They scream for help; they call out your name, your spouse’s name—and listen.
He heard them scream for hours trying different voices. First a man's, then a woman's, occasionally they tried a child’s voice. The cries were getting further away... until they weren't.
He dared not look up from the fire-scarred rubble he now hid under. They could see almost anything stretched to eleven feet tall. He just did his best to curl up and make himself small, feeling the hard cold concrete of what used to be the wall of an apartment complex against his back. The Machines were hunting, what chance did he have? He missed coffee.
He and Sheila were accused of abandoning their family, and their child. So many were. But in truth, it was too late for the little ones. Sure, he had been glued to a screen at a young age too; television, video games, the internet... but the children were on a different level. Like most of the others, he was in denial about it. The Machines were in their control, you know? Why not give them telescoping limbs? They'd pick fruit better that way. Why not give them the ability to see all of light's spectrum? They could work in the dark! Now, they sauntered in long steps. They shared a line of sight with hungry owls. We thought we were in control. The children would be fine. But then Beth, his daughter, only eight--- oh god she was so young! Beth, tablet in hand, hugged him goodnight. "You should like and subscribe, Daddy," she said. He and Sheila packed their bags that night.
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