The Last Orphans by N.W. Harris

attacked Mrs. Morris behaved after they killed her. A horse stood inside Sanford’s Pharmacy, looking out at the truck with a small, colorful box hanging from its mouth, pillaging the candy section. Shane knew most of the people who owned and worked in the stores on Main Street and went to school with many of their kids. He wanted to stop the truck and run inside the hundred-year-old brick and marble buildings to see if anyone survived, or maybe was injured and in need of help. But it was so quiet he knew he’d only find them all dead, mutilated by the animals and insects, and he didn’t have the stomach see it.
    T he left side of the truck rocked up and then down, the tire rolling over something soft. Cold horror flowed through Shane. He’d just run over a body and feared it might be someone he knew, perhaps one of his friends’ mom or dad.
    “It was better down below, where there weren’t so many lights,” Kelly said, her skin l osing color like she might be ill as well.
    “Yeah, let’s get out of here.” Shane turned on Highway 72, the well-kept, two-lane road going out to the freeway.
    They crept along, avoiding more wreckage on the hill leading away from Main Street. It took fifteen minutes to drive two miles down to the high school. Shane worked on developing a new reflex to keep it together as he drove. The instant his eyes fell on a dead body, he shifted his focus away. He couldn’t stand to see any more human carnage, and defensively made an effort to pretend they weren’t even there. The particularly mangled bodies, or the random bloody parts lying in the road, he had greater trouble ignoring.
    In the front yard of the church, a coyote darted out of the glow of the truck’s headlights, a head dangling from its bloody jaws. The fleeting glimpse of this animal carrying away a piece of someone’s mom or dad, or maybe the historical church’s preacher, was enough to leave the image seared in his mind. Another scar he expected would stay with him forever.
    A flicker of h ope ignited in Shane when he saw the school. The parking lot had undamaged cars parked in it, and the lights were on in the gymnasium and cafeteria. His dad’s mechanic shop was further down the road, near the freeway. Shane resisted the urge to drive to it. In all likelihood, his father wasn’t at the shop. He could be at home, or maybe even here at the school.
    “This looks promising,” Shane said . He turned the truck into the school’s driveway.
    “Please, let there be people in there,” Kelly whispered, glancing down at Nat resting on her lap.

 

     
    Shane parked the truck in the fire lane next to the gym. He climbed out and gazed around the parking lot. He recognized several of the cars, including Aaron Morris’ topless old Jeep. It hurt to look at the rust-colored vehicle. If Aaron were at the school, Shane would have to tell him what happened to his mother. He lowered the Ranger’s tailgate, lifting James and Sara to the ground. The two older, silent boys climbed out and they all looked up at him as if waiting to be told what to do.
    Kelly slid Nat out and held her cradled in her arms, the traumatized little girl never waking up in the process. Shane glanced around at the small entourage, their glum expressions as hard to endure as all the death he’d seen in the last few hours.
    “Well, let’s take a look inside,” he said, walking toward the school with the others in tow.
    The gym door squeaked when he opened it. Shane held his breath, eager to find adults who knew what was going on and would be able to take care of the children he’d picked up. If there were some alive here, then it could mean others had survived—his dad might still be alive. At least fifty kids of all ages mingling on the basketball court and sitting in the bleachers stopped talking and turned their faces toward him. Shane paused, scanning the room. Many of them had red eyes, and several had fresh tears on their cheeks. A wave of grumbles