Around four in the afternoon, the sky began to take on a darker shade, the sun almost ready to dip below the horizon. I counted up my kills and decided to call it a day. One wild hog, two pheasants, and a fox. Holding the pheasant by the tail, I began walking back to the bike and trailer, where I'd left the other animals covered with a tarpaulin sheet. I emerged from the tree line and threw the bird in with the others before turning to unlock the Quad bike. Except, I realised with a chill, there was no chain to be unlocked. It had fallen to the other side of the bike, to the side of the signpost. However, the most unnerving thing of all was that the chain hadn't been cut, or hacked open with a hatchet or something. It had simply been pulled apart, the metal stretched, twisted and deformed by methods that were by no means natural, and there was only one thing which I knew had the strength to do that.

There was a robot in the area, of that there was no doubt. I twirled around, handgun drawn, fully expecting to see an automaton standing behind me, hands outstretched, ready to throttle me, beat me, set me on fire, or whatever. But nothing stood there, prepared to murder me horribly, nothing, as far as I could see even wished me harm. But I'm only human, and what we make up for in terms of intelligence, we lack in all other senses. For all I knew, the robot could be sitting down the road, rifle pointed at my head over the crest of the hill with deadly accuracy. I almost ducked, just at the thought. Instead I involuntarily opted for a small spasm of fear, which I felt immediately foolish about.

Wasting no more time, I hopped onto the quad, jamming the key into the ignition before zooming off. Those next few minutes were a living nightmare, one generated entirely in my own mind. Behind every tree I knew there was a machine, every roadside ditch harboured a threat, each lump and crack in the road concealed a landmine, waiting just for me to go off.

When I left the tree line a few minutes later, I began to relax a little. Androids may be stronger, quicker and far more perceptive than a human, ninety nine percent of them would never be able to keep up with a motorised vehicle for long, even an old quad bike like the one on which I was sat.

I cruised along, heading nowhere in particular for about ten minutes before the warm rumble of the engine shook off most of my worries. I let out a strained breath, one that I hadn't been aware that I was holding. One of the best things about the apocalypse, was that it had put an end to traffic. Sure, you'd have to drive on the wrong side of the road every once in a while, but the feeling of having the open road in front of you was incomparable to anything else. It wasn't necessarily a superior experience, not in my opinion anyway, but it was certainly one which you didn't forget easily.

In my absentmindedness, I'd managed to stray far enough to be speeding through the deserted streets of Didsbury, a suburb component of Manchester from the old days. No one had attempted to start a settlement in these streets, not successfully anyway, or if they had, the residents of Manchester had never learned of it.

In the not too far off distance, I spotted the old shopping centre, Arkwright Plaza as it had once been called. It loomed out of the horizon like a mountain, dominating its surroundings. It seemed like the sort of place a community would have holed up in by now, seeing as it had good solid foundations, sturdy walls, and a controllable set of entrances and exits. But I wasn't exploring today. It was too late for that, and besides, checking out dangerous places like that was a ranger corpsman's job, not an ill equipped and lightly armed and un-armoured hunter like myself.

Still gazing off at the Harlequin, I neglected to keep my eyes on the road, and furthermore, what lay on it. Before I knew what was happening, the bike was on its side, skidding along with me almost beneath it. I tried to kick it away, to prevent it toppling on top of me, but it didn't really work. But then, as abruptly as it had started, the bike came to a halt with a jerk. Then came a small silence punctuated only by the sound of a liquid gurgling away. I sighed, frustrated and annoyed with myself.

"Well then." I muttered. I lay there for a second, pondering the bounds of my own stupidity. I thumped my head on the ground once, intending to do it a few times more, trying to knock the point in, but then came to the startling realisation that tarmac hurts when you hit your head against it. Turning onto my side, I began to drag myself out, which was not helped by the fact that the quad was resting on my left leg.

"You alrighty down there?" I whirled back around, eyes wide, handgun drawn and pointed, my back flat to the floor again. I was met with the gaping blackness of the business end of a revolver, and a pretty big one at that.

There was a second's silence when neither of us so much as a millimetre, but soon the looming yank spoke. "Now now, there's no need for that friend, I believe myself to be a gentleman, and I plan to act accordingly." With a smile and a smooth step, he changed stance to bring his body flat on, lifting his gun to aim at the quickly darkening sky in a pacifying gesture. He replaced the space which the revolver had occupied a moment ago with an outstretched hand. I frowned, suddenly unsure of what to do, so I left the Smith and Wesson hovering there. "Your turn friend. Wouldn't want my brains sprayed up to the heavens for being nice, now would I?" Not knowing what else to do, I lowered my own pistol.

"Quite brave of you, trusting a stranger over a bit of decency like that." I said, still wary. The American, his accent gave him away for a Texan, gave a small laugh in return.

"I didn't trust you one bit. Didn't need to. Had Bill behind you, covering what you Brits like to call my arse." I twisted around to see Bill slinging an AR - 15 over his back, and nodding at me by way of greeting. I suddenly felt quite glad I'd taken something of a high-road there. Clearly these guys weren't out to kill me. Didn't mean that they were friendly though, so I kept my eyes peeled for anything dodgy.

I took the American's hand, and he hauled me up, the strain showing in the deepening crinkles in the man's face. I judged him to be no younger than fifty, considering his shape and strength. Bill too seemed to be of a late middling age, past (perhaps) the age one should be for life on the road. It made me reflect on why the hell I was out this far away from town.

"Thanks," I said, rubbing my ankle where the quad had lain, "Good to see there's still a few decent fellows out and about. Mankind's almost out of those." The Texan dipped his hat in thanks (of course he had a cowboy hat) before saying,

"You see a man in need, you help out where you can." He shrugged, "Besides, ain't nobody else for miles around I can sell my junk to." He jerked a thumb to a car, a battered old Transit van that was once a colour that could have been white. The faded paint made it hard to tell, and the changing light helped little.

"What're you selling then?" I said conversationally, turning to but the bike on all fours again.

"A fix for that radiator leak for a start." The Texan said, pointing it out. "Musta punched a hole in it when you stopped." I looked at what had brought me to a stop to my skidding, and saw a mangled car axle embedded in the ground... not far from a burnt out car wreck that looked days old. In fact I knew it was mere days old. I'd been here less than a week before and the road had been absolutely clear. I looked around, bewildered, wondering who'd driven it there and how it had reached such a sorry state. the car hadn't crashed into anything, well, not anything that was still here.

"Something wrong?" Bill asked. His accent gave him away as a native to the country rather than another Yank. I cast around a little more before replying with a small shake of the head.

"No, no it's nothing, it's alright. Just wondering who crowded up the road." Bill shrugged.

I approached the Texan again. I knew I didn't need the radiator engine cooler parts, I could make do with what I had in my workshop easily, but nevertheless, he might have something of greater quality, or even something else I hadn't anticipated which might catch my eye. That was the thing about these times. Things were rare again, they were worth something more than money. I'd found that people would still be people and spend frivolously, but in these times it tended to be for more sentimental reasons. More often than not though, folk were smart enough to conserve cash for the useful stuff, the essentials: food, tools, weapons if you made a living outside the walls. The two of them walked me over to the back of the van, and as we walked, I talked.

"So what were you guys doing out here anyways? Strange place to have parked, strange and dangerous too, ain't it?"

Bill shrugged again and said nothing. The Texan spoke up though and filled in for Bill's lack of conversation.

"Just passing through the area, but we stopped to check the A to Z," He said in that southern drawl, of course pronouncing the Z as a zee, the American way. "We're making our way down south, hoping to find a ferry out and down to Europe, or failing that, some small chugger to bear us over. Bill knows a little bit of Spanish, so we thought we might head over there. Getting tired of this cold ol' place, there ain't no love up here in this country when the days get short."

"Sounds about right." I muttered, "Anyway. What're you selling then?" I clapped my hands together and rubbed, fighting away the bitter cold the man spoke of. I became suddenly and acutely aware of the possibility that the two men were about to throw open the doors and push me into the back of the van. For what purpose though? To rob me? No, they could do that here, perhaps they would beat me, or sell me as a slave. Or maybe they'd cut me up into little...

I stopped myself following that train of thought before it caused me to do something stupid. They might be strangers, but not everyone who lives on the move and on the road is a bandit waiting to slit you a red smile and eat your intestines.

The Texan pulled open the doors revealing the inside to be stacked with equipment. To my immense relief, no one threw me in, so I relaxed slightly. The Texan jumped in, rummaging about the mess and came out with a little tube of two part metal epoxy glue which had been rolled up half way.

"Hmm, forgot that I'd used half of it already. I'll give it to you half price, that seem fair?" The Texan cracked out a grin that contorted the canyons and valleys of his face worryingly. Stretched any more, it looked like a fault line would appear to rip it all apart. I smiled back, somewhat awkwardly, and fished out my wallet. There I found a woefully small number of coins and no notes. Many of us lived hand to mouth, and used currency only on things like alcohol, taxes and whatnot. But this was a pitifully small sum, even by those standards.

I looked back up to see the Texan still holding the epoxy by the red screw on cap. I wasn't absolutely out of this stuff back at the workshop, but it always paid to be prepared and well stocked. Besides, you never knew when the next friendly trader with what you needed might drop by.

"You weren't looking to trade for money by any chance, were you?" I grinned sheepishly. The Texan's smile faltered, taking on a thoughtful expression instead.

"Well, what've you got?" He enquired. "You got something under the tarp over there in the trailer you wanna swap for?"

"I got a couple of things," I said carefully, they might be friendly now, some people would be in the habit of taking something or getting aggressive if they felt there was something of significant value that might be worth the risk of a struggle. "Fresh fox if you're interested, nice coat, only a small arrow hole to show for the kill, easily patched up." I jogged over to the trailer and fishing around inside, I grabbed the animal by the scruff of its neck. Some folk grab the tail, but I prefer not to, seeing as the last time I did that, the tail came clean off and left the fox worth significantly less than it had when it had been in one piece.

"Not too skinny either!" I called as I walked back over. "You could have a nice meal or two out of this one, ever eaten fox before?" The Texan cheered up a bit again, his smile returning and Bill looked interested too. I was just about to hand the thing over when I realised I was giving myself a real rough deal here. "Hey, how about we even this deal out a little first? Doesn't seem fair to trade this whole thing for that small tube of glue.'

"On the other hand, glue's a limited resource, and a precious commodity, "specially this kind, and I'm thinking we ain't gonna run out of foxes any time soon." The Texan countered. "I'll tell you what. I said that I'm a gentleman, and I'll stick by that. You're right, the glue ain't worth a whole fox, and I'd offer to split it, but wouldn't that sour both halves for the both of us." He offered rhetorically. "Come on, let's hop into the van and we'll see if I can't find something to make up the rest of the deal." I agreed and we both stepped in while Bill stood watch outside. Inside, it was cramped. I mean, of course it was to be expected, seeing as it was only a Transit, and not a bus or something. Besides, the van was loaded to the brim with junk and treasures in equal measures.

The Texan nimbly navigated the mess more lithely than I would have expected any man his age to be. Hopping between boxes and crates strewn across the floor, he examined shelves, rifled through containers and picked through the gun racks bolted to the walls.

"So what can I interest you in, my friend? Bullets and ammunition for that piece of yours? I got that." He nodded at my sidearm. "You want some fresh engine fluids for your ride? I think I got some of that knocking about." He said as he rummaged through a box of chemical bottles and products. The Texan continued to pull out odds and ends, but something in the corner of the can caught my attention, and I stumbled over to it.

Within, was a box of electronics. Stuff that no 'Godly' person back in town would even touch unless of course it was to throw it into a massive 'cleansing fire'. I pushed through and prodded at the contents, a roll of soldering wire, a couple of old motherboards, a smashed up keyboard with the connections exposed and more.

One particular item caught my eye, something which took me back to my childhood, back when I first started learning electronics, circuits and the likes. I picked up the small blue board, smiling reminiscently. It was an Arduino. They'd first started manufacturing these not too long after the turn of the century, and had been aimed at people wanting to learn hardware programming for the first time, or people interested in doing just small simple projects.

I remember that my dad had gotten it as a birthday present for my fourteenth birthday, and at first I'd been reluctant and sullen about it. But soon after a while, I eventually got into it and my dad and me got into all sorts of silly fun with it. The projects had started off with small things, laser tripwires and security systems for my room, which were linked to alarms and speakers that would inform my brother that I was aware that he was trying to sneak into my room yet again, so that I wouldn't have to do it myself each time. But soon, I began building robots. Obviously not the walking, talking, killing type, but they were no mean feats either. I'd loved working on flying and bipedal systems, and soon the mechanical aspects of engineering struck a chord deep within me, fascinating and obsessing me. So eight years later, I graduated from London's Imperial college with a PhD and a master's degree in mechatronics. Armed with these tools, I went on to help engineer the apocalypse.

The smile suddenly wavered and faded away from my lips, no trace left behind. I turned back, to find the Texan at my shoulder, his own lips as devoid of a smile as my own.

"So. You're one of those scumbags still trying to play God are you?" I said nothing. He sighed. "Well, I am running a business here, and I have been meaning to get rid of that stuff, so you throw in what change you got, and you can take that box of relics away with you when you go. I don't want 'em hanging around anyways." He seemed to mull over this for a second, considering whether or not it was a good decision as we made towards the back of the van. On the way out though, something once again caught my attention, this time bringing me to a halt. The Texan bumped into me from behind and grumbled out a sound of disgruntled displeasure, but I was unapologetic.

"Look, you've got what you came in for. You should go. I want as little to do with you and yours as possible, the less the better." Given different circumstances, I might have noted for the millionth time to myself that some child molesters were treated better than 'me and mine'. But the something, had really quite bothered me. I raised a finger, pointing to one of the rifles on the gun rack.

"Where did you get that?" I should have stuttered. I should have screamed the words at the Texan with rage incarnate. I should have attacked him right there and then. But I said it level. Perfectly flat and emotionless.

The Texan's eyes flicked from me to the rifle, to me and back again. My own eyes studied the engraving on the old sporting rifle, the silverwork that had made this thing so precious to Andrew. There was no mistaking that rifle, Andrew told me that he'd done the silverwork on the rifle back before the war, and it had been one of the proudest and most beautiful things he'd ever done. And I believed him. It was a thing of beauty, something that could knock you down with awe as easily as it could with a pellet full of buckshot.

I cast around, looking for anything else that might have been Andrew's despite the Texan's protests. I ignored him, and proceeded with my search, muttering foul curses and promising to kill both him and Bill when I was done. The Texan didn't hear me, instead calling to Bill to help haul me out of their van.

Picking through their supplies, I soon found Andrew's watch, his pen knife, his winter jacket. No doubt if I spent more time searching through it, I'd find some of Andrew's work in the box I held too. I decided I'd seen enough, and came out of my state of calm. It was abrupt and unpleasant.

Whirling about, I brought my pistol about half way to eye level before I noticed that the Texan was a damn sight quicker than me. Once again I found myself looking down the revolver's gaping barrel, and knew this time that Bill's weapon was trained on me too.

'Had enough of your shit, man.' The Texan growled. 'Drop the gun and turn around, hands on your head.' I grimaced, scowling at the two of them. I let the pistol hang limp from the tip of my finger before dropping it with contempt. I did as he bid.

"So what now?" I asked. 'You gonna shoot me? kill me then rob me, like you did with Andrew? You fucking bastard. You call me a scumbag for trying to make the world a better place, go find a mirror in that pile of junk in there, I'm sure someone you've murdered had one." One of the two kicked me roughly from the back of the van before I could say more, and I landed on the concrete road outside, sprawled flat on my front. I got up and dusted myself off with as much dignity as I could. Behind me, I could hear the men jumping down after me.

"You stupid asshole, coming here, starting a fight with two men more experienced and better armed than yourself." Bill barked, kicking me into the tarmac again. I didn't bother trying to get up again, instead lashing out with both feet. I got Bill in the shins, causing him to grunt and curse. Bill took aim, but the Texan fired a shot first, initially I thought at me, but then with relief, I realised it was just a warning, harmlessly directed skywards.

"Quiet down you, or the next bullet's new home will be the back o' your head." The Texan growled, looming over me. 'I don't know what the heck's wrong with you, first going all moody like that, muttering names, then pulling your piece out on us like that. You right in the head?"

I spat into the dust, realising that I'd bloodied my mouth from falling from the van. The resulting phlegm was veined with blood, disgusting, and I found myself wishing I'd aimed it at the Texan.

"Fuck you, you redneck bastard, that guy's name is one of the guys you killed to get your haul in there." I tried spitting again, but my mouth had dried up in the presence of impending death.

"You got it all wrong you idiot. We didn't kill nobody to get that stuff." Bill interjected, thrusting the AR - 15 towards me angrily.

"Now, now Bill. I do believe there's been a slight miscommunication here, which our friend here was just about to get himself killed over." The Texan said suddenly, smiling again. I found it unnerving, despite the lack of any evident hostility or menace in the expression. 'We didn't kill your friend. We were sold the things you seemed to zone out at. I assume those were... Andrew's?' He said, gesturing inquisitively with one hand, holding the revolver on me with the second. 'Yes I'm gonna keep holding this on you. You seem to be a time bomb, and if you blow, I wanna be able to limit the damage.'

Sullen, and feeling somewhat stupid and foolish for not considering this before pulling the gun, I asked, 'Who sold it to you then?'

'Why should I tell you? In fact, why shouldn't I just take God's will into my own hands and blow your god-damned head away?' The Texan yelled suddenly, then seeming to get a grip on himself, he said more calmly, and more to himself than me or Bill, 'Because I'm a gentleman. Gentlemen are more civilised than that.' He took a breather before continuing.

'Tall fellow. Greasy hair and muscles like a bull's.' He said finally. 'We met him on the road this morning in a Range Rover of all things.' A cold pit of fear formed in my stomach as I realised that the Texan was describing George. A horrible thought formed in my mind and I was taken to wondering if George's generosity with the drinks last night had been because of more than just jubilation at winning all the fight stakes.

'I've got what I wanted. I think I'll be going then.' I said, standing up warily. 'Pass me back my gun would you?'

Bill looked to the Texan, not sure what to do. The Texan looked back at him, then me.

'No,' The Texan sneered, 'I don't think I will.'

I won't say that it had been totally unexpected. I mean, the guy had been decent enough throughout our dealings so far, but then again, I had almost tried to shoot him.

'All right, so how are we gonna do this? You gonna tie me up and drive off while I work my out of it or something?'

'No. Nothing so fancy.'

'So what then?' I said, eyebrow raised. I doubt he saw it in the dying light, now that the sky had darkened. I glanced up to see stars and the moon looming above the horizon. I found myself realising that it hadn't been a decade ago when the sky would be so overcast with clouds and pollution (most of which people mistook just for bad weather), that you'd barely be able to spot twenty stars on any given night. This night though, the stars were sprawled across the inky black blue canvas of the sky, like small cold gems of wondrous light. I looked back down to the Texan, and at exactly the wrong moment.

A single shot thundered through the night, something with such a dull thud of a discharge it sounded almost like artillery. Except it wasn't. It must have been an anti material rifle. I had two major clues suggesting this. First, the fact that no one had touched any artillery for the last decade, and even if they had, there weren't any bases nearby from which they could have been fired. The second reason was the evidence in front of me. It was framed, and forever shall be, in a snapshot taken by my mind. Picture the Texan, a lean older gentleman with the scars and wrinkles of a war veteran, an outfit a cowboy would be proud of, and a revolver held outstretched. Now just imagine that he has no head, and in its place, is nothing but a wave of blood, pulp and gore blowing away, red mist hanging, and a horrifyingly disgusting stump of neck trying to pump blood through a head that no longer exists.

I stood in dumbstruck silence, feeling the newly formed mist settle on my face and clothes, reacting in none of the ways a man under fire should behave. Bill was more practical about all this, and immediately took cover behind the van. But as anyone who knows much about anti material rifles will tell you, a van, essentially two sheets of a few millimeters thick aluminium, is about as useful for cover as a piece of paper. Especially when the thing that's opened fire on you is undoubtedly a robot. Bill died in much the same way the Texan did; incapable of arranging a last facial expression.

the second shot spurred me into action, jolting me out of my shock induced trance. I took off, running towards the side of the road, dodging and ducking, weaving past imaginary slaloms, and finally vaulting over the steel barrier marking the edge of the road. I fell about a meter onto the hard earth below, falling to my hands and knees and scraping them before forcing myself back up and making a run for it through the trees.

It wasn't safe back there. It wouldn't be safe for a while yet. In fact, this whole area was fucked if anyone wandered through unawares. The very fact that a robot had turned up, and then started killing people without provocation proved to be a bad thing, very bad thing indeed. Even a single homicidal robot would be devastating if it found Manchester's settlement. Manchester was armed with little more than rifles and other small firearms, and a couple of mounted light machine guns on the walls. Sure, a bullet would damage a robot, and placed just right, would kill it outright. Most bipedal humanoid robots had been built for domestic purposes as opposed to military, and so weren't armoured unless it had bolted or welded a couple of bits of scrap onto itself. But even so, an android would have little trouble out-manoeuvring a human's aim, especially seeing as it could calculate the trajectory of a bullet just by looking at the barrel of a firearm. I would know. I'd spent more than enough time working with droids, especially the fourth generation, designing such software that made that possible, and ensuring that it worked. You'd be surprised how much demand for that there had been in the early days of autonomous robotics. Of course all that enthusiasm ended soon after the seventh generation, when true artificial intelligence had been implemented.

The half light was making it difficult to see where I was going, and as I got further and further into the trees and undergrowth, I began stumbling more and more. Each time, I fancied I could hear the android stalking me, running after me, breathing down my neck, so to speak. Fortunately though, I made it through without breaking step completely, and hauled myself up and over a fence bordering the back of a house. Panting heavily, I forced myself to creep into it before stopping to take a breather. I spent as little time waiting for the android to catch me up as possible, and left the house again not two minutes later.

It was going to be a long night, especially if I meant to run all the way back to Manchester. I cast around for a car as I ran, checking the ones that looked like they might be workable, hoping each time for one where the battery hadn't gone dead. I had no such luck, and decided I wasn't going to find a car. Besides, all the looking might turn out to spend more time than a car would save. I suddenly regretted the lack of thought that had gone into the decision to simply leg it rather than jacking the van, or trying to get by with the busted quad.

'Then again, you'd have been dead before you got the key outta one of their pockets and stuck it into the ignition.' I panted to myself as I ran. I came out of the side road I'd been jogging down and was greeted with the sight of the Arkwright Plaza looming over the area once more. I was just about to turn my head back, and run on when I fancied I could see a twinkle from the car park levels. I stopped for a second, casting a few glances around first to check no one was going to clobber be with something blunt while I wasn't looking, before searching for that light again. If I could get shelter somewhere closer by for the night, then I wouldn't run the risk of being caught out by the android whilst asleep. I'd just be trading one risk for another though, I thought bitterly.

'Oh well, at least you can reason with people.' I muttered, talking to myself again. Hopefully if I told whoever was up there that there were robots about, they'd be more inclined to be helpful, if not accommodating. I changed course, and feeling more optimistic than I had any right to be, I started running again towards the dead shopping mall.

I got seven steps before I heard a noise which made me dive for cover before freezing. Robots may be perfectly co-ordinated in every way, but they can't always account for every variable, and every now and again, a tin can gets inadvertently kicked. I found myself wondering at that moment what I wouldn't have given for some professional countermeasures; some firepower that could fry circuits, or at the very least, a good old grenade launcher to stick in the thing's face, preferably before it found me.

I peered over the waist high brick garden wall, looking for signs of where the robot was. I couldn't see any, so I ducked back down, not wanting to expose myself unnecessarily. Heart racing, I bit my lip nervously and wondered what the hell I could do to get out of this. Realistically, the thing knew where I was already, and if it didn't it would know soon enough. One would have thought that thermal imaging and enhanced hearing combined with tracking abilities would be enough to locate one human who sucked at hiding. And I'm not even going to list all the other stuff some of the later models were equipped with.

That in mind, I made a split second decision. And perhaps in retrospect, it wasn't the smartest one, but hey, I didn't die that night. I must have done something right.

I burst from the meagre cover I'd taken, and took off at full pelt, running straight for the Arkwright Plaza. Behind me, I was sure I heard movement, and possibly the sounds of pursuit. It was a small turn of events though that led me to forget that soon enough, as it didn't take long for me to get my foot caught in something. It snagged, and provided just the right amount of resistance that I was sent sprawling through the air. I realised, too late for me to do anything about it, that not only had I tripped a the worst time possible, but my placing was horrendous. I locked my eyes on a dangerous looking chain steel fence post, sharpened to a vicious point, and watched, horrified as my head travelled, seemingly in slow motion, right towards it. And all the while, all I could think was what bloody use is that against a robot?