The Last Orphans

by N.W. Harris

  Pulling out of the dirt parking lot, Shane maneuvered his bus in behind Tracy’s, and Steve brought up the rear in the supply bus. Violent cracks drowned out the sound of the engine, followed by a loud, extended hiss. The roof of a long classroom building collapsed, sparks swarming into the air and lighting the campus as bright as day. The brick wall with the school’s mascot, an eight-foot-tall red devil with a pitchfork in one hand and a football in the other, still stood. Flames licked around the ominous demon, the flickering light bringing it alive. He always imagined the mascot inspired fear in their rivals, whose school buses had to pass it on their way in for football games. Seeing it standing tall, defying the school’s collapse, inspired something warm in Shane.

  The sparks settled and the flames died, having depleted the fuel. Shadows fell over the devil’s mural, and it passed out of view as they turned the corner. The high school was such an integral part of Shane’s life, where he hung out with his friends each day and spent evenings and weekends on the football field. To see it burned and crumbling piled more insult on injury—his hopes and dreams gone up in smoke, replaced by a dismal and uncertain future.

  They left the orange light of the dwindling fire and made their way down Highway 72. This section of the road didn’t have any streetlamps, forcing them to navigate around abandoned or crashed cars using only the headlights.

  Shane turned the bus into the driveway of the lumberyard, following Tracy around a flipped-over RV. The lights fell on a cluster of mangled adults, all lying within a few feet of each other in a large mud puddle with the water stained red.

  Kelly gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. She sat in the first row of seats, just behind Shane.

  “They must’ve crowded together for protection,” Shane said. Then he cringed at how calloused he sounded, like seeing the dead became as common to him as seeing the sun rise each day.

  “Do you think we’ll actually find some adults alive in the city?” Kelly’s voice trembled, sounding as glum as he felt.

  “I don’t know. But if anyone survived, it would be the military.”

  The diesel grumbled as the bus climbed the steep hill leading to the freeway. His dad’s auto shop was at the top, just before the on-ramp. Shane reckoned the chance his father had survived was remote. He knew he should just drive by and get on down the road. The buses leveled out after the long climb, and Shane grabbed the handset for the CB radio.

  “I’m stopping at my dad’s shop for a second,” he said into the handset.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Aaron’s concerned voice asked from the small speaker.

  “No, but I have to,” Shane replied without hesitation.

  “Better make it quick.” This came from Tracy, her tone scolding.

  “I’ll only be a minute,” he replied curtly.

  Shane knew she’d lost people too, but it didn’t give her the right to act inconvenienced by him wanting to find out if his dad might have somehow survived. He bottled his irritation and pulled the bus into the parking area of the auto shop.

  “Stay here,” he said to Kelly, sounding as stoic as he could. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  Kelly’s blue eyes conveyed her uncertainty and concern. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with?”

  “No—I’ll be okay,” he replied, giving her the most convincing glance he could muster.

  Ignoring the expression saying she didn’t believe he’d be okay if he found his father dead, he reached past her, grabbed a loaded crossbow from the front seat, and climbed off the bus. The solitary buzzing streetlamp bathed the shop and the parking area in soft, white light. It illuminated the stack of used tires on the left side of the glass garage doors, the row of cars with their hoods up in various stages of repair, and the fifty-gallon drums of motor oil sitting on either side of the entrance to the main office. A silent, soaking drizzle softened the light. Everything looked peaceful and normal on first glance.

  “Where do you think he might be?” Aaron said, causing Shane to jump. He’d slipped next to Shane without him noticing.

  “The office,” Shane replied soberly, pointing his crossbow in that direction.

  He hadn’t wanted Kelly to come along, because he didn’t know how he’d react if he found his father dead. But he and Aaron were the closest of friends for so long that they were like brothers. Aaron knew everything about Shane—had seen him fall apart when his mother died and was frequently there when his dad got drunk and turned into a prickosaurus rex. Aaron’s dad left him and his mom when he was a toddler, and over the years, he basically adopted Shane’s dad. Though Shane was sometimes jealous because his dad was nice to Aaron even when he was drunk, Aaron deserved to be there as much as anyone, and it relieved him to have his friend by his side.

  Aaron nocked an arrow, and they slipped between the parked cars toward the building. Shane saw an old, red Cadillac convertible he, Aaron, and Dad worked on over the summer. Dad promised they could have the car once they got it running. Shane felt a painful twinge and wanted everything to return to normal. Even if his father was a jerk half of the time, Shane wanted his old life back—wanted this nightmare to go away.

  They hesitated at the office door. The streetlamp’s light couldn’t shine through the tinted glass, so they’d have to go inside. Shane looked at Aaron, whose eyes widened as if to say, Don’t expect me to go first.

  Taking a deep and shaky breath, Shane braced himself for what horrors might lay inside. He grabbed the aluminum door handle and pulled it.

  A thick, ammoniac smell wafted out to meet them. Shane’s eyes watered. Quiet squeaking erupted from inside the office, accompanied by subtle scratching, like sand sprinkled onto paper. Shane stepped into the darkness, holding his crossbow ready like a SWAT team member entering a crime scene. Something crunched under his new hiking boots, and the floor felt wet and slippery. Shane reached for the light switch, and something tickled his fingers, causing him to recoil.

  “Hit the lights,” Aaron whispered.

  His hand quivering, Shane reached out again, this time finding the switch. He flipped it up, and blinding light filled the room.

  “Holy crap!”

  They backed out of the office so fast that they almost fell on top of each other. The floors, walls, and ceilings moved, covered in millions of cockroaches scurrying in every direction to escape the light.

  “What the heck was that?” Aaron asked, standing behind Shane, fifteen feet back from the office door.

  “I don’t know, but I got to go back in,” Shane replied, a tremor in his voice. His skin crawled, and he wanted to run in the opposite direction.

  Praying his dad wasn’t in there, he crept to the office door. Most of the cockroaches found a place to hide, and only a few still rushed about. The office smelled damp and musty, and receipts pinned to the large corkboard on the wall opposite the door had holes chewed in them and were wet and covered with dark stains, probably bug waste.

  At the right end of the room, a man sat slumped in the office chair behind the green, metal desk. Shane couldn’t recognize him; his face was mostly eaten away. The cheekbones were picked clean, showing bright white under the fluorescent lights. But the blue Dickies the man wore were at once familiar. He spun out of the room, running into the parking lot. Passing Aaron, Shane dropped to his knees and vomited.