday,
”
Katherine cuts her off. Maternal rage slices just below her words.
“
Do you understand that? If he has another attack, it could kill him.
”

“
I
’
m sorry, ma
’
am. But there
’
s nothing I can do.
”
The pharmacist leans over, deliberately looking around her current distraction.
“
I
’
m gonna have to ask you to step aside. There are lots of
…
”

“
Excuse me?
”
Kat asks incredulously.

“
Please step as
…
”

“
I will not let you kill my son!
”
Katherine screams, slamming her fist into the window.

The pharmacist jumps back from the shaking glass. Fear shoots into her eyes at the ferocity of this unassuming housewife.

“
You need to pick up that damn phone and figure something out,
”
Kat spits.
“
Sitting behind that glass, playing God.
”
She shakes her head, leaning closer to the holes in the window.
“
What do you want? Money?
”

Katherine throws her purse haphazardly onto the counter. She rummages through it, pulling out a wad of bills and stuffing them under the glass.

The pharmacist stares uncomfortably at the money, squirming in her seat.
“
Ma
’
am, I
…
”

“
Just take it!
”
Katherine shouts.
“
All I need is a couple weeks
’
worth of insulin. I
’
ve gone everywhere else. Please. It
’
s for my eight-year-old son,
”
she begs.
“
Please!
”

The pharmacist slowly pushes the money back under the window.
“
I can
’
t help you. I
’
m sorry. Next!
”

Too stunned to even move, Katherine can only stare back at her. She waits for some spark of compassion
—
s
ome semblance of humanity. But there
’
s nothing in the woman
’
s eyes other than the eagerness to deliver her next death sentence.

Kat shoves the money back into her purse.
“
Go to hell.
”

The Creole
’
s blistered hands stretch out toward the warmth of his fire drum. The morning air feels brisker than normal, much colder than any March he can remember. It
’
s like the moisture has all been sucked from the air, leaving only a frigid sort of emptiness behind. His breath hangs in it. His fused eyelids still see the same brilliant white that now follows him everywhere he goes
,
even into sleep, but the blind man can feel the steam freezing just as it leaves his mouth. He shivers.

Bodies around the rusted Seattle warehouse slowly come to life. Their motivation seeps out almost as quickly when they realize their nightmares have not ceased with the new day.

The haggard commune watches one of the newcomers
’
rustling movements growing louder beside them. Their annoyance stares back through the crackling flames.

Devin stuffs the torn navy suit-jacket he used as a pillow back into his bag.
“
You heard the news report,
”
Devin growls.
“
We
’
ve got to get the blooming hell out of here and book on. No one knows where these bastards are going to hit next.
”

“
I know,
”
Isabel yawns.
“
But not all of us are morning people, Devin. It takes some of us just a bit longer to rejoin the human race. Shouldn
’
t we wait until it warms up anyway?
”
The pregnant woman pulls a purple Huskies blanket over her and Terra
’
s shoulders like a shawl.
“
We did have a late night, you know.
”

“
So sorry to inconvenience you, love,
”
he says. His normally cheerful accent is thick with sarcasm this morning. He picks up the black bag and slings it across his body, adjusting the gun barrels to run diagonally along his back.

The fireman sighs. He tries to summon the patience forged over his many years of
saving strangers
.
“
I could have just ducked out and let you all sleep in, Izz, but I didn
’
t. I can get you all down south to Portland, or to whatever help there is along the way
…
”
his voice trails off.
If Portland
’
s still there by then
…
Devin
’
s green eyes flicker.
“
If you
’
re coming, I
’
m leaving now. Simple as that,
”
he snaps.
“
I have a wife and two children of my own who need me every bit as much as you do.
”

Isabel glares back at him. Her own eyes flash with a confrontational reflex as natural to her as blinking. Isabel has never been one to back down from an argument, but there
’
s a growing dread in Devin
’
s face that for some reason saddens her. His eyes are wide with it even though his words are sharp with anger.

“
Alright,
”
she concedes.
“
Don
’
t get your knickers in a knot.
”
Isabel pulls the purple blanket off her shoulders and tucks the rest of it gently around Terra
’
s body like a cocoon. The pregnant flight attendant rocks her front-heavy body back and forth, trying awkwardly to stand.

“
Not very polite to abandon an expectant mother, son,
”
a gravelly voice scolds from behind them. The man
’
s chiseled hand, weathered by years harder than most, reaches down and pulls Isabel easily to her feet.

Devin turns, irritated at the stranger
’
s harsh words. A
pair of
steely blue eyes stare back at him. Something inside them stops Devin
’
s quick tongue in its tracks.

“
Thank you,
”
Isabel says in surprise.

Jacob Leder smiles and tips his head politely. The man
’
s military crew cut still looks crisp, but his face shows more weariness than the ex-Ranger normally allows.
His
shoulders are squared back and precise under his button-up jean shirt, like they were sculpted from stone and carved off the edges of his thick neck. His eyes instantly size up the redhead.

“
I wasn
’
t going to leave her,
”
Devin blurts, his face growing flushed.
“
I just
…
”
The fireman tries to shake the same feeling of embarrassment he used to get from his Catholic schoolteachers. Public punishment didn
’
t work back then either.

He stands up straight and thrusts his shoulders back.
“
What business is it of yours anyway, bloke?
”

“
It
’
s not,
”
Jacob says. His deep voice rumbles even though he tries to speak softly.
“
I just don
’
t like seeing ladies mistreated.
”

“
Mistreated?!
”
Devin shouts.
“
Are you bloody serious? I
’
ve helped this lot get through hell and back.
”

“
Easy, son. Just call
‘
em as I see
‘
em. I
’
m not exactly bashful, case you missed that. Just never could keep my mouth shut,
”
the soldier smiles disarmingly. His eyes are still hard as granite.
“
Name
’
s Jacob,
”
he says, extending a hand.
“
Brigadier General Jacob Leder. Retired.
”

Devin reluctantly reaches out. He regrets it immediately. Devin winces as the 57-year-old
’
s grip crushes down harder than guys
’
in his firehouse half this man
’
s age.
“
Devin,
”
the fireman says through gritted teeth.