The Last Orphans

by N.W. Harris

  Opening his eyes, Shane searched the darkness. Where was he? It didn’t take long to realize this wasn’t his bed—he couldn’t be at home. He lay on cold, hard concrete in a puddle of water. Confusion and disorientation caused a surge of panic to boil through him. And then he noticed he was curled around a warm body. Silky hair tickled his nose, smelling faintly of roses and lavender.

  Kelly.

  Every horrid detail from the last day flooded his mind, drowning the flash of joy he experienced from waking up next to the hottest girl in school and making him wish he’d stayed asleep forever. His left shoulder, hip, and leg ached from lying on the ground. Fortunately, someone had put a blanket over him to keep him warm in spite of his wet clothes. Wincing, he pushed himself up enough to look around. He could just make out shadowy lumps in front of him, the kids who had become his responsibility to protect still asleep under the three buses.

  A flashlight illuminated the area beyond the front bumpers. He rolled the blanket covering him with his right hand and slipped his left arm out from under Kelly’s head, replacing it with the makeshift pillow. Brushing her hair back from her face, he adjusted her blanket to cover her and her sister better, hoping a pleasant dream might carry them away from this terrible reality for a few hours.

  Crawling out from under the bus, Shane rose to his feet, stretching his battered and achy body. His back and neck stung from what felt like a hundred cuts where the flying glass and debris had pelted him. Heavy, green clouds overhead started to glow with the approaching dawn, giving Shane enough light to see the hangar was blasted to pieces by the tornado. Only one corner, standing just taller than Shane, remained. A fighter jet lay smashed and upside down beyond the foundation of the hangar, and the other aircraft was nowhere to be seen.

  He turned around and looked at the buses that miraculously sheltered them from the twister. By some awesome stroke of luck, the metal walls and main doors of the hangar fell at angles against the buses, making a lean-to shelter that must’ve protected them from the brunt of the storm.

  Tracy and Steve huddled in front of Shane, next to the military radio, with Steve holding the handset between their ears so they could listen at the same time.

  His leg tingling from being pressed against the cold concrete for too many hours, Shane limped over to his friends. Tracy glanced at him with a distraught expression. After a long minute, with Tracy and Steve listening to the handset and Shane wondering what the heck had them so enthralled, Steve looked up at Shane, saying, “You gotta hear this.”

  Tracy stood and rubbed her hands down her face, groaning.

  “What’s wrong with this world?” she asked, walking a few feet away and leaning her head back, as if looking for the answer in the overcast heavens.

  Shane reached out to take the handset from Steve, the anticipation driving him mad.

  “Hold on a second, so it starts at the beginning,” Steve said, the handset still pressed to his ear.

  After an excruciating moment of watching Tracy stomp back and forth and curse under her breath, Steve gave Shane the handset. He adjusted the channel to reduce the static coming through the earpiece, and then Shane could hear a woman’s voice.

  “…This is Dr. Sandra Gunderson, head laboratory biologist for the Department of Defense’s Low Environmental Impact Global Weapons Research Facility. I have recorded this message in advance and against orders from General Mires in case of a weapon malfunction. If this message is being broadcast, the Low Frequency Limbic Manipulator Weapon has been activated and, as I feared, has caused the death of everyone in the laboratory, leaving no one to shut it down. Designed to be used against terrorist cells worldwide with minimal collateral damage to children and the environment, the weapon causes all multicellular organisms to target and terminate adult humans, and will cause adult humans to turn on each other in areas of higher population density.”

  Now Shane understood why Tracy was so upset. He couldn’t accept what he’d just heard—the damn government had caused all this to happen. He gave Steve a look of disbelief. Steve nodded, his lips drawn tight in an angry frown.

  “The weapon manipulates magnetic fields and uses extremely low frequency energy waves that will penetrate the diameter of the Earth, so it is possible the impact of this malfunction will be worldwide. Initially, the animals and insects will be triggered to attack adults, average age of eighteen and up. But due to prolonged exposure to the weapon, we believe every twenty-four to forty-eight hours younger and younger humans may be targeted. Because of the nature of the radiation being use by this weapon, we fear it may cause some disturbances to weather patterns as well.”

  “Some disturbances,” Shane muttered, sick from listening to the woman’s voice. “Ain’t that the understatement of the century?”

  A slamming door was audible and then the woman began speaking faster and with nervousness in her tone.

  “The central broadcasting array’s controls are located in a laboratory hidden beneath the Georgia Dome in Atlanta. Tunnel access to the control room is via an entrance in room B101 of the state capitol building. The laboratory will be locked down and protected by an automated security system, so the only way to turn off the Limbic Manipulator Weapon will be to disconnect the batteries contained in a bunker just beyond the entrance to the lab.”

  The woman paused, and Shane glanced at Tracy, who leaned over and put her hands on her knees, looking like she might vomit. He knew she wanted to join the military once she graduated high school and heard her talking about West Point more than once. Now she found out the government she wanted to work for was responsible for genocide—for killing the very people it had sworn to protect. Shane wished he could do or say something to make her feel better, but she was so stoic and cold most of the time he figured she’d just get angry if he attempted to comfort her.

  The scientist continued, “If you are hearing this message, it is likely that you are young. I’m sorry we’ve done this to you. We have been stupid and arrogant to play with such dangerous technology, which I fear may have come from an alien source. In my research, I stumbled across some classified documents that seem to indicate extraterrestrial influence, though I couldn’t prove anything. You must try to destroy this weapon and rebuild the world as a better place, where the need for such technology no longer exists. And if anyone meets a thirteen-year-old girl named Sara Gunderson, please tell her I love her and I’m sorry.”

  The woman sniffled, sounding like she struggled to keep from crying. She cleared her throat and added, “This message will repeat.”

  Shane lowered the handset and stood, his knees trembling and his legs threatening to collapse under him. Looking from Steve to Tracy, he was frozen in silent shock for what seemed an eternity.

  “How freaking stupid,” Shane whispered.

  “No dumber than a nuke,” Steve replied, reaching down and clicking the radio off. “Something like this was bound to happen eventually. Did you hear what she said? Do you think the government has really been in contact with aliens?”

  “Why not? I’d believe anything at this point. What do you think the chances are that someone else heard this and is trying to shut the weapon down?” Shane asked, doing his best to stay calm and rational, though freaking out seemed completely appropriate considering the circumstances.

  “Who knows?” Steve replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Someone would have had to take the time to scour the radio frequencies with a military radio like I’ve done. Seems very unlikely.” He acted calmer than Shane or Tracy, his big shoulders slumped forward in defeat, appearing ready to throw in the towel and just quit trying to survive.

  “I think we have to assume we are the only ones who heard this,” Tracy said, her brow crinkled with frustration. “We have to get down there and shut that stupid thing off.”

  “Yeah, and soon,” Shane added, glad she was thinking the same thing. “It sounds like the animals could go after us any minute. What did she say? They would attac
k younger and younger people every twenty-four to forty-eight hours?”

  Shane glanced at the buses where Kelly slept. She was a year older than he was—the animals would go after her first. He’d taken care of her this far—he wasn’t going to lose her now.

  “Wake Aaron,” Shane said, the purpose pushing him forward from the time Kelly had walked down her driveway calling for his help made him square up and get motivated once again. “We leave immediately.”