The Last Orphans

by N.W. Harris

  The sound of shotguns cocking and safeties clicking off rippled through the crowd around Shane. Two blocks later, motorcycles zipped up and down streets parallel to the one he and his small army walked on. The number of whining motorbikes increased with each block—giant, angry hornets getting ready to attack. When Shane and his mob walked over the hill, he caught a view of flashlights and torches flickering ahead, undoubtedly a gang of Shamus’ people forming to stop the invasion into their territory.

  Shane could barely make out Maurice walking at the head of the pack with his shotgun pointed down such that he could raise it in an instant and fire if necessary. They made it to the bottom of the hill and approached the gang of thugs. A flash of lightning illuminated Shamus’ tall, skinny form at the head of the pack of armed teenagers, which looked to be as many in number as Shane’s new allies. Maurice raised his free hand and stopped the mob behind him a half block from Shamus.

  “What are you preppies doing down in this neck of the woods?” Shamus asked, shining his flashlight up from under his chin in a way that cast his eyes in shadows and reflected off his gold grill. The boy obviously had a flair for the dramatic—he looked like the devil.

  “We’re just passing through, Shamus,” Maurice replied, his stern voice as deep and loud as the thunder, but still managing to be friendly and disarming. “Best if you move aside.”

  “You got them kids who tore through here in that armored car, blasting my people to bits, with you?”

  “I don’t see how who we’ve got with us is any of your business,” Maurice replied, sounding so authoritative and intimidating that Shane was sure Shamus would back down. “Now step aside.”

  “Well, it is my business. You leave those kids with me, and I’ll let you pass,” Shamus offered, the threat clear in his voice.

  “Ain’t happening,” Maurice replied, raising the barrel of his shotgun.

  “Then we’ll have to take them from you,” Shamus yelled.

  The thugs with torches and guns moved forward, shouting threats at Maurice and his gang.

  “Stay tight,” Maurice yelled over his shoulder. “Let’s punch through these bastards.”

  The mob surrounding Shane and his friends surged, pushing them forward. When they encountered Shamus’ gang and had to stop, guns started popping off, first one at a time and then in a barrage of explosions. Adrenaline pumped through Shane, and he raised his gun toward the building on the left side of the street. Pulling the trigger, Shane shot a boy who leaned out of a window, aiming his gun down into Maurice’s gang. The kid fell to the street, dead before Shane even realized what he’d done.

  There was no time for Shane to feel any remorse over killing the boy. Gun barrels flashed in the second floor windows of the building, and Maurice’s people dropped all around him. Survival instincts taking over, Shane aimed and picked off the snipers as fast as he could, afraid they’d hit Kelly or one of his other friends if he paused for even an instant.

  With the deafening noise of hundreds of guns going off and people dropping dead all around him, Shane felt disassociated from his body, like he watched a character in a video game and wasn’t actually killing and couldn’t be hurt. Kelly stood next to him, and Steve stood on the other side, their flashing barrels raised and waving back and forth like Shane’s. When his clip went empty, he dropped it on the ground, reached around to his backpack, and retrieved another. Slamming it into the gun, he knew his ammo was dwindling, but there was no choice but to continue firing.

  The mob surrounding Shane and his friends sidestepped down the street, pushing through Shamus’ gang. Suddenly, the head of a boy walking in front of Shane snapped back in a most unnatural way. Something warm and wet splattered his face, and he realized the poor boy’s skull had opened up. He fell against Shane, leaving a trail of hot blood on his bulletproof vest as he slipped down, collapsing dead on the ground.

  Using his sleeve, Shane scraped the dead kid’s brains off his face and pointed the M-16 up at the balcony where the barrel of a gun had just flashed. The flickering light illuminated a teenage girl with tight braids hanging from either side of her head. She held a rifle aimed at him. They only stared at each other for an instant, but it seemed like an eternity, long enough for Shane to feel horrible about pulling the trigger. Her gun barrel flashed again, and Shane saw another one of Maurice’s people drop in front of him. Kicking himself for the lethal moment of hesitation, Shane fired a burst of rounds from his weapon, and the girl slumped down onto the balcony, her gun falling end over end to the street below.

  “They’re mowing us down,” Maurice yelled. When the conflict started, Shane saw at least thirty kids between him and the stocky leader of the assault. Now he counted half that.

  “We have to charge them,” Shane yelled. “Run!”

  The remainder of Maurice’s people surged forward together, pressing into Shamus’ gang. In the chaos of the charge, Shane ended up next to Maurice.

  “Get back,” Maurice shouted, stepping in front of him. “We have to keep you alive.”

  Shane ignored him, leveling his gun and switching it to automatic. He wasn’t going to get stopped here, he was going to make it to the capitol building, and no amount of armed thugs was going to stop him. Seeing the flash of the enemy’s guns and Maurice’s people dropping dead beside him, Shane sprayed the kids blocking the road with bullets and rushed forward into the opening he created. Dropping to a knee, he fired at the armed teenagers again, cringing as he watched them die.

  Something hit Shane in the side of the head, and he fell to the ground. Looking up, he saw Shamus, standing over him with the butt of his gun raised, about to smash Shane’s skull. The skinny gangster bared his gold teeth in a vicious grin and raised the gun higher.

  Seeming to come from nowhere and moving faster than Shane imagined the chunky boy could move, Maurice leapt over Shane and buried his shoulder into Shamus’ gut, knocking the wiry teenager to the ground.

  “I got him,” Maurice yelled, pressing his knee into Shamus’ throat. “Go!”

  Kelly and Aaron caught up and helped Shane scramble to his feet. They charged into a thin area of the gang blocking the street with what remained of Maurice’s people at their heels. Adrenaline masking the pain of his bruised skull, Shane kept shooting and running with Aaron and Tracy on his right side and Kelly and Steve on his left.

  A block down the street, Shane couldn’t find anyone left to shoot at. By some miracle, they’d made it past Shamus’ thugs.

  “They’re on our tail,” Tracy yelled, not giving Shane a chance to rejoice at their success.

  Looking over his shoulder without stopping, Shane saw the torches and flashing guns moving in behind him. At least a third of Maurice’s people had made it through the roadblock, running backwards and shooting their guns to slow down the advancing thugs.

  “They won’t be able to hold them off for very long,” Aaron yelled.

  “This is our chance,” Shane said. “We have to get to the capitol, now!”