[Original Novel] Little Robot, Part 22

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It always came in suspiciously low. I assumed it would try to get close to the cabin, but then realized if it could get under the fuel tank and detonate there, even a relatively small explosive charge would be enough.

Lars must’ve realized the same thing, as every time the drone tried to maneuver under the rear of the car, he’d swerve suddenly in an attempt to crush it under one of the back wheels. But it proved much too fast, reaction times like those of a fly evading the swatter.

“Did they leave the guns in the back?” In fact they did, but still no ammunition. Our options rapidly dwindling to zero, Lars hit on what to him must’ve seemed like a clever gambit. “Use your cape!” I explained that it was never a ‘cape’ but a thermal cloak. “Now’s not the time, for fuck’s sake just trail it out behind us, maybe we can confuse it!”

I didn’t see how that could work, but did as I was told. As expected, because we were moving so quickly the wind prevent the cloak from draping over the rear of the car as Lars probably hoped it would, instead and flapping and flailing wildly until I lost hold of it.

The great billowing sheet sailed directly into the path of the quadrotor, which evidently had no provisions in its programming for avoiding a thermally invisible object. Like a net, the mylar sheet enveloped the drone, which swiftly tumbled to the asphalt in a tangled metallic bundle.

A bright flash and ear splitting bang followed as the drone’s plastic explosive detonated, flaming scraps of melting mylar scattered to the winds. The quadrupedal carrier, briefly obscured by the flames and smoke, gracefully leapt through the conflagration in continued pursuit.

I proposed slowing down along side it, then running it off the road. Lars refused, reasoning that it could also be carrying explosives. “Throw one of those fuckin robot dog toys at it, maybe it’ll trip.” I reflexively clutched them close to me. “I will do no such thing.”

Before we could decide what to do about the galloping metal bomb chasing us, a rusty red truck surged forth from a back road shrouded by branches. I didn’t understand how it could keep pace until I saw that the engine block protruded through an opening cut out of the hood. Must be somebody like Lars behind the wheel.

The truck positioned itself behind and to the left of the cheeta bot. I couldn’t make out the occupants from this angle, but did see a pair of arms point a scoped hunting rifle out through the passenger side window.

Their position relative to us thankfully put ‘Rhonda’ out of the line of fire, and a few well placed shots later, our metallic pursuer erupted in a brilliant red-orange fireball. Scraps of smoking metal debris tumbled a ways further down the road before coming to a rest as the burning wreckage rapidly receded in our rear view mirror.

We all whooped and cheered, overcome with relief. The dingy red truck then pulled up alongside us and the hefty looking woman with the rifle in the passenger seat gestured down the road a ways. The truck then sped off ahead of us.

I couldn’t make sense of it until we reached the roadblock. Enough bullet riddled metal hulks piled up to stop even a speeding semi, we had little choice but to slow down and come to halt before it. “I don’t like this” Madeline whispered as four men emerged from behind the blockade, brandishing rifles.

I hastily slipped my mask back onto Helper, now glowing a dull purple. The quartet of armed men surrounded the car and instructed us to get out. I quietly advised Helper to speak in a male voice if possible, but she didn’t reply.

“What is this?” Madeline asked. “Are you robbing us? Is that it?” An overweight bearded fellow with a long grey beard and flush cheeks waddled out from behind the barrier. “Put your gun down fellas. They don’t look like no bandits to me.”

The men obeyed, lowering their rifles and backing away. “Heard you were being tailed by a runner. A metal convoy came through the first night, hiding those things along the side of the road. My boys swept through this morning, I really thought we got ‘em all. My apologies, but it looks like you made it through in one piece.”

A song and dance. They’ve sent out a jolly looking face so we’ll let our guard down, I thought. But under the circumstances I saw no choice but to humor him. “Who are you? What do you want with us?” Madeline repeated.

He belly laughed in a passable impression of Santa Claus. “Oh don’t worry yourself miss. Nobody you’re likely to know, and we’re not a pack of robbers either. That’s the US government you’re thinking of.” He waited for us to laugh, but we stood there stiff as a couple of telephone polls waiting for him to show his hand.

“There’s a fine little hunting lodge down the road a bit after the blockade. My pride and joy. Life’s work, really. I founded it to get away from it all. From the bustle and impersonal nature of cities. From the regulatory zeal of big brother. Then I invited a couple buddies to come build cabins out here. Before long we had what you might call an intentional community going.”

I could practically hear the dueling banjos. But they did save us from the runner, that’s gotta count for something. We were allowed to get back in the car, then a van at the edge of the barricade backed up so we could pass around the shoulder of the road.

We debated whether to speed off once permitted to pass the barrier, but not far beyond the lodge they’d set up a second barrier. Presumably to prevent that sort of thing. The lot was overflowing with the cars of people I assumed he’d persuaded to join his merry little band of forest dwelling anarchist wackadoos.

Chain link fence had been hastily erected around the perimeter, including a utility shack with more stacked fencing panels hanging out of it. A variety of old rusted generators, car parts and power tools littered the grass surrounding the shack. Whoever tossed them aside in a hurry to put the fence up hasn’t yet bothered to put them away.

“How much gas is left in your tank? We pool our gas here, treat it, then you gotta apply for however much you want to use if you’re fixing to go scavenge for food in the city.” I joked that I was wrong to assume they were anarchists when instead they’re apparently Communists instead.

He took it the wrong way, sternly staring me down as we walked. “Look fella, the world you knew is gone. We all gotta pull together or none of us will make it. Am I makin’ myself understood?” I nodded vigorously and made a note to assume a more serious demeanor with him going forward.

The rapidity and ease with which he’d adapted to a post-apocalyptic mindset led me to suspect he was one of those survivalists you see on television programs like Doomsday Preppers. That in fact he’d been looking forward to a disaster like this for many years now, and yesterday was probably the best day of his life. Assumptions that were vindicated many times over when I entered the lodge.

Half of the lobby was taken up by tattooed, leather clad bikers, one with conspicuous facial wounds. A familiar looking overweight woman in a faded camouflage shirt and sweatpants lounged in a recliner before a modest flat panel television set up in the corner. It was the first time in many years I’d seen a dedicated television set.

Taxidermied animal heads mounted to polished wooden plaques hung on every wall, watching over the occupants of the lobby with the same dismay I felt. Who are these people? This...strange meat, scraped up from the underdeveloped periphery of the city.

My anxiety returned. I longed for my mask and gloves but couldn’t risk exposing Helper until I knew how they would react to the presence of a machine in their midst. Then, a wholly unfamiliar humanoid robot with antiquated styling hobbled out from around the corner.

I tensed up, quickly searching the expressions of those in the room to determine whether I should prepare to defend myself. “Oh that’s just Gertie” the obese blob of a woman in the recliner explained. “Nothin’ to be afraid of. No internet connection, she’s the same as she always was. How come you dress yours up? Just for fun or what?”

No matter how I studied Helper, I couldn’t figure out how the woman knew there was a machine beneath the clothes. The jolly bearded fellow with the beer belly looked unsurprised. Must’ve known Helper was a machine since she got out of the car.

I felt relieved she’d never been in any danger, but also shocked to encounter anybody not rendered violently hostile to robots by last night’s events. As the man led us to one of the few rooms in the lodge not already spoken for, I passed several other robots performing a variety of chores like folding laundry or cleaning guns.

“Plenty of folks brought their robots with ‘em. The ones that weren’t affected for whatever reason. Too old, custom OS, broken wireless. I welcome it! I mean don’t you get me wrong, I keep a close eye on those things.

They’re still a potential threat. But it’s a big help to have a couple extra sets of hands around here. When you live off grid there’s all kinds of chores that need doing, just to keep basic amenities up and running.”

He pointed to a robot through the window in the process of cleaning out the compost chamber of a vacuum toilet. I noticed another tending to a chicken coop, and one more in the distance hauling a cluster of traps out of the woods. All manner of edible critters were caught in them, still alive and kicking, struggling furiously to no avail.

“What, all of us in one room?” Madeline whined, though I was also upset that I wouldn’t have more privacy. She turned and wagged her finger at Helper and I. “No hanky panky in here. I don’t wanna see that shit. I don’t wanna hear it, I don’t wanna know about it.”

Helper sheepishly nodded. “We’ll be good Madeline.” I studied her face to see if she really meant it. She gave me a sly wink and, once Madeline was out of earshot, whispered “We actually won’t be good! Hehe.”

I felt I ought to sit her down at some point and have a talk about what happened the night before, but for the time being I just felt relieved she no longer seemed upset with me. The single room setup was less than ideal but I figured we could solve it by hot bunking, drawing up some sort of schedule for who gets to use the bed and when.

When I proposed this scheme to Lars and Madeline it was well received until I claimed the first block of time. They settled down when I explained that I just needed to swap clothes with Helper, as she no longer required a disguise and I wasn’t dealing well with prolonged exposure.

With my suit pants, dress shirt, gloves and mask on I found I was much more comfortable mingling with the other refugees hanging out in various rooms of the lodge. The nightmare of being unwillingly immersed in this swirling soup of new faces...of rednecks, mountain men and sideshow attractions...proved much more manageable from behind a layer of chrome tinted acrylic.

I settled into one of the free seats in front of the TV, surrounded by bikers dressed like they came from a gay BDSM party, the contented blob in the recliner, and an anxious looking woman in a tattered dress with several prominent blood stains running down the front.

“Not your blood I hope?” She didn’t initially realize I was talking to her, perhaps on account of the mask. I repeated the question and she suddenly turned to face me, eyes wide, corner of her mouth twitching subtly. “I didn’t say you could speak to me. But no, it’s not mine. Most of it came out of a guy who pulled me over on my way out of the city. Said he just needed to use my phone.”

She didn’t elaborate, but I could guess what happened. “I’m sorry.” She sneered. “Sure you are. Probably stopped a couple women yourself. The minute there’s no cops to call, no law and order, men help themselves to-” I protested that I was sincerely sorry about what happened to her and that she was severely misjudging me if she imagined I would ever force myself on another person.

“Except to manterrupt me, you mean.” It took me a moment to grasp her intended meaning. I decided not to press the matter as I was apparently speaking to a volatile person, and I’ve never been any good at supplying comfort. Not for lack of desire to, there’s been many times that I wanted to comfort Ty for example. It’s simply outside my skill set.

To my surprise the television was still working. I thought back to a satellite dish I noticed in passing on my way in the door. How many satellites were affected, I wonder. I noticed as I watched the tedious reality show on the TV set that the woman never took her eyes off the facially bruised biker in the seat opposite her.

The rest of his buddies had left for parts unknown. I didn’t see any motorcycles outside. Odds seemed better than even that they parked out back, and were gathered there now discussing whatever it is bikers talk about. Whether flaming skulls look cooler with or without horns, probably.

A commercial came on. I remembered catching part of it on Youtube weeks ago but I’ve never watched it all the way through. A woman unplugs a nice red lamp and removes it from her apartment. Sad music begins to play as she places it outside in the wind and rain, alongside bags of garbage she intends for the trash collector to take away.

The scene shifts to night time. The rain’s now coming down hard. The angle changes so we can see in through the window as the woman puts a new, more modern looking lamp on the table where the old one used to sit, and plugs it in.

The old lamp, somehow still turned on until now, goes dark. A suited man appears. “Many of you feel bad for this lamp” he says. “That is because you’re crazy. It’s just a lamp! It has no feelings, and the new one is much better!” He walks off, and the logo of a furniture store fades in.

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^{Stay Tuned for Part 23!}