Cad-Bots

 

CAD-BOTS

 

The small group of survivors huddled together in the basement of the Salvation Army’s Warehouse Distribution Center in Los Angeles, possibly the only survivors left in the entire city, except for Frankie and David, who were out on a recon patrol. Their rag-tag band consisted of seven men and three women, including the two outside, ranging in age from nineteen to fifty-five. Provisions were running low, and the discussion about their next course of action was becoming heated.

Melissa, the nineteen-year-old brunette, was leading the faction for direct action. “We have to do something. We can’t stay here. Armageddon is over, and we’re what’s left—us and however many other little groups of toughies scattered around the world. We’ve holed up in this basement for over a month. There’s been no contact by phone, radio, Internet, short-wave, or screaming at the top of our lungs with anyone anywhere in the world since May of this year.” She glanced over at the man sitting nearby. “Professor Martek, would you like to add anything?”

The professor, the oldest of the group at fifty-five, had been a theoretical physicist at U.C.L.A. before The War. His knees creaked in protest as he rose from his seat at the wooden kitchen table, a table that would never be a charitable donation to anyone in the foreseeable future. He sighed before beginning. “The first bombs, or I should say missiles, were launched in June 2022 in the Middle East. Iran made good on its threats against Israel. And Israel retaliated—”

“We know all that, Martek, the media was still around for a while after the big day.” This interruption came from Fast Eddie, who, once upon a time, was a bass player in the band Et Cetera. Of course, the band would have been redundant had they survived—since few were left to entertain.

Professor Martek paused and sighed again in resignation but continued. “Anyway, the nuclear holocaust that resulted when other countries joined the party turned out to be only the first step in the end of our world. The biological warfare launched by several countries was the second step. These biologicals turned out to be very sophisticated viruses without known antidotes and spread rapidly via air, water, and human contact. But, even as devastating as these things were, Mankind might still have survived. The Center for Disease Control in Atlanta worked around the clock on antidotes for the viruses and had come up with remedies for the most lethal of the killers. Unfortunately, this success was a moot point when an unforeseen development occurred. Call it step three.”

The professor took a sip from his water bottle. “The decaying bodies of people and animals were strewn around the world and continued to harbor and breed these viral killers, spread further by birds and animals feeding on the carcasses and moving on.”

“But what about the antidotes the C.D.C. came up with? Just distribute the serum to the people and have everyone inoculated against the diseases,” Fast Eddie said.

Professor Martek explained, his voice tired and dry, “The unforeseen development I spoke of was the interaction of radioactivity with the viruses in the exposed corpses worldwide. The radiation caused the viruses to mutate. And these mutations, exposed to continued radiation, mutated again. The C.D.C. and the rest of the world were overwhelmed. What had originally been several lethal infectious diseases turned into many.”

The professor had moved back towards his seat, believing his participation at an end, when Bernadette, a thirty-five-year-old ex-wife and ex-mother sitting against the wall with the third woman, Millie, whispered the question they were all thinking. “How many people survived?”

The professor looked down, avoiding her eyes. “Based on the data I managed to obtain before the lights went out, I made a statistical extrapolation. The fatality rate was somewhere around 99.8%. Based on a world population of four billion, around eight million survivors would be scattered around the world.”

“That’s not so bad,” Fast Eddie exclaimed. He glanced around at the three women. “That’s plenty of people to repopulate the world, especially since the Cad-Bots have been working 24-7. It’s 2027; they should have a pretty good handle on cleaning things up.”

A nondescript man, the latest addition to their group and sitting in the corner with his back against the wall, looked up as if to say something before looking away and remaining quiet.

Melissa jumped back into the conversation. “That’s why it’s time for us to go. I think we should head for the mountains or the desert, where it’s freer from residual radiation with fewer bodies around rotting and breeding diseases. Eventually, the Cad-Bots will have cleaned up the almost four billion corpses around the world, and we can start over.”

“It won’t work.” This from the man in the corner. He had been the latest addition to their little group, having wandered in only three days prior. They all turned and stared at him. The stranger had spoken little since his arrival besides volunteering his name, Martin, and a thin account of his postwar survival.

Martin continued, “I worked for Tennyson Robotics before The War. We knew Armageddon was coming and perceived the need for the ‘cleanup’ phase. All of our international robotics plants were converted to the manufacture of cadaver robots to clean up the coming mess. We automated the plants in case factory fatalities were high. Sales of the Cad-Bots to countries taking part in the war were brisk before and during the conflict. And with the plants fully automated, there would be no interruptions in manufacturing. As you know, the Cad-Bots irradiate the corpses with high-intensity Gamma rays, killing all microbes and reducing the bodies to ashes within thirty seconds—”

There was screaming and a crash from upstairs. Seconds later, footsteps sounded on the stairs, and the door to the basement burst open. It was Frankie. “David’s dead. They—”

He never finished his report. His eyes bulged, his mouth gaped, and he slumped to the floor. They watched, horrified, as his body disintegrated into grayish ash.

The women screamed, and the men roared. They all scattered, scurrying toward the rear of the room in fear of the unknown. But the robotics man didn’t move. He did not seem surprised, only resigned. He laughed without humor, looking at the shadowy doorway. “It won’t make any difference what you do. It seems we overlooked a flaw in the Cad-Bot software,” he mumbled as if talking to himself. “Unfortunately, we didn’t differentiate correctly between living and dead human tissue in the programming. If the cad-bots identify ANY human tissue—it will destroy it.”

Thudding metal treads sounded on the steps, descending….

 

 

 

 

Impressum

Texte: John C. Laird
Bildmaterialien: ©istockphoto; cover by Alexandra Laird
Lektorat: Alexandra Laird
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 30.08.2013

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