Yield (85 page)

The soldier glares back. He pushes Devin
’
s hands away and continues compressions.

“
She
’
s gone!
”
Devin yells. He grabs the man
’
s thin shoulders and pins them to his sides. The fireman
’
s own words twist inside him.

The medic looks back for a long moment. His eyes suddenly widen, shifting priorities back to the life still in danger.

“
Crash C!
”
the medic shouts. He pushes out of Devin
’
s weakening grasp and turns to his nurse.
“
Get a scalpel and retractor ready, now!
”

Devin
’
s legs finally give, sending the fireman crumbling to the floor.

He looks at Isabel
’
s pretty face
.
T
he gentle lines around her smile
,
the crease above her frequently-raised eyebrow from those loving lectures she was always so quick to give
…

His heart feels like a hollowed shell.

The monotone cry of the EKG echoes around the camp. Night darkens, its clutching shadows enveloping all light.

Fire glows on all sides. The flames scatter like liquid, blooming across a thirsty ground.

Dave jumps on the brakes. He skids into the burning vehicle behind them before the sat truck
’
s tires change course. Heated rubber slips and sticks. It grabs the rough asphalt and shoots them forward.

“
Get us out of here!
”
Neal yells. The light above his bouncing camera lens is blood red.
“
They
’
re coming!
”

The front wheels propel them closer to rows of flaming wreckage fifty yards beyond the glass. Crackling firelight reveals dozens of stone-faced men racing toward them. They
’
re all dressed in dull green jackets striped with red along the shoulders. Polished black rifle barrels catch the fire
’
s glow even as they take aim.

“
Over there,
”
Jonathon barks. He points to a small alley mouth to their left. Jon turns to the other passengers, his deep voice booming.
“
Get down!
”

North Korean bullets slam into the side of the KOMO sat truck. The empty metal gasps as its ripped apart. Flickering orange light shoots into the truck cabin just behind the jagged holes. It illuminates the survivors
’
terror, crouched upon the floorboards.

The truck smashes through a loose barricade of garbage pushed into the alley. Gunfire sweeps across the rolling rear door. Projectiles scream past metal and flesh. Their high-pitched sound squeals inside the cabin, bullet after deadly bullet flashing through the air.

“
Hold on!
”
Dave shouts. He yanks the wheel hard to the
right
. The truck tips into the sharp turn, its tires pulling off the pavement before the engineer can steer it into the slide. Screams from his passengers ring out just as the truck reaches equilibrium.

The wheels reengage with a loud screech, sending the sat truck hurtling up a cross street.

“
Holy shit,
”
Neal shouts. Excitement rushes through the cameraman
’
s veins. He shifts the XDCam further back on his shoulder, scooting forward to get a shot out the passenger window past Jonathon.

“
You get that?
”
Jon asks.

“
What, the damn North Korean invasion?
”
Neil says, almost insulted at the question.
“
Yeah, I got it.
”
Adjusting his exposure, the photographer can see dozens of soldiers and vehicles moving down the dark side streets they pass. Neal glances behind him.
“
We need to get higher. I can
’
t pull a clean shot.
”

“
Are you kidding me?
”
Dave shouts.

“
Kill the lights,
”
Jonathon says.

“
What? Why?
”
Dave asks, his voice raising an octave. He looks over at both men.

“
Because we
’
re going higher.
”

“
These guys will carve us up before we can even broadcast, Jon.
”

“
Right here,
”
Jonathon says. He motions up an alley to the entrance of a multi-level parking garage.
“
Please, Dave.
”
Urgency fills his voice.

Reluctantly, Dave cuts to the right and guns the engine up a curving driveway.

“
Easy,
”
Jonathon says. He leans forward to look out the windows, his heart thundering in his chest.

The sat truck spirals up into the black garage. It moves higher and higher up the structure, creeping to a stop next to the elevators on the seventh floor.

“
Hold on,
”
Dave whispers. The engineer flips the interior light switch off.
“
Don
’
t want to make a scene when the doors open, do we?
”

Jonathon pulls carefully on the door handle. He cringes as the squeaking metal hinge grudgingly opens. The creative director moves quickly to the concrete half-wall overlooking the street, waiting for a second before motioning Neal over.

The seasoned photographer steadies his body and lifts the 45-pound camera into position. Neal exhales a long deliberate breath, holding perfectly still as he starts to record
.
His hands twist the long lens, focusing on two North Koreans wearing short-billed green hats almost a hundred feet below.

The men are heatedly talking close to one of the car fires. One of them is examining something on a small digital device, pointing south down the street. The other, a cruel-looking man with three gold stripes on his collar, gestures back to the rows of soldiers still assembled.

The troops salute and begin running towards the alley mouth the KOMO sat truck smashed through minutes ago.

“
They
’
re looking for us,
”
Neal whispers. His right eye narrows inside the viewfinder. The photog adjusts his shot down the street, stopping on several heavily armored black transports parked below a burnt-out Starbucks sign.

“
Let
’
s send what we have,
”
Jonathon whispers. His stomach swims with more butterflies each second that passes.

The cameraman jumps inside the sat truck and hands the camera to Dave.
“
I know,
”
Neal says, staring into the engineer
’
s wide eyes.
“
Just make it work. Our side needs to see this.
”

Dave shakes his head. He glances back at the equipment rack. Fresh bullet holes punch circles of light right through them.
“
There is no way
…
”

“
Try,
”
Jonathon insists. His eyes drift down to the stained concrete.
“
You know she would have wanted us to.
”

“
Alright,
”
Dave says after a long pause. He twists a coax cable into the rear outputs of the camera and flips it back on.
“
Check my scopes,
”
the engineer says.
“
Hopefully that tone decided to take the night off.
”

Fire glows on all sides. The flames scatter like liquid, blooming across a thirsty ground.

Dave jumps on the brakes. He skids into the burning vehicle behind them before the sat truck
’
s tires change course. Heated rubber slips and sticks. It grabs the rough asphalt and shoots them forward.

“
Get us out of here!
”
Neal yells. The light above his bouncing camera lens is blood red.
“
They
’
re coming!
”

The front wheels propel them closer to rows of flaming wreckage fifty yards beyond the glass. Crackling firelight reveals dozens of stone-faced men racing toward them. They
’
re all dressed in dull green jackets striped with red along the shoulders. Polished black rifle barrels catch the fire
’
s glow even as they take aim.

“
Over there,
”
Jonathon barks. He points to a small alley mouth to their left. Jon turns to the other passengers, his deep voice booming.
“
Get down!
”

North Korean bullets slam into the side of the KOMO sat truck. The empty metal gasps as its ripped apart. Flickering orange light shoots into the truck cabin just behind the jagged holes. It illuminates the survivors
’
terror, crouched upon the floorboards.

The truck smashes through a loose barricade of garbage pushed into the alley. Gunfire sweeps across the rolling rear door. Projectiles scream past metal and flesh. Their high-pitched sound squeals inside the cabin, bullet after deadly bullet flashing through the air.

“
Hold on!
”
Dave shouts. He yanks the wheel hard to the
right
. The truck tips into the sharp turn, its tires pulling off the pavement before the engineer can steer it into the slide. Screams from his passengers ring out just as the truck reaches equilibrium.

The wheels reengage with a loud screech, sending the sat truck hurtling up a cross street.

“
Holy shit,
”
Neal shouts. Excitement rushes through the cameraman
’
s veins. He shifts the XDCam further back on his shoulder, scooting forward to get a shot out the passenger window past Jonathon.

“
You get that?
”
Jon asks.

“
What, the damn North Korean invasion?
”
Neil says, almost insulted at the question.
“
Yeah, I got it.
”
Adjusting his exposure, the photographer can see dozens of soldiers and vehicles moving down the dark side streets they pass. Neal glances behind him.
“
We need to get higher. I can
’
t pull a clean shot.
”

“
Are you kidding me?
”
Dave shouts.

“
Kill the lights,
”
Jonathon says.

“
What? Why?
”
Dave asks, his voice raising an octave. He looks over at both men.

“
Because we
’
re going higher.
”

“
These guys will carve us up before we can even broadcast, Jon.
”

“
Right here,
”
Jonathon says. He motions up an alley to the entrance of a multi-level parking garage.
“
Please, Dave.
”
Urgency fills his voice.

Reluctantly, Dave cuts to the right and guns the engine up a curving driveway.

“
Easy,
”
Jonathon says. He leans forward to look out the windows, his heart thundering in his chest.

The sat truck spirals up into the black garage. It moves higher and higher up the structure, creeping to a stop next to the elevators on the seventh floor.

“
Hold on,
”
Dave whispers. The engineer flips the interior light switch off.
“
Don
’
t want to make a scene when the doors open, do we?
”

Jonathon pulls carefully on the door handle. He cringes as the squeaking metal hinge grudgingly opens. The creative director moves quickly to the concrete half-wall overlooking the street, waiting for a second before motioning Neal over.