The Last Orphans (21 page)

Crawling to the corner on his hands and knees,
Shane took aim at the second mini-gun. He hit the box it sat on when the spinning barrel turned all the way to the left. The mini-gun swung toward him and fired a burst of rounds. Shane slid back just in time, but his M-16 caught a bullet in front of the trigger, knocking the gun out of his hands. It slid across the floor and slammed into the wall.

“Did you get it?”
Tracy asked.

“I think so,” Shane replied
, looking at his hand. His wrist hurt from the impact, and his knuckle was busted open and bleeding, but his fingers still worked when he made a fist.

Peeking around the corner, Shane
saw the mini-gun he’d just hit had stopped moving back and forth. He retrieved his gun and slid it across the floor to the right side of the tunnel, just below the access door to what he hoped was the battery room. The automated guns lowered their barrels and began shooting, but they didn’t pivot, only spraying the left side of the tunnel.

Turning back to look at
Tracy and Steve, Shane leaned against the wall and said, “Yeah, I got it. But the mini-guns will still fire when we try to get to that door. We could be hit by a ricocheting bullet.”

“
We could be hit by a ricocheting bullet
,” Steve repeated in a mocking voice. “You sound like such a wuss.”

“Shut up,
fat-ass,” Shane said, turning toward Steve with his fists balled up.

Tracy
stepped between them again. “Hold it together, damn it. I personally would rather get hit by a ricocheting bullet than have one of you lackeys kill me. Now let’s try to get to the battery room door and shut this thing down before we lose it.”

Shane resisted the
overwhelming urge to pummel the scowl off Tracy’s freckled face. But a dwindling part of him still realized the weapon in the laboratory at the end of the tunnel caused his anger. He latched onto those fading rational thoughts and turned his attention to getting to the battery room.

“We’ll have to stay to the right
,” he said, peering around the corner.

“No need to state the obvious,”
Tracy said, pushing him from behind. “Just go.”

Gritting his teeth to keep from attacking her, Shane leapt to the
wall with the battery room door on it. Tracy and Steve followed.

They crept forward, and the mini-guns started firing, filling the left side of the narrow hallway with a torrent of bullets.
The guns fired so many rounds in close succession that Shane couldn’t hear the individual explosions as each bullet was shot. Instead, he heard a loud roar that made his ears feel like they might start bleeding. Dust and smoke filled the tunnel, and bits of concrete sprayed him. Shane turned around and pressed his stomach against the wall to protect his face. Slipping deeper in the tunnel, his hand found the battery room door.

The handl
e wouldn’t turn—the door was locked. Coughing and choking on the thick dust and smoke, Shane felt behind him. Finding Tracy, he felt his way down her arm and to her gun. He couldn’t see her, and the deafening noise from the mini-guns made it impossible for him to tell her his plan. When he tried to pull the gun from her hands, she resisted.

Cursing, Shane grabbed her free hand and pulled it in front of him. He put it on the door handle and felt
Tracy pull down. Apparently realizing he planned to try and shoot out the lock on the door, Tracy pulled her hand back and shoved her gun in front of him.

Shane rested the barrel of the gun on the door just in front of the door handle and pulled the trigger.
The gun bucked in his hands, and the blast knocked the barrel hard to the left. When he went to try the door, a sharp, hot piece of metal cut his finger, but the door lock hadn’t been broken. He wiped the blood on his shirt and stuck the barrel of the gun to the door latch again. Choking on dust and frustrated to the point of madness, he unloaded half of the M-16’s clip into the door.

He pulled the gun away, and the door
swung outward. Leaping through it, Shane gasped at the clear, albeit musty air. He wiped his eyes clean and saw a large room, lit by a row of fluorescent lights hanging from the low ceiling. The center of the room was filled with giant, black, plastic blocks, standing up to Shane’s chin and with thick wires hopping from one to the next on top of them. Only the twenty-foot-by-twenty-foot open area near the exit from the room where Shane stood and a small walkway around the perimeter of the big, black blocks was clear.

“Those look
like batteries! This has to be the power supply,” Shane said, turning around to look at Tracy and Steve.

Dust billowed in through the door, and the mini-guns still roared outside. But
Tracy and Steve had yet to come into the battery room.

Fearing that they’d been hit by
ricocheting bullets or concrete shrapnel, Shane held his breath so he wouldn’t suck in any more dust and rushed to the door. He stuck his arm out and reached back up the tunnel to where Tracy had been standing. Feeling only the concrete wall, he groped down toward the floor and found someone’s back. Shane grabbed his friend under the armpits and pulled. Once in the battery room, he saw he’d fished Tracy out of the choking cloud of dust. Her lower back had an area surrounding a tear in her shirt that was red, wet, and growing larger.

“You’re blee
ding!” Shane said, fearing she’d been hit by a stray bullet.

“Steve stabbed me,”
Tracy replied, grimacing as she pushed up onto her knees. “He must’ve hit a rib; I don’t think the blade went very deep. You’d better watch yourself. He’s lost it.”

The mini-guns stopped firing,
but Shane could still hear the whining sound of their motors spinning. They must have depleted their ammunition. He picked up Tracy’s gun and pointed it at the door, worried that Steve would leap out of the dust-filled tunnel, and he’d have to shoot him.

“At least those damn mini-guns finally ran out of bullets,”
Tracy said, glancing out at the hall. Reaching back and putting a hand over her wound, she grabbed Shane’s arm and pulled herself up.

“Maybe you should just stay down,” Shane said.

“No, we have to shut this thing off.” She hobbled to the batteries and leaned on them. “You guard the door. I’ll find a way to cut the power.”

Shane
glanced at her and in an instant, he decided the right thing to do would be to shoot her and put her out of her misery. She probably wouldn’t live very long with that hole in her back anyway, and she had to feel miserable after being shot in the leg and now stabbed. He raised the gun and took aim at Tracy’s head.

“Shane?”
Tracy said, squinting her eyes in anticipation of the bullet hitting her. “You don’t want to kill me.” She had a calm tone to her voice, surprising considering she was about to die. “Lower your gun, please.”

His finger moving toward the trigger, Shane
replied, “I’m just putting you out of your misery. It’s no big deal, you’ll only hurt for an instant and then all the pain will go away.”

“Listen to yourself,”
Tracy said, stepping toward the passage leading down the side of the batteries. “This is not you speaking, Shane. The weapon is making you crazy.”

For an instant, Shane realized she might be right. He lowered the barrel of the gun a few inches
, and a look of relief came over Tracy’s face. But then again, he thought, she had been severely injured—she didn’t know what was best for her at the moment. Shane raised the gun again and took aim. Tracy had made it to the corner of the batteries, but he could still easily hit her.

“Goodbye,
Tracy,” Shane said, and squeezed the trigger.

Just before
the gun went off, something hit Shane in the back of the head. His bullet missed its target, slamming into the large battery just to Tracy’s right. Stunned by the blow, he stumbled forward and tripped. He fell to the hard, concrete floor and rolled over onto his back. Steve leapt across the room and raised his gun over Shane’s head. He drove the butt down at Shane, trying to smash his face.

Rolling to the side, Shane got out of the way
just in time, the hard, plastic butt of Steve’s gun making a loud thump on the floor an inch from Shane’s skull. He rolled back and wrapped himself around Steve’s legs. Twisting his body, he knocked him off his feet. Then Shane jumped on top of Steve and punched him in the face. Murderous hate and anger swelling in him, Shane punched with his left fist, then his right, hitting Steve so hard that his knuckles ached.

Blood splattered from Steve’s nose, and the skin under his eyes split open. Shane
hit him again and again, wanting to punch his face off, to see his brains underneath. Steve’s legs came up, his knees pressing into Shane’s midsection. Then he kicked and knocked Shane off him.

After tumbling
back and slamming into the batteries, Shane leapt up. Steve was on his feet as well. The light glinted off the long blade of the hunting knife he held in his hand.

“Is that what you stabbed
Tracy with, you bastard?” Shane snarled.

“Yeah, and it’s what I’m gonna stab you with too,” Steve said
, smiling wickedly as he lunged forward.

Sidestepping
the blade, Shane brought his knee up and pushed Steve’s back down at same time. Steve grunted when Shane’s knee sunk into his stomach. Shane dropped his elbow on the back of Steve’s neck and knocked him to the floor. Moving surprisingly fast for such a big guy, Steve rolled away and came to his feet with the knife keeping Shane from closing in for another assault.

“Come on, punk,” Shane taunted, “is that all you got?”

“No,” Steve replied, wiping the blood off his nose with his free hand. “I’m just getting started.”

He flipped the knife over so it pointed down. Raising the weapon over his head, he came at Shane again, stabbing at Shane from above. Shane blocked with his right arm, and the
razor-sharp blade sunk into his flesh. He shrieked in pain and kicked Steve in the balls as hard as he could.

Steve backed away,
holding the knife up to defend himself, as he folded over with his other hand on his crotch.

Looking at his arm, Shane could see the he’d been cut
nearly to the bone. He cradled the wound and retreated to the other side of the room. Picking up the gun with his good arm, he charged Steve and swung the weapon like a bat. Steve ducked and swept his leg, knocking Shane’s feet out from under him.

“Five years of tae kwon do, baby,” Ste
ve announced, jumping on top of Shane.

Steve stabbed down at Shane’s chest, and Shane caught his wrist in both hands. His injured forearm felt like
hot lava poured over it. He groaned loudly and tried to push Steve off, but he didn’t have the strength.

Eyes filling
with murderous hate like Shane had never seen, Steve put all his weight on top of the hilt of the knife and pushed down. Shane’s arms trembled, his muscles giving out. The pointed tip of the knife eased toward his chest. A wicked smile crossed Steve’s face. The knife pressed into Shane’s shirt, first causing a dull pressure and then a sharp pain as it pierced the skin over his heart.

“Arrgh,” Shane yelled. “Get off me!” In one last explosion of strength, he pushed the knife to his left.

The tip of the blade sliced across his chest, and it slipped down into his shoulder. Screaming in agony, Shane raised his knees and managed to push Steve up over his head. Shane slid his body out from under Steve and rolled away until he hit a wall.

Shane brought himself up onto his knees, cradling his bloody shoulder in his hand. He looked up in time to see Steve charging across the room, the knife raised and ready to deliver the final blow. Raising his
good arm for protection, Shane dodged to the right, and the lights when out, the battery room cast in absolute darkness.