The Orphans Series Vol. 1: The Orphans

by M. Evans

  Shaun's adrenaline glands were on overtime and it was making him feel sick. He walked a few staggering steps, resting a hand on the cop car, trying not to lose his lunch. "Albert was infected." He pointed at the neck and Frank could see a small bite mark covered up mostly by his shirt. Frank knelt down to view Albert and thought how much quicker he'd turned compared to where Lennon had been bitten. He put a foot on Albert's shoulder and pulled the knife from his limp body, wiping the shaft of the blade on Albert's shirt.

  Ellie wasn't far behind Frank and ran to Shaun, pulling him up, examining him and patting him down. "For some reason ... oh my, God! I don't want to even say it out loud! I thought ... I don't know what I thought! I can't lose you, too, Shaun!" She hugged him tight.

  Frank watched the two teens, and got Tina up off the ground. He picked up the discarded pistol and released the slide. He got an extra magazine from Shaun and replaced it, then put the pistol in the back of his pants. "Shaun, you need to get the girls into the shop. It's not safe out here."

  "We can't leave Lucas! What about my brother!?" Tina sobbed.

  "I'm sorry," Frank began, "but he's not the same now. I need you all to go inside." He was watching Lucas twitching on the ground. "We don't have a lot of time."

  "What are you going to do to him!?" She couldn't come to terms or get it through her mind. If she was going to survive, she was going to have to learn, and learn quickly.

  "I'm going to make sure he doesn't do ... this ... to anyone else."

  Greg got Tina up and ushered her into the shop. Frank waited as they all walked her through the door. He never took his eyes off of Lucas who was already tearing skin off of his arm. Frank pulled the pistol and was glad for the sounds of the tornado sirens in the background.

  Lucas tried raising his head up, but it was only connected by the bone and half of the skin tissue and ligaments which belonged there. His eyes had the slow trickle of blood. He watched as Frank came closer. With amazing agility for someone missing half his neck, he flipped over and charged at Frank but was barely able to keep his balance with his head hanging to the side. His ankle was barely functional.

  Frank cocked the pistol as he lifted it, and fired twice into the boy's skull. As the smoke drifted from the end of the barrel, Frank made a sign of the cross, taking a minute to collect himself. The guilt of the day was stacking heavily on his shoulders.

  He heard noises. He trotted to the shop and waited, hoping it wasn't what it was. To his dismay, a pack of the Turned came around the corner. They were all covered with blood, some worse than others--some had guts hanging and bouncing off their knees with every step. They were starving, and looking for their next meal. Their eyes locked on Frank and they charged for him, all racing to be the first to the feast.

  Frank wasted no time running for the door. He stared a second at the mob and at the four wheeler thinking how they'd be making trips for days up to the cabin. He opened the door yelling, "It's time to go! They're already here!"

  Patrick, the only one of the new four kids Frank had acquired who had yet to say anything, asked, "What do you mean they're here? How are they here already?"

  Frank walked past him. This wasn't the time for questions. It was going to be about actions and the ones people chose which would save their lives. "What difference does it makes, Patrick? They're here."

  "Well, what are we going to do?"

  "Leave and head to the cabin." He walked up to Andy and shook his hand. "Are you sure you don't want to come with, old man?"

  "Hell, no! I'm almost seventy! I wouldn't make it up that hill once--not without breakin' a God damned hip! Besides, I'll lock this place down. I think I got a better'n fair chance of making it. I can get out through the basement, I got a place with enough supplies to put my shop to shame. You get them kids to safety and keep them safe, yuh understand?" He patted Frank on the shoulder and headed for the way out. He yelled over his shoulder, "I'll be around! If you run out of anythin', y'all come find me! If I'm not here and it hasn't been looted, it's yours!"

  Everyone in the group thanked him as he walked down the basement steps.

  "Time to go!" Frank yelled. "We have to get out of here now!"

  The glass on the barred windows shattered behind them. A disturbing number of bloody hands reached in through the windows, ripping their arms to shreds. They growled louder at the fresh scent of the meat in front of them. Frank ran to the back door and pushed it open as quietly as possible. He looked both ways, checking the alley was still empty. He waved for the teens to come get in, but Shaun ran back to grab his abandoned pants, pulled his wallet from it, and ran past his dad.

  His dad shouted after him. "What were you doing!?"

  Shaun pulled the wallet, showed the picture of his mom, and put it back in his pocket. Nothing else needed to be said.

  Frank drew a pistol. "You think you can get the van started?"

  Shaun nodded, gripped the gun and put it in the holster hanging from his belt.

  He jumped into the back of the van, crouching and running to the front of it. The rest of the teens filed in behind and found a place among the boxes of bullets, MREs, bows and arrows, and the countless other useful items Andy had gotten them. Shaun fired up the old van which shot a poof of black smoke out the tailpipe, filling the alley. The noise of the engine echoed out to the street.

  Shaun saw the mob come around the corner with one thing on their mind. He gave the engine some gas, making sure it was ready to go. The van screamed under the strain with its heavy V8 engine.

  Frank climbed in, slamming the two doors behind him, duck-walking past the kids and motioning for Shaun to move to the empty passenger seat. Frank put the van into drive and yelled, "Hold on! It's going to get a little bumpy!"

  Frank punched the gas and held the wheel tight. The van's tires spun beneath it, burning rubber until it caught and propelled them forward. Shaun gripped the sides, looking back at everyone and looking all directions as they entered the street. They were surrounded on all sides, and Frank hooked a right turn knowing they were only a mile from the school. He thought best to go away from the original contamination zone.

  Shaun yelled, "Where are you going!? The cabin's in the opposite direction! Christ, are you lost!?"

  Frank laughed. He was about done for the day, as were the all the rest. He was running over the Turned and not letting off the pedal for anything. He looked quickly at Shaun. "You want to head back towards the school!? We can turn around, you know!"

  Shaun thought about it. "Detour's great, dad! Good thinking!"

  Frank ran over the gym teacher whose head was just barely hanging on. The head broke free with the collision. The kids all looked as his angry face, which was still chomping, flew in the air, bounced off of the windshield, smashed its nose and came to a spinning stop in the street behind them. The decapitated body was left flailing on the ground as the van drove over it, bouncing as it ran over the fat corpse. Shaun bounced in his seat. Remembering good habits, he grabbed for his seatbelt clumsily and clicked it into place.

  They all relaxed as they got a block away and more.

  A loud pounding came from the roof of the van. Everyone looked up as if they would actually be able to see something through the ceiling.

  Kristy screamed, "Get it off! Get it off, now!" She reached up and pounded on the ceiling at it. It answered by punching a hole through the roof of the van, stretching its fingers out wide. More pounding came nearer the back of the van--the roof was fully occupied.

  Frank looked back, seeing all the teens painted to the sides of the van, and he slammed on the brakes then floored the gas. A hand fell through the opening and started flopping on the floor. Greg stabbed through its palm with his hunting knife and held it at a safe distance. Two of the Turned came flying down--one in flannel with only one arm, and a second man wearing a pink shirt with the school logo on it stained with his blood and probably the blood of others--over the front of the van. The one in pink gripped hard on the top of
the hood where it met the windshield, and it was digging its fingers into the steel.

  Frank swung the van left and right, trying to shake him loose, but it wouldn't let go for anything and his legs swung wildly in front of the engine and the oversized grill. When Frank straightened the van, it locked eyes with Shaun and, with its free hand, exploded a punch through the windshield and gripped Shaun by his shirt.

  Frank reached for his waist, trying to find his pistol. His hand only touched jeans when he instantly remembered he did not have it--he had given it to Shaun. He yelled for someone get a pistol out of the gear bags.

  It let go of Shaun and punched repeatedly through the glass with his free hand until it could fit its entire head through the broken windshield.

  Frank had an outstretched, shaking, impatient hand in need of a pistol. Mike dug into the bag finding a loose pistol and hurriedly passed it off to the front. Frank gripped it tightly, looking at Shaun who had melted into his seat. The rage filled animal was inches from Shaun's face. Frank put the gun up, pulling the trigger, waiting for the deafening crack of the firearm.

  It didn't come. Frank pulled the trigger a second time, dry firing the weapon again. He instantly questioned the weight of the gun and turned it over to see an empty slot where the magazine should have been. He yelled into the back, "It needs bullets for God sakes! Get me the damn magazine for it now!"

  Patrick yelled, "The what!?"

  Frank watched the Turned man trying to inch its way in further towards his son. It was peeling skin from its neck against the shattered windscreen. He switched his left foot to the accelerator and brought up his right foot hitting it with his boot, snapping its head backwards up against the inside of the windshield. Frank shouted again to the back. "The skinny shiny black thing with the God damned bullets in it!"

  He was half focusing on the road, and the report of a gun instantly brought ringing to everyone's ears--everyone but the Turned man who now had a new hole in its forehead. The startled teens cupped their ears too little too late. Frank swerved the van in shock at the noise, and looked at Shaun who was still holding the smoking gun. He was breathing heavily, trying not to hyperventilate, still with his mouth shut, afraid that somehow some of its blood could get into his mouth. He brought his boot up snapping his knee and kicking it in the face until it pushed out the hole in the windshield and disappeared over the front of the van.

  Ellie popped up between the two seats, breathing rapidly and taking stock of Frank and Shaun. "Nice shot, Shaun! I thought we were screwed!"

  Shaun nodded, gasping, and whispered for no one to hear, "So did I."

  Frank patted him on the leg. "We should have an easy drive to the cabin from here! Those things won't be this far out yet! I don't care if they started sprinting out of town when they got bitten!" Frank continued feeling that way for about two minutes.

  What he saw next looked like his time in Iraq at a bombed roadside. The road in front of him looked like an absolute disheveled war zone. Cars and buses had crashed, over-turned, and blocked the connecting highway which was the only path by car to get to the gravel road--which was the one and only way to the cabin.

  Frank stepped on the brake, bringing the steel beast to a stop. Patrick asked, "Are we there already, Dr. Fox?"

  Shaun looked back over his shoulder shaking his head. "No, not yet. We're almost there. We've got a ways to go yet."

  Patrick got up, as did Greg, to walk up to the front. Patrick began, "Well, why did we stop if--"

  He stopped talking when he took in the blazing, smoking wreckage in front of him, leaving him with his mouth wide open.

  Frank took a moment to think, and was coming to a conclusion that sent shivers down his spine and made him want to puke all at the same time. He looked at the cars and buses. Almost all of them had writing on the windows for different schools. There were names on license plates of counties which he knew well, and there were counties from different states which he had never heard of. In the distance ahead, he could see the distinctive logo on a E&T billboard advertisement saying Making the World a Better Place.

  He thought quickly, putting the sickening conclusion together that somehow this wasn't because of the spread in Des Moines. There was a strong chance that Rogers must have somehow sent it for production following E&T protocol. He knew there would have been no way the girls volleyball team would have gone by Des Moines, something horrible must have happened with the weekly delivery truck load. If he could see Rogers again, Turned or human, he'd chop his head off with the axe, and this time he'd be happy about it.

  Greg asked, "There's no way were going to make it through there, are we? What should we do?"

  Frank slowly looked at the mixture of overturned and abandoned cars, buses and crashed trucks, blood covering many of them. The ditches were almost as full with vehicles and debris. Frank grunted, "I'm pretty sure that we're not alone...."

  "Well that's reassuring," Greg injected. "What do you want to do then? We can't just sit here."

  Frank rubbed at his five o'clock shadow, looking in front of them and thinking. His tired eyes and mind waiting for something good to happen today--something to go his way. He put the van in park and turned around in the seat, looking at the young faces all waiting eagerly for directions and hope. "We need to get out and move the vehicles. Greg? Shaun? I want you to come with me."

  Mike puffed up his chest protesting not really thinking it out. "What about us? You want me to hide in the van? You don't think I can take care of myself? I'm not useless!"

  Frank shrugged. "I'd like you to live, but no one's making you do anything you don't want to, son. You can go east or west for as long as you want, but I'd say you won't last ten minutes out there. As long as you want to be under my care, you need to listen."

  Mike looked at the open door, weighing his options, and sat back down. Frank reached into the gear bags, pulled out pistols and loaded each, grabbing two extra sets of magazines for both boys. He showed them both briefly how they worked.

  Greg shook his head trying not to take the gun from Frank. "I'm better with a rifle, sir. Dad always said that if I had to survive with a handgun, I'd probably have a better chance if I used it as a club."

  Frank reached back in and dug out one of the semi-automatic assault rifles, loaded a thirty round magazine into it, and flipped on the red dot scope system to start charging. He handed it to Greg, taking another for himself as well as a pistol. He thought about the kids left in the van, knowing if anything happened to them then these guns would be nothing more than shiny paper weights. None of them had any idea how to get to the cabin either. Today was not a day where ideal situations were going to come easily.

  "Ellie, if anything happens to us I want you to carefully back this thing up and head way back down the road out of Adel. Try and get as far away as you can, and don't stop until this thing runs out of gas.... And whatever you do, stay out of Des Moines."

  Ellie looked at the three of them. "Can you do me a favor then?"

  Frank nodded not able to think of something she could ask for which would be too much to request of him. "Anything."

  "Make sure you come back! I've seen Tina drive, and it's scary!" She reached out hugging all three of them at once and gave Shaun a kiss for good luck.

  Frank gave her a light smile and shut the door. Ellie appeared in the front passenger seat giving a thumb's up. The other young faces appeared a moment later.

  The three of them walked slowly, taking their time, looking around--their shadows painting their steps ahead of them. They took in the five vehicles that would need to be moved. Frank was in pure combat mode, walking with his rifle up and safety off. He had the rifle's stock shortened to be as maneuverable as possible in tight spaces.

  Greg watched and mimicked his every move. He figured it best to follow his lead. He knew he didn't have the slightest clue what he was doing, and didn't want to pretend for a minute he did.

  Frank watched Greg, pleased he looked like he knew
what he was doing. He looked at his own son and watched the lazy arm not holding the pistol up and letting it hang down by his side. He whispered angrily, "Shaun remember shooting them in the foot won't kill them. Get your damn gun up! If you're looking at it, you need to have gun sights on it or it won't do you a bit of good."

  Shaun knew he was right. He was doing his best. He knew going forward he would have to work on his listening skills so he didn't say the ten immediate comments that came to mind. Instead he lifted the pistol up and took short steps.

  They got to the first truck which was empty. Shaun went to get in and Frank grabbed his shoulder. He pointed at his eyes then to the rear of the truck as an instruction to check the back seat and underneath it. He bent down, not seeing anything, and pointed that it was fine to enter it. He got in turned the key, and a blasting roar of horribly loud pop music came on. He fumbled clumsily, trying to turn it off and getting the vehicle back to the quiet it had when he entered it.

  Frank swung his rifle around, keeping an eye out for movement, and, so far, there was nothing to worry about. The music he figured would surely call whatever was out there. They carefully took care of the next few cars, getting jumpier with every passing minute.

  Frank whispered, "We're going to have to take the van slow around the bus. As long as it's not too big of a slope, then we should be all right and not worry about tipping."

  They walked around the bus. Greg gasped at the view before them. There were no more cars here--simply bodies. There were the Turned and the meals at their mouths. The dead were rising by the second--too many to count. The crowd took only a moment to smell the fresh virgin meat.

  Frank turned and whispered, "Run for the van. Don't wait. You two go ... now!"

  He put the sights on the closest head he could and started firing with blindingly accurate speed, not looking to see if the boys had listened. He was dropping them one after another. Brain matter painted the highway.