by Mike Driver
“I’ve got the cancer,” said the Armadillo. “Guess it was inevitable, working in this place.”
“How long?” asked Ray, unable to meet the man’s gaze. “How long have you been here?”
“Forty years, give or take,” replied the Armadillo. “Long past time to go.”
“What’s happening here?” asked Ray.
“You’ll see,” said the Armadillo. “Read the file while I get ready.”
Getting ready took most of the rest of the day. There were phone calls, all behind closed doors and all excluding Ray. Most of them seemed to be to people in the organization; information to pass on, approvals to get. On the last one, Ray thought he heard someone crying at the other end of the line. He crept away from the door he’d been listening at.
When the Armadillo finally resurfaced, he was wearing clean overalls and carrying a heavy rucksack.
“You’re leaving,” said Ray.
“In a manner of speaking,” replied the Armadillo. “Did you read everything in the file?”
“Yeah,” said Ray. “I didn’t understand most of it.”
“Neither did I at first. Most important thing is to check the shafts three times a day and make sure you don’t put all the deliveries down the same shaft. Spread ’em out, that’s the trick.”
“Thanks,” said Ray. “What about that other thing, about the mine filling up? What should I do about that?”
“Leave that to me,” replied the Armadillo. “I’ve got it covered.”
The Armadillo reached out with a small, gnarled hand. Ray shook it, because it seemed like the right thing to do.
He followed the Armadillo out into the hallway and watched as he unbolted and unlocked the door.
“Lock up behind me,” he said. “Just in case.”
Ray didn’t ask what he should do if “just in case” came to pass. He was pretty sure that it would mean that he was screwed and the door would just be a placebo at that point. He locked and bolted it anyway, after the Armadillo closed it. He listened the old man’s footsteps crunching away, then dashed up the stairs.
From the first floor there was a view down most the main street in both directions. Ray could see why the Armadillo had set up here.
He watched the small, wizened figure trudge up the main street. Ray’s truck was still there, the back doors still open. The Class Sixes were there too, huddled around their stolen equipment. From the folder Ray knew that the Centralia mines ran from the edge of all all the way under it; whatever or whoever they had come for must have been right underneath the main street.
The Armadillo was only a few yards away from them when they finally noticed him. Zombie smart didn’t mean person smart, Ray supposed, and wondered if that included him now. He’d added it to a growing mental checklist of things he’d need to find out about being dead and being the new caretaker.
The Class Sixes charged towards the Armadillo. He looked left, then right, then down, checking his position. Then he turned, and waved at Ray. Ray waved back, dumbly. He didn’t know what else to do. The Sixes were on him a moment later and Ray wondered why the Armadillo hadn’t taken his axe.
A moment later, an explosion shook the street as a ball of fire erupted where the Armadillo had stood.
The bodies of the Sixes were tossed this way and that, some whole and some in pieces, all howling as their dead flesh burned. Where the Armadillo had stood, the tarmac of the main street cracked and fell in on itself. The crack grew, moving up the street towards Ray’s truck. A sink hole opened up, swallowing the vehicle. Centralia’s own fires rose up to greet the evening air, dancing all the higher as the gas tank of Ray’s truck exploded with a dull thump.
Ray watched as the crack widened to become a seam, the sink hole collapsing in on itself.
He didn’t know how he’d explain the lost truck, if anyone ever asked, but at least he had space for tomorrow’s deliveries.
Ray watched until the flames died down. The Sixes, loyal to the last, crawled broken and in tatters down into the seam in search of whatever they’d come here for.
“Tomorrow,” Ray said to himself, and drew the curtains. Somewhere in this house there was a bed as soft as a marshmallow.
Ray would try to sleep. If dead people could sleep.
THE SMART PHONE
by Diane Arrelle
My wife, Iris, bless her sweet soul, bought me a new phone. Always thinking of me, looking out for me, I must be the luckiest man alive to have a gem like her.
“Here darling,” she said and slid the gift-wrapped box across the table to me at breakfast last week.
I smiled like a kid on his birthday. “Oh you shouldn’t have.”
She smiled right back at me, her chins doubling with joy. “Oh but I did! Now open it, I can’t wait to see your face.”
So I ripped the bow off and shredded the gaily colored paper in my rush to discover that she had purchased a new 9G smart phone. “Oh wow…, a phone.”
She snickered.” Sol, Honey, don’t look so disappointed. You’ve had that stupid flip phone for years. Time to move into the 21st century with me and the boys.”
I pushed the green ON button and the damned thing said, “Hello Sol, glad to meet you.”
Scared the shit right out of me and I dropped it like a hot coal.
Iris burst out laughing and the phone continued, “That’s OK, Sol. Some people just don’t know about my capabilities. But don’t worry, you’ll learn.”
“Oh Honey, I programmed it to recognize you as its owner and I put all your pertinent information in it last night. Copied all your stuff from the old phone, so you can just throw it out,“ Iris gushed.
“But… but I liked my old cell!” I whined, struggling to resist the urge to pick up the new toy and see what else it would do.
Iris just kept talking, “It’s the new Smart A, probably the most technologically advanced cell phone on the market today. It not only has voice recognition, but they say it’s so insightful, it knows what you want to do before you do.”
I picked it up.
“That’s better,” the phone soothed. “Want to give me a name?”
“You’re a machine.”
“So? My program states that named phones develop a better rapport with their owners.”
“Are you a girl phone or a boy phone?” I asked feeling foolish.
“What do you want me to be, right now I’m androgynous.”
Great, my cell had a sexual identity crisis going on. “OK, I’ll call you Pat.”
I swear the damned thing sounded disappointed. “If that’s what you’d like to call me. Although I have to admit you’re not very imaginative.“
Iris laughed, her cheeks quivering in unison with the fat on her arms. “No shit! No imagination at all, but I still love the man anyway,” she said to my phone.
Pat blinked green to yellow and back to green and said. “Very commendable Iris. Stand by your man and all that crap.”
I was starting to feel left out. “Iris dear, thank you for the phone. Once again your thoughtfulness has surpassed all my expectations. I just love ya, baby!”
Iris blushed and if I squinted my eyes into tiny slits she almost looked young and slim again, instead of the drastically overweight, middle-aged mother of three she’d become. “I love you right back, Sol. You are my Honey Bear and I love ya to death.”
Now, I blushed as Pat said, “Honey Bear, should I add that to my memory?”
“Iris,” I muttered, “not in front of the phone!”
It took a few days to adjust to the new Smart A, then I couldn’t imagine being without it. It could tell me who’s calling and screen out the people I never want to talk with. It figured out the calories when I ordered food and told me what to tip before I even thought about paying the bill.
I discovered just how in sync we were when I stopped for a drink after work. I laid Pat on the bar and eyed the fresh meat, and at happy hour, there were always lots of fresh, young women around.
/> After a few minutes, Pat had photographed about thirty of them and started analyzing them for me. “She’s way to skinny, probably bulimic. She’s had extensive cosmetic work done and is a lot older than you think. This one is a slut and is probably carrying diseases.”
“Nice job, Pat.” I said appreciatively. “You’ve been a great help. You really know what you’re doing.”
“They don’t call me a Smart A for nothing.”
I picked the cell up, turned it off and transferred it to my pocket. I mean, I liked the machine and all, but you know, in a way it was just creepy, the way it seemed so human and judgmental. Seriously, I didn’t want it watching me in action.
Her name was Cynthia or Sidney or Shirley. Didn’t really matter. Names never mattered in bed. I’d told her my name was Harvey, and it turned out to be a lucky break for me because just as she was howling my name like a dingo in heat, I saw the green light flicker in my pants pocket. Pat had turned on and was glowing through the material as my pants hung over the chair in the motel room. I knew the phone had been off, but somehow it had turned on and was making a butt call without my butt.
I shoved the cheap young thing off me and jumped from the bed. I grabbed the phone to hear Iris shouting, “HELLO, ANYONE THERE?”
No point pretending, she knew my phone number. “Iris, darling!”
“Are you with someone? Who was that yelling?”
“It’s a movie on my computer, Harvey Does Houston. I was working and Steve two offices down downloaded a porn flick. A bunch of us, we were just laughing at it.” I nodded to myself with pleasure. Quick save!
Pat started flickering as if in agreement.
“Oh, are you coming home soon? My night out with the girls got cancelled. Why watch porn when we could make our own, huh?” Iris cooed and I knew she’d bought the whole story.
I looked at the pretty, young thing sitting quietly on the bed and then I shuddered at the thought of making love to Iris. She really was a wonderful wife, just not my type anymore. I mean I guess I still loved her, but she had let herself go and all, and well, I still like ‘em thin and perky “Sure Baby,” I said into the speaker and made kissy sounds. Every once in a while I knew I had to sacrifice in the name of matrimony.
After I hung up, I ditched the girl, dressed and went to catch the train home. I looked at my phone. “Pat, I thought we were buddies! How could you do that to me?”
Pat sound contrite. “I am sorry, Sol. Although I’m a real Smart A, I am still only a phone and somehow my buttons got pushed earlier and after a delay I had to dial.”
I grunted, feeling stupid for thinking a phone could actually think.
Two days later I got a traffic ticket in the mail. Enclosed with it was a photo of me, actually it was my ear, my jaw and part of the driver’s side window.
Busted for talking on the phone and driving!
“PAT,“ I bellowed. “YOU TURNED ME IN?”
“It’s in my program, I didn’t do it, not really. It’s an automatic hookup to the police.”
“You could have told me, prepared me.”
“Sol, I would have, but I was afraid you wouldn’t like me anymore. You do still like me, don’t you, Sol?”
First I got guilt from my mother, then my wife, and now from a stinking cell phone. “Yes, Pat,” I sighed. “You’re the best phone I’ve ever had.”
“Gee, thanks.”
I guess things really hit the fan when I was at my desk at work making fun of the boss as usual, imitating the way the jerk stuttered when he got mad, and I probably made some comments about how sexually inadequate he had to be and maybe I added a few things about his lineage and his mother, but it was only in good fun. Harmless stuff. Of course, I noticed Pat’s talk light on only after I’d finished.
“Pat!”
Everyone in my office, all my good friends who’d joined me for a good laugh, scattered like leaves in the wind. I pushed the connection button to off.
“Sorry Sol, I didn’t do it.”
“Yeah, I know another butt call. Pat I think you’re defective.”
“Sol! No Sol, you don’t mean that!”
“I’m sorry Pat, you have to be traded in. Somehow I’ve got to figure out how to bull my way out of this. I know Mr. Jenkins ain’t the deepest sinkhole in the swamp, so maybe I can think my way out.”
It was then I saw the connected light on again and I suddenly heard my boss, Jenkins over the small but obviously powerful speaker. “Sol, I may not be as you sa… sa…say that smart, bu… bu …but I am the b..b…boss and you, my friend, are fired. Security is on the way up to escort you out.”
The signal light went out and Pat sat in silence as I grabbed whatever I could from my desk before I got thrown out.
It was humiliating. Betrayed by a machine. I thought about smashing the small handheld device when it whimpered. “Please Sol, don’t hurt me.”
I heaved a sigh, a half sob actually, and took the train home, Pat buried deep in the plastic bag that carried what was left of my career.
As if things weren’t bad enough, I found the house empty. I mean really empty. Iris had taken everything including our children and split.
I studied the furnitureless living room in disbelief. The bitch, after all I’d done for her, all I’d put up with, the sex with an unattractive spouse, the being faithful, well, obviously not faithful, but loyal. I was loyal to Iris and to the ideal of our marriage, and she, on the other hand just up and left.
“Sol?” A tiny tinny voice called from within the bag I was still holding. “Sol, please let me out.”
I don’t know why, but I reached in and found my phone. I guess I was feeling so overwhelmingly lonely at that moment, even Pat seemed like a good idea.
“Sol.”
“Pat, shut up. You know that this,” and I spread my arms to encompass all the emptiness, “is all your fault.”
Pat voice suddenly got strong. “Seriously, Sol, my fault? I’m just a dumb machine. I didn’t cheat, I didn’t mock my superiors, I didn’t reject my wife because she was only human and gained weight and I didn’t waste the best parts of my life.”
I stared at the small phone in amazement. “I… I… thought we were friends,” I stammered.
It was worst sound I’d ever heard, malicious, mechanical laughter echoing off the bare walls. “Friends, how can you be stupid enough to think you could be friends with a phone.”
Pat was right, how could I have had faith in a cell phone.
Suddenly Pat did another call without any help from me. I had a feeling that this was going to be the ultimate butt call.
I could hear Iris on the other end. “Sol, look at the phone and watch the screen.”
I did. What I saw was video of the last week of my life, including the girl in the motel and the end of my job.
“I loved you,” Iris said. “I bought this phone in hopes you’d prove me wrong, but you didn’t. Oh Sol, why couldn’t you have been satisfied with better and worse. Why’d you choose til death do us part. I love you Baby. I love ya to death.”
I stared at the phone with the now blank screen. Her words were just staring to sink in but my thoughts were interrupted by Pat. “So Sol, we both have a short time left together. Guess you ought to find out what Smart A stands for.”
“I got it, Smart Ass, Big haha on me.”
“Could be that, but it also stands for Smart Assassin.” Pat said and with another burst of mechanical laughter.
I stood rooted for a moment, then tried to throw the phone but it stuck to my hand.
“Yeah, I’m yours forever,” Pat noted as I waved my hand desperately trying to shake it off.
“Relax, Sol, I have been excreting a toxic glue ever since I called Iris. You’ve got a few minutes before the poison stops your heart. Just a man and his phone together until the end. Tell you what, I can blow up into a fireball now and end it quickly just like in the movies. Or I can give you one last call. Of course there’s no one left to cal
l, is there Sol?”
I stood in the middle of my empty house suddenly finding it hard to take a breath. I wanted to call someone, anyone, say good-bye, say I’m sorry, but Pat was right. It seemed all my numbers had already been disconnected.
Contributor Notes
Diane Arrelle is the pen name of South Jersey writer Dina Leacock, who has been writing for more than 20 years and has sold almost 200 short stories and has two published books, Just A Drop In The Cup, a collection of short-short stories and Elements Of The Short Story, How to Write a Selling Story. She is proud to be one of the founding members as well as the second president of the Garden State Horror Writers and is also a past president of the Philadelphia Writers’ Conference. When not writing, she is a director of a municipal senior citizen center. She lives with her husband, sometimes her sons and of course her cat on the edge of the Pine Barrens in Southern New Jersey (home of the Jersey Devil).
Tom Barlow has had stories published in The Intergalactic Medicine Show, Digital Science Fiction, Encounters, Crossed Genres, and many other magazines, as well as many anthologies including Best American Mystery Stories 2013 and Best New Writing 2011. His science-fiction novel I’ll Meet You Yesterday is available from Bundoran Press. He is a Clarion graduate.
Preston Dennett has stories in (or are forthcoming in) Andromeda Spaceways, Perihelion, the Future Embodied Anthology, Cast of Wonders and several other publications. I have also earned seven honorable mentions in the Writers of the Future Contest.
Mike Driver lives in Yorkshire, England. This is his 29th published short story; the others are scattered across dozens of print magazines and online titles around the globe but his short collection Box of Bones and his debut novel Fall, Leaves, Fall can both be found on Kindle..
Graeme Hurry edited Kimota magazine in the 90s and a horror anthology called Northern Chills in 1994. Now he has branched out by editing this kindle only magazine, Kzine. He received an honourable mention in Year’s Best Horror 2001 for a story he collaborated on with Willie Meikle called The Blue Hag.