Lost Property

The calls were getting louder; the crows closer.  The little man picked up his pace down the ancient deserted highway. He had miles to cover before dark and his mimic box hadn't been working right in days.  The crows would find him soon and when they did it would be his end for sure.

Deciding that caution was the wiser choice, he turned south and began hiking through the woods.  It wouldn't shake his pursuers or even slow them down much. But he was low on ammunition and he calculated that the cover of the trees would force the drones to swoop in a little closer which, theoretically, would give him an easier shot at them.

For hours he moved through the trees.  Crossing small brooks and through occasional old world ruins of what might have been a family home or maybe a public building whose purpose had been forgotten. All the while he could hear the birds calling to each other; telling each other what they had or hadn't seen of him.

When he came to a river too wide and too fast for him to cross he knew it was time.

With his back to the water, he scanned the ruins around him. He needed a place with an intact roof and multiple escape routes; a good place to fight. There wasn't much in sight that met his criteria. Rubble blocked entrances and exits. Tree tops had burst through fragile rafters and shingles.  Everywhere he looked, either it was would be too easy for the drones to get to him or too hard for him to get in or out.

“Ca-caw!”

Fuck.

He watched one of the little bastards land about a hundred yards away on a jutting steel girder.  It turned its head to the left and stared at him with a trio of glossy green eyes. Snapping its head to the right, it considered him with its larger pair of red eyes.

“Ca-caw! Ca-caw! Ca-caw!”

He ran.  The time for thinking was over and the little man immediately missed its presence. Thinking time was an old friend in a cozy room with comfortable furniture. This was acting time.  It was none of those things. He wasn’t designed for this.

Between rusting hulks of public transportation and over the tops of piles of stone, brick, and asphalt. He tore a gash in his pants and shin. He smashed a little finger, peeling the nail right back so it hung loose. He recognized that each of these smallish injuries occurred but did not permit himself to dwell on the pain.  That could wait. For now he was focusing on the five circling black dots above him. They were preparing to strike.

Finally he saw what he needed. It was an old factory. Or maybe it had been a warehouse in its living days. Either way, there were large open doors that he could run in and out of and, judging from the lack of interior light; the roof must be mostly intact. The only problem was the twenty or so yards of open terrain between here and there. There would be plenty of opportunity for the crows to drop on him.  Even so, it wasn't as if he had any other choices. He un-slung his gun from his back, took a deep breath, and sprinted.

Immediately they dove at him. They looped and they circled and they cried madly at him. It wasn't an attack. Not yet, anyway. They wanted him to waste his ammunition on a fast target. Or maybe they wanted to see how good he was with the gun. Or maybe they were just robot assholes. In any event, he wasn't going to fall for it. He knew their games and he’d wait for a good shot before he pulled that trigger.

The moment he was inside the gaping doorway, big enough to drive a hauler straight in, before his eyes could adjust to the dim, he spun on his heel and leveled the lightweight combat shotgun at the space just where he’d run through.

They were fast but he was smart. It only made sense to him that they’d come in low to try to knock him down at the moment he was adjusting to his new surroundings. As their shadows passed the threshold he carefully squeezed a single shot. He was hoping for the lead bird but it was one just to the leader’s left side that flew into the shot. The machine fell to the ground with all the grace of a thrown anvil, its fragile wings splintering and exploding into dust on impact.

The remaining four wheeled around and scattered back out the way they came.

A huge smile bloomed on the man’s face. It seemed unnatural, especially to him. He had never been so successful in matters of violence and action before. He found the sensation of victory quite pleasing. Quite pleasing indeed.

He strolled over to the bird’s remains, casting only a brief look to the open doorway. The loss of a member of their flock would mean they would want to report the change in their situation and to request further instruction. That would mean at least a ten or twenty minute flight back the way they came just to get in communications range again. He had time to revel in his unexpected success.

With makeshift tools scavenged from the ruins, he took his time disassembling the creature. He removed the parts he found useful and buried the rest under a mound of debris. With these bits he could repair his mimic box and stay clear of the birds, possibly forever.

Or maybe he’d draw them in instead. He still had seven shells for his gun. The man imagined himself destroying the creatures one at a time. He smiled again.

He liked being an action guy.