By Josh Deutchman

K5 had been running all day, until luck happened upon him. Underneath a highway overpass, where he had crouched behind a dumpster to protect himself from whoever might be in pursuit, he saw a pickup truck approach at high speed. The car was swerving, and as K5 searched in vain for a better hiding place, he saw a bottle fly out of the window and smash against the concrete. He contemplated a quick exit but was afraid that making an appearance would leave him worse off, and so steadied himself for what he believed was an inevitable discovery. In five seconds they’d have the headlights shining into his eyes, and he’d be through.

Except the truck hit one of the orange barriers at the entrance to the overpass and came to an abrupt stop, the hood now a crumpled metal sheet. K5 saw a man and a woman emerge; the former came around and took his companion’s hand. Laughing, they flew past him toward the blue-lit haze beyond. K5 would never forget the long streak of blood that ran from the man’s forehead down the bridge of his nose. That the injury didn’t seem to dampen his enthusiasm confused K5. Humans were impossible to understand.

K5 made a beeline for the truck, surprised that the keys were still in the ignition, and even more shocked that he was able to put it in gear, back away from the barrier, and continue heading north, dodging the fires and the blackened hulls of smaller cars that lined the roads.

As much as he was relieved for the unexpected mode of transport, he knew he didn’t have much time, as the factory owners would have already called in the trackers. K5 thought he had disabled his internal positioning system, but it was impossible to know what sort of malfeasance went on when he was at rest and vulnerable to manipulation. He had also done very well, he thought, at proving his facility as a worker. No one, in his view, was as efficient or more productive.

K5 did everything he could to avoid the highways. He had heard from others that patrols were frequent, and it was not uncommon to be stopped and questioned by whatever authority had managed to establish itself in a particular area. After ten miles of staying on ancillary roads, evading a series of ditches and drug addicts, downed utility poles and burning trees, he found himself more or less untethered by barriers and in a more remote landscape, which frightened him all the more for its eerie quiet. The crumpled hood limited his visibility and had him poking his head out the window so that he might navigate safely.

An uncommon understanding had enveloped him over the last few weeks, one that he saw as a series of unfoldings. Where before he intuited that, for example, having a pair of high-powered sensors would allow him to more competently piece together components on the shop floor, now the sensors seemed to emanate from within. They allowed for reactions that he had never experienced. One evening he was inspired to put his hand on the shoulder of another anthroid, who quickly knocked it down and reminded him that they had not yet met their production quotas for the day. K5 could still feel what he heard someone else define as “rejection.” He saw how the word took on another meaning beyond what happened after discovering a product flaw. So now, this awareness of fear swirled about him as he lost his focus and barreled down a steep gravel road. He pumped the brakes to no avail, and gathered speed until sliding into a pit of mud. He put the truck in reverse but could not gain any traction, and when he heard shouts in the distance, quickly hopped out and ran down a steep hill until he lost control and collapsed into a pile of leaves. Above him he heard the shouts grow closer. He waited for what he thought would be his inevitable discovery. But whatever aggression loomed above him was not sufficiently capable, and of course he knew that dogs were of no use.

When the voices faded K5 stood, brushed the leaves from his body, and ran as fast as he could, his fear tempered by the realization that buildings and traffic had given way to forested hills and quiet neighborhoods. He had heard reference to a place called “the country” before, and this must have been it—an area without the usual crowds, restaurants, shops, factories, and constant noise. Maybe, he thought, people were kinder here. Maybe he could find a safe place to hide.

And this optimism served him well, because after crossing a stream, traversing two hills and jogging through the backroads of a small town, he found, set back from a dirt road, a barn that looked deserted. Half of its roof had collapsed and out front tall weeds had grown around an upended tractor. Cautiously he approached, understanding that any forward movement was a risk. At the same time, what was the alternative? He could never go back.

K5 entered the barn, relieved to find nothing out of the ordinary. He saw large machines with chutes and wheels and motors. He saw stalls that were once home to animals. He traced every object in the barn with his fingers, curious as to what he might experience. Gently he touched the serrated edge of a very large curved knife. It was then that K5 heard a sound. A cry. At first he thought it might be an animal, but after listening for another moment was certain it came from a human. A baby. What started out as a quiet sound became increasingly loud. The crying sound was jarring and frightened K5. Could this be some sort of trick? And yet he felt compelled to investigate.

The sound came from the loft on the other side of the building. K5 climbed the ladder, checking every rung before moving forward, and felt a quick swirl in his mid-section when he reached the top. Before him was a woman’s body, her face positioned upward and her neck at an angle that told K5 she was dead. Beside her was the baby, his cries growing louder, fists pumping on either side. The sound was like nothing he had ever heard, at once high-pitched and urgent and yet with a certain fragility, a sadness. K5 lifted the baby with both hands and brought it to his face, thinking that a kind expression might yield a positive effect. The baby widened his eyes and brought his face forward, as if to entertain the possibility of salvation. K5 tried to muster enthusiasm and gently squeezed the baby in a display of happiness, but that only made the crying worse. He looked to the mother, hoping that she would magically spring to life. She had been strong and beautiful, of this he was certain. He wondered if she had been wounded before escaping to the barn or if she had been pursued and met her end there—he imagined a Blackstone militia man looming over her with a gun.

Now K5 knew he had a problem to solve: stop the crying. With the baby swaddled in a rag, he brought him to his chest, and rocked him back and forth. The crying eased but did not let up. Carefully, he lowered himself and the baby down the ladder. He arranged himself on a small bale of hay and considered his options, all the while keeping his focus on the babies’ tiny hands, which seemed to K5 the most wondrous things he had ever seen, the fingers moving frenetically and then closing into fists. This is what it meant to have feelings, he thought. To be alive. K5 opened and closed his own hands, thinking that he could learn from this experience. The baby would teach him. They might even guide one another.

In the meantime, the crying continued. K5 put his hand over the baby’s mouth, thinking that it might serve as encouragement. It didn’t. Then he understood—humans required nourishment. The baby was hungry. Or thirsty. This is what brought him to the barn. Without him, the baby could not survive.

Yes, there were fires burning and men with guns in the streets. Buildings fell into the sea. Suitcases of money exchanged hands and addicts plunged needles deep into their veins. Still, there was work to do. K5 found a small piece of burlap and wrapped it around his index finger, whose metal casing was decidedly not human. He then put his finger sideways into the baby’s mouth. The baby latched on, his eyes closing, his cheeks moving back and forth. “Just give me a minute, my sweet boy,” K5 said. “We’ll go out and look for some milk.”