by N.W. Harris
In the main bay of the hangar, Laura supervised 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 perimeter 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-two-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 popped 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.”
