Chihuahua Drones by Allan Wayne
The image of fire would not go away. There was nothing he could do.
The Chihuahua Drones seemed everywhere. They could spot an ant a mile down. From above, people looked like stick figures. Sometimes they carried weapons or possibly legs of grasshoppers. It was hard to tell.
From early on, kids were recruited to man the screens. They knew how to play Nintendo and War Craft.
Because when ants are hit, it does not matter if they are people or not. It looks the same--smoke and fire. It is a simple job. With the Chihuahuas so far up, you cannot hear the yapping, only imagine the cordite smell after the hit.
Quiet. Like flying a glider. No stewardess serving cocktails. No turbulence. Perfect.
"I hear screaming," he lisped.
"Impossible," she suppressed a smile. She knew his ears had burned off.
"I see a little dog."
"Cute." His eyes were gone, too.
"A Chihuahua, maybe." he said.
She considered. Dalmatians were better suited for fire. But not as fierce.
"The President likes dogs," she noted. "He has a nice smile."
"I was eating ice cream."
"You remember the gas station? At the edge of town."
"Sure," her face softened. "I used to walk to get a soda. On a hot summer night, with my girl friends."
"Ice cold bottle." He managed a nod. "From the machine."
"We are so lucky," she said.
"It stings." A red dot appeared on the gauze.
"Keep your chin up," she gave a mock punch. "It's the first round."
He hissed. The bandages shook.
"Easy." She checked the screen. Parabolas danced with dots.
"Funny you should say." His voice strained.
"I don't know him"
Liston was the big guy. Clay was the kid."
"He never saw it coming." His shoulders shook. "It was invisible."
"What kind of a fight is that?" She rolled her eyes.
He nodded. The body went rigid, then slack. The dot grew. The gauze became a red mask.
The machine beeped.
She stared at the ceiling, then away.
He was gone.
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