The Last Orphans

  “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 the 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,” Steve 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 went out, the battery room cast in absolute darkness.