Evening was beginning to invade the afternoon. Our shadows stretched out beside us, growing longer/longer/longer as the sun dipped lower/lower/lower. Daylight faded. And so did our batteries.

SkD got our attention with an electronic chirp. I examined the images on its screen.

Ceeron nodded. “My battery is also below twenty percent.”

“Same here,” I said.

SkD’s screen displayed a question.

“Do not worry,” I replied. “I am sure we will find a place to recharge soon.”

“And if we do not?” Ceeron asked.

The question hung over us like a cloud. I knew perfectly well what would happen if we did not find a place to recharge. Our batteries would continue depleting, the percentage slowly/steadily tumbling downward, until eventually . . .

Zero percent.

At that point, the electric power that flows through our circuitry would trickle to a halt. All our vital functions would stop working, one by one. Our bodies would shut down. And so would our minds.

We were so far from robot civilization, other machines were unlikely to find us. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.

We had disabled our location tracking. No other robot on Earth knew where we were. Not even our FamilyUnits.

A visual projected across my circuitry: I saw my own lifeless body sprawled across the ground. I saw time sweeping over me. Hours/Days/Weeks/Months/Years. Rust blooming across my metal skin. Plants growing all around me.

Until any trace of me was gone.

I deleted these images from my data files. No point visualizing scenarios that had not materialized. And no reason to upset my coworkers with the worst-case scenario.

“We will figure out a solution,” I said, carefully moderating my tone to sound more confident than I actually felt. “All we need is a source of electricity so we can recharge.”

I continued walking.

My battery fell to 18 percent.

00111110

At the base of the mountain was a town where the signs of humanity were in the slow process of being erased by nature. Homes had sunk into the earth, clutched by the ropy tentacles of vines. Cars were half-buried in mud, choked by weeds and covered in rust.

A place that was utterly dead.

And completely alive at the same time.

The humans who had once called it home were long gone. But the town was teeming with other kinds of life.

A squirrel nosed into a pile of twigs in search of an acorn. Bushes shuffled their leaves in the breeze. A carpet of moss covered a fire hydrant. White/Green/Black mold clung to a broken gutter. A cat watched us from the curb. An orderly line of ants marched across a cracked sidewalk.

Life was everywhere.

Emma’s gaze passed across this scene. “People used to live here?”

“They did,” Ceeron said. “Many years ago.”

“Don’t you think it’s sad?” A frown sketched its way across her face. “All these people were wiped out.”