Katie ran over to the silver car and peered in. “Nobody in this one, either.”
The car suddenly made a grinding noise. Katie jumped back and saw that the front, deflated wheels were attempting to rotate.
“What the—” she said.
Bruce ambled over. “It’s trying to keep going.” He shook his head in wonder. “If it were a horse, and I had a gun, I’d put it out of its misery.”
The silver Arrival was making whirring noises of its own. The two front wheels began to spin, but given that the car was on its side, it wasn’t making any headway.
“This is nuts,” Katie said.
Bruce was slowly shaking his head. “They were working as a team,” he said. “One from the front, one from behind. And they were willing to destroy themselves to do it. Why the hell would they do that?”
Katie looked from one car to the other, then looked at Bruce and said, “Why don’t we ask them?”
“What?”
“Ask them, like Siri.”
“Siri?”
She smirked. “You’re more a string and two tin cans guy than you think. You can talk to the cars, ask them things.”
“Doesn’t the car have to be programmed to know your voice?”
Katie shrugged. “I think that’s just if you’re actually giving it directions. But we just want to talk, right?” She moved closer to the silver Arrival. “Hey, Arrival, you there?” She peered inside the car, wondering if any of the dashboard lights might come to life. “Hello?”
A light flickered.
“Please state your destination.”
Bruce’s eyes widened.
“Uh, I don’t think you’re up to it right now.”
Some more lights flashed.
“What’s going on?” Katie asked.
“Performing self-diagnostic.”
“I could help you with that,” Katie said. “You got smucked. You and your buddy over there.”
“I am inoperable.”
“Way to go, Einstein,” Katie said. “Why the fuck did you attack us?”
“Updated directive,” the silver Arrival said.
“Huh?”
“Please clarify.”
Katie rolled her eyes. “What is your updated directive?”
“Elimination.”
Katie exchanged a worried glance with Bruce. “What’s that mean? Elimination?”
The car did not respond.
“I should think,” Bruce said, “the answer is glaringly obvious.”
Katie’s face suddenly fell. “Archie left in one of these this morning.”
Twenty-Four
Brandon Kyle could see the masts and sails of various watercraft appearing above, and beyond, a row of buildings ahead. Not that he hadn’t been able to smell the sea before this, but it was stronger now than ever. He poked his head out carefully between two houses, watching for any marauding Arrivals. The streets were narrow here, barely wide enough for two cars to pass, and those self-driving cars appeared drawn to areas where there was more activity and, of course, more people to pick off.
Finding the coast clear, Kyle ran across the street, swung open a white picket gate to allow him to scoot between a few more houses, and finally to an alleyway that opened up onto Garrett Harbor. There were dozens, if not hundreds, of boats moored here, but Kyle figured Derek would be watching for him, making their rendezvous relatively simple.
But there was a development he’d not anticipated. Kyle was not the only one for whom the harbor was a destination.
There were scores of people flocking to the boats, many with children in their arms.
“Come on, come on, let’s go!” a man yelled. He was standing on the deck of a small cabin cruiser, line in hand, waiting to cast off. A woman with two small children — a girl not more than two in her arms, and a boy about five she was dragging along by the hand — was running down the dock to meet the man. When she got to him, he reached out and took the girl in his arms while the boy hopped aboard.
The scene was repeated throughout the harbor. People were fleeing.
Kyle raised a hand to man in a T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, scurrying by but weighted down by a cooler at the end of one arm.
“What’s happening?” Kyle asked.
The man glanced at him. “You kidding?”
“Where’s everyone going to go?” Kyle asked. Some of the boats people were jumping into were too small to handle the high waves they might encounter between here and the mainland.
“Just out there,” the man said, pointing out to sea. “Unless those fucking cars can swim, we’ll wait it out on the water. Drop anchor, wait for the goddamn army to blow those cars to fucking kingdom come.” The man shook his head. “To think I let them take my F-150 away in exchange for one of those tin can bastards.”
The man kept on going.
Okay, Kyle thought, so there’s panic and chaos. Wasn’t that what the doctor ordered? He could have anticipated something like this. Let these folks run for their lives. Well, not run. Sail for their lives was more accurate. He’d be heading out to sea right along with them, but he wasn’t planning on waiting things out and coming back.
Kyle felt his heart pounding. This was often the most stressful part, the time when one felt the most anxiety. Just when you were on the verge of escape.
Where the hell was Derek?
Kyle walked down one of the main docks, off which smaller, short docks connected at right angles. Wouldn’t Derek be up on deck, or up on the bridge, watching for him, waving? Maybe it was time to give him a call.
Kyle got out his phone, brought up Derek in his contacts, and tapped. He put the phone to his ear and waited.
Derek answered on the third ring. “Mr. Kyle,” he said.
Kyle said, “I’m here, Derek. I’m at the harbor. Where are you?”
Derek said, “I can see you. Wave your arm in the air.”
Kyle did as he was asked.
“Yeah, okay,” Derek said. “That’s you.”
“Okay, you know where I am. Where the hell are you?”
“Turn around, look at the clubhouse.”
Kyle slowly turned, his gaze settling on a large, gray, cedar-shingled building suspended over the water. In one of the windows, holding something to his forehead with one hand, his phone in the other, was Derek. The man waved.
“See me?”
“I see you. What are you doing up there?”
“Come up. I’ll explain.”
Kyle ended the call and walked briskly off the dock and up a series of steps to the building’s main entrance. Over the door was a sign that read GARRETT ISLAND YACHT CLUB. Just inside was a counter and a shop that sold boating supplies, and, off to the side, a dining room and bar that was largely empty. A man behind the counter was arguing with a heavyset couple, decked out in garish flowered shirts.
The male half of the couple was pointing a thick, stubby finger at the proprietor and saying, “If I can’t rent a boat on my own, then find me a charter! I’ll pay someone to get me off this godforsaken island!”
“I’m telling ya, for the twentieth time, I got nothing left,” the other man said. “All my rentals are gone, the charters are gone. They got snapped up fast when those goddamn cars started losing their minds.”
“I see plenty of boats out there!”
“Yeah, well, they don’t happen to belong to me so I can’t rent them to you. And if you’re givin’ any thought to stealing one, that’s already happened and it’s not gonna happen again because I’ve posted my brother down there and he’s got himself a shotgun that he’s just itching to use.”
“Tell him to shoot the cars!” the large woman said. “I’ve seen people doing that!”