by N.W. Harris
Shane watched Kelly slowly walk over to the group of kids and sit down beside her little sister. He couldn’t imagine how hard the conversation she was about to have must be. There was little he could do to help her. He joined Aaron in scrubbing the rest of the blood off the Stryker, wondering how long until he and his friends started killing each other like these soldiers had done. The M-16 on the seat in front of him would make the end come fast, not that it was much consolation, but he preferred going by bullet instead of arrow or the blade of a knife. Kelly stepped into view at the rear hatch of the vehicle, her eyes moist with tears.
“How’d it go?” Shane asked.
“I told her I had work, that I’d just be gone for the day,” Kelly replied, sniffling. “She didn’t seem to care.” She let out a pained chuckle. “As usual, she’s dealing with all this better than I am.”
“She’ll be fine here,” Shane said, putting his arms around Kelly and giving her a quick hug. “And, if all goes as planned, we’ll be back by tonight, like you said.”
“I sure hope so,” Kelly replied. “I hope you don’t mind, but I convinced Laura to stay here. The other kids need someone older to watch out for them, and she’s younger than me so the weapon won’t get to her right away.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Shane agreed. Tracy and Laura were always at each other’s throats anyway, and the trip would be easier if he didn’t have to play referee between them.
The Stryker’s engine grumbled to life, and Kelly and Shane climbed in the back with Aaron and Steve. Tracy was up front in the driver’s seat. Steve closed the rear hatch, and the Stryker lurched forward, almost throwing Shane off his bench.
“Sorry,” Tracy yelled over the noisy diesel. “She’s a bit touchy.”
It took Tracy several miles to master operating the heavy vehicle. While they bounced along, Aaron showed everyone how to use the M-16s, and then they changed into fresh clothing. Kelly faced forward and the boys faced the rear to give her some privacy. Putting on the bulletproof vest and helmet Tracy and Aaron retrieved from the dead soldiers, Shane was careful not to study the camouflaged material too closely, fearing some of the splotches of dark belonged to the prior owner. He stood on the bench, sticking his head and shoulders up out of the Stryker’s rear hatch. Wearing the same protective gear, Kelly rose up through the hatch next to him, and Steve stood through the gunner’s hatch in the middle of the armored vehicle, manning the machine gun mounted on the roof.
They rolled through an upper middle-class neighborhood with large homes on either side of the street. The yards were well kept, covered in lush, green grass, and the houses had flower gardens in full bloom, some with the stars and stripes and the Georgia state flag hanging from their porches.
Everything looked peaceful, tidy, and normal—except for the dead bodies.
A two-story red brick house with white pillars supporting the roof over the front porch had a middle-aged woman and an older woman laying near the flowerbeds, presumably a mother and her daughter. Their large, matching straw sunhats lay next to them, and a plastic tray of flowers sat in the grass nearby, ready to plant. The older woman had a gardening spade sticking out of her chest, and her daughter had the spike of a sprinkler head protruding from her eye.
Shane glanced at Kelly, knowing he’d never get the horrible image out of his brain. Had these poor people been driven insane when they attacked each other, oblivious? Or worse, were they conscious of what they were doing, yet unable to stop themselves? She put a hand on his forearm and squeezed, then returned her somber gaze to the passing houses.
He worried some of these houses might harbor children who were too young to get out or take care of themselves. The Stryker’s engine was loud enough to drown out any other noise, but he wondered if the screams of starving babies would fill the air in the absence of the deafening diesel. He felt guilty for not stopping to investigate, but at this moment, they had to keep going. The children would certainly die if they didn’t shut down the weapon. They could come back and investigate afterwards, though he knew he and his friends didn’t have the resources to care for any more kids than they were already responsible for. He could only hope other teenagers were taking responsibility for the youngsters who had lost their parents. Right now, he had to stay focused, or everyone was doomed.
Two blocks away, a man in a business suit lay facedown in his driveway, a pistol on the bloody ground next to him. The next house had a woman in the yard, a shotgun next to her and a dark red spot covering her chest. Shane tried not to look at any more of the bodies, focusing his attention on the road ahead. It didn’t help much, because there were dead adults littering the streets as well. Some of them looked mangled, their bodies bent in unnatural ways, run over by psychos who mowed people down with their cars. Others were shot, and more bludgeoned with gardening tools and household items like the mother and daughter Shane saw at the other end of the street. And there were mutilated bodies, most likely torn apart by crazed neighborhood dogs or wild animals.
The Stryker rolled out of the neighborhood and onto a main road lined with businesses. The buildings grew taller with each passing block, and the number of the dead on the streets increased. Shane knew they must be getting closer to the capitol building, praying it would stay this quiet all the way there.
A movement to the left caught Shane’s attention. He looked down the side street and saw a motorcycle zip through the intersection. Its rider’s helmetless head turned, looking at Shane just before the bike disappeared between buildings.
“Someone’s following us,” Shane yelled to Kelly and then leaned forward and told Steve, pointing down the street at the next light.
Steve nodded, and climbed down into the Stryker. He popped up with two M-16s, handing one to Shane and one to Kelly. She took the weapon and looked at Shane with concern.
“Don’t worry,” Shane yelled confidently in her ear. “They won’t dare mess with us while we’re in this beast.” He patted the armored, green roof of their rolling fortress.
Each intersection they passed, Shane glanced down the side streets and saw more motorcycles shadowing them. And then Tracy slowed the Stryker. A blockade of cars with a bunch of teenagers standing in front of it obstructed the road ahead. Shane tried to count them, guessing there were over a hundred. They all held guns, but at least they weren’t pointing them at the approaching Stryker. He felt a surge of hope. If they could get this army of kids on their side, then disabling the Limbic Manipulator Weapon might be an easy task.
Tracy brought the Stryker to a halt fifty feet from the blockade. Steve manned the machine gun mounted on the roof, and Kelly held her M-16 ready. Shane remembered how he used to think she was so feminine and sweet. Now he saw her differently. After all, she’d killed some of the escaped inmates who attacked the girls in the gym. And now, her gentle and caring expression was replaced by the steely look of a soldier, ready and willing to fight. The gun in her hands and her helmet and body armor made her look even tougher.
Shane left his M-16 laying on the roof of the Stryker, crawled up out of his hatch, and sat down next to Steve’s machine gun, attempting to make it clear he wanted to talk and did not plan to immediately attack.
The teens pushed closer together, and he worried one of them might get too excited and start shooting. In the front of the pack, a thick kid with a slight grin and malice in his eyes started to raise the shotgun in his hands but a taller boy, Shane guessed to be about seventeen years old, put his hand on the barrel and pushed it down. The tall boy’s eyes never left Shane, and with the way the thick kid obeyed, it was clear who the leader was.
Once Tracy killed the Stryker’s diesel engine, tense quiet fell over the street. Shane had been to downtown Atlanta a few times, and he was certain it was never so quiet. The hot breeze whispered between the sharp corners and flat faces of the towering buildings, warning of the fragility of the momentary peace.
“Nice toy you got there,” the tall guy in the middle
of the group shouted. “Where y’all headed in such a hurry?” Shane noted he had a black police utility belt around his waist with a gun holstered on it.
“Downtown,” Shane replied firmly, while also trying to keep threat out of his voice. “Would you please be so kind as to step aside and let us pass?”
The guy smiled, revealing a gold grill over his upper teeth. He rested his arm on the smaller kid next to him, who held the shotgun.
“Name’s Shamus,” the tall guy said. “Downtown is my jurisdiction. Nobody passes without my permission.”
“Great,” Shane replied, still hopeful this could work out. “Maybe you can help us.”
“Oh, we’d be glad to help you,” Shamus mocked. A chuckle passed through his large and intimidating gang. “Just exactly what would we be helping you with?”
Shane glanced at Steve, who had the Stryker’s machine gun trained on Shamus. Steve shrugged as if to say, Tell them everything—maybe they will help us. Shane decided they had nothing to lose, and he sure as heck didn’t want to have a shootout with these kids, even if the armored vehicle put the odds in his favor.
“We know why the animals killed the adults and why the adults attacked each other,” Shane began. “There’s a top secret weapon downtown causing all this to happen.” Shane paused and tried to read Shamus, whose golden smile reflected the dim sunlight passing through the thick, green clouds overhead. The city was eerily silent as they stared at each other, and yet the tension made the quiet seem to roar.
“Go on,” Shamus said.
“Well,” Shane continued, “we’re gonna shut it down.”
Shamus’ eyes narrowed. He pulled at the scruffy, dark goatee growing on his chin. After a moment, he said, “No.”
“Uh… what do you mean, no?” Shane asked, resisting the urge to reach back and grab his rifle.
“I mean, no, you ain’t going downtown to shut the weapon off,” Shamus replied, his tone ominous and threatening, though the malicious grin never left his face. He stood straighter and put his hand on the pistol strapped to his waist. “You see, ever since the animals and the adults went crazy, we’ve been living like kings. We own this city now, and we ain’t planning on stepping down from our throne any time soon.”
“But you don’t understand,” Shane said, trying to salvage the negotiation. “The weapon is going to cause the animals to go after younger and younger people soon. Any moment now, you could be attacked, or you guys will turn on each other like the adults did.”
“Yeah? I ain’t buying it,” Shamus said casually, slipping his pistol out of its holster. He crossed his arms over his chest, the barrel of his gun resting over his elbow. “Now turn this thing around and get out of my city. Get on back to your fantasyland, talk’n secret weapons and such. What’s next, we’re gonna be jumped by a bunch of unicorns?”
The gang laughed at their leader’s joke. Shane heard a nervous undertone in their chuckles, and several of them glanced at their weapons, perhaps shifting the safeties off. Not wanting to appear intimidated, he stared at the tall skinny kid for a long moment, deciding what to do next. Steve could probably mow most of them down with the machine gun in a matter of seconds, but Shane didn’t have the stomach to order their execution.
“Alright,” Shane said, holding his hands up in defeat. “Suit yourselves. We’ll leave.”
