Yield (91 page)

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Authors: Bryan K. Johnson

Tags: #Thrillers, #Fiction

BOOK: Yield
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Gently, Chris pulls the blanket up around the sides of the child

s face to block the wind. His hand grazes one of her soft cheeks. The baby

s deep chocolate eyes open.

Chris gasps.

They look exactly like Isabel

s. Flecks of light brown color a darkened earth. The similarity catches in his throat. Chris blinks several times before looking away.

He coughs, trying to force it all down again

t
rying to forget the sharp ache of loss that still cuts through him with ease.

The bustle of activity is everywhere. It looks more like a Saturday street market than a camp in the aftermath of disaster. People
pulse
and move, teeming towards their destinations with renewed purpose.

Soldiers walk in pairs within the pack. Their weapons are angled downward, but their outstretched fingers rest beside triggers just in case. Fear is etched into their young eyes. Frequently, they glance overhead. There is no blue left in the overcast sky; only varying shades of gray drift on.

Chris rubs at the leather sleeves of his letterman jacket still draped around Terra

s body.

You sure you guys are warm enough?

Lines cut across Chris

s forehead as he looks at them, the wrinkles more protective than normal.

The thick jacket is pulled all the way up to Terra

s neck. With the coat snapped closed, Terra

s head protrudes from it like a turtle from a shell.

Oh yeah,

the teenager

s soft voice whispers.

Just like wearing a sleeping bag.

She nudges playfully into him, scooting closer to block the wind.


Hey now,

Chris smiles. He leans down and kisses the top of her head without even thinking.

She looks over in surprise. Her sapphire eyes light up before darting down again.


I

ve got a lot of memories in that thing,

Chris says.

We

ve won tournaments. Survived high school. Even made it through a few break-ups together.

Terra

s eyes narrow.

A few, huh?

Mid-defense, Chris

s feet suddenly stop. The basketball star turns toward an unmistakable accent at the front of the information line.

Devin

s voice gets louder and louder as he argues with the unfortunate public information officer. Jacob is standing next to him, Sierra clutched in his arms.

I don

t give a blooming shite about your procedure, mate. I am getting to Portland,

Devin insists. He leans over the table, his hands clenching. The canvas munitions bag still hangs from his shoulder.

There

s got to be something going south.


They

re for military personnel only, sir.


I am military, son,

Jacob growls.

Brigadier General, Army Airborne. This man needs transport out of the hot zone. I suggest you find a way to make that happen.


I

m sorry, General,

the soldier says. He squirms under Jacob

s fierce blue eyes.

But everything

s been committed to the combat area.


Unacceptable,

Jacob barks.

Who

s your C.O.?


C.O.?

the soldier stalls.


Your commanding officer, son! What the hell did they teach you at boot? What is your C.O.

s name?


My C.O.

s missing in action, General,

the information officer whispers.


What?


He went out on coastal recon with some brass last night. No one reported back.


Bloody hell,

Devin says.


So, what

s your chain of command then?

Jacob asks.


I


the acne-faced soldier stammers.

I don

t know yet, General. We

re all just following the same orders we had yesterday.


You

ve got to be kidding me,

Jacob says.

This is wartime, son.


Can I at least contact my family to let them know I

m alright?

Devin interrupts.


You can add your name to the list,

the soldier says.

There are only a few working phone lines right now.

Devin shakes his head.

So I can

t call them now? We

ve been waiting in this bloody line for over two hours!


We have to relay the message for you,

the soldier hesitates,

for security purposes.


Security purposes,

Devin scoffs.

Did freedom of speech die so quickly?


Just policy, sir.

Devin looks back at the boy-soldier, realizing the unprepared info clerk is absolutely powerless to bend regulations.

Alright. My wife

s name is



Fill this out and bring it back,

the soldier interrupts. He hands the redhead several forms.

We should be able to get to yours in the next couple of days.


Days?

Devin asks incredulously.

I realize my life isn

t exactly top priority for you, but 48 hours? Are you serious?

Devin

s green eyes burn.

There

s nothing more you can do?


I

m sorry, sir,

the soldier says. His eyes eagerly dart back to the other people in line.

Next!


Thanks,

Devin
growls
.

You

ve been of tremendous help.

Devin mutters out a range of imbecilic names for the boy-soldier, storming angrily away.


I know,

Jacob says.

There are some major issues with what that kid just said. No C.O. or command structure? Christ! Why don

t we just hand over the stars and stripes to the bastards who bombed us?!

The fireman shakes his head, his face flushed with anger. Fragmented plans swirl through his mind.

Hey,

Devin says, glancing up in surprise. He almost walks right into Chris and Terra moving towards them from the crowd.


You okay?

Chris asks.


Other than the obvious?

Jacob grumbles. His steely blue eyes flicker back at the unhelpful soldier.

Looking like he needs it, Sierra gives Chris a thumbs-up.

The basketball star smiles. He follows Jacob

s gaze back to the information desk.

I take it they aren

t going south?


Not with us, they

re not,

Devin says.

Best they can do is an automated phone call, rewritten and read sometime in the next blooming week by an absolute stranger.

He smiles.

Courtesy of the U.S. government.


You

d think they had nothing better to worry about,

Jacob adds. A deeper than usual rumble in the general

s voice betrays his
opinion of
the camp

s leadership. Or lack thereof.

His face quickly softens.

And who is this?

Jacob leans forward, pulling the blanket back from the newest member of their group. A beautiful newborn sleeps soundly against Terra

s chest.


She doesn

t have a name yet


Chris

s thin smile fades. His voice grows quiet at the idea. He runs his fingers through the baby

s soft black hair. The answer suddenly seems so obvious.

But I was thinking she should be named after her mom.
Baby
Isabel.


That

s a brilliant idea, mate,

the fireman says. He puts a comforting hand up to the basketball player

s shoulder.

Devin

s eyes are still filled with
a deep and draining
regret. He looks down at the baby, but all he can think of is Isabel

s glowing smile and
ferocious
love

not just for her own flesh and blood, but for Chris, Terra, and even strangers fortunate enough to find a place within her fiery heart.

It

s
a
love this baby will never be able to experience.

The thought
rips into
Devin
.


I

m so sorry,

Jacob says. His voice cuts to a whisper.

Stiffly, the basketball player nods. He grits his teeth, trying to fight the pain down again. There

s a caged sort of grief on his face. His friends. Home. Everything he

s ever loved has been viciously taken from him.

Chris

s teeth feel like they

re going to splinter and crack, but he clenches them even tighter to stop a far deeper hurt.

I don

t need all the sad looks and pity,

he says hoarsely.

We

ll be fine.


It

s not pity,

Jacob says in his grandfatherly tone.

It

s the sorrow of someone who knows what it

s like to lose people.

The general squares his shoulders and stares hard into Chris

s eyes. He sees the same sadness he

s experienced all too often on the battlefield.

Nothing will make it better. Nothing can take it all away. All I can say is the pain lessens with time, Chris, and with the love of those still around you. Live for them now. They need you.

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