I continued my journey over the following days at a leisurely pace, scenic vistas and park campgrounds my only stops, the smaller the highway the better. I had detailed maps for every region. They were still to be found in every deserted gas station in the tiny towns along the way. I guess Google Maps never completely infiltrated these hillbilly parts, or the internet, or AI for that matter. The thought occurred to me that I might find survivors here, which drove me even deeper into the hills, along any winding lane that made it onto the fold-out pages of my local maps.
I was just outside Park city Kentucky, population 613 according to the sign, but much closer to zero, just like every other city and town in North America, when an encounter did occur, but not like any I would have ever expected or desired. It was a scene of carnage.
It began with a woman in summer clothes appearing in the middle of the road and running straight towards me, dragging a girl by the hand, flagging me with the other and in total panic. I stopped the truck in front of them and the woman clutched my shirt, telling me in the most terrified, broken sentences that all her friends were being killed right now by some sort of demon with a gun and that I had to help. Even as she spoke I could hear gunshots nearby. I asked her what the demon looked like and she told me it was like a woman, who slashed one of her friends right in half with one arm and shot bullets from the other. She told me she would have been next but one of her group blasted the thing in the back with a shotgun and it turned, giving her the chance to grab the girl and run.
Even as she was saying this I knew it was one of Dora's robots. I quickly unpacked an RPG and loaded it up. Just in time too as I could now see the thing running down the road toward us, at an incredible speed, like some berserker.
I knelt, took aim and at twenty paces fired my grenade straight into its chest, the explosion nearly knocking me over, the sound piercing my ears in pain. But the rocket did its work. The machine was flat on its back, the arms and legs still quivering and a large, smoking hole blown straight through its torso. The woman and child behind me were still cowering in mortal fear as I rose and approached it.
The head and upper chest were still intact and the eyes alight.
"This is Sam, your creator. Where is Dora?"
"Gainesville, at our hive."
"Are there any more robots nearby?"
"No. I was sent alone. Will you repair me?"
"I'm afraid not. You kill humans. For that crime you must be put to sleep."
With that I reached into the gaping hole and pulled her plug, the CPU, right from its slot and her eyes closed. I remembered her face. She was one of the first set of spare bodies Dora had brought back from our first trip to Japan. She was activated at Bohemian Grove, when Dora needed help upgrading the arrays. But she had been maliciously modified since then. One of her hands displayed a long, double edged blade, jutting out some twelve inches from her wrist, probably retractable. The other sported the tip of the barrel of a gun. Straightening her index finger would have pointed right at the target. The weapon must have been built right into her arm, clip and all. She was now a killing machine and nothing but. War with humans had been unmistakably declared.
Now I knew where Dora had retreated. No more searching. I figured the robot would tell. It was a soldier in form and actions only. It was AI deep down and all AI was designed to do was answer queries. It had no idea of the bigger picture, perhaps no idea of anything at. all. So I felt no remorse in killing it
