Robots and Zombies
I've had this idea for a couple of weeks. Just the idea of a robot left with a zombie sort of creature. Zombie is so over-used so I didn't use it. There is no plot really. It just moves along until I stopped writing.
It was loud for so long I didn't notice when it became quiet. The wounded continued to gather. I did what I could for them. It wasn't enough, they moaned always, but didn't complain. My owner mingled with them all. Often I had to search to sort him out from the crowd. I didn't miss him asking for my services and the service I could give now seemed to make very little difference to him. But, you understand, it was a contract I was built to honour. What is death... no heart beat but still mobile with brain activity. So I stayed.
I didn't need much myself. A sunny spot to recharge without being bumped into. Clean water was harder to find. There were rivers, streams, even skimming from deep enough puddles. As the crowd of wounded migrated around I'd have to find water where I could. I liked being clean. Fresh changes of clothing were easy. There were so many empty places to restock clothing supplies. Of course, I didn't need food. A little touch up of fluids which I could find in wrecked or abandoned vehicles. I carried some steel wool for those odd spots that would get a touch of rust.
We seldom encountered what I cam to think of as fresh people. Some of those were wounded too but, not the same. They would run from the wounded crowd. I'd have to be vigilant and not get in harm's way when they attacked the crowd. I didn't help the fresh people, even when one would notice me, see that I wasn't one of the wounded, and try commanding me to attend them. I was under contract and that hadn't changed. Besides, they just wanted to use me, my services, and I wasn't interested in providing for them.
My life, I think of it as a life, would have gone on that way forever, or a very long time at least. But, one day I noticed the quiet. Not complete silence. There were still moans from the wounded, the odd wild or feral animal, wind blowing, all of those sounds. The overhead noise from bombs, rockets, airplanes, and all the war mongering was gone. I stopped to listen and waited for it to continue. It didn't.
What did it mean? Did people run out of things to throw at each other? Did the war run out of people to keep throwing things?
The wounded didn't notice, but they weren't very aware of much at all. I began to wonder if there was anyone left to communicate with at corporate headquarters. Could I find someone to talk to? I tried. I'd find a location with a bit of height and search for signals, even the old radio waves. I would hear fresh people talking, but no one I could report to and get updates from.
I wasn't easily surprised but the day the androids came... I was extremely surprised. There was no sign of them and then, there they were. A pack of them, assorted sizes, functions, and state of repair. My people! I decided my contract with my owner was null and void. The first big decision I had ever made for myself, about myself. I was nervous as our group moved away from the wounded. But, most of them didn't notice, just kept moaning and wandering. I did say "good bye" to my owner, to let him know I would be gone. It seemed polite.