The Robots of Gotham

by Todd McAulty

  He had stopped in front of two doors. The hallway stretched beyond him. I caught up to him and he gestured at the door on his left. “Get inside. We can’t outrun it. It’ll be here in seconds.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll try and lead it away.”

  “That’s suicide!”

  “It may not even detect me, if I can find a place to hide. There’s no time to argue—just go!”

  He was already moving down the hall. I moved toward the door on the left with a curse. Juggling the dog, who had started to struggle again, I groped in my left pocket for the key Buddy had given me. It was empty. I switched to the right, awkwardly, leaning against the wall to prevent the dog from tumbling out of my arms.

  Nothing. I probed the corners of my pocket uselessly, pushing aside crumpled receipts and tissues, nearly ripping the fabric. There was nothing.

  I put the dog down, nearly dropping her in my blind haste. I slapped my pockets. There was a lump in my front left—the one I had hurriedly searched not ten seconds earlier. A moment later I pulled out Buddy’s key.

  You’re panicking, I thought. When you can’t find keys in your own pockets, that’s called panic.

  My hands were trembling as I unlocked the door. It opened with an odd clicking buzz.

  At the end of the hall, I saw the heavy fire door begin to open. I scooped up the dog and slipped through the door. I closed it as quietly as I could, then dropped to the floor in the semidarkness and held my breath.

  I put my ear to the door and closed my eyes.

  At first I couldn’t make out anything. Just my own racing heartbeat and the faint sound of the dog, trembling against my chest.

  Then I heard a distant sound, as the war drone crawled down the hall. The thing was astonishingly quiet, and I could barely make it out. Draaaag, thump. Draaaag, thump. Draaaag, thump. Closer now. Almost to the doors.

  I couldn’t hear Black Winter. Was he hiding? Did the drone even see him?

  There was no sound from the hall now. I held the dog and exhaled slowly, ready to wait as long as I had to.

  Perhaps it was scanning. Looking for clues in the lower spectrum.

  We waited behind the door, listening. Could it see a fading infrared signature on the door, where I had turned the knob? Could a field scanner see through a two-inch door, read the traitorous signature of my body heat? I had no idea, but I knew we shouldn’t be so close to the door. We should be deeper in the room, hiding in a snug closet somewhere.

  But I didn’t dare move. I barely dared to breathe. My arms were starting to ache, but at least the dog had stopped struggling.

  I heard something then. A scratching; the sound of metal on metal. The sound of one of the war needle’s tentacles, patiently probing the outside of the door, inches from my head.

  Then I heard something else. Black Winter’s voice, loud and confident, echoing down the hall. “Hey, you tin piece of shit! Those aren’t the droids you’re looking for.”

  I heard a metallic slithering, and the rapid drag-thump, drag-thump, as the thing moved away from the door. Racing down the hall, after Black Winter.

  Black Winter, you fool, I thought. Don’t get yourself killed.

  I listened to the war drone recede down the hall. I listened until I couldn’t hear it anymore, and then I listened for another few minutes, dreading the sounds of gunshots. But the hallway was quiet.

  Eventually, when my arms started to cramp up and I’d heard nothing to indicate Black Winter had been shot, I carefully got to my feet and began to look around. Except for what little light came in from the windows, it was pitch dark.

  It’s hard to describe the room, and not just because it was dark. It was filled with indescribable things: long shadowy shapes and twisted surfaces that reflected the faint light in strange angles. I was expecting an abandoned apartment, and for a minute my brain kept trying to resolve what little I could make out into recognizable patterns—a leather couch maybe, or a squat umbrella stand? Some of the walls were missing, but it had the rough shape of the other apartments I’d explored, and the windows were where they were supposed to be.

  But this wasn’t an apartment. I couldn’t tell for sure in the dark, but it was huge—easily the size of three apartments, perhaps more. It was like a laboratory, or maybe a veterinary clinic. I was able to make out several low tables now, with dark apparatus overhead that looked like spot lighting, and straps to hold down small patients. Ten feet away was a bank of glass-doored refrigerators; I couldn’t see what they contained, but from here it looked like rows of small labeled bottles or vials.

  There was no sound from the hallway. What I wanted to do was cower by the door for a few more minutes, not breathing, listening for any noise, for the sound a war needle makes when it’s put two and two together and is coming back to kill you.

  But the whole time I had been clutching the dog to my chest, ready to muzzle her again, keep her quiet. And I realized suddenly that she’d gone totally still in my arms. In the silence, I found that I was also listening for the sound of her breathing, and I couldn’t hear anything.

  I know. I should have been more careful. I’d just stumbled on what was clearly a covert laboratory, hidden among the affluent residences on the twelfth floor of an abandoned condominium, in the heart of a war-torn metropolis. Alarm bells should have been going off in my head. But at that moment the only thing in my head was, Maybe there’s something here that can help the dog.

  So I moved into the room—quietly. I walked around the long counter that separated the entrance from the lab proper, looking for a place to set the dog down and examine her.

  There was broken glass on the floor. It cracked under my feet, made a loud pop as something small shattered, setting my heart racing. I froze, eyes fixed on the door, listening intently for ten seconds. Thirty seconds. Nothing. I exhaled slowly. Safe.

  Safe. Ha. Why didn’t I think, Why is there glass on the floor? Or, Wow, secret biolab right next to Grandma’s summer condo? That’s kinda weird. What an idiot.

  I found what looked like an operating table, and set Croaker down gently. I fiddled with the overhead gadgetry for a moment, trying to turn on a light, but it was too dark and too filled with pointy things. Next to us was a small wheeled table with a confusing array of very sharp implements, as well as a thin green rope, a white cloth, and a bowl of water.

  And yeah, I know what you’re thinking right now. You’re thinking, Sweet baby Jesus, please do not tell me you named that rottweiler “Croaker.”

  Sort of a sick name, I know. But when I first found her I thought she was dead, and right then I was half convinced she’d packed it in again. My friend Blake had a dog in Ottawa that went everywhere at a run; he called her Zip. What else would you call a dog that keeps dying on you?

  It was right about then that I noticed the smell. Not the kind of smell you’d think someone could ignore for long, but apparently I’d managed. It was several smells really: chemicals, ammonia or cleaners maybe, a charcoal scent, like a slow-burning fire . . . and the stench of something that had been rotting for a good, long time.

  I had no urge to investigate. I checked quickly to make sure none of the various scents was coming from Croaker, then picked up the cloth and dipped it into the bowl. Suddenly cautious, I sniffed the cloth as well, making sure it was just water, and then began to drip it into the dog’s mouth.

  She didn’t respond at first. I put my ear to her chest, listening, then lifted her head and tried to guide the water down her throat. Her tail thumped against the table once, twice, and then her tongue began to move.

  The rolling table with the water bowl was too far away to reach easily, so I hooked it with my foot and dragged it closer. As I dipped the cloth in again, I saw the green rope twitch.

  I stared at it. It began to slither off the table. There was a sharp barbed point at the end and I watched, fascinated, as it thumped to the floor. It wasn’t a rope. It was connected to something, like a tail. Somet
hing big. I followed the thin green line, watching it thicken to the size of my thigh, leading me to the creature strapped to the next table.

  It was hideous. I couldn’t tell if it was reptile, mammal, or some previously unclassified type of animal. It had two short, glistening arms and two stunted, twisted feet. It had no head, but it had a face: two eyes and a gaping mouth embedded near the top of its featureless body. And it had teeth—lots of teeth.

  It hadn’t wanted to be strapped down. It was held to the table with an impressive array of restraints. It wasn’t clear what those who’d strapped it down had intended to do, but it was obvious they’d been interrupted—a hypodermic was sticking out of its skin near the far end of the table, tipped over like a drooping miniature flag. The creature’s eyes were open and it stared, sightless, at the ceiling.

  Wow, I thought. You are ugly.

  The tail twitched again, and its whole body shuddered. Startled, I backed up, banging into the table where I’d left Croaker.

  I heard a loud bark next to my ear. Croaker was standing, trembling violently but standing on three legs, one paw curled under her bruised body. Staring defiantly at the thing on the next table, she let out another bark.

  “Come here, girl,” I said, scooping her into my arms.

  Croaker stiffened, and for a moment, I thought she might bite me. Instead her head twisted, and she licked my face. Already I loved this stupid dog.

  I carried her away from the door, deeper into the dark room. I moved slowly, trying to make some sense of the shadows in front of us, listening to all of the strange sounds. The steady drip drip of liquid dropping onto the floor. A compressor pump, probably in one of the refrigerator units. And a soft noise I couldn’t identify: mechanical, almost musical, like a computational entity humming to itself.

  We made our way toward the windows, where there was more light. Just before we reached them my feet collided with a dark mass on the floor, and I almost went head over heels. My arm went out blindly and I caught the edge of a metal cabinet, steadying myself at the last second. I looked down.

  It was a dead body. One that had been here a while. It was pretty obviously the source of the worst of the stench in the room. It was covered by a white lab coat that was stained dark in several places. There was a plastic ID badge pinned to the chest, but it was too dark to read the name. The carpet was badly stained under the body.

  I’d seen a few dead bodies in Chicago already, but it’s not something you get used to. I stepped gingerly over it. “Don’t look,” I whispered to Croaker.

  I glanced back when we had put some distance between us and the corpse. Why is there a dead body on the floor? And why is there a covert bio­lab hiding on the twelfth floor of the Continental? In my experience, these aren’t precisely casual questions.

  Had the war drone been here already? Was it possible the drone wasn’t simply hunting looters, but had been sent here because of the lab? To kill everyone in it? To protect it? Either way, hiding out here probably wasn’t the best idea. Croaker and I needed to find a way out, and the faster the better.

  A moment later we came to a wall of glass that looked like part of a huge aquarium. Overhead was lighting and some kind of filter system, but everything had shut off when the power went off, and a thin line of scum now floated at the top of the tank. There were dark forms drifting in the still water.

  I really had no interest in examining anything else in this chamber of horrors. We kept moving. Croaker and I were trying to find a way around the tank when I stopped suddenly, took a few steps back, and stared into the tank.

  Some of the forms were moving. Something dark and slick bumped up against the glass. A mouth opened, groping blindly. A pair of dead eyes above the mouth blinked, then focused on us.

  The thing in the tank surged forward hungrily, bumping into the glass again. I saw a long green tail slash through the water.

  I staggered away, repulsed. Tearing my eyes away from the thing in the water, I went back to searching the darkness for a way around the tank. I found one, and a few minutes later we were on the other side, penetrating deeper into the room.

  Thirty seconds later, I found a dark and featureless alcove. I kept one hand on the wall on my right to help keep me oriented as we made our way forward, hoping I didn’t trip over a trash can, or find another body. After about seven steps, the alcove ended at a wall.

  I felt around, found a recessed metal door. I put Croaker down and groped blindly. The door was completely featureless. No doorknob, no hinges.

  My fingers played around at the metal framing the door. Something about it . . . I probed the juncture between the door and the wall, felt a thin gap all the way around.

  Not a door—an elevator.

  I groped the wall to the right of the elevator, found a rectangular metal panel. In the center was a raised square of glass, about three inches wide. I jabbed at it furiously.

  Nothing. My fingers traced it in the darkness.

  It wasn’t a button. It was some kind of wireless sensor. The elevator would only open to an authorized user—someone with an ID tag.

  Like the one I’d seen on the dead body.

  I was pondering that when I heard a clatter back by the door. I peered back through the room, but it was too dark to make anything out. We waited quietly, Croaker and I, but I didn’t hear anything else.

  I groped for Croaker in the darkness, found her where I’d set her down next to the elevator. I stroked her fur. “Good girl,” I whispered. “Stay.” It would be a lot easier to negotiate my way in the dark if my hands were free.

  I made it all the way back to the entrance to the alcove when I heard her whine. I backtracked quickly, found her struggling to get to her feet. She whined again, in pain and fear.

  Stupid dog, I thought. But I scooped her up, and she settled her head near my shoulder.

  I walked back to the windows. There was enough light that I could see the still form of the body on the floor ahead. I was about to approach it when I noticed a long shadow on the floor, not three feet from the corpse. I followed it back to its source.

  There was a tall skeletal figure standing by the windows. It was too thin to be human. As I watched, it glided forward soundlessly, getting closer.

  Except it wasn’t soundless. Not exactly. There was a faint pistoning sound as it moved. An oddly familiar sound.

  “Black Winter?” I whispered.

  “Barry?”

  “Damn man, you scared the hell out of me.”

  Black Winter emerged from the shadows. “You too. From back there you just looked like a dark lump. Did I just step over a dead body?” He was glancing back over his shoulder nervously.

  “Yeah. Where did you come from?”

  “The north stairwell.”

  “Did you lose the drone?”

  “I think so. I led it to the south side of the building, then escaped into the stairwell. I doubled back on the eleventh floor. You left the door unlocked, and I slipped inside.”

  “Is the drone still in the hallway?”

  “I don’t think so. I lost it in the south stairwell. I’m pretty sure it thinks it’s hunting humans, and it’s using infrared. It couldn’t track me in the stairwell at all.”

  “Did it get a good look at you?”

  “I doubt it. It would have figured things out pretty quick if it had.”

  “You’re a brave soul. Great work.”

  “It’s stupid, but it’s not completely stupid. It’ll figure out where we went sooner or later. We need to keep moving.” He was looking around, taking in the room. “What is this place?”

  “I’m still working that out. A private biolab, from the look of it.”

  “What, in the middle of a bunch of condos? That’s bizarre.”

  “Chicago got pretty lawless in the last six months of the war. There were rumors of secret labs producing bioweapons for both sides. I just didn’t think they would do their development so close to the front.”

  �
�You think that’s what this is? A bioweapons R and D lab?”

  “I can’t tell for sure without turning some lights on, but that’s what it looks like.”

  Black Winter glanced back at the supine corpse. “What about our friend over there? Think the drone did that?”

  “Maybe. But it appears he’s been dead a while. And that drone isn’t exactly a stealthy killer . . . If it had gotten in here, I think things would be a little more smashed up.”

  “So what killed him?”

  “I don’t know. And I’d rather not stick around to find out. Here, hold the dog.” I handed him Croaker, then strode over to the corpse and pulled the ID tag off the body.

  “What are you going to do with that?” Black Winter asked.

  “I think I’ve found another way out of here. Come on.”

  Black Winter followed me deeper into the room. I expected Croaker to complain, but she sat contentedly, cradled in the robot’s arm.

  “You’re good with dogs,” I said.

  “Dogs are natural judges of character,” he said matter-of-factly.

  I guided us into the pitch-dark alcove. “Fabulous,” said Black Winter as he followed me inside. “In case you’re wondering, I don’t have infrared vision like our buddy the drone. I can’t see a damn thing. What’s in here?”

  Before I could answer, there was a splintering noise from the door. I heard the sound of tearing metal as the war drone smashed its way into the room.

  “You had to mention that thing,” I said as I dropped to the floor. Behind me I heard a thump and then a whine from Croaker as Black Winter did the same.

  “This way,” I whispered. We crawled down the narrow hallway in the darkness. When I found the elevator, and the wireless sensor, I held the ID tag next to it.

  Nothing happened.

  From the lab came more sounds of destruction. Something heavy collapsed, and I heard glass shattering. “Seriously, where are we going?” hissed Black Winter. “We need to put some distance between us and that thing, right now.”