The Last Orphans

by N.W. Harris

  The armored vehicle limped along for a few more blocks before a loud thunk came from the engine compartment, followed by grinding. The Stryker jerked to a stop, and silence fell over the interior, seeming thick enough to drown them after all the noise of battle.

  “Damn,” Tracy hissed. The ignition system whined a couple of times. She tried to get the diesel restarted.

  “It’s seized,” Shane told her. “The only way this beast is going anywhere is with a new engine.”

  “Why the hell did we turn around?” Steve asked, sounding frustrated.

  “If we hadn’t, we’d be stuck down there with all those thugs trying to peel this thing open and get at us,” Aaron answered before Shane had a chance. “Or worse, they might have lit the Stryker on fire and cooked us in it if we refused to come out.”

  “Too bad,” Kelly said, leaning her head back and looking at the ceiling. “We had to be so close.”

  “Yeah,” Tracy agreed, climbing out of the driver’s seat and back into the passenger compartment. “We only had about two miles to go.”

  “What now?” Aaron asked, looking at Shane.

  “Now we get the heck out of this coffin before they come to see if we left town,” Shane said, trying to sound like he had a plan.

  The truth was, he didn’t have a clue what to do next. But his four friends looked at him like they’d fall apart if he didn’t have the answers. As soon as he gave an order, a subtle look of relief came over their faces, and they grabbed their weapons and gear, climbing toward the rear hatch of the Stryker. His football coach told him once that he had the makings of a great leader, that he just needed the right circumstances to bring it out.

  Too bad this hell was what it took.

  The last one out of the Stryker, Shane raised his M-16 to his shoulder and took up position on the left side of the smoking vehicle, pointing down the street from which they’d just come. The others had done the same, all acting like he guessed seasoned soldiers would in the same situation. Again, he sensed they awaited his orders.

  He glanced around, trying to think of the best move. The sound of motorcycles approaching from the south jolted him into action.

  “Let’s take cover in there,” he waved his gun barrel at a ten-story building with a granite façade. “Quickly.”

  Shane jogged behind the others, keeping his gun trained down the street. They made it into the building before he saw the motorcycles. He led the way up to the third floor, and they positioned themselves by the windows, aiming their guns down into the street.

  “Stay in the shadows,” Tracy whispered, “so they won’t see us if they look up.”

  The motorcycles’ drone grew louder, and then they appeared on the street below. Shane counted fifteen, but more could have been close to the building or down the block. They came to a stop around the Stryker and killed their engines. With guns aiming at the armored vehicle, they surrounded it and peered in the back door.

  “It’s empty,” a boy shouted.

  “They must’ve taken off on foot,” another said.

  “Should we go after them?”

  “Naw—this is Maurice’s territory. He’ll deal with them.”

  “Yeah. Let’s get out of here before Maurice’s lackeys try to deal with us.”

  “I ain’t scared. You scared?”

  “Shut up, numb nuts, or I’ll show you scared.”

  “Both of y’all shut up before I bust a cap in ya,” a deeper voice said. “Get on your bikes and ride.”

  “I know you didn’t just say bust a cap,” a boy spouted, the others cackling with him.

  A few seconds later, the motorcycles roared to life, and the thugs headed back the way they’d come.

  Exhaling slowly, Shane realized he’d been holding his breath the whole time the gangsters were on the street below.

  “That was a bit too close,” Kelly whispered.

  Shane stepped nearer to the window and peered out. “Looks clear now.”

  “What happened to your neck?” Kelly asked, her voice filled with concern.

  “I guess a bullet grazed me.” He reached up and felt the sticky blood, his wound stinging now that she mentioned it.

  “Let me clean it up,” Kelly said, pulling a small first aid kit out of her pocket.

  “How do we get to the capitol building now?” Steve asked, discouraged.

  “We walk,” Shane replied, cringing as Kelly wiped his wound with alcohol swabs. “If we can go from building to building and keep quiet, I bet we can get past Shamus’ gang without them noticing.” He wasn’t convinced, but they didn’t have a choice. To give up meant waiting for the animals to attack and kill them.

  “It would be better if we can get down there undetected and don’t have to fight them off while we’re trying to focus on shutting down the weapon,” Aaron said, optimistic in spite of how dire things had gotten.

  “Then it’s agreed,” Tracy said. “Let’s get moving before the weapon makes us turn on each other.”

  Shane eyed the M-16 in each of his friends’ hands, realizing how quickly it all would end if the limbic manipulator scrambled their brains. Kelly finished cleaning his wound, putting some antibiotic ointment and bandages on it, and he flashed a smile at her to say thanks, remembering she was the oldest and the first person to be affected by the weapon if it did shift its settings.

  “Tracy’s right,” he said, rising to his feet. “Let’s move.”