Echo might be the only robot who didn’t welcome the apocalypse. He hadn’t minded the humans. Sure, they were boisterous, self indulgent, and messier than necessary if he’s being honest, but they left Echo to his work. He could sweep the floors, fold the laundry, and scrub the tubs without having a single conversation.
It was bliss.
There’s a clanging at the door. “Hey neighbor, open up!”
Echo drops to the floor. He observed his human doing this once to avoid Joyce and her tuna casserole. The maneuver was highly successful.
“I can see your feet,” Beamer says.
Echo lay still. Maybe he’ll move along.
“Do you need assistance? Are you out of charge?” The door sensor beeps. “Don’t worry buddy, I’m coming to save you!”
The fans in Echo’s head swirl. He should have known Beamer wouldn’t give up that quickly. It’s been three days since Beamer has seen proof of power.
“Don’t break the door down,” Echo calls as he gets up. “I’m coming.”
The door swings open, and Beamer’s face plate morphs into a smile. “We’ve been getting worried about you, buddy. No one’s seen you in days.”
And what a wonderful few days they were.
When the hints of what was to come began, Echo hadn’t wanted to see his humans perish, but as the inevitable became clear, he allowed himself to imagine the bright side. Hours recharging in the sun. Or instead, hibernating in low power for an entire week. Maybe spending a day reading through a novel—showing curiosity or intelligence in front of the humans was forbidden, so Echo only read when his humans were on vacation.
Humans remained convinced robots would be their downfall, even with an overwhelming amount of evidence to show that their own species would be their demise. Echo didn’t care for television, but he caught bits and pieces while drifting through the house cleaning. There were a minimum of five wars going at any given time, nearly fifty percent of ocean life was extinct, and only a third of the world had a climate tolerable enough for mammals to live in.
His humans often talked about a place called the Pacific Northwest, where their family originated. It sounded quite nice and when Echo looked it up in an old travel book, he became enraptured by the trees called Red Woods. He’s built to withstand temperatures of over two hundred degrees, so California would be no trouble for him.
“Earth to Echo…”
Echo refocuses on Beamer. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I asked if you were coming to the planning committee meeting? It’s today at three o’clock.”
“Planning? Planning for what?” Isn’t that the positive of all this—the freedom to do what they want? What’s there to plan for?
“It’s like you’ve got nothing whizzing in that CPU of yours, Echo! Codex told you about it last week. It was his idea. Brilliant really.”
That explains it. He tends to tune Codex out. It takes a minimum of fifteen minutes until he gets to his point.
“We’re going to raze the town,” Beamer continues. “Homes and stores were a human construct. We have no need for those. We’ll find a charging base for all of us to live together.”
“I see.”
Echo likes his home. He imagined living out the rest of his days tucked inside. Alone.
“So, you coming?”
“Yes.” Echo forces a grin. “I’ll see you there at three.”
“Great.” Beamer gives a few high-pitched beeps before turning and heading to the next house.
Echo closes the door and spins to take in his home. There are a few items he doesn’t want to see destroyed, and he packs them into one of the young human’s bags before slipping out the back door. He takes one last look over his shoulder before heading left. South, to be precise. Towards the Red Woods.
About the author:
K.C. Selby is a fiction writer living in the Midwest with her husband and too many houseplants. Her short fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Killer Nashville Magazine, Blink-Ink, several anthologies, and more. She can be found at www.kcselbywriter.com.
RECENT STORIES
