The Last Orphans

by N.W. Harris

Holding the M-16 across his chest, its barrel hot from the firefight, Shane took off at a sprint with his friends behind him. The sounds of battle faded as they distanced themselves from Shamus and his gang. They crossed an intersection, and Shane heard the buzz of motorcycles racing down the side streets. Running even faster, he feared they would cut back and try to intercept him before he made it to the capitol building.

  Halfway down the next block, his fear was confirmed. Four motorcycles slid around the corner and did wheelies as they accelerated toward Shane and his friends.

  “Take them out,” Tracy shouted, leveling her gun and shooting from her hip while still running down the street. Shane and the others did the same, hitting three of the riders, who dropped to the ground, their bikes veering off onto the sidewalk.

  The fourth bike sped toward Shane, moving too fast for him to aim at the rider. Shane fired several shots and missed. He saw the long, dirty blade of a machete in the bike rider’s hand, and then the motorcycle was upon him.

  “Watch out!” Aaron yelled.

  Aaron leapt in front of Shane, knocking him to the ground. The bike passed, its front tire grazing Shane’s arm. Aaron buckled over, holding his stomach.

  “Aaron?” Shane jumped to his feet, catching his friend before he collapsed.

  Blood poured out from between Aaron’s fingers, draining onto the asphalt.

  “No,” Kelly shrieked, standing on the other side of Aaron.

  The motorcycle slowed and turned around. Kelly raised her gun and let out a pained scream. She unloaded her clip into the motorcycle’s rider, and he dropped dead in the street, his bike falling on top of him.

  Aaron folded over, holding his wound. Shane dropped his gun and eased him to the ground, laying his friend’s head in his lap.

  “Hang on, Aaron,” Shane demanded. A flash of lightning revealed the gash running across Aaron’s abdomen. Guts had spilled out of the wound, and Shane knew there was no way he could survive.

  Steve held a flashlight over Aaron and Shane, his face slack and pale with shock. Tracy squatted down and ripped packs of gauze open with her teeth, dumping them onto Aaron’s gaping laceration. The white cotton turned to blood red in an instant.

  “How bad is it?” Aaron asked, groaning in pain.

  “It’s just a scratch, man,” Shane said, stifling his tears. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “Lying bastard,” Aaron replied, with a weak smile. He coughed, and blood spurted from his mouth. “Do me a favor?”

  “Yeah,” Shane said. “Anything.”

  “Get your asses to the capitol and shut that stupid weapon down.”

  “We will, man,” Shane promised. “Why the hell did you have to jump out in front of me like that?”

  “Hey man,” Aaron said, his voice faint. “I got your back—you got mine. Right?”

  “Yeah, right,” Shane said, trying to smile.

  Aaron grinned up at Shane, and then his face went slack, his head rolling to the side.

  Tracy stuck two fingers on the side of Aaron’s neck for a moment and then looked at Shane with apologetic eyes.

  “He’s gone,” she said, and sat back on her heels, rubbing Aaron’s blood off her hands onto her pant legs.

  Shane leaned over, wrapping himself around Aaron’s head. A pained moan erupted from deep within him, tears flooding out of his eyes.

  “Come on, Shane,” Tracy said with a firm voice. “We have to go.”

  “Damn it! I know,” Shane snapped, sitting back. He carefully slipped Aaron off his lap and lowered his head to the bloody asphalt.

  Kelly helped him to his feet, saying, “He was so brave. Let’s keep your promise and get to the capitol building.”

  Maurice’s gang came over the hill, getting pushed down the street by Shamus’ mob. Shane looked at the two fighting groups of teenagers—the reality of how little time they had to make it to the capitol motivating him into action.

  He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and then continued running down the street, his promise to Aaron and his desire to protect Kelly pushing him forward.

  It began to rain, soaking Shane’s face and hiding his tears. He could only hope Aaron had gone to a better place—that maybe he’d been reunited with his mother.

  Shane and Aaron had been close friends since they were little, playing football in every league together from the time they were old enough to wear a jersey. As he ran, Shane’s grief transformed into anger. He wanted to get even with the people responsible for Aaron’s death but, in reality, it was the same people who killed his aunt and dad. And those people had to be dead too. Making it downtown and destroying the weapon was as close to revenge as he’d be able to get.

  With rain coming down in blinding sheets and frequent flashes of lightning illuminating the way, they sprinted three more blocks, trying to put some distance between Shamus’ gangsters and themselves. Shane’s ribs hurt from the effort, and he feared he wouldn’t be able to keep up the pace, but then Tracy pointed at a dark building up ahead with a round dome for a roof.

  “There it is,” she shouted. “We made it!”

  The capitol building loomed in front of them, a gleaming, white symbol of the government that failed its people. Recharged by the idea that they were so close to success, Shane took the steps two at a time. At the top, he rushed forward and pushed through the doors. Motorcycles buzzed onto the street below. Shamus’ thugs jumped off them and ran up the steps behind Steve, Kelly, and Tracy.

  “Get inside and block the doors,” Tracy yelled.

  But Shamus’ thugs made it to the top of the flight of steps, across the concrete walkway right behind her, and one had his weapon pointed at her back.

  “Tracy!” Shane yelled.

  Her eyes went wide, like she read on his face that he saw she was about to get shot. Without warning, four of the older thugs stopped and turned their weapons toward each other. With a loud boom of their guns going off at once, they wiped each other out. Only five younger kids remained on the porch of the capitol, looking at each other and at Shane and his group with confused expressions.

  “It must be happening,” Tracy said. “The weapon is starting to affect younger people.”

  Shane looked over at Kelly. Her eyes glazed over, like she was hypnotized. She glanced at Shane, Tracy, and then Steve, perhaps assessing their age to determine if she should kill them. Then she walked toward the steps stiffly with her gun raised toward the fighting teenagers down in the street.

  “Grab her,” Shane ordered, rushing after Kelly.