by N. W. Harris
Laura’s jaw went slack, as if Tracy had slapped her across the face.
“Come on, Aaron,” Tracy ordered. Not looking at Laura or giving her a chance to respond, she marched out of the hangar with her crossbow over her shoulder.
Aaron glanced from Laura to Shane, blinking from the shock of the harshness of Tracy’s words. Shane nodded toward the door, too tired to worry about anybody’s feelings getting hurt. He reckoned Tracy was more tore up inside than was obvious, that her tough girl act was a defense mechanism. Aaron shook his head with disbelief, like he’d never heard anyone act so rude. But then, without another word, he turned and trotted out onto the tarmac behind Tracy.
“That girl has issues,” Kelly said after Tracy and Aaron had gone.
“I know, right?” Laura replied, standing up. “And you all thought I was the bitch.”
“I’m not sure anyone ever thought that,” Shane said, frowning at her. “If Tracy finds someone to help Matt, she’ll obviously bring them back with her.”
“I think we’ll all have issues after this mess is over,” Steve mused, hooking his big hand over the pointed nose of a fighter jet, as if to lay claim on it.
“Let’s get these kids out and have them eat something,” Shane said, knowing the idleness wasn’t helping anything. “They look like a bunch of hopeless zombies sitting up in those buses.”
Kelly and Laura walked back toward the children, and Shane added, “And give them something to do. Maybe they can scour this hangar for supplies and weapons.”
He figured it might help some of the assaulted girls to have an assignment, something to take their minds off all they’d been through.
“Maybe we should move Matt out here too,” Steve said. “There are some cots over by the wall. We could put him on one.”
“It would probably be more comfortable for him,” Shane agreed, fearing he might already be dead up on the front seat.
They moved a cot next to the bus and unfolded blankets on it. Shane couldn’t shake the feeling they were creating a soft spot where Matt could lay until he went to meet his maker. Laura and Kelly led the other kids off the buses and split them into teams. They had the older ones search the hangar, and set the younger ones to organizing supplies. The kids seemed grateful for something to do, even chatting idly as they worked, and Shane hadn’t seen most of them talk much since the incident at the gym.
Back on the bus, Steve and Shane pulled on each end of the blanket Matt lay on and lifted him like he was in a hammock. Matt groaned and opened his eyes. “What happened? Where am I?”
“It’s okay, Matt,” Shane replied, excited his old friend came around enough to speak. “We’re someplace safe. We’re going to get you off the bus now.”
Matt cringed. “Why does my leg hurt so damn much?”
“It got busted up pretty bad when we pulled the bus out of the ditch,” Steve replied, his look asking Shane if he should say more.
“But we bandaged you up real good,” Shane added, shaking his head slightly to let Steve know he thought it would be best to leave it at that.
Pulling his end of the blanket toward the steps, Shane climbed down as slow as he could. Matt groaned in agony with every movement, but they managed to get the injured boy off the bus and lowered him onto the cot.
“My throat is so dry,” Matt said, putting a hand to his neck. Shane took it as a good sign he could feel anything besides the injury to his leg.
“I’m glad to see you awake.” Shane helped Matt take a sip of water. “You scared us pretty bad for a while there.”
Matt’s eyes rolled upward, his eyelids fluttering. The smidgen of color he had left in his cheeks faded, and he laid his head back on the rolled-up blanket they’d made for him to use as a pillow, panting like he just finished a marathon.
“Did we make it to the military base?”
“Yeah, we did,” Shane replied, glancing around the hangar.
His face distorted with a wave of pain. When he recovered, he whispered, “Did you find out what the heck is going on?” He didn’t open his eyes again.
“Not yet,” Shane replied. “We haven’t found any adults here either.” After how upset Aaron got when Shane withheld the fact he’d seen his mother die, Shane couldn’t totally lie to Matt. He would want to know the truth if they traded places.
“Oh, that sucks,” Matt mumbled, demoralized.
His body stiffened, every muscle tightening. His eyelids squeezed together and his pallor became a grayish-green hue. With an agonized groan, he pushed up off the cot, and Shane grabbed both of the boy’s arms. Before he could press him down, Matt surrendered and collapsed onto the cot. His breathing deepened and his face went slack, not peaceful, but at least no longer contorted with pain.
“Don’t worry, man,” Shane whispered, placing his hand on Matt’s forehead. It felt hot and dry, a fever setting in. “We’ll figure all this out and get you some help.”
Matt didn’t stir again. Memories of playing at his house when they were little flashed through Shane’s mind. Matt had the biggest Lego collection Shane had ever saw, and they used to spend hours building massive cities with the blocks, only to gleefully knock them down, acting like giants attacking the plastic skyscrapers.
Saddened by the thought that those fun-filled afternoons were gone forever, Shane lifted the blanket covering the stub of Matt’s leg, his reverie transforming into cold dread. Blood soaked through the gauze, all brown and red. Feeling sick and wishing he hadn’t taken a look, Shane covered the wound. At least Matt still seemed to know what was going on around him; it had to be a good sign. But Shane feared he’d get a lot worse if they didn’t find a doctor soon. He remembered a history class on the Civil War where the teacher said more than eighty percent of the soldiers who had a leg amputated died of infection. Matt’s chances of survival diminished with each passing hour. At this point, he could only wait and hope Tracy and Aaron would return with good news.
Making his way across the hangar, Shane found the bathroom. Alone for a moment, he splashed cold water on his face and leaned on the sink, looking into the mirror. Heavy, dark bags had swollen up under his bloodshot eyes, and his skin looked pale from exhaustion. He’d need to sleep soon, but after all the stuff he’d seen, he feared the nightmares awaiting him if he dared close his eyes.
A whirlwind of the last twenty-four hours of hell replayed in his mind as he stared at his reflection: his grandmother’s wake, the fight with his dad, his aunt’s death, and then Ms. Morris’, the incident at the gym, his dad’s roach-eaten corpse, and Matt’s injury. Less than one day passed since the sky turned green and the animals went mad. It felt like a year. How much more could he take before he snapped? He wanted to crawl into a corner and hide until all this passed and things returned to normal. But things would never be normal again, even if they did find help.
“There you are.” Steve’s tired voice broke Shane away from the mirror. “Been look’n all over for you.” He walked into the bathroom and leaned against the doorjamb. The skin under his eyes was swollen and discolored too, exhaustion’s toll. “We found a military radio you should check out. It seems to be able to pick up everything the soldiers are saying.”
Looking at his big friend, Shane realized he couldn’t snap, regardless of how bad it got. For some unknown reason, these kids adopted him as their leader. He stared at Steve’s downtrodden face, tempted to ask why they needed him to look at it. Couldn’t they figure out what they should do on their own for once? Steve’s brow raised, his expression saying, You’re the boss—tell us what to do. Shane grabbed a paper towel, buried his face in it to dry off the dripping water, and sighed.
“Alright—let’s have a look,” Shane said, wadding up the paper towel and tossing it into the trash.
Relief crossed Steve’s face. Perhaps he sensed Shane considered objecting to his role as the leader. He nodded and walked out of the bathroom with Shane on his heels.
In the main bay of the hangar, Laura supervise
d the little kids folding blankets, and Kelly had the older girls preparing food on three tables they found and set up next to the buses. Off to one side, the kids piled equipment and supplies they gathered from the hangar. One of the teenage girls and two boys from the overturned church bus who looked to be about twelve years old sat around a green box with an antenna rising from it and a black telephone receiver hanging from one side. Steve led Shane to them.
“Okay guys, we’ll take it from here,” Steve said.
The boys and the girl looked up at him as if to say, It’s ours; we found it.
“Go get something to eat,” Steve growled.
Spurred by the linebacker’s gruff tone, they hopped to their feet and walked to the tables where the food was laid out. Steve lifted the radio and carried it over to a desk by the metal wall of the hangar.
“That thing looks kinda old,” Shane commented.
“Yeah, but it was plugged in and charging when we found it, and it works. We got a lot of static at first,” Steve said, clicking the radio on. “Then we managed to pick up some soldiers talking back and forth to each other.” He held the old telephone-style handset to his ear and adjusted the knobs on top of the radio. Then he passed the handset to Shane.
“…roger that, I have enemy on my flank—request mortar support…” a voice said.
“They got our mortars, Captain,” another man responded, sounding hysterical. “They’ve busted through our parameter and are mowing us down.” The popping sounds of gunfire, along with the screams of fighting and dying soldiers came through the speaker. “We can’t hold them—” the voice cut off.
“Peterson?” the first man said. “Peterson, do you read me?”
After a distorted boom, the radio went silent. Steve looked at Shane with wide, questioning eyes.
“It doesn’t sound good out there,” Shane said, wondering who the soldiers were fighting. It didn’t sound like they fought the animals, more like another army. “Let’s try some more channels and see if we can learn anything useful.”
“This could take a while,” Steve replied, looking down at the radio and scratching his chin. “There must be nearly a thousand channels on this thing.”
“Well, it ain’t like we have a whole hell of a lot else we can do at the moment,” Shane replied, patting Steve’s shoulder. He unfolded a chair leaning against the wall and set it next to the table.
“Thanks,” Steve said, lowering his stocky, six-foot-four-inch frame onto the chair with a tired grunt. Not wasting any time in getting to the task Shane gave him, Steve turned the dial on the radio and held the handset to his ear, then turned to the next channel and continued listening.
After waiting five minutes, anticipating Steve would find something else, Shane gave up and went over to the food tables. Under Kelly’s direction, the girls sorted snack bars, chips, sodas, and other food they picked up at the hardware store and the gas station. They also made a stack of sandwiches from the food they’d gotten at the high school cafeteria and put out some military rations they found in the hangar. Shane picked up a soda and a granola bar, figuring he couldn’t get anything else down. He walked over and sat on the bottom step of the bus nearest to Matt and cracked open the soda.
“Hey,” Kelly said sweetly, squeezing in next to him.
“Hey,” he replied, soothed by the warmth of her body touching his. “Good job with those kids.”
“Thanks.” Kelly stifled a yawn.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m still alive.”
“That’s something,” Shane replied, taking a small bite of the granola bar. “We’ll all need to get some sleep soon.”
“Yeah, I was just hoping Tracy and Aaron would return with good news first,” Kelly said.
“Me too.” Shane glanced at the door where they exited. “Maybe you should lie down though. I’ll wake you when they get back.”
“Maybe,” Kelly said, then stood and walked to where the little kids were playing. She scolded a couple of boys who argued over a fighter pilot’s helmet someone found in the hangar. A weak smile formed on Shane’s face. He was a bit jealous of the little ones—they seemed to be able to play and have fun no matter how bad things got.
Matt groaned and mumbled something Shane couldn’t understand. He put his soda down and rushed to Matt’s side.
“I’m going fishing, I don’t care what you’re doin’,” Matt growled, his eyes wide open and fixed on Shane, though not seeming to really focus on him.
“You’re at the military base, Matt,” Shane said, worried. “Your leg got hurt, remember?”
“No! No! No!” Matt yelled. “I didn’t make the mess, and I ain’t cleaning it up!”
Matt tried to sit, and Shane held him down by the shoulders. Running over, Kelly grabbed Matt’s good leg and helped restrain him. Matt yelled some curse words and then fell into incoherent babbling, all the while struggling to break free of Kelly and Shane’s grip. As quick and sudden as the fit started, he stopped resisting and passed out.
“What do you suppose is wrong with him?” Shane asked.
“I don’t know, but he’s got an awful fever,” Kelly replied, holding her hand on Matt’s forehead. “Maybe we should get these blankets off him and try to cool him down.”
Shane did as she suggested, and Kelly went to the bathroom and came back with a stack of wet paper towels. She laid them on Matt’s forehead and pulled a small packet out of her pocket.
“This is some Tylenol I found in a first aid kit,” she said. “My mom always gave it to me and Natalie when we got a fever.”
“Should we wait until he wakes up again?” Shane asked, concerned Matt might choke.
“No, I think he needs it now,” Kelly replied, her nurturing, blue eyes studying Matt with concern.
Shane lifted Matt’s head and Kelly put the pills in his mouth, holding a bottle of water to his lips. He woke a little and sipped the water, washing the pills down. Feeling better that they’d done something to help him, Shane lowered Matt’s head onto the cot.
“What now?” Shane asked, looking at Kelly.
“Now we wait,” she replied, putting her hands on her hips. “And pray.”
So exhausted he feared he’d fall asleep on his feet if he didn’t keep moving, Shane made his way to the metal door through which Tracy and Aaron exited. He refused to lie down until they returned safely, wishing he’d gone with Tracy instead of sending Aaron. But he recalled a game last year when he’d chosen not to pass to an open receiver and ran the ball into the in-zone himself. In spite of the points Shane earned making the play, Coach scolded him for rushing the ball and not using his team. A true leader was not afraid to have faith in his team, Coach said. Shane had to trust Aaron and Tracy would be safe, and he was better off here, protecting the kids.
Turning the knob on the door, he pushed it outward slightly. The wind whistled around the edges and jerked it out of his hand, slamming it against the outer wall with a loud boom. Dust and gravel whipped across the runway and pelted him. Surprised by the sudden change in weather, he shielded his eyes with his hand, reaching out and grabbing the handle of the door. Scanning the tarmac in front of the hangar, he didn’t see any sign of Tracy or Aaron. The sky glowed an eerie green, worse than yesterday. Squinting to keep dirt out of his eyes, he used both hands to pull the door shut.
“Looks like a tornado is about to strike,” Steve observed nervously. He’d come to help when the door flung open. “And this isn’t exactly the ideal storm shelter.”
“It looked the same yesterday afternoon, but I didn’t see any sign that a twister had touched down on our way here,” Shane dismissed. “Maybe it’s got something to do with how the animals are acting.”
“I hope you’re right,” Steve replied, sounding skeptical and looking back at the children gathered near the buses.
“Any luck with the radio?” Shane rubbed dirt out of his eyes.
“Not yet,” Steve replied. “But I have a crap-load more
channels to try.”
He lumbered to his table and plopped in the metal chair in front of the radio, leaving Shane standing alone near the door. The wind howled, and the hangar creaked. Shane knew how easy a tornado could rip the sheet metal building to shreds. He scanned the hangar, trying to think of a safe place for the kids to take refuge. The best idea he could come up with was to have them crawl under the buses, though a big enough twister would toss the Freightliners around like plastic toys.
When Shane made it halfway across the hangar, walking toward the buses, the door flung open again, a loud bang echoing through the building. The wind blasted in, blowing the back of his shirt up onto his shoulders. He spun around, and saw Tracy step in with Aaron behind her, pulling the door shut.
“About time you guys made it back,” Shane said, relief washing through him. “What did you see?”
Tracy gave a slight shake of her head and walked close to Shane, combing her spiky hair with her fingers. Her typical stoic expression was replaced by one of intoxicating horror and confusion.
“It ain’t pretty out there,” she whispered, clearly not wanting the rest of the kids in the hangar to hear. “The soldiers… they’re attacking each other.”
“What?” Shane tried to digest what she’d told him, the unusual fear in her eyes making him anxious.
“We hid in the woods and watched them,” Tracy continued, her voice trembling. “Small groups of soldiers fought until one group was dead. Then the winning group would split up and turn on each other. They’re wiping themselves out.”
“It’s like whatever happened to the animals to make them crazy is happening to the soldiers too,” Aaron said, stepping next to Tracy. Sweat drenched both of their faces.
“And the weather isn’t looking good either,” Tracy added, panting between sentences. “We saw a big twister touch down a few miles away.”
As if to prove her point, the wind howled around the hangar. Shane could almost sense the building swaying back and forth, threatening to collapse on their heads.
