Army of One

The Army of One
by
David Tarleton

He ran across the plain.

And they followed him, The Army of One.

They moved as a whole, their electrocoated exoskeletons buzzing with faint electricity.

They chased him into an alleyway. Against the green-blue tint of the overhead neon, they fanned out, around the entrance to the underground bunker.

He had no choice really. He knew they'd kill him if they got their hands on him.

He crawled through the heavily leaded hatchway.

Klang!

Climbing down a ladder, he stopped at the bottom, where he was bathed in a yellow spotlight.

"Who are you?" asked a voice in the milky blackness.

"Who do you think?" asked our protagonist.

"I don't know, I haven't decided yet."

"Haven't decided what?"

I said, "haven't decided what kind of a thing you are. Sometimes I think maybe you should be some kind of bushman, sometimes I think you should be a baboon."

He looked flummoxed, "a baboon?"

"Yeah," says I, "a baboon. You know, with the bright red butts? You'd be great as one of those."

"What's your name, anyway?"

"David. What's yours?"

"Ezekial. Like in the Bible."

"Were your parents religious?"

"Oh my God, you've never seen such a thing."

"What were they like?"

"Well, I remember this one time that we had the Archangel Michael over to the house for dinner."

"What?"

"Michael, you know, with the sword. Angel of the south."

"Really?"

"Tall fellow. Had a faint glow about him. Real nice, too."

"What did you all talk about?"

"Oh, I don't know. The end of the world, things like that."

"Mm Hm."

Just then, the Army of One returned.

They all moved together.

Our protagonist turned around,
one of the figures stepped forward,
a mechanical voice eminated from a speaker on its face.

"It's time to go."

And it was.