I Am Automaton 2: Kafka Rising

by Edward P. Cardillo

  “We are pleased to announce that we have located and taken into custody the soldier of Tora Bora. His squadron has been neutralized. He will be evaluated at one of our medical facilities at Guantanamo Bay…”

  Guantanamo Bay. That was a detention facility. Why were they using words like taken into custody and neutralized? Why were they treating Carl like a prisoner of war? None of this made any sense to Barry.

  Reporters began to ask their questions like impatient second graders in a classroom eager to get the teacher’s attention. Sayers pointed to one reporter.

  “Mr. Sayers, is this soldier indeed one of ours?”

  Sayers kept his poker face and addressed the question in a matter-of-fact manner.

  “I cannot comment on the nature of this soldier’s affiliation at this time. He will be detained in the Guantanamo Bay facility for an indeterminate period of time where he will receive quality medical care and remain under observation.”

  Carl’s father smiled bitterly. This son-of-a-bitch was purposely being vague and evasive. He mentioned that Carl’s squad had been neutralized and that he was to be detained in Gitmo to throw the reporters off the trail that he was indeed an American.

  He wondered if this was for Carl’s own protection or if he was being disavowed and treated as a rogue soldier. He couldn’t have imagined that Carl’s superiors or the White House would have approved of his little broadcast that sent shockwaves throughout the international community.

  Sayers pointed to another reporter.

  “What was the nature of this soldier’s squadron? Not affiliation, I mean nature. They were reported to have been wandering around the cave system in Tora Bora for weeks. How was that possible?”

  Sayers, always the professional and not easily flustered, kept his composure.

  “Again, I cannot at this time comment on the affiliation or nature of this soldier and his unit. As soon as we are able, we will provide you with more information. That will have to be all for now.”

  Just like that, Sayers nodded to the throng of now scurrying reporters and left the podium, disappearing behind a curtain.

  Barry couldn’t believe the way this was going down. Had Carl not told him everything, he would have been in the dark, wildly speculating like everyone else.

  At some point, the White House would have to comment on this further. The media was already focusing a tremendous amount of attention on the subject. Now the focus and wild theories were going to go into overdrive.

  The very next day, the press dubbed Carl the Soldier from Tora Bora, the Cave Man, and even the Automaton (based on speculations that he was not human but some kind of robot).

  He was characterized as a hero and rogue, a villain by some, and just about everything in between. Some believed he was a mercenary contracted by the United States. Others believed him to be a Middle Eastern nationalist who was making a statement against the Order for International Liberation.

  The docutainment circuit, like the ever-popular Tyler-Skyler Show, was making Carl out to be some kind of legend. The spin was mostly good, painting him as a do-gooder fighting against the forces of evil, but the opposing viewpoint was always included.

  Carl’s father was working at the hardware store taking inventory when he heard two men discussing his son in the plumbing aisle.

  “Mercenary or not, the man’s a hero. Someone needs to do something about OIL.”

  “But what if this pisses OIL off and they retaliate?”

  “Retaliate? They’ve been quiet ever since Tora Bora. No more bombings on U.S. soil.”

  “Maybe because this man isn’t one of ours. Maybe they’re out looking for who is responsible.”

  “Either way, it works for me.”

  “We will never get rid of terrorism, you know. There have always been terrorists. You kill a few, or even a big wig, and more just take their place. And this ain’t the days of al-Qaeda. OIL is organized and multinational. They’re even all throughout Europe.”

  “Oh, Europe is a bunch of pussies. They don’t have the sense to look after their own back yards. The UN will go after this Soldier of Tora Bora before they do anything about their own OIL problem.”

  Barry pulled into his driveway and turned off the ignition. He got out of the car, the sudden motion making his sinuses throb. Texas was going through a record drought, and the combination of the dryness in the air and poor air quality was wreaking havoc on his head.

  He disengaged the digi-lock and entered his foyer. He threw his keys into the bowl on the small table by the door, shut the front door behind him, and stepped into the living room.

  He turned toward the big screen television and was about to command it to power on when the reflection made him freeze in his tracks.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  He turned around, and his eyes welled-up when he saw Peter. He stepped forward and threw his arms around his son. Last he heard from an officer who paid a visit to the house, Peter was MIA. The officer did not tell him where or anything else, but he knew from Carl that it was in Mexico.

  “I’m glad you’re okay, son.”

  Peter was relieved at his father’s reaction. The last thing he wanted to do was give the poor man a heart attack.

  “I’m okay. I got some leave time, so I figured I’d come and let you know I was still alive.”

  “How did you get out of Mexico?”

  Peter was startled by this. That information was supposed to be classified.

  His father saw the look on his face. “Carl told me.”

  “Carl…told you? He wasn’t supposed to.”

  “I know, but he felt he had to tell someone. He’s in trouble, isn’t he, Pete.”

  “Yeah, I think so. He breached protocol with that broadcast of his and, apparently, he didn’t stop there. He shouldn’t have told you—”

  “Pete, I’m glad he did. At least I know what you two were doing. Even though it sounded incredibly dangerous…” Peter huffed at the obviousness of the statement, “…at least I knew what you boys were working toward. I am proud of you both.”

  Peter didn’t know what to say, exactly. He wasn’t expecting this, and he felt awkward. He wondered if his father knew about the…

  “Pete, what are they like?”

  “What do you mean, Dad?”

  “The…zombie soldiers.”

  …oh, there it was.

  “The drones? Carl even told you about the drones?”

  “It doesn’t even seem real. It, quite frankly, all seems ridiculous.”

  “Dad, you know you can’t tell anyone.”

  “Who the hell am I going to tell? Your mother is gone, and anyone else would think I was nuts.”

  “The press hasn’t caught on to the drones yet.”

  “I know. They’re focused on your brother right now. Are they really holding him at Gitmo?”

  “It would appear so,” said Peter gravely, “but I don’t know any more about it than you do.” He saw his father’s expectant look. “All right, Dad. But I need a beer to wet my whistle.”

  “Oh, of course.” His father gestured toward the kitchen. Peter led the way. He opened the fridge and pulled out two cold beers. He handed one to his father, and they each took a seat at the kitchen table.

  Peter ran his hand through his hair, paused a moment, and then he began. “They’re terrifying. I mean, we know what they can do to a person, but it’s more than that. Their very presence is repulsive.”

  “Carl told me about Mexico and what happened.”

  Peter was staring off into nowhere. “Yeah…a lot went wrong in Mexico. I lost my whole platoon except for Carl, but I was separated from him. Once the drones turned on us, everything went to shit.” He took a long sip of his beer. “They just kind of overwhelm you. They pile on in numbers, staring at you with those glassy eyes, reaching out for you. We started out with a whole platoon, but we had a weapon malfunction…

  “We holed up in a gym at a resort, we armed ourselves with whatever we could
find…free weights, bars…and they came in after us. We barricaded a stairwell with exercise machines and tried to take them out in a controlled fashion, one cluster at a time…

  “But, as they were designed to do, they piled on in numbers, climbed over the barricade, and we began to fall back. We lost one or two men in the process…one had his fingers bitten off and then the rest of him chewed on…another tried to jump off the second floor…he broke his legs, and he became a hot lunch for whatever was waiting for him down there…

  “We retreated to this exercise room, like where they hold aerobics classes, barring the door. But the wall was glass, and they pressed up against it, wheezing and snarling, snapping their teeth against the glass…” He recalled his nightmare. “…it was a mirrored room. I can remember their eyes, all around us. I began to lose my shit, but Carl broke the mirrors. I sent my team up into this vent that ran along the top of the gym and out. They went in one-by-one. I saw Carl go up and in...

  “I was the last one in the room when they broke through. I was totally prepared to die. I grabbed a weight bar and began swinging wildly…crushing one skull after another. It’s the only way to kill one of them. But then it was as if suddenly this great calm washed over me…you know, that feeling you get when you come to grips with your fate…”

  His father had no idea what he was talking about, but he nodded in horrified fascination so Peter would continue.

  “And my swings became less wild. It was like everything began to move…in slow motion. I was running in between them, like I could see every space, and I was taking them out one-by-one. Even so, they were too many. I worked my way over to the window when some debris from the storm smashed it open. It was as if some divine providence was giving me an exit…like it was telling me that it wasn’t my time to die…

  “I jumped out and landed in some bushes below. The wind was howling and pelting my face with all kinds of debris. I struggled to stand up; the wind was powerful, knocking me around. I tried to follow the outside of the building back around to where I thought the ventilation duct went and where my team was, but the wind was blowing me around.

  “There were dozens of drones roaming about, and several caught my scent. It was ridiculous trying to make a run for it in one hundred plus mile per hour winds, but I half ran, half flew across the grounds and away from the hotel building.”

  Peter’s father was entranced with a look of pain for his son on his face. This was the sort of stuff one saw in a blockbuster science fiction film or horror perhaps. “How did you get away?”

  Peter took another swig of his beer and sat back in his chair pensively. “I was blown past the swimming pool. Nearly fell in it. One of the drones fell in the deep end. I got up and kept running, and those bastards…they were relentless. I remember running…and then nothing.”

  His father was confused. “What do you mean nothing?”

  “I think something big hit me. A piece of debris. Next thing I remember, I was being dragged by my feet through the underbrush, my chest hurt and it was hard to breathe. I heard a loud explosion in the distance, but I was unable to regain my footing.

  “I was dragged to a cartel outpost, a burlap sack thrown over my head, and I was tossed somewhere dark for a while. When I awoke, those bastards wanted me to teach them how to use the drones. I refused, but they showed me a video of Carl. They had him in a room with a drone dressed up in a wedding dress, sick sons-a-bitches. They told me that if I wouldn’t comply, I’d watch her feast on Carl.”

  His father put his hand over his mouth, “Jesus. So did you do it?”

  “Yes, but half-heartedly. I wasn’t being extra careful, if you know what I mean. There were accidents, and some of the cartel had to be put down before they turned. What a pity. Then I noticed that after what must have been days, the video of Carl they kept showing me never changed. I mean it was exactly the same each time.”

  “So you began to wonder if Carl was still alive,” his father finished the thought.

  “Exactly. So that was when I was going to stage a big accident that would be enough of a diversion so I could escape.”

  His father was sitting forward in his chair. “What did you do?”

  Peter sat forward in his, matching his father. “I told them I was going to show them the ‘Circle of Covered Wagons’ maneuver, because they wanted to learn more defensive maneuvers than offensive ones. They were planning to use the drones as security detail for their drug running.

  “Well, there is no such thing as the ‘Circle of Covered Wagons’ maneuver, but it got me to put them in the center of a circle of drones who proceeded to surround them. As I heard the screams of cartel goons being eaten alive and gun shots from those watching trying to break it up, I ran.

  “I ran as fast as I could until I flagged down a Mexican military jeep sweeping the area after the hurricane. They took me in and got me home.”

  “And Carl.”

  “As far as I knew, he was missing or dead.”

  His father chortled. “Funny, when he was here telling me everything, he told me the same about you. He told me that you sacrificed yourself to get your team out of harm’s way. He told me how terrible he felt. Guilty.”

  “For what?”

  “Because he felt that you’ve been looking out for him his whole life, Pete. And this particular time, he thought it got you killed.”

  Peter put his beer bottle down on the table. “Wherever he is now, he still thinks I’m gone. I don’t think he knows I’m still alive.”

  “Well, I’m relieved, Pete.”

  Peter realized that he had been droning on about himself and abruptly changed topic. “How’ve you been, Dad?”

  His father wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. He spent his entire parental life keeping his boys safe, and recently he finds out that they have been cowboys to a bunch of zombies, chasing enemies of the United States around the world.

  “I’ve been okay, Pete. I’ve had to close the hardware store on the weekends, though. Not enough business. I’m mostly getting contractors during the week, but even that has slowed down.”

  “Do you need money, Dad?”

  His father laughed. “I should be asking you that. No, I’ll be fine. So how long is your leave?”

  “One week. Enough time to catch up with you and pitch in at the hardware store.”

  “Pete, you don’t have to.”

  “I want to. Besides, it’ll be refreshing doing some work that didn’t involve any zombies or Mexican cartels…that is unless the way you do business has changed.”

  His father smiled. “Nope. Business as usual. No zombies here.”

  “Dad, have you been doing anything else besides work?”

  “I’ve been going bowling with the guys again on Monday nights. I’m in a league now. They are quite generous with handicaps.”

  “That’s great, Dad. I’m glad. You need to come up with some new kind of routine.” He looked around the kitchen. “I see you’ve been keeping the place up.”

  His father looked around the kitchen with something that looked a little like pride. “Well, that has been part of the new routine. Keeping the kitchen clean, the bathrooms, I’ve even been cooking.”

  “Oh, no. I hope your medical insurance is current.”

  “No, I hope yours is, son, because I’m going to subject you to some of it tonight.”

  They shared a laugh.

  “So, you ever think of your mother?”

  Peter’s demeanor became a little more somber. “All the time. Poor Carl. He saw it all happen. He saw the suicide bomber. Passed him in the parking lot.”

  “Yeah, it really shook him up,” said Barry shaking his head. “But then he became angry. Then driven. There was no talking him out of enlisting at that point.”

  “I guess Mom would’ve been pissed.”

  “No,” his father blurted. “Not in the least. She was always proud of you boys. When you enlisted she was worried for you, but goddammit, she was proud
. She told everyone that.”

  Peter was incredulous. “Proud? Really?”

  His father put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Absolutely, Pete. And I am too…of both of you. But I’m worried about your brother right now.”

  “Yeah, Dad. I know what you mean.”

  Chapter 3

  Guantanamo Bay

  Prison Facility

  19:58 HRS

  Carl awoke in his cell on the narrow cot. As his vision cleared, he began to see the skewed pattern of the cinderblocks that made up his walls. A naked light bulb burned overhead, casting a dim light into the small space.

  He looked up and saw two dark eyes watching him through the small window. The stare was so intense it was unnerving. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, but when he finished, the eyes in the window were gone.

  He sat up in his cot and smoothed his orange jumpsuit out. He had to be presentable. There was an interrogator coming to get the truth out of him. He was checked out medically and put through several physical stress tests. Despite the fact that he had a tumor the size of a kiwi growing in his skull, he performed very well on the tests.

  In fact, he inexplicably felt great. When he slept, it was a deep sleep, and when he woke, he felt so refreshed that he thought he pulled a RIP Van Winkle.

  However, this person who was coming tonight was different. Some kind of intelligence expert. He wasn’t quite sure what this guy was supposed to be looking for. It wasn’t as if he was hiding anything. He knew they were ticked off about the broadcast, but he was being poked and prodded like some kind of science project.

  He figured it must’ve had something to do with his “ability.” Maybe they wondered how he communicated with the drones. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how he did it himself. However, after flushing out the tunnel system in Tora Bora, he expected to be treated better.

  Two guards came to the door of his cell. The waist-level trap door in the door clanged open. One of the guards addressed him.

  “Captain Birdsall, please place your hands through the opening.”