Robopocalypse Read Online Free PDF Page A

doors where we keep all the paper towels and stuff. He stays on his feet, though. When he stumbles forward, I see a dent in the wood from the back of his head. But he’s wide awake and more pissed off than ever.
    I drag myself away, toward the sinks, but my shoulder is messed up and my arms are slippery with blood and I can hardly breathe from the pain in my chest.
    There aren’t any weapons or anything back here, so Felipe snatches the mop from the filthy yellow bucket on wheels. It’s an old mop with a solid wooden handle and it’s been there I don’t know how long. There’s no room to swing the mop, but it doesn’t matter because the robot is hell-bent on grabbing Felipe the same way it grabbed me. He rams the mop up and gets it wedged under Big Happy’s chin. Felipe isn’t a tall guy, but he’s taller than the machine and has a longer reach. It can’t get ahold of him. He shoves the machine away from us, its arms waving around like snakes.
    The next part is awesome.
    Big Happy falls backward onto the cubby desk in the corner, its legs sticking straight out, heels on the ground. With no hesitation, Felipe raises his right foot straight up and comes down with all his weight on its knee joint. Snap! The robot’s knee pops and bends backward at a totally fucked-up angle. With the mop handle stuck under its chin, the machine can’t catch its balance and it can’t grab hold of Felipe, either. I’m wincing just looking at that knee, but the machine doesn’t make any noise or anything. I only hear its motors grinding and the sound of its hard plastic shell banging into the desk and wall while it struggles to get up.
    “Yeah, motherfucker!” Felipe shouts before crushing the robot’s other knee joint backward. Big Happy lies on its back with both legs broken and an angry-as-fuck sweaty two-hundred-pound Mexican on top of it. I can’t help but start thinking that everything is going to be okay.
    Turns out I’m wrong about that.
    It’s his hair, you know. Felipe’s hair is too long. Simple as that.
    The machine stops struggling, reaches out, and clamps a gripper down on Felipe’s black mane. He hollers and yanks his head back. But this isn’t like getting your hair pulled in a bar fight; this is like getting caught in a shredder or a piece of heavy equipment in a factory. It’s brutal. Every muscle in Felipe’s neck stands out and he screams like an animal. His eyes squeeze shut as he pulls away with all his might. I can hear the roots tearing out from his scalp. But the fucking thing just pulls Felipe’s face closer and closer.
    It’s unstoppable, like gravity or something.
    After a couple seconds, Felipe is close enough that Big Happy can get hold of him with its other gripper. The mop handle clatters to the floor as the other gripper closes on Felipe’s chin and mouth, crushing the bottom part of his face. He screams and I can hear his jaw cracking. Teeth pop out of his mouth like fucking popcorn.
    That’s when I realize that I’m probably going to die in the back room of Freshee’s fuckin’ Frogurt.
    I never spent much time in school. It’s not that I’m stupid. I mean, I guess I’m just saying I’m not generally known for my bright ideas. But when your ass is on the line and violent death is ten feet away, I think it can really put your brain in gear.
    So a bright idea comes to me. I reach up behind me and bury my good left arm in the cold water in the sink. I can feel cookie sheets and dippers, but I’m fishing for the drain plug. Across the room, Felipe is quieting down, making some gurgling sounds. Blood is pouring out of him, down Big Happy’s arm. The whole bottom of his face is crushed in its gripper. Felipe’s eyes are open and kind of bugging out, but I think he’s pretty much out of it.
    Man, I hope he’s out of it.
    The machine is doing that scanning thing again, being really still and turning its face left and right real slow.
    By now my arm is going numb, the blood cut off