I Am Automaton - By Edward P. Cardillo Page 0,74

to unscrew the hinge from which the large blade and wooden handle jutted out. It was one of those industrial strength paper cutters that could chop through a good batch of paper if the proper amount of force was applied.

As he loosened the screw it squeaked softly, and the ID seemed to grunt in response. Carl stopped, straining his ears. After a few heartbeats, the ID resumed its shuffling.

Carl removed the screw and reached up with both hands, cradling the large blade. He gently slid the blade off, making a small noise as metal scraped on metal at the joint.

The shuffling and gurgling was now past him and moving in the direction of the opening in the countertop. Carl crawled over towards the opening, dragging the large blade silently on the carpet beside him.

He got to his feet, but in a hunched position, and grabbed the blade’s handle in his right hand. He waited, as the shuffling grew nearer. He prepared himself. His strike would have to be quick and accurate. He probably had only one shot to cleave this bastard’s head open before it grabbed him.

The ID padded in front of the opening, and it looked like it was going to keep on going by. But it suddenly stopped, sniffing the air and wheezing like a set of old bagpipes.

Carl braced himself, hoping it would continue past. He would then run up behind the ID and strike his blow.

However, the ID looked in the gap and then down at Carl with those white eyes. The man looked like he must have been young, sturdy, and even handsome in his heyday.

Carl stood up and brought the blade back behind his head with both hands as the ID growled at him like a bobcat. Before it could reach out for him, Carl brought the blade down on its head.

But something went wrong. The ID staggered backward, losing its balance for a moment, but other than that, appeared undamaged.

Carl looked in his hands and saw that in his nervous haste, he brought down the dull end on the fiend’s head. Cursing his carelessness, Carl spun the blade handle and leapt forward bringing the sharp end down on its skull.

The ID fell to the floor in a prone position, flailing about but still quite undead. Carl lined the blade up, drew it back over his head, and brought it down on the back of its neck. The blade sliced through half of its neck, and it flopped around on the floor at Carl’s feet like a

flounder on the deck of a boat. Carl put his foot on its head to keep it still, and he brought the blade down two more times, severing the head from its body.

It lay there still as Carl caught his breath. He wheeled around as he heard a crash behind him, raising the blade above his head again.

Smithe stood up and rubbed his head sheepishly.

“Jesus, Smithe. What took you so long?”

Smithe looked down at the decapitated ID at Carl’s feet. “Kick ass, Birdsall.”

“Did Pete make it out?”

“I don’t know. Someone’s not too far behind me, but I’m not sure who.” Smithe looked around. “So this is the Business Center. Nice. I have to have my next business conference here.”

“The ID in the gym are going to figure out that their meal vamoosed, and they’ll be searching for us. We don’t have much time,” Carl said with urgency.

“There’s nowhere for us to go,” Smithe said, “We can’t go outside. It’s too dangerous.”

“How many you figure we got in the gym?”

Smithe looked like he was doing quick calculations in his head. “Several, I’d say. Maybe a dozen.”

“Shit, there’s more than several coming for us. We can’t keep running around the Business Wing killing a few at a time. We need to find a way to take them out in bunches.”

Munger poked his head through the vent. “Hey, guys.”

He lowered himself down a little more gracefully than Smithe. He hit the countertop on his side and then swung himself over to the outside of the work area. He looked down at the decapitated ID.

“Christ.”

“Birdsall’s handiwork,” Smithe announced proudly.

“Nice job, Birdsall,” said Munger, obviously impressed. “Any others?”

“Yeah, but we saved ‘em for you, Munger,” Smithe said sarcastically.

“Screw you, Smithe.”

“Good one. I think the ID have wittier comebacks,” Smithe taunted.

Carl was walking around the Business Center while the other two were exchanging sophomoric insults. He peeked out the glass doors. The room in front of the convention center was empty…for the moment.

He reached

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