The Automatons Part 6: Fire, Deadlines, and Fighting Regrets

Author’s Note: This is the final installment of Trisha’s adventure with The Automatons. If you’re not caught up here are links to the first sections: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5. I hope you’ve enjoyed the series so far. Next week I’ll have something shorter since I’ll be focusing most of my writing efforts on finishing up my novella. Enjoy!

Trisha rushed to her son’s room after Lauren left with a face covered with food. She packed up the parts of the mattress that she would need. Knocking the dresser onto its back, she filled it full of wood and foam. There was a spot to tie a long strip of fabric to be used as a handle. She no longer had time to fasten wheels to it, the dresser’s base would have to hold. She headed out the door in less than thirty minutes with foam, wood, some napkins and only two of the many springs she had liberated from the mattress. She dragged the makeshift cart across the town to the base of the statue.

By the time she got to the statue in the center of town, it was dark. A few people passed Trisha as she dragged her cart, but they all went out of their way to ignore her. She was sweating, despite the pleasant temperature, and the dresser cart was starting to fall apart. For the last 100 yards, she had littered the walkways with scraps of wood. It didn’t matter. She had enough supplies to get started.

Trisha unfastened the long fabric that she used as a handle to drag the cart. Walking up to the statue she started to throw the cloth over The Automaton’s head. It took her a few jumps to get the fabric all the way over, but she got it in the end. She placed strips of dense foam around the base of the statue. Then she ripped up a bit of the light eclair foam and stuffed it into the small openings that were left. All she had left in her supplies was wood so she started leaning it on the foam. She wondered if her plan would even work.

She stepped back and admired her precariously balanced masterpiece. There was still wood in the cart, but she couldn’t find a way to balance it on the statue. Trisha took the napkins out of her pocket and found the springs she had brought. She ripped the napkins up and started to place them next to the light eclair foam.

When she thought everything was ready, she twisted the springs together and pulled them apart. A few sparks flew in the night, but none of them landed on the napkin. She tried again pushing the two pieces of metal together harder to release more sparks. Trisha didn’t have any lucky, there wasn’t even a spark.

She looked around and a few people were staring at her but no one did anything to try and stop her. She hit the springs against each other two more times. On the second try, she cut her hand open with one of the springs. She cried out in pain and looked at her palm. A cut had opened from her pinky to ring finger. She made a fist, and her nails dented the flesh of her thumb in an attempt to ease the pain. Blood oozed between her knuckles, and she took a deep breath.

With one hand she made sure to put the napkin nearly inside of the connected spring. With a sharp inhale she ignored the pain in her hand and pulled the springs apart with all her strength. Sparks flew, and the napkin caught a few. It started a small flame and Trisha pushed it towards the light eclair bedding. It took to the fluffy foam quickly.

Seconds later the napkin burnt out. But by that point, the foam of the bed was burning. A light breeze came through the square, and the fire spread even quicker, at that point the thick foam was flaming and had caught a few small pieces of wood.

Trisha ran back to the cart. The excitement over shadowed the the pain in her hand. She picked up two piece of wood to add to the fire. She stood back and watched the fire grow. In only a few minutes the foam was burning and most of the small logs had caught.

Trisha turned away from the fire and looked at the crowd of people had grown with her flames. Light danced on their faces as they stared in awe at the bonfire she started. Then everything got brighter, and Trisha turned to look at her fire. The fabric that she had draped over The Automaton’s head just caught. Tall flames danced from the top of the statue and gave the illusion of that the entire statue was burning. Trisha wondered if the fire was hot enough melt the bronze. Not entirely but in a way that would leave a mark, unlike Peter’s graffiti. With the two two pieces of wood in her hand she walked towards the fire to add them.

The clicking sound of Automaton feet made her stop. Two Automatons marching towards the fire as the crowd quickly moved out of their way. They had lights on their heads and were using them to navigate the dark. The light landed on Trisha as the two automatons approached her. One with a speaker said, “Halt, you are under arrest.”

Trisha whirled around putting her back to the fire. It radiated heat and her world slowed as the machines approached her. She lost herself in the moment wondering if the bonfire had truly been a good idea. Of course, she had wanted to be arrested for blatant disobedience, it was the way to get edited. However, she was no longer confident that she was doing the right thing.

Peter’s graffiti offensive but altogether harmless. Instead of repeating his work she started a bonfire in the center of The Process. Her fire was a public safety hazard not mere vandalism. Trisha imediately thought that Peter’s world wouldn’t want her. Of course, The Automatons would edit her but, her mind told her it would lead to her death, not her liberation. She had done too much and wanted to take it back, but the fire had already been started.

In an attempt to escape Trisha swung one of the pieces of wood in her cut arm at The Automaton that commanded her to stop. The machine put its hand up to block it. The wood splintered on its metallic forearm and her hand vibrated with more pain.

She let go of the broken wood and put her bad on the second piece as the other Automaton approached her. With a firm grasp, she swung the makeshift club at the machine’s light. This time the combined strength of her hands was enough to land the blow. The spotlight on its head went out, and the robot stumbled to its side.

She turned to hit the first one again but it was too quick. It caught the wood and grabbed one of her wrists. She fought against it, but the machine’s three-fingered mitt grasped her tightly. Trisha attempted to wriggle free, but she felt more Automaton hands on her. She looked around and saw that two more Automatons had marched up and surounded her. The night was growing dim, and the fire was burning low since she hadn’t been able to add wood to it.

She fought against the hands of The Automatons, but she had no luck. Then she felt a mist on her face. The bright lights of the machines started to blur. She felt the hands release her and she crawled free. But the more she moved, the heavier her arms and legs became. She rolled onto her back and looked up at the sky. Her senses were fading.

There was talk around her from the crowd. Laying on her back she felt something strange on her face. It was wet, a little bit at first then more. Small drops of liquid were coming down on her. She lifted her heavy arm the few feet to her head, and it took all her energy to do it. The Automatons were no longer surrounding her but corralling the now rowdy crowd away from her and the fire. Her hand touched her cheek, and it felt wetness on her face. A drop rolled to her lips and she tasted water.

The crowd had grown louder in the chaos and she could hear sentence fragments. A word drift to her ear from the rowdy crowd, “Rain!” was the word that kept standing out to her. It never rains in the process, Trish thought as she faded out of consciousness.

She woke up to bright white lights and blue walls. This time, instead of being on a hard floor she was on a soft bed.

Trisha heard a young voice say, “She’s awake.” She turned her head towards the side of the room. Two figures sat there. The smaller one got up and ran to the edge of the bed. “Hi Mommy, dad said if I drew you a picture you would come here to join us,” Milton said.

She looked up at the taller figure and saw Peter standing with one hand on his son’s shoulder. “Hi Trish,” he said.

“Is this real?” She asked. Her head filled like it was full of clouds. Followed by “Where am I?”

Milton looked at her confused then Peter smiled, “Yes, this is as real as it gets. They called us last night saying that you left The Process so we came to the hospital as soon as we heard.”

“Am I alright?” She asked confused.

“Yes, your fine. The doctors seamed up your hand up, and in a week you should be able to use it fully again. The gas The Automatons used on you knocked you out for the night, but your head will clear in a little bit.”

“Am I edited?” She asked.

Peter nodded his head.

“Do you want breakfast?” Milton asked excited, looking up at her from the side of her bed.

“Sure,” Trisha said with a shrug. “What are they serving today?”

Milton looked at his mother confused, and Peter smiled, “How quickly they forget. You can order anything you want.” He pulled a small device out of his pocket. “I’ll order it for you. What do you want?”

“An omelet I guess,” Trisha said, her head was still dizzy from the gas.

Peter laughed his deep laugh that she hadn’t heard in years. Before she could ask what was so funny, he explained, “You can get anything. Have a little imagination, that’s what got you here anyway.”

“Oh,” Trisha said embarrassed. “I’ll have waffles then,” she said. It was her favorite food but she was rarely served it in The Process.

Peter looked at her with an expression that begged for more detail.

“With chocolate chips inside,” she added.

The man kept his expectant look.

“And whip cream on top with berries,” Trisha added with a smile.

“What kind of berries?” Peter asked as he punched the order into his handheld device.

“All of them, especially strawberries.”

“Okay,” Peter said.

“One more thing,” Trisha said as he was about to put the machine in his pocket.

Peter paused and looked at her as she added, “Order three glasses of chocolate milk too.”

Photo Credit: Bods, ArtBrom, particlem, Visualhunt, Drriss & Marrionn, “Stròlic Furlàn” – Davide Gabino, AstridWestvang, Visual Hunt, USDAgov