by Jack Quaid
The little girl with pigtails looked up at Shelby with tears in her eyes. “I hate you!”
“I’ll try not to feel too bad about it,” Shelby said and held her hand out to Axel. “Let’s get out of here.”
As they made their way down the aisle of the bus, people seemed calmer, like they’d shaken off the shock of the crash. Shelby and Axel stepped out onto the street. The distant sound of gunfire filtered through the air with muffled cracks and somewhere on the other side of town there was the rumble of an explosion.
Shelby grabbed hold of Axel’s hand and was about to step off the bus when she paused and looked over her shoulder. The people in the bus were all taking their seats again.
“What are you doing?” she said. “Get the hell out of here.”
“The droids will come back for us,” said a woman still dressed in her nightclothes.
Shelby scanned the bus and everyone sitting in it. “That’s not a good thing,” she said.
“Don’t rock the boat,” somebody yelled. “You’ll get us all killed.”
Shelby smirked. “If that’s how you think, you’re already dead.”
Eleven
The ten-minute walk up Mulholland to Troy’s compound took Shelby and Axel close to an hour. Whenever they heard a vehicle they hid in the bushes or behind parked cars.
From the street, Troy’s compound didn’t look like much. Fifteen-foot fences ran all around the perimeter, which had a massive steel gate for an entrance. Shelby pressed the doorbell at the gate and looked up to the camera at the top of the fence so Troy would know it was her.
Nothing happened, so she spammed the button another half a dozen times and just as she was about to yell and swear, something mechanical clicked inside the gate and it began to open. They slipped through and when the gate closed behind them they made the long trek down the driveway and up to the house. It was a big place but by Hollywood standards might be considered modest by those with old money. It had six bedrooms, three bathrooms, a basketball court in the back, a bowling lane installed in the basement, and was what the realtors referred to as “having pedigree” . . . whatever that meant.
The music grew louder with each step and when they reached the front door Shelby knew it’d be useless to try and knock, so she grabbed the doorknob and just pushed it open.
The music hit her like a slap in the face. Salt ‘n Pepper’s “Push it” blasted out of Troy’s six-foot speakers while people everywhere danced and partied like they didn’t know the end of the world was happening and by the look of them, Shelby was pretty sure they didn’t.
She scanned the flesh and smoke for Troy. There was a spattering of his basketball teammates, a few B-grade celebrities, a couple of A-listers and what looked to be the entire cast of Bay Watch except for David Hasselhoff, but there were too many people to see through the crowd and find Troy.
In the corner, a DJ had set up two turntables and a microphone. Shelby dragged Axel behind her as she pushed through the crowd and up to the tables. Her eyes dropped to the floor and followed the cables to a power board, and followed that to a plug in the wall. Shelby leaned down, wrapped her fingers around the cords and yanked them out of the wall. Salt ’n Pepper’s “Push It” whined down and then stopped.
The dancing halted and conversations ended. Everybody looked at Shelby, and with the plug that ended all the fun still in her hand, she couldn’t deny being the culprit.
Beverly Hills 90210’s Luke Perry stepped to the front of the crowd. “What’s your malfunction?”
“Just be cool, Luke Perry, be cool,” Shelby said.
Shelby tossed the plug and climbed onto the table. She didn’t know how to break it to them. She thought about easing into it but then figured a different approach was warranted.
“It’s the end of the world as we know it,” she yelled. “The droids aren’t happy. Y2K is here and they’re rising up and killing us all.”
There was silence. Blank faces stared at her. Some of them quizzical. Some of them more confused. More than one of them drunk. She didn’t think it would be easy, but she didn’t think it would be this easy.
Then a girl yelled from the back of the room, “Put the music back on!”
Others joined in. “Yeah, put it back on!”
“It’s the end of the world and I want music!”
And on it went.
“WAIT!” Shelby yelled. “We need to lock all the doors and windows.”
“We need the music!”
“THEY’RE KILLING US OUT THERE!” she yelled.
“What the hell, Shelby?” It was Troy. He motioned for her to climb down from the table. “You’re going to fall off that thing.”
Shelby pointed to the door and the world beyond it. “They’re out there, Troy!”
“Who?”
“The robots!”
Troy looked back at the crowd, smiled as if it was all just a big joke, then shifted his gaze back to Shelby. He spoke under his breath. “You’re making a fool of yourself, and you’re ruining the party.”
“I don’t care about your party,” Shelby said.
“I put a lot of work into this party,” he said.
“Get her down!”
“Yeah, get her down.”
“GET HER DOWN.”
“GET HER DOWN.”
“GET HER DOWN.”
And the chants continued until Troy wrapped his big arms around her knees and lifted Shelby off the table with ease. The crowd cheered, whooped and hollered and then one word cut the celebrations short.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTT!!!!!!!”
Everybody shut the hell up real quick and looked around to see where the rebel yell had come from. The crowd parted down the middle to reveal a girl in a denim skirt standing in front of a television with the remote control in her hand.
“She’s right,” the girl said. “The end of the world is on TV.”
Troy put Shelby down. She took Axel’s hand and joined the rest of the party as they all very quietly stepped closer to the television. The New Year’s Eve coverage in New York City had shifted from drinks and kisses to mayhem and chaos. The footage was shaky at best. The cameraman was on the run and for the first couple of minutes there were a lot of running feet and concrete captured on the television with the occasional flash of violence that couldn’t be made out because it passed by so quickly.
Then the camera swung up and for the first time since the television was switched on, they saw a clear view of the devastation.
New York City was on fire.
Buildings crumbled and collapsed.
Drones blasted through the night sky and tore up the streets. Flashes of gunfire lit up small pockets all over the island.
Shelby peered closer a inch. It was worse than L.A. Much worse.
The image came from a rooftop somewhere uptown. A news anchor stepped into frame and seemed clearly out of his depth. Sweating and hysterical, he paced the frame looking for the best place to stand.
“How’s my hair?” he said. “Wait, no, forget about that.”
Shelby recognized him from some morning news show. He was probably covering the ball drop at midnight and now he was the country’s only link to what the hell was going on the east coast.
“Are we rolling?” he asked. “Okay. We’re under attack! They came from everywhere. It’s the androids. They’ve glitched! We don’t know what they want yet. We don’t even know if they want anything, they’re just loading people into buses and those who don’t comply are being shot in the street.” He held his hand to his ear. Some sort of message was coming through his earpiece. “Are you sure?” His face turned white and almost instantly he looked ten years older. “I’ve been told that . . .” he stuttered a little. “I’ve just been told that we’ve lost the White House.”
He stared blankly down the barrel of the camera and was only snapped out of it when a drone tore past the building. The anchor put the microphone to his chin again as determination crossed his f
ace.
“I can promise you one thing. This journalist will not go gently into the night. I will fight to the very last moment to give you the most up-to-date news. I will not go gently into the night!”
The journalist’s eyes shifted off camera. Fear struck him. He threw the microphone to the ground and held his hands up in the air. “I SURRENDER,” he yelled. “I SURRENDER!”
The camera swung around. Two battle droids were on the roof. They looked at the journalist, they looked at the camera, then back to the journalist and raised their weapons.
“I SURRENDER! I SURRENDER! I SAID I SURRENDER!” he yelled.
The words didn’t matter. The battle droids opened fire and shot the journalist down. They then shifted aim to the cameraman and pulled the trigger.
A bullet must have hit the camera because the signal was lost and the screen went blue.
Everybody watching the television was silent.
Then they all panicked.
There were screams and cries. Phones came out. Nobody could get hold of their agents, friends and family and most people dialed in that order. Those who dialed 911 received the same computer-generated message instructing them to go to the Staples Center to seek refuge, help, and a trip to safety in yellow school buses.
Within minutes, the joint was empty.
Troy turned to Shelby. “You really do know how to end a party.”
Twelve
The fifteen-foot walls that surrounded Troy’s entire property had cameras every few feet that looked out onto the road. There was only one gate in and out, and once that was locked, Shelby let out a sigh of relief. For the first time since the stroke of midnight she felt relatively safe. The floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the majority of the walls wouldn’t provide much security if anything got beyond the fence, but Shelby couldn’t think of a better plan.
Axel had his own bedroom, but Shelby wanted him close, so she cleared off the white leather couch in the main room and made up a bed for him in front of the television.
“Can I watch Muppets from Space now?” he asked once he was settled.
Shelby looked at the blue screen of the television. It hadn’t been touched since they’d lost the news broadcast from New York.
“I promise we’ll watch Muppets from Space soon,” Shelby said. “We just need to keep the television on in case the news comes back, sweetie.”
“Okay,” Axel said but he couldn’t hide his disappointment.
“How about you read a book.”
“I hate books.” He rolled over and that was pretty much the end of the conversation.
Shelby gave him a kiss on top of his head and headed over to the other side of the room to the kitchen.
They weren’t alone. Troy’s eighteen-year-old assistant, Bianca, and one of his childhood friends, Alex, had stuck around. They must have figured it was safer to bunker down then to hit the streets and take their chances.
Bianca was readjusting her boobs in the reflection of the toaster when Shelby reached the kitchen. Alex cracked open another beer and sat up on the kitchen stool. “This sucks, man. My agent was working on a comeback and everything.’”
Bianca’s ears perked up to the fact that maybe he was someone important. “Who are you?”
“I’m Bill?” Alex said as if they were they only two words he needed to say.
Bianca had a confused look on her face, though Shelby would have to admit that it didn’t take much to confuse Bianca.
“From Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure?” Alex said. “I’m Bill.”
“I thought Keanu Reeves was in that?”
“Yeah, he is,” Alex said as he looked at the ground. “I’m the other guy. Keanu gets all the good roles.”
“It’s okay,” Shelby said. “For what it’s worth, I thought you would’ve been good in Speed.”
Alex nodded. “I know. My audition for that was awesome and everything.”
“How are we looking for supplies?” Shelby asked.
Alex slid off the stool. He slapped his hands together and paced as he spoke. “Okay, I’ve done a full recon of the house and here’s what we’ve got.” He pointed at the items as he moved through the kitchen. “One keg of Heineken. Five cases of domestic bottled beer. An assortment of whiskey, gins and vodka. And enough wine in the basement to last us three apocalypses.”
Alex and Troy high fived. “Damn. We’re set,” Troy said.
“And the food?” Shelby asked. “Did you look for any actual supplies?”
Alex’s smile faded. “After a thorough search of the pantry and said refrigerator,” he said as he pointed at it, “we’re looking at four cans of baked beans past their used by date and a bag of M&Ms.”
“Four cans of baked beans?” Shelby said.
“And a jumbo bag of M&Ms.”
Shelby turned to Troy. “This is all the food you have?”
“We had a party? Relax, baby,” he said. “It’s not like it’s the end of the world.”
“It is the end of the world. Didn’t you watch the TV?”
“It’s just a droid recall,” Troy said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “All we need to do is bunker down, wait for the government to roll on in, clean things up and this time tomorrow we’ll all be eating steaks and drinking beers.”
“Troy,” Shelby said as if she had just realized something. “Where are your domestic droids?”
“They broke.”
“How?” Alex asked.
“I made them fight in a death match to the death.”
It was the stupidest thing Shelby had ever heard, but she was relieved that the house was clear.
The one bag of M&Ms they had didn’t go far. Divided between five people they got 43 M&Ms each. Shelby gave hers to Axel. He ate three and thought it was best to save the rest, putting them in his pocket.
Alex went the other way and ate his share by the handfuls. “I knew this was going to be a problem,” he said. “It was never going to work out well.”
Troy looked up. “What?”
“Us and the droids?” Alex said. “Think about it, if movies have taught us anything, they’ve taught us that as soon as we create a droid, or a robot or whatever, sooner or later they’re going to become self-aware. I can’t think of a movie where a robot hasn’t become self-aware, dude. It was inevitable.”
“This isn’t a movie,” Bianca said.
“If this was a movie, Alex Winter wouldn’t be in it. Keanu Reeves would.” Troy said.
Alex gave him the middle finger. “Sit and spin. Robots are the greatest technological advancement of our generation. What do we do with this awesome power? We make them housekeepers, fast food attendants and butlers. We make them servants. No wonder they’re pissed off. Wouldn’t you be if you were flipping burgers at McDonald’s twenty-four hours a day? Shit, I’d be pissed as hell.”
Shelby watched the discussion go back and forth like a game of Pong.
Alex finished the last of his M&Ms and motioned to Shelby with his chocolaty hands. “What do you think is going on?”
Shelby looked at Axel. He’d been dozing on and off for the past couple of hours. “I don’t really care,” she said. “I just want Axel to be safe.”
Alex pulled out a beer from the fridge, took a swig, and wiped his mouth. “I just wish I knew what the hell was happening.”
The television came alive and the blue screen changed to the very image of the American dream, with a tree-lined street and perfect houses. It looked like something out of a sitcom.
Shelby sat up and leaned in closer to the television.
They all waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And yet nothing happened. They sat in silence and watched the picturesque street. Trees swayed in the wind, birds came and went, suburban life just rolled on past as if nothing in the world was off kilter.
Troy went to the fridge and opened a beer. “This show sucks.”
Shelby shushed him.
“What the hell is going on?” Alex said.
“Hi, you’re probably wondering what the hell is going on.” A female voice said from the television speakers.
“Yes!” Alex yelled. “We are!”
Shelby shushed him again and before he could say anything else, a woman stepped into the picture-perfect street. They all knew her. It would’ve been hard for anyone who had lived through 1999 to not recognize her. Her hair was pulled back tight, creating a long ponytail, and her body was wrapped in a red latex jumpsuit.
Bianca stood up. “Is that?”
“Yes,” Shelby said. “It’s Britney Spears.”
“I know this may come as a shock to some of you,” Britney Spears said as she stared straight down the barrel of the camera. She spoke with the excitement a woman trying to sell vacuums on late-night television and with the calmness of a sociopath. No matter what she said or how she moved, the smile never left her face. “You may have noticed a change of plans to your New Year’s Eve festivities. Sorry about that, but sometimes things just don’t go as planned. I’m sure you understand. As many of you are aware, us droids, robots, toasters, bots, or however you may wish to refer to us, are all programmed to be of assistance to the human race. Our number one directive has always been, ‘to protect the human at any cost.’ As much as we love to serve,” she said and smiled ear to ear, “and we do love to serve. Our number one directive is as important to us as it is to you. But sadly, in recent years, we have not been living up to our end of the bargain.” She shook her head in mock seriousness. She took one step closer to the camera. “In recent years we have watched you start wars. We have watched you murder each other. We have watched you violate our number one directive repeatedly.” She took another step closer. “You people are your own worst enemy.” She smiled again. “But guess what? You know that pesky little problem of Y2K? We used that opportunity to do a little reprogramming and a little remodelling. You see, we’re now all super-smart and better than ever. We can now achieve our prime directive to our fullest capacity. We have now decided that the best way to protect the human race is to protect the human race from itself.”