by N.W. Harris
“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. 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 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 seen, 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 Mrs. 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.
