I Am Automaton

Chapter 13

Peter and what was left of his platoon tore through the wilderness as the storm descended on Xcaret. The wind fought their efforts, slowing them down.

But, as Peter fathomed it, at least they had the Navajas off their backs. All they had to do was find a hotel. He consulted his Muti-tasker, which showed the Yucatan Grande Resort to be only a few clicks away.

They were assailed with various indigenous debris—palm fronds, branches, even pebbles—as the winds picked up. If they didn’t make it to the hotel, they were history.

They came upon a chain link, perimeter fence on the outer boundary of the resort. They scaled it in quick order, nearly being blown over at the top.

The grounds looked deserted. The winds were tearing apart the thatched roofs, and debris cracked exterior windows and glass sliding doors. The surface of a large, amoeba-shaped in-ground swimming pool was tossing and foaming like the great sea itself in miniature, and lawn chairs were thrown to and fro.

They crossed the grounds slowly, arms locked in a tight huddle, their course zig-zagged as the wind pushed them back and forth.

“They’ll be holed up in the convention center,” Peter shouted over the now roaring wind. “Look around for it. It should be a large, concrete structure.”

They passed along side of an exterior fence adjoining a zoo and wildlife park. There were separate buildings with individual units for guests. They wandered into the center of the resort, in between buildings, which provided some small measure of shelter from the wind.

Carl was waving Peter over. He was standing by a sign. Peter shielded his face with his forearm and made his way over to where Carl was standing.

“Pete, it’s a map of the grounds. The convention center is right through the atrium on the left.”

Peter smiled at his brother, impressed. “Nice job, Private.”

They made their way through the atrium quickly, the very large thatch roof covered an expansive outdoor bar area and was on its way down.

There it was on their left. A large square concrete structure, just as Peter pictured it. The main entrance was blocked by fallen beams and debris.

He gestured for the others to follow him around side. There were two steel doors on the side. Peter tried to open them, but they were locked from the inside. He took the butt of his rifle and began to bang on the door.

They waited as branches and dirt pelted them and the wind tossed them around like rag dolls.

“Maybe they’re not in there,” shouted Barnes.

“No, they’re in there,” replied Peter. “They have to be. It’s locked from the inside, and where else would they be?”

He banged on the door again. Barnes helped.

Carl scanned the area nervously. He figured the Navajas would have to be crazy to pursue them in this storm. He prayed Peter was right and that they would at least have until the end of the hurricane.

Finally, the doors opened, slowly at first until the wind hijacked them. A terrified hotel staff person in a tacky pink outfit with a green vest gawked at them as if they were from another planet.

They pushed their way in, aided by the wind at their backs, and they helped two hotel staff push the doors back closed. The two men then rammed the bolts home.

Carl looked around and saw a crowded auditorium of scared tourists. He figured they must’ve looked like something out of a science fiction movie with their black suits and space age guns.

A small man in a green suit and a nametag approached them. He said something in Spanish. When he saw they didn’t understand, he immediately switched to English.

“Pardon me, but who are you?”

Peter took the small man aside in confidence. He didn’t want to alarm the auditorium full of tourists. A futile gesture.

“I’m Lieutenant Peter Birdsall of the United States Army, and these are my men.”

“The United States? What are you doing here?”

“We…were sent down to provide relief.”

The man wasn’t buying it, so Peter shrugged and did his best to look sheepish. “Apparently we got caught in the storm ourselves, but we’re glad we made it. Is there anything you need?”

The diminutive man still looked like he was having difficulty swallowing Peter’s story. “You are cooperating with local authorities?”

“Just lending a helping hand.”

After a moment, the man decided to answer Peter’s question. “We have clean water and snacks for the guests, enough to last us until morning. But the bathrooms are backed up.”

“Okay,” Peter didn’t know what to say, “it looks like you have the situation under control. The plumbing is unfortunate, but it can’t be helped at the moment. We’ll just stay out of your way and help keep order.”

The man nodded uncertainly while nervously eyeing Peter’s defunct rifle. “I’ll have to announce your presence to the guests, so they don’t panic.”

Peter looked at the man’s nametag. “Absolutely, Jorge. Good move. Smart. You go do that.”

The man nodded dutifully and gathered his employees. He then got on the bullhorn and began to relay what had just happened and who their new guests were.

While this was going on, Peter got his men into a huddle. “Alright, I told them we’re here for support. There’s no reason to tell them that fully armed drug cartel members led by a couple of mercenaries are coming their way. We have the night to formulate a plan and either get them out of harm’s way or lead the harm away from them. This obviously isn’t a good place to make a stand.”

“Do you think they’ll come for us and involve all of these tourists?” Carl asked.

“They can’t afford to let us live, knowing what we know,” Peter explained. “Besides, tourists mean nothing to the Navajas. They are absolutely ruthless.”

“And our weapons aren’t even functioning,” Barnes added.

“Yeah, but we don’t want the people in here knowing that, Barnes,” Peter said. “It won’t inspire confidence. As long as we keep the illusion that nothing’s wrong, they should behave and stay out of our way to let us do what we need to do.”

Carl flipped on his MR.UD. It flickered, but it turned on. “Hey, my MR.UD is working.”

Peter came over to look. “But how?”

“Only flimsier electronics are blown by EMP. Heartier equipment may be unaffected. I guess Farrow knew what he was doing when he made these things.”

Peter nodded. “Good design. But these guns aren’t worth a shit.”

“Private vendor, lowest bidder,” Carl reminded.

“Right. So how do we fight off an assault without any weapons?”

“Maybe the authorities will be here in the morning,” Carl said. “They can help us.”

Peter looked like he had seen a ghost.

“What, Pete? What’s wrong?” Carl asked, perplexed by his brother’s reaction.

“I think we may have less time than I thought,” Peter said gravely.

“What do you mean?”

“You just said it yourself. Lorenzo won’t have an opportunity tomorrow morning with the Mexican authorities around…”

Carl finished his brother’s thought. “So it’s coming tonight. But how? The storm…”

“Carl, they have two more crates of approximately sixty ID at their disposal.”

“Oh, right.”

“So you mean Lorenzo’s going to use the ID against us?” Barnes asked incredulously.

“Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Barnes was silent, his mind running through various permutations of grisly demise.

“SWEEPERS,” Peter ordered, “Sweep the walls of this convention center. Let me know if you pick anything up on the outside. Just keep going back and forth. Oh, and pretend like you’re sweeping the crowd. Keep up the illusion.”

Carl and Mirabella strode off to make their sweeps for marauding ID. Peter addressed the other five men. “Okay. We’re in a pretty solid structure with no windows. The weakest point would be the inside doors.”

“They’re not bolted because they’re not exterior doors,” Barnes added.

“Right,” said Peter, “so we need to focus on those doors. There are three sets of doors. If they make it into the building, they’ll be banging on those.”

“What if we just wait them out?” Private Hasbro asked. “When the authorities get here they can deal with them.”

Peter considered the option. “Too complicated. And complicated means messy.”

“Messy how?” Hasbro asked.

“Well, the Mexican authorities won’t know what the ID are. After several of them are eaten, they’ll fight back, but there’d be a learning curve. More would get eaten, some turned. By the time they’d figure out that they need to take head shots, it would be chaos. Not to mention that once they’d breach this structure, they’d be paranoid and trigger happy with hundreds of innocent tourists.”

“We need to leave this convention center,” concluded Barnes.

“Right,” agreed Peter. “We can leave through the interior doors. The manager won’t stop us. We can set up some kind of a perimeter…”

“We have no functioning weapons,” Longo reminded.

Just then, Jorge, the manager walked over, which Peter found to be perfect timing, “What are they doing, Lieutenant?”

He was pointing to Carl and Mirabella.

“Oh, they’re just making a sweep…for safety. By the way, where’s your maintenance equipment stored?”

However, Jorge was not easily convinced. “Sweep for what, Lieutenant?”

“Oh, you know…seismic vibrations.”

“Seismic…vibrations?”

“Yeah, this is a powerful storm. The…barometric pressure might…disturb some of the fault lines…”

“Fault lines?”

“Yes, fault lines. We are just making sure that the…structural integrity of the building has not been…compromised.”

Jorge looked at Peter as if he was speaking Greek, but didn’t trust that it was actually Greek. “There is a large maintenance shed behind Building H.”

“So where exactly is Building H?”

“You’re not going back outside in the storm, Lieutenant.”

“Jorge, we need to take inventory of the maintenance equipment for the cleanup tomorrow morning.”

“Excuse me, Lieutenant, but isn’t that our problem?”

Peter felt the vein on his forehead pulse. This manager was making a royal nuisance of himself.

“Jorge, I’m just trying to do my job here. Just cut me some slack. Where’s Building H?”

Jorge apparently felt he crossed some kind of line, and he shook his head embarrassed. “Sorry, Lieutenant. Of course. I want to cooperate.”

“Building H?”

“Yes, if you leave out those interior doors and make a left, you’ll pass through the Business Center and run into our steakhouse. Go through the steakhouse and out the other side. Make another left, and go around the swimming pool. The building on the left is Building H.”

“Jesus. You get all that Barnes?”

Barnes nodded.

“Jorge, this is very important. Muy importante.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

“Once we leave, do not open the door for anyone until morning.”

“I do not understand.”

“You may hear some knocking or banging on the doors or walls. That’s just us testing the structure. But do not, for any reason, open the doors again. That’s a direct order. Comprende?”

Jorge nodded his head enthusiastically. Maybe he really did want to help. Or maybe he just wanted to be rid of them.

“Good. BIRDSALL, MIRABELLA, ARE WE CLEAR?”

They each gave a thumbs up.

Suddenly everything went dark.

“What was that?” Barnes asked.

“Oh, the authorities have just cut the power. We expected this,” Jorge explained.

Peter nodded and humored him. Then, as Jorge went to deliver his update over the bullhorn, Peter gathered his men close.

“That wasn’t the authorities. It was them. Hell’s coming, and we’ve got to throw a welcome party.”

The men nodded. They knew things were about to get hairy, and they knew they had to move.

“Okay guys, lets rock and roll.”

***

Peter closed the doors outside of the auditorium. They were in a large hallway. He imagined that when there was power, there must have been dozens of holographic advertisements for their various business services, conferences, etc.

However, for the moment the whole place was eerily quiet.

“Find a map of the grounds, there has to be one around here.”

They fanned out with their mini lights.

“Here’s a map,” shouted Mirabella.

Peter came over and scanned it with his Multi-tasker.

“Good. Now we have a map. I’m sending it to each of you…Building H is too far, and it’s too dangerous to go outside. I was hoping to find some machetes, but that’s not an option. SWEEPERS, sweep the walls and keep an eye on your monitors.”

Carl and Mirebella split up and began their sweep. Peter addressed the rest of the group.

“Okay, according to the map, there’s a gym right down that hall.” He pointed at the short hallway opposite the Convention Center doors. “Maybe there are some things we can use.”

“Like what, Lieutenant?” Barnes asked.

“I dunno. Maybe we can use the free weights as weapons, to crush their skulls. We have our batons, but we can use whatever we can get our hands on. Remember, headshots are the name of the game…”

Just then, they all heard the sounds of breaking glass. It came from the steakhouse. The SWEEPERS stopped their sweep and looked at Peter for direction.

Great, he thought to himself, and we don’t have any viable weapons yet.

“It came from the steakhouse.”

The men didn’t know what to do. Their guns were useless. Peter watched as two men came running in, each carrying something.

“Hold it, they’re not ID.”

They were obviously human; maybe some stranded tourists or even a couple of locals. Then Peter saw the AK-47’s.

He raised his weapon and trained it on them. They were arguing in some other language, but when they saw Peter, they raised their rifles. Peter’s men aimed their defunct weaponry at the two visitors.

The two men were yelling at Peter. Peter took his left hand off his rifle and held his hand out, palm facing them, a gesture for them to calm down.

“Is-is that…” Barnes started.

“Yes,” Peter said in horror. These were terrorists, Order for International Liberation that were still lingering.

They continued to yell at him and point their weapons. Peter and his men kept bluffing with theirs. Peter kept telling them to calm down.

Thankfully, no one had fired a shot, as it would only have been from the terrorists. Apparently Peter’s bluff was working.

“Don’t lower your weapons,” he instructed to his men.

This was quite the delicate stalemate, and undoubtedly a diversion that they didn’t need at the moment. Soon the ID would be upon them, and they needed to find something to fight with and a place to make their stand.

Carl stepped forward, holding his MR.UD down at his side and his other hand out, showing that it was empty. One of the men pointed his AK at him and yelled. The other kept his gun on Peter.

“Carl, what the hell are you doing?”

However, before Peter could say or do anything else, Carl held his arms out stiffly in front of him and began to walk funny, groaning and snapping his jaws.

The two men apparently forgot about Peter and the others for a moment and just gawked at this funny man walking like a mummy.

Carl stopped and said loudly, “Zom-bies. Zom-bies. Yes?”

One of the men said something in his language, and both began to nod emphatically. It seemed that they understood his pantomiming.

Carl then gestured with his free hand in a sweeping motion ending in his pointing at the ground. “They’re coming…HERE. They will be here.”

Then he pointed his MR.UD at the windows as if it was a rifle and mimicked shooting at the windows.

“Jesus Christ, Carl,” Peter said, but he watched the two men closely. Maybe they understood.

“We have to fight to-ge-ther,” Carl said. “To-ge-ther.” He made a wide gesture encompassing everyone ending with his one hand shaking the other in pantomimed agreement.

The two men looked at each other and nodded, but they continued to train their AK’s on Peter.

“I don’t think it’s working,” Peter murmured to Carl out of the corner of his mouth.

Then the best thing that could’ve happened did. There were more sounds of broken glass, and several ID came stomping through the steakhouse and in their direction.

“Shit, they’re already here,” said Longo.