I am Automaton 3: Shadow of the Automaton

by Edward P. Cardillo

  Elicia cleared her throat. “Yes, officer.”

  “Who am I speaking to?”

  “Brittany. Brittany Corti.”

  The cop forgot to take his finger off the speak button, because she heard him say, “It’s the sister.”

  “Is there a problem, officer?”

  Betancourt was out the front door with Brittany.

  “We need to speak with you, ma’am. It’s about your younger sister, Elicia.”

  “Oh. I see. You have to hold on. Let me get dressed and I’ll let you in.”

  “Please hurry, ma’am.” He still had his finger on the speak button. There was laughing. “Yeah, she’s the hot one.”

  Elicia rolled her eyes and ran out the front door to join the others. When she reached the Humvee, Brittany was already in the back seat and all over Peter.

  Elicia rolled her eyes again.

  “Come on, we have to go,” said Betancourt impatiently.

  Elicia climbed into the front seat, and Betancourt was off before she could even close her door.

  “What’s behind your back yard?” asked Betancourt urgently.

  “Our neighbor’s back yard.”

  “Is there a fence?”

  “No, just short hedges.”

  “Good.”

  He gunned the engine and sped around the side of the large house. He came up quickly on the short hedges, but the Humvee plowed right through them. Peter and Brittany bounced around in the back seat, and Elicia held on tight in front.

  “This neighbor has a gate, too,” said Elicia.

  “Great,” said Betancourt.

  He pulled around an in-ground swimming pool and around the side of another big house, and then he was barreling down the driveway towards the gate.

  “That’s a sturdy gate,” remarked Peter from the backseat.

  “We’re in an army-grade Humvee,” stated Betancourt, as if that explained everything away.

  “Ramming speed!” shouted Brittany raising a fist and giggling up a storm in Peter’s arms.

  Elicia held on to her seat and turned her head away as they came up on the gate. Betancourt floored the gas pedal.

  They crashed through the gate and spilled out onto the street. As the rods of the gate clanged on the pavement behind them, Betancourt jerked the steering wheel to the right like in one of those old black-and-white movies, and the Humvee narrowly avoided the front gate of the house across the street.

  After running over some garbage cans, Betancourt straightened out and tore off down the street.

  “Now what?” asked Peter, fending off Brittany’s drunken advances.

  “I know a place we can go where the authorities won’t know to look for us,” said Betancourt.

  Brittany finally passed out in Peter’s lap. “Oh, thank God,” he said. “I thought the zombies were bad.”

  “Major, meet Brittany,” said Elicia.

  “The pleasure’s all hers, I’m sure,” quipped Peter.

  Elicia turned around facing the road and smiled. She smiled because Brittany was, for the moment, safe. It was also the first time her gorgeous sister ever made a bad first impression with a guy. She felt a little guilty, but the notion positively tickled her.

  The Humvee disappeared into the night barreling towards Betancourt’s secret destination.

  “Hey,” asked Peter, “why does it smell like puke?”

  ***

  Kafka barged into headquarters alone.

  “What happened?” asked Kojic. “Where’s Farooq?”

  Kafka grabbed an operative, Qasim, by the throat and lifted him off the ground. The man clawed at Kafka’s fingers, his face turning red and then a shade of purple.

  “Kafka, please, stop,” begged Kojic, frightened.

  Kafka tossed the man across the room like a ragdoll. Marina, chained to the wall by her wrists, reached out for the man and almost got him. Another operative grabbed Qasim by the ankles and pulled him away in time.

  “Leave us!” demanded Kafka.

  Everyone dashed out of the room except Kojic. Kafka stood in the empty room blinking his fours eyes. The only sounds were Marina’s wheezing, grunts, and the clinking of her chains.

  “Incompetent idiots,” hissed Kafka bitterly.

  “What happened?”

  “Farooq is dead.”

  This news didn’t really trouble Kojic anyway. The man was an animal as far as he was concerned. “And the Colonel?”

  “Betancourt escaped, but no matter. My brother, the Colonel, and the Seditious Blogger are all wanted for the murder of a four star general.”

  Kojic’s eyes went wide at the recognition of who Kafka was referring to. “They got Ramses?”

  “No. But that idiot failed me for the last time. I gave him a simple task and the tools to do it. Let’s just say he was useful one last time. The authorities will be pursuing those three to the ends of the earth, which will keep them out of my hair.”

  Kojic unconsciously looked up at Kafka’s bald, black head.

  “It’s a goddamned expression, Kojic. You foreigners are so freakin’ literal.”

  “Sorry, sir…your brother…”

  “Yes. What about him?”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t have let him live.”

  Kafka stepped forward menacingly. “You are not my brother’s keeper, Luka. You’d be wise to remember that.”

  “I-I-I just figured he’d be dangerous left alive.”

  Kafka stopped baring his fangs in anger and smiled wickedly. “Why Kojic, he’s my brother, my own flesh and blood, the last of my family. Besides, he wouldn’t be so easy to kill. He’s infected, but he’s somehow controlling it. He won’t let it advance past a certain point.”

  “Really?” Kojic regretted how he sounded the moment he said it.

  Kafka stepped even closer, looming over him. “Why Luka, you sound almost…hopeful. You’re not having second thoughts about this gift I’ve given you, are you?”

  “No, sir.” But Kojic knew it was a lie. In fact, he was pretty sure Kafka knew it was a lie.

  “And what do we have here?” asked Kafka, looking over at Marina. Marina was staring into space with those milky eyes. These two might as well have been furniture to her.

  “You aren’t thinking about keeping her here like a pet.”

  “No, sir,” replied Kojic. “To be honest, I don’t know what I’m going to do with her.”

  Kafka cocked his head sideways. “Look at poor Marina, chained to the wall like a dog. Is that any way to treat your wife?”

  Kojic just looked a Kafka horrified. He had no words.

  “She needs to be free with her own kind, Luka. Not chained to a wall.” He walked over and clutched one of the chains in his hands, examining the links carefully.

  “This gift I’ve given her was not intended to place her into bondage. She is to be set free.” He yanked hard, pulling the chain and its anchor right out of the wall. Marina stirred, grunting pathetically.

  Kafka walked over to the other chain and pulled it out of the wall. “These are my children. Even Marina. To chain her to the wall is to place me in chains.”

  Marina, directed by Kafka, shambled toward Kojic menacingly.

  “Th-that’s n-not what I meant. I meant no offense, Kafka.”

  Marina stopped before him and clicked her jaws at Kojic like a demented marionette, and Kafka was pulling the strings.

  “Go,” commanded Kafka, “be with the others.”

  Marina regarded him momentarily with blank eyes. Kafka opened the door, and she shuffled out of the room.

  “Kojic, I need you to focus. The time has come for us to spread my gift to the masses. I need you now more than ever.”

  Kojic was trembling. “Yes, Kafka.”

  “And pull yourself together, man. You’re infected. She would have done you no permanent harm…Speaking of which, I want you to assemble a small team. Then I want you to submit to torture and punishment. Trust me. It won’t kill you, but it’ll make yo
u stronger. I need you stronger, Luka.”

  “Yes, Kafka.”

  “Excellent.”

  Kafka stepped out of the room.

  Kojic stood there alone for a moment, trying to quiet down his soul. If he were to be a part of the winning team, he had to commit himself fully to the Cause.

  The Cause…which Cause was this now? It wasn’t Belmont’s Cause. Nor was it jihad. At least not an earthly jihad. Now Kafka was killing their own as he saw fit. General Ramses. He nearly killed Qasim without provocation.

  Who was to say that Kafka wouldn’t kill him when he had the urge? And yet he spoke of mistreatment of his mindless drones, as if they were an extension of him. Perhaps they were.

  Kojic finally came to his senses and left the room. He walked to the back of the building. He was going to round up a team and submit to Kafka’s punishment, but first he had to see.

  He came to one of the back windows and looked out across the fenced in yard. There were a couple of dozen undead milling about, mostly OIL operatives that were turned using the RGT transmission. There were only a few human operatives left after several others deserted in fear for their lives.

  He searched the crowd until he saw her. Marina was milling around with a few others. When Kojic saw her and how she was at home with the other drones, he raised his fist to his mouth and bit it, choking back sobs of terrible grief.

  He had always kept his Marina sequestered in their home, wherever that was, according to the Law. He protected her from the outside world of thieves and adulterers, and if that meant subjecting her to his own brand of abuse, then so be it.

  But now, she had escaped his grasp, his protection, and she was no longer subject to his cruelty. Now she wandered this lot with her own kind, out of his reach. She no longer belonged to him. His pride mortally wounded, a great shame welled up inside him.

  The loss of his wife had become, at this point, unbearable for Kojic. He pounded the windowsill and cried out in anguish. Where was Belmont when he needed him? The Cause had been corrupted by another, who twisted it to wage his own kind of jihad.

  Kojic ran down the hall and down the steps until he found the few remaining human operatives. He barged into the room and closed the door abruptly behind him.

  “Who here is afraid?”

  They all looked at him dumbfounded.

  “Luka, please,” pleaded Adnon. “You’ll get us all killed.”

  “What is better? Becoming one of those out in back, milling around like a simple animal? Or worse, being the only intelligent life left with a world full of those things.”

  “Luka, better that than dead,” said Mehtab.

  “You are all cowards,” Kojic hissed at them. “This is not our jihad. He has you fighting for allies that have yet gone unseen, and when they arrive, they will seem more like overlords than allies. Is that what you want?”

  “What are we to do?” asked Adnon. “It is too late.”

  “He will murder us,” said Ehsan.

  “Like he did General Ramses,” said Kojic. “Belmont would have never murdered his own. He protected us until it was our time to pay the ultimate sacrifice. This Kafka spills our blood wastefully, without sacrifice. There is no honor in it.”

  “What do you propose we do?” asked Mehtab.

  “We run,” said Kojic. “We find other OIL cells. Not all of them are aware of what is going on. We need to inform them. We need to fight. They follow the ways of Belmont, not Kafka.”

  “They cannot win against Kafka,” said Mehtab. “What you are asking is suicide.”

  “Then you will not go?” asked Kojic.

  Mehtab straightened up and puffed his chest out defiantly. “No, I will not.”

  “Well then, you are a coward. Anyone else? Will anyone else go with me?”

  After a pause, Adnon stepped forward. “I will go.”

  Ehsan sighed loudly. “I will go, too.”

  “This is mutiny,” cried Mehtab, stabbing his index finger emphatically into the air. “I will have no part of this.”

  “Then you must die,” said Kojic gravely.

  Mehtab made for the door, but Kojic stood in front of it. Mehtab reached out to grab him, but Adnon and Ehsan grabbed him and pulled him off Kojic. They forced him down to his knees as Kojic produced his knife.

  “No! Kojic, you will pay for your treachery!”

  Kojic rammed the knife deep into his throat. It slipped in like a hot knife through butter. Mehtab gagged and struggled briefly with his holders until his eyes went wide and then vacant as his life left his body.

  Kojic pulled out his knife and wiped the blade on his jeans. Adnon and Ehsan dropped Mehtab’s lifeless body to the ground.

  “He is infected. We must dismember him.”

  Adnon swallowed hard, but nodded. Ehsan nodded too. They began to pull Mehtab’s body apart, piece by piece until there was nothing left but a heap of parts.

  All three men stood there panting, covered in blood.

  “We must go now,” said Kojic in a harsh whisper, “before Kafka finds out what has happened.”

  Kafka sat in his office tinkering with the portable RGT. He reached out with his senses and felt the three men run out of the building.

  “Cowards,” he said aloud. “Kojic, you are already infected. When the world turns, you will have no choice but to turn, as will your fellow conspirators.”

  He no longer needed them. He would make his army as he went, and as he recruited to his ranks, the opposition would in turn shrink and eventually succumb. It was a zero sum game. There was no stopping it now.

  Kafka looked over at the corner of the room, where a zombie stood gurgling and wheezing.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me, Dad…

  …Just you and me.”

  Part III

  Reach Out and Infect Someone

  Chapter 11

  The set lit up and the audience clapped as the twins came into view on stage. Tyler looked like his usual ridiculous self, but Skylar sat slouched in his chair looking a bit under the weather.

  “Good evening and welcome to another edition of America’s favorite docutainment show. I’m Tyler…”

  He waited for his brother to jump in and introduce himself, but Skylar just sat there silent looking extremely pale under the hot stage lights. He had very dark shadows under his eyes.

  “…and this is my brother, Skylar, who is looking a bit under the weather today. How are you feeling, Skylar?”

  Skylar just looked at his brother and nodded as he sat there wheezing in his high chair.

  “Well, it looks as if somebody rode you hard and put you up wet. Nice hickey by the way.” The camera zoomed in on what appeared to be a rather large love bite on Skylar’s neck. “Hot date last night?”

  Skylar made a sound that sounded almost like a growl. Tyler was a bit startled, but it was showbiz and he recovered quickly.

  “Well, we have a lot to discuss tonight: OIL, Kafka, the apparent absence of the Automaton.” Tyler shot a nervous look at the producer off camera who only shrugged his shoulders.

  “I guess we’ll begin with OIL. There have been recent reports of OIL activity in Texas where the military intercepted an OIL meeting in a local watering hole in Blueberry Hill. Authorities say that the notorious terrorist, known only as Kafka, may have been in attendance, but according to reports, he has once again eluded capture.”

  Skylar was rocking back and forth in his chair, moaning softly. Tyler looked nervously at the producer who signaled that they were going to take a commercial break.

  “More on that after we return from this brief commercial break.”

  The lights dimmed as they went to commercial and there was a stirring of confusion in the audience.

  The producer came running onto the stage. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Tyler annoyed at the producer’s tone. “Maybe he’s sick.” He stood in front of his brother. “Skylar? Are you okay?” No resp
onse. “What’s wrong, buddy?”

  Skylar looked up at Tyler with cloudy eyes and snarled at his brother like a rabid dog.

  “Jesus Christ,” gasped Tyler, as Skylar reached out and snatched him. He pulled him close, opening his mouth, but Tyler wriggled away.

  Skylar lunged forward and grabbed the producer, who dropped his clipboard. He pulled him close and sunk his teeth right into his neck. The producer screamed and blood came spurting out of the hole in his neck. Skylar chewed the torn off flesh noisily.

  “Holy shit! Skylar, what have you done?”

  The audience watched in shock and terror as the reality of what was unfolding before them began to sink in. One woman screamed, and then the people in the first few rows began to climb back over the seats behind them to put some distance between them and the stage.

  A stagehand pulled the producer out of Skylar’s grasp, but Skylar grabbed her arm and sunk his teeth into her forearm. She yelled as he chowed down on her flesh, and the stage became chaos as staff ran to and fro in a panic.

  Tyler watched in horror as his brother pulled the stagehand closer and bit off her nose and lips. He then ran backstage and disappeared.

  The lights went on as Skylar dropped the girl to the stage floor, his mouth dripping blood and her body convulsing at his feet.

  “Go to commercial! Go to commercial!” yelled a tinny voice over a loudspeaker. The lights dimmed again as a message flashed on the monitors stating We Are Experiencing Technical Difficulties. Please Stand By. Then another commercial came on.

  Skylar staggered off the stage, and to the horror of the now frantic and confused audience members, began to shamble towards them with hands outstretched and jaws snapping.

  Tyler burst out onto the stage holding his pink AR-15. He raised it and pulled the trigger. The muzzle flashed in the dim lighting as Tyler lit his brother up, tearing holes into his chest and arms. One of the bullets burst his skull like a melon. Skylar’s headless body dropped to its knees, hands still reaching out, and fell forward onto the floor where it became inert.

  The producer was clutching his neck, and his screams melted into a wild growling as he lunged for Tyler. Tyler shot him in the head at point blank range, and the producer dropped like a stone.