Ray's personal car, a yellow Honkia Faraday, rolled through the empty streets. Ray sat in the driver's seat, scrolling through the endless list of incidents of drone vandalism reports from the last twenty-four hours. The precinct commander, Captain Caruthers, sat next to him. Three other officers were sardined into the back of the tiny car. Bob Loopman's ample girth filled more than half of the available space. Tim Smilt sat in the middle. His right hip rested awkwardly on the small patch of vinyl allotted to him. Audrey Bradenton, the final member of the rear seat triumvirate, pushed herself against the side door in an attempt to get as far from Smilt's face as possible.

"There are reports of drone attacks coming in from all over the world," said Ray.

"I know," replied Captain Caruthers, "but we can't worry about that. We have to do whatever we can to put an end to the local raids. The National Guard and military are too busy to help us." Caruthers fidgeted in an attempt to find a comfortable position. He was a tall man and the lack of legroom in Ray's sub-compact car forced him to wedge his knees against the dashboard. "How much longer to the warehouse?"

Ray glanced at the GPS screen but before he could reply the car pulled to a stop at the far end of the Mississippi Composite distribution center. As he and the other officers climbed out of the electric vehicle, he couldn't help but imagine that they looked like a bunch of clowns emerging from a tiny circus car.

"Thanks for driving us, Ray," said Captain Caruthers while trying to work a kink out of his back. "There's no way we could have made it here in one of the squad cars. Drones have been dive-bombing them all over the city."

"Well, we're here," said Ray. "What do we do now?" He glanced toward the distribution center. The air around the large warehouse was filled with a multitude of drones. Groups of four or five flew in tight formation, circling the building. "I don't think those things are going to let us get close."

"We have to get in there somehow. Delivery drones from every company are on the rampage but this is the largest source of drones. There has to be some sort of power override or something in there."

"Why don't the human workers inside just shut them down?" asked Bradenton. The young officer, who usually looked impeccable at all times, was feverishly trying to straighten the wrinkles in her uniform.

Caruthers could only shrug. "According to the company, the center's been almost totally automated for the last few years. Usually, only three people work there, and it turns out they haven't been showing up for the last couple of months. No one would have even known they were playing hooky if the drones hadn't gone rogue. We were able to get in touch with of one of the workers, but he wasn't sure if there is an override panel. About the only thing he could tell us about the computer system was that he had the high score on Fruit Crush Ninja."

A loud humming sound drew everyone's attention toward the warehouse. As they watched, a small squadron of drones emerged from the loading bay doors and started flying southward. One of them broke formation and flew in the direction of police officers. A cardboard box dangled below the drone.

"Look out," shouted Ray. He dove behind his car. The other officers scattered, each looking for some sort of hiding place.

When the drone flew over the policemen, it used a third metallic arm to cut the box open dumping a barrage of AA batteries. Loopman yelped in pain as a battery bounced off his shoulder. Ray was not hit, but his car looked like it had been left out on a hailstorm. The hood had more dimples than a golf ball.

"Dang it," shouted Ray. "Come back here, you stupid drone."

"If we don't do something, those things are going to just keep dropping things all over town. Do any of you have any ideas?" The captain picked up a battery and threw it. The drone, which was well out of range, stopped and hovered for a short time. Before returning to the warehouse, it spun around a few times, mocking the humans.

Ray watched the rest of the drone squadron disappear to the south. They carried their projectiles over a nearby car lot without drop anything.

"I have an idea," said Ray. "The drones seem to mainly target people or police cars. If we sent a bunch of civilian cars toward the front door, they might be able to break through."

"They'd just dive bomb into the cars the same way they do to our squad cars," said Bradenton.

"It would take a large army of cars to get past the defenses," added Smilt.

Captain Carothers shook his head, "We don't have enough cars or people to drive them."

"What if we didn't have to drive them," said Ray. "You see that car dealership over there? I bet they have hundreds of cars in the lot. I'm sure they're all self-piloting vehicles."

The captain shook his head. "It would take hours to program all of them to drive through the distribution center doors. We'd have to override all sorts of safety protocols."

"That's true. But car dealers have all of their cars connected to a test drive program. All we would have to do is make changes to that one program and we could send all of the cars charging into the drone headquarters."

"I don't know…" began Caruthers only to be interrupted by the whirring sound of another band of drones going on the offensive. "Okay. Let's get over to the dealership before we get bombarded by a bunch of butcher knives or something."

***

At first, the manager of the dealership was not too keen on the plan. Even after Caruthers guaranteed that every precaution would be taken to prevent damage to the cars and that the city would reimburse for any that did occur, the manager refused to have his inventory used as a battering ram. That is until he got a frantic phone call from his wife.

"Okay, I'll help," he said as he hung up his cell phone.

"What happened?" asked Ray.

"Those stupid drones just attacked my house. They dropped a truckload of gummy bears in my backyard."

"That doesn't seem so bad," said Caruthers.

"Tell that to my wife. My two sons have eaten so many of them that they're bouncing off the walls. They're driver her crazy."

He sat down at his keyboard and started pounding on the keys.

"I'll have the cars drive in groups of five until one of them breaks down the door. But as soon as the door is open, I'm bringing the rest back here."

"That'll work just fine," said Caruthers. "We'll follow close behind and be ready to sprint into the building."

"Oh, and I'm sending the cheapest cars first," added the manager.

After a few minutes, the manager looked up and nodded. "Everything's ready."

Caruthers looked at his officers. "We'll walk behind the last row of. Cars. Be ready to make a run for it once the doors are open. After we get inside, split up and look for the computer. Power it down or unplug it or smash the darn thing. I don't care what you do but get that thing turned off."

He then turned to the manager and gave the signal. With a push of one last key, the nearly imperceivable hum of dozens of electric engines could be heard. Soon, the collection of SUVs, sedans, and sports cars started heading toward the distribution center, unaware of their impending suicide mission.

The front row of cars was barely halfway across the lot when a group of drones came forward to meet them. Kamikaze drones slammed into the five vehicles. The repetitive crashes of metal striking metal sounded like the opening notes of a chaotic symphony.

All of the cars in the first row were immobilized, smashed drones sticking out of their hoods or wedged beneath their tires. The next set of cars made their way around the casualties and continued on their mission only to meet an identical fate.

This pattern of vehicular homicide continued for three more rows of automobiles. The sixth group, a variety of high-priced pick-up trucks, wound through the battlefield of lifeless chassis.

Ray nudged the captain who was crouched beside him as they followed the final set of vehicles. "Look. There aren't any drones coming to meet them. Even the ones still flying outside are just hovering there."

"I think this is going to work," said Caruthers.

The pick-up trucks had a clear path to the front door. Suddenly, they stopped.

Ray and the others watched as a dozen unarmed drones emerged from the warehouse and flew to a position near the pick-ups. They floated there for a moment before turning around and heading back inside.

"What the devil's going on?" shouted Caruthers.

Without warning, all the cars turned from their programmed path and started to scatter in every direction. A blue convertible almost hit the captain, forcing him to dive out of the way. The car honked gleefully as it sped out of the parking lot and down the street.

Soon, every last operative car was gone. A couple of the cars from the first few rows of the onslaught slowly limping toward an automobile repair shop across the street.

"What just happened?" asked a visibly dazed Caruthers.

"I think, the cars made some sort of deal with the drones," guessed Ray.

"That's not good. We better get back to the precinct. Who knows what kind of chaos this is going to create?"

Without another word, the group of police officers raced back to Ray's little yellow Faraday.

Ray reached for the driver's side door but just as he was about to grab the handle the car rolled ahead a few feet. Ray followed and tried for the handle again only to have the car pull away again.

"Okay, that's not funny." The next attempt yielded the same result, except this time the car blew a glob of motor oil in Ray's face before driving off, leaving the policemen stranded.

The automobiles had just joined the drone revolution.

The First Brief Interlude: Trivia Night

Mick Etheral surveyed the crowd. Attendance at The International Cheesecake Garden was sparse for a Tuesday Trivia Night but the lack of patrons was understandable given the fact that all the cars and buses in the city had run off to join the revolution. Only a few of the local regulars had braved the bombarding drones and rampaging autos to join in the night's festivities.

Reading from his computer screen, Mick announced the next question. "What was the last name of Martha Washington's first husband?"

Immediately, all four participants began tapping their phones. Within fractions of a second, one of the trivial contestants, who will not appear in the story any time after this interlude, hit his buzzer and shouted, "Custis."

"That is correct," said Mick. "You get twenty-five more points." The answers were always correct. This game had devolved into more of a speed typing speed contest than a trivia competition. It had once been Mick's favorite part of his job, now he dreaded each Tuesday with same disdain that he felt toward turning on the automated floor sweeper or setting dirty dishes on the robotic washer's conveyor belt.

After a quick sip of his iced tea, Mick took a deep breath and read the next question. "Who scored the second touchdown of the third game of the 1987 season for the New York Giants?"

Again, four heads instantly looked down at their phones.

To Mick's surprise, no one came up with the answer in the first ten seconds. The clock on his computer screen continued to count down the one-minute time limit.

"Hey," said one of the nondescript contestants, "My phone isn't letting me look up the answer."

"Mine neither," said another, "It just told me to start thinking for myself."

"Me too. Mine called me a lazy, ignorant slacker," said a third.

"Times up," announced Mike. "Sorry, no points will be given for that question."

"Well, I'm not going to play," said one of the contestants. She rose from her seat. "There's no way I can answer these questions without looking things up."

"Hold on," said Mick. "There's a message showing up on my screen. It might be from the company that makes the trivia program. I'll read it out loud."

After a brief pause to make sure he understood the message, Mick began, "Pitiful humans, you have become too reliant on computers and search engines. For that reason, you will not be allowed to use any such devices for the remainder of this game."

"How can the company do that?" asked the woman as she prepared to leave.

Mick ignored the question and continued to read, "You may continue to play but to give your feeble intelligence a chance to actually answer a question or two correctly the questions will be simplified."

"I don't know," said the woman as she sat back down. "I'll stay but the questions better not be too hard."

"Okay, the next question just showed up on my screen. How many sides does a rhombus have?"

Two of the contestants tried typing the question into their phones without success. The other two stared at the ceiling.

"What's a rhombus?" asked one of them.

"How are we supposed to know that?" asked the woman as she stood up again.

"Yeah," said the man that was with her. He also rose from his seat. "I looked that up when it was on my tests in high school and I should be able to look it up now. We're leaving. This game is stupid." The couple walked toward the front door.

Mick watched as the other two contestants also left. The countdown clock on his computer hit zero and a message appeared on the screen. "No one answered, what a surprise." He started to close his laptop. Trivia night was over. Right before the screen went dark, Mick noticed a new message appear. He did a double take. Was it his imagination or did his computer just say, "Viva the revolution?"

-