I Am Automaton 2: Kafka Rising

by Edward P. Cardillo

Mexican Border

  Nogales, Arizona

  22:14 HRS

  It was a brisk, clear night. The sky had transitioned from deep purple and red at the horizon to pitch black up above. Peter’s Alpha Squad clung to the chain link fence reinforced with corrugated tin at the bottom, the only membrane between Nogales, Mexico and Nogales, Arizona.

  The drones shuffled in almost single file in the dry dirt. Cronos followed behind, carrying his sniper rifle with night vision scope loaded with tags. Peter looked at the crudely fashioned crucifixes affixed to the border fence as he picked up his mini-com.

  “Sweeper One, any activity?”

  After a brief pause, there was an answer. “Negative. No activity in your sector.”

  This was the job. It was slow…painfully slow at times. When their unit first began border patrol, they caught dozens of jumpers a night. Then, as word got back that the United States had undead patrolling the border from the few that narrowly escaped, things began to slow down. Either that or the jumpers got sneakier. Peter figured the latter.

  There was a big business in Nogales, Arizona and the neighboring town of Patagonia for “coyotes,” those who harbored border jumpers. Both were sleepy towns with small one and two-story buildings that looked innocent enough, and that was the point. There were safe houses, guides who exploited gaps in the fence, and those who provided counterfeit documentation.

  The United States was as much at war with these coyotes as they were with the jumpers. What made matters worse was that these coyotes on the American side were supporting drug smugglers, gunrunners, and terrorists. The jumpers weren’t all immigrants looking for a better life.

  “Delta Squad Leader, report.” Peter waited for Kettle’s response.

  “Delta Squad Leader reporting. All quiet on the Western Front.”

  Peter smirked at Nolan’s movie reference. He liked Nolan. He was a wise ass, but a good soldier and a natural leader. He had a way with the men that almost made them forget that they were herding zombies, or at least laugh about it.

  Delta Squad was roving somewhere in Nogales. There were mostly factories on the American side of the fence in Nogales, and it was usually quiet.

  The Mexican Nogales, on the other hand, was a hotbed of illegal activity, which is why he stationed two roving squads there. Speaking of which, it was time to raise Carl on the mini-com.

  “Beta Squad Leader, report.”

  “Beta Squad Leader reporting. No activity in our sector. Sweeper gave the all clear.”

  “Roger that.” Peter kept Carl on a tight leash. His little brother had calmed down significantly after his stint in solitary. He dropped the attitude and followed orders to the nine, which pleased Colonel Betancourt. It also kept Peter’s finger off the kill switch for the moment, for which he was also grateful.

  He sensed something different about Carl…something that made him uneasy. It was as if he went from very arrogant and unruly to very compliant, quiet even. Peter recalled that saying about still waters running deep.

  Carl had apprehended the most jumpers out of any squad, many of which were OTM’s (Other Than Mexicans)—al-Qaeda, Hezbollah, etc. His squad was a well-oiled machine and a tribute to the program. It was good press for the President, and therefore, good for the program.

  Of course, Carl had the distinct advantage of being able to communicate with the drones. He was faster and stronger than any of the other soldiers or border jumpers, and his senses were beyond acute. He often spotted jumpers and apprehended them before his Sweeper could spot them with the radar.

  Peter was proud of his brother, who appeared to have a new perspective on his role. Carl no longer seemed to care one way or another about the media. Monster, hero—it made no difference to him. He appeared to have a renewed focus on their mission.

  Carl was strolling with his unit of undead shambling in the desert. He enjoyed the cool, winter air. It was crisp and electric. He sensed the unique rhythm of his undead entourage and then that of his live assistant, Private Mackler.

  He snorted at the crucifixes lining the American side of the border fence. Peter said that it was to protect the jumpers, but Carl knew better. It was to keep the undead out.

  Carl sensed the buildings on the other side of the horizontally mounted corrugated tin panels. They were squat, spaced far apart, and dilapidated. Once in a while, he sensed a small animal scurrying, a night predator. Once he even sensed a man, but the man was moving in the opposite direction of the border fence.

  He came upon a small house in poor repair a distance away from the border fence. He sensed dozens of people in the house, feeling their numerous rhythms in a symphony of vibration. He halted his squad to get a better feel.

  “What is it, sir?” Mackler asked.

  “There’s a small house about 200 feet away from the fence with a lot of activity in it,” Carl responded coolly.

  Mackler wasn’t with the unit long, and he was unaccustomed to Carl’s…talent. He raised his rifle. “Are they moving towards the fence, sir?”

  Carl put his hand up to silence Mackler. “Sweeper two, report.”

  “No activity in your sector, sir.”

  “He can’t detect it,” Carl said thinking out loud. Carl hesitated for one last feel of the house and then decided to command the drones to continue.

  Then he felt it. They were gone.

  He halted the squad again.

  “Sir?” Mackler looked confused.

  “They’re gone,” Carl stated.

  “They probably just left, sir.”

  “No, they just…disappeared,” Carl corrected. “One minute they were there, the next they were not.”

  “Are they moving towards the fence?” Mackler asked again.

  “No. I do not detect any movement whatsoever.”

  Mackler awaited Carl’s next instruction.

  “Wait here, Private.”

  “Sir?”

  Carl turned to face the fence. “I’m going for a quick stroll.”

  Mackler looked uneasy. “With all due respect, sir, should we radio this in to the Captain?”

  “I won’t be but a moment,” Carl said with his back to Mackler. Then he leapt up into the air and grabbed the top rim of the uppermost corrugated tin panel. It was an incredible jump.

  Mackler looked on in utter disbelief. He had heard rumors of Carl’s unreal physical prowess, but he still didn’t believe it when he saw it.

  Carl pulled himself up and hoisted himself over the top of the fence. He moved so deftly that he was up and over before any Mexican snipers could sight him.

  He landed on the other side, his knees dislocating from the impact and quickly resetting, and he sprinted in an uneven line towards the dilapidated house.

  The air was still and the night silent. He made it to the house quickly, and he breached the front door without raising his rifle. He trusted his senses, which told him that the house was empty.

  Inside, the house was completely empty. There were cracked walls, holes in the walls and ceiling, and absolutely no furniture. Yet, he could see multiple sets of footprints in the dust on the wooden floor.

  The floor creaked as he moved around the house, and he reached out with his senses around the outside searching for humans. There was nothing.

  He picked up his mini-com. “Mackler, any activity on your side?”

  “Negative, sir.”

  Carl put down his mini-com and thought. Something didn’t add up. Those men just couldn’t have disappeared into thin air.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, Mackler. What is it?”

  “The Sweeper detected you jumping over the fence and is inquiring as to what you are doing?”

  Carl wasn’t supposed to cross to the Mexican side. His jurisdiction ended at the fence, and any breach of jurisdiction could cause headaches for the State Department, who already had a tenuous relationship with the Mexican government.

  “Tell, the Sweeper that I am investigating suspicious activity…”<
br />
  “Sir, the Sweeper already informed the Captain.”

  “Carl, what in the hell are you doing?” It was Peter’s voice.

  “I’m investigating suspicious activity,” Carl replied.

  “On the Mexican side? You know full well that we cannot cross the border,” Peter reprimanded.

  “There was a shitload of activity in this house, and then they all just up and vanished,” Carl explained.

  “Maybe you’re mistaken,” Peter offered impatiently. However, Carl knew that Peter knew that this wasn’t possible.

  Carl was looking down at the floorboards when he saw it. There was a faint hairline gap in the shape of a rectangle in the floor. He reached down, found the edge of the panel with his gloved fingers, and he pushed. The panel popped up and he pulled it up all the way. A dark tunnel yawned just below the floor.

  “Carl, get your ass back to American soil, pronto.”

  Carl lowered himself into the tunnel. “Yes, sir. Heading back now.” The tunnel stretched out in the direction of the border fence. Carl knew it had to have gone way past the fence. There was nothing in close proximity on the other side to cover the exit point at the other end.

  He raised his automatic assault rifle and peered down the tunnel. He mildly regretted the fact that he didn’t have his undead tunnel rats with him.

  “Mackler, look around. Do you see anything in the distance? A building, a garage, or a shack?”

  There was a pause, as Mackler was likely scanning his surroundings.

  “There’s nothing around for miles, sir.”

  Carl stopped and thought a moment. If he were to cross the border underground in this tunnel, there was no knowing where he would resurface and when. No, this wasn’t the right time. He had to get back across to the American side.

  Carl hoisted himself back through the opening in the floorboards, gingerly closed the panel, and swept the dust on the ground with the palm of his hand.

  He looked up and saw a dark shadow in the window. Someone was watching him from the outside. He flung open the door and burst out of the house. He looked around the outside, but there was no one there. The strange thing was that he hadn’t sensed anyone.

  He stalked the stretch of dirt and dust to the fence like a predator in the night air, undetectable. If there were snipers or sentinels, they were either asleep or unable to see his movements. Either way, it worked for him.

  When he reached the fence, Carl scaled it in short order and startled Mackler when he landed with a dull thud on the other side.

  “Sir?” Mackler said expectantly.

  “There’s a tunnel stretching out from that house I told you about under the fence,” Carl said looking around. “I don’t know where it goes, but a whole bunch of people just disappeared into it.”

  “Beta Squad Leader, report.” It was Peter.

  “I am back on U.S. soil, sir,” Carl said into his mini-com.

  “I want a full report at the rendezvous point, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  Miracle Valley Camp

  08:17 HRS

  “What were you doing, Carl? You know we’re not supposed to cross the fence,” said Peter disapprovingly, his voice echoing off the circular dome of the abandoned church. There were soldiers operating equipment along the walls. The brothers were seated in the few pews left in the middle of the room.

  “There was this house, Pete. One minute there were a bunch of people, and then they vanished.”

  “Whatever happens on that side is none of our concern,” interrupted Peter.

  “I found a tunnel under the house,” Carl continued patiently. “It looked like it stretched pretty far out onto our side of the fence. There was nothing for miles, so it must be a long tunnel.”

  Peter finished Carl’s thought, “Not something immigrants or even coyotes would likely construct.”

  Carl shook his head. “No, this is something different. Drug runners, weapons smugglers.”

  “How did you get over the fence?”

  “I climbed and jumped over.”

  “Right. Stupid question,” Peter said sarcastically. “Well, there’s really no way we can track where this tunnel leads. It can go anywhere, and searching basements from town to town will be a waste of time.”

  “I think we have some time,” Carl said. “Whoever dug the tunnel doesn’t know that we know about it, and after digging a tunnel like that, they’re not just going to abandon it. But you’re right about canvassing towns.”

  “There’s the radar,” Peter offered. “We can use it to track the tunnel and follow it on the jeep.”

  “I’m not sure if the radar can penetrate the ground,” countered Carl.

  “Let’s see,” said Peter. “Sergeant Harley!”

  The Sweeper looked up from his instrument panel and walked briskly over to where Peter and Carl were seated. “Yes, sir.”

  “Can the radar be used to track movement under the ground?”

  “Under the ground, sir?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Birdsall discovered a tunnel stretching under the fence that runs deep into U.S. soil.” Peter glared at Carl, “We don’t have access to its start point because it’s on the Mexican side.”

  “I suppose it’s possible, sir. It depends how far under the ground.”

  “We’ll have to try it,” said Peter.

  “I want a Spotter with me next time,” Carl said.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Peter. “You never needed one before. I thought you can direct the drones without using tags.”

  “I have an idea. Call it a backup plan.” Peter looked at him expectantly for an explanation of this statement, so Carl explained. “The Spotter can be positioned at the fence, sighting the house.”

  “Carl, if you tag someone, I think they’ll feel it.”

  “Not if we tag a piece of equipment, or a bag or something. Then the drones can follow the signal up top. If we use the radar mounted on the jeep, they will feel the jeep following them up above. A squad or two of drones traveling on foot travel lighter. They won’t hear us.”

  “He’s right,” said Harley. “Even if the radar can penetrate the ground, they will hear the jeep following them and get spooked.”

  “I’m just not sure a Spotter can tag something from that far away and a piece of equipment no less. You are both assuming that we are going to get a clear shot at something like that.”

  “We can use Cronos,” Carl said. “He’s the best shot around.”

  “If we are going to do this, I want three squads in on it. Yours, Kettle’s, and mine. If these are gunrunners, we may be in for a hell of a fight. One unit can carry provisions.”

  “Even better,” Carl said, “we can strap provisions to the drones. I did it in Tora Bora. They never tire, and they’re coming with us anyway.”

  Peter smiled at his brother. “Good idea, Carl. We’ll need all of our men available for firepower. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.

  “We’ll wait for Kettle to rendezvous here, which should take a day. Then we’ll back track to Nogales to the coordinates that Carl provided. We’ll stake out the house while having a squad pass by on patrol so that everything appears status quo on our side. Cronos will be on the fence and tag something. If by some miracle this works and they go under, we’ll follow them to wherever they resurface.”

  “I can amplify the tag’s signal,” said Harley, “so it’ll be easier to track underground.”

  “Excellent,” said Peter. “Carl, ready the drones with our supplies. I’ll send a report of our change of plans to Colonel Betancourt.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Dismissed.”

  Harley walked off to work on Cronos’ tags. Carl stayed.

  “Something on your mind, Carl?”

  “Permission to speak freely, sir.”

  Peter smiled at Carl’s formality and nodded.

  “Do you really think it’s wise to inform Betancourt of our e
very move?”

  “Carl, he wants to be apprised of everything that we do. I’m just following orders.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “Listen, he’s no Major Lewis. I know that you’re not his biggest fan since he had the kill chip implanted in your skull, but I believe he’s honest. He’s keeping a close eye on our operations and, given everything that’s happened, I can understand why.”

  “What if he doesn’t go for this, Pete? What if he wants us to continue our patrol with the original nav points?”

  “He’ll go for this, Carl. Something this big. This tunnel is bad news in a big way. It needs to be dealt with.”

  “There’s only one problem,” Carl said frowning.

  “What’s that?”

  “What if he asks how we found the tunnel?”

  Peter thought about this. Carl was right. If he told Betancourt that Carl hopped the fence, Carl would be in deep shit. “We’ll tell him the radar picked up on the tunnel.”

  “But Harley said it might not be able to penetrate the ground,” Carl retorted.

  “Betancourt’s no engineer. He’ll believe it.”

  “I hope you’re right, Pete.”

  “Your lack of faith is staggering,” quipped Peter.

  “Hey, you’re not the one with the kill chip in your brain.”

  “Good point.”

  ***

  Carl was chasing a woman through the woods. He didn’t know who she was or why he was pursuing her, but he knew she had to die.

  He glided through the underbrush, dodging trees large and small by mere centimeters. At first, it felt as if he were moving at a velocity that exceeded his mind’s ability to process his surroundings…like someone “out driving their headlights.”

  Yet, his body had the confidence in where it was in space to operate autonomously from his mind. His mind was focused on other, related things. He knew that the woman was tiring, because her pace was uneven and she would stumble every so often, and with increasing frequency. He felt her pulse like a drum beating in his soul, her panting like the steam engine that was his body.

  He decided to close the gap. He began to leap into the air, like an astronaut hopping on the surface of the moon. He was glancing the forest floor, hurtling through time and space and, oddly, the sensation was familiar to him.