Sparked (The Metal Bones Series Book 1) (7 page)

Chapter 11

“Me?” I whispered.
Why?

Did he know that I knew? Was that why?

“She can’t stay here. Not anymore.” Robotatouille shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

My eyes widened.

Too
—

“Too dangerous?” Dad’s voice rose. “What is going on here? I come home from work to . . . to my daughter screaming and you’re fighting off a . . .” Dad gestured toward the robot on the floor. “I-I don’t know what he is. I don’t . . .” His arms waved in the air. “I can’t. I just . . . I can’t make sense of any of it.” Dad wilted on the edge of my bed. “I can’t look at this thing anymore.”

My heart pounded in my chest.

Robotatouille nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, and I sucked in a breath. It was such a human-like gesture. He had never done it before. Had he been human this whole time?

I flashed back to the way he fought, to his . . .

No.

I shook my head.

Definitely
not
human.

An owl hooted, ringing straight through the vacant space where my window used to be. I looked out into the night sky, through the shattered pieces, the tiny bits sparkling in the moonlight. My eyes followed the blinking lights to the shattered base of my fish bowl, lying on the floor.

Caribbean?

No.

I dropped to my hands and knees.

No-no-no. No.

Not you.

Not. You.

“Vienna?” Dad tugged at my arm. “What are you doing? You’re going to hurt yourself.”

I pushed Dad away, moving pens, books, sheets, anything that fell on the floor. “He might still be alive.”

Dad dropped on his hands and knees, avoiding the patches of broken glass. I lifted a piece of paper that blew under my desk, to find Caribbean, lying inert on the floor.

Caribbean?

My breath caught.

No.

“Vienna.” Dad put a hand on my shoulder. “Some things . . .”

“He’s gone,” I whispered. The one thing that was always there for me, the one thing that always cared, the one thing I could always depend upon, gone.

“The puddle.” Dad gestured toward the soaked water on the carpet, where Caribbean’s tank had fallen in my room. “Vienna.” His eyes lightened. “You saved us.”

It didn’t feel like I saved anyone. I had been squeezed too hard, Dad had almost been choked to death, and Robotatouille had almost been decapitated. We had been seconds away from death and by sheer luck, we survived.

I gazed at the fried robot lying on the floor.

Robotatouille covered his nose. “He stinks.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“And you.” Dad pointed at Robotatouille. “Since when can you do things other than cook? And since when does a robot become superman? Living with us? Cooking for us? Spying on us? You’re like an undercover agent sent here to expose all our secrets. Which would have worked.” Dad’s vein popped out of his forehead. “If we had any!”

And you have feelings.

“I’m not an agent.” Robotatouille’s jaw clenched. “For future reference, that’s an insult. And seeing that I just saved your daughter’s life, I’m going to try and forget your allegations.”

“What in the heck are you?” Dad glared.

“I am classified as MC-81.”

Dad’s jaw worked. “I take it you’re not called MC-81 because you cook so well.”

“MC means third in command.”

“Command?” I hissed. This plot kept getting thicker. “Of what?”

“My unit.”

“Unit?” I shrieked, my voice hitting new octaves. “What in the heck do you mean, unit!” I stormed up to his face. “So now, not only are you some wicked-mutant-ninja-feelings-classification thing.” I seethed. “But one that’s also part of unit? How in the world does stuff like this happen? And through all my research how in the world was all this randomly omitted!”

“My
unit
”—He coolly stared me down—“is a highly specialized operative force. Together we can do almost anything because we are part-robot and part-human.”

“Part . . .” I felt the color draining from my face. “Part what?”

That wasn’t even possible. How could you be part-human? That didn’t, that didn’t, that . . .
I stepped back.
That couldn’t happen
.

The feelings. The emotions. Oh god. Oh god.

I clutched my stomach and leaned over.

Robotatouille kicked the dead robot’s leg. “There will be more sent after this one, like the ones sent before him. They’ve gotten close but never like this. They’re becoming stronger and smarter and better. We didn’t want it to come to this but . . .” He looked at Dad. “It’s not secure enough anymore. She needs to leave. Tonight.”

“Leave?” My heart constricted in my chest. “Tonight?”

And go where?

You’re half human. Does anyone realize that? You’re . . . you’re
—

“Before they realize this robot’s failed and send another one.”

“Another r—” I swallowed.

My hand reached out for my sofa.
There had been more.
I missed and stumbled into it.

Dad ran his fingers through his hair. “Why do they want Vienna? What could she have possibly done?”

“They don’t tell us. We only know she’s wanted. They’re”—Robotatouille gestured at the dead robot—“the R.I.A., the Robotic Intelligence Agency, where this robot was planning on taking her.”

The R.I.A.? How could the news have possibly missed that piece of information?

Where there might be more half-humans, half-robot creatures. Oh god. Oh god.

“Why help her?” Dad asked. “We bought you from a store, a box that was rolled into our house! How could you possibly know all this stuff?”

“And . . . you don’t even like me.” I stared into his impassive brown eyes, searching for something, for anything.

“Because my commanding superior ordered me to.”

“That’s the only reason why you did this? Why you helped me?”

He crossed his arms. “I don’t question orders. I follow them.” A muscle tightened in Robotatouille’s jaw. “Actually, he should be here any minute. In the meantime, I suggest you pack.”

“Pack? Pack!” Dad looked like he wanted to throw Robotatouille out the window. “I’ll tell you what we are going to do.” Dad’s fists flew in the air as he headed for the doorway. “We are going to call the police and fix everything that way.” Dad pointed at me, his finger stabbing through the air. “Vienna is not going anywhere.”

“I can understand how difficult this must be for you, to have everything happen so fast. But I assure you, the police can’t help. It’ll only let the R.I.A. get a hold of Vienna faster.”

“And why should we believe you?” Dad spat, stopping.

“Because . . .” Robotatouille softened. “I could kill you now and take her if I wanted. Why else do you think I fought? You think I enjoy putting my life on the line? You think this is fun for me? If I wasn’t here, Vienna would have been gone. She would have been on her way.” Robotatouille scuffed at the dead robot. “With him. I’ve been placed here to help you, to help save
your
daughter.”

He just said the word “life.” His life. I doubled over on my sofa.

I was in a perverse nightmare and I couldn’t wake up. That was it. It had to be.

Dad covered his face. “How did this happen?”

“Someone important wants your daughter, and we’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Dad dropped next to me, onto my blue sofa, folding into himself. “And this unit of yours is supposed to protect her, right?”

Robotatouille’s jaw twitched. “The six of us in my unit are risking our lives to make sure she lives.”

“You’re a robot.” Dad threw up his hands. “You don’t have lives. I can’t believe I’m even having this kind of conversation—with you. And now I’m supposed to trust you, after you lied to us?” Dad stormed off to the kitchen. “I’ve had enough. I’m calling the police.”

“Wait.” I felt my lips move. W
hat if the police are on the R.I.A.’s side?
“Wh-What if he’s right?” I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. “What if he’s telling the truth? There were times I could have sworn, and then . . . there was Green Eyes.”

My head snapped up in realization. It explained him, his warning, his eyes—his stalking.

Robotatouille scowled. “Who’s—?” And then he threw his head back and laughed, the deep crackle bounced off my broken walls.

Dad glared, not finding it funny at all. “We’ll wait until Vienna’s mom comes home.”

I pursed my lips.

Great.

Robotatouille disposed of the dead robot. He didn’t want it to attract attention, in case the neighbors poked their heads out. So he hoisted him out the window. Only the trees stood witness now.

I surveyed the mess in my room. My bookcase was knocked over, my books scattered on the floor. Some pages had been ripped out, others lay open, tossing in the wind. The fish tank, well, I wasn’t able to look at that. The covers on my bed lay twisted with muddy footprints wrecking the sheets. Picture frames and perfume bottles lay broken on the ground, adding to the glass pieces. My closet door was broken with a huge hole where Robotatouille had thrown my captor.

I tried to put my books back on the shelves in a somewhat orderly fashion. I stuffed the books in, hoping they would fit so I could move on to the next broken memory. Dad picked up a shattered picture from my dresser. The picture of the three of us at my high school graduation—marred by water spots. My parents’ eyes were glowing. One of the rare times we felt like a functional family. I brushed glass pieces out of the bottom of the frame, and Dad placed it back on my dresser.

Then I heard two, maybe three voices from outside my window.

“Sounds like Robotatouille,” Dad said.

I looked outside but didn’t see anyone. Then I heard something about dismembering the parts and about a car. I bit my lip, remembering why they were now able to dismember him.

Dad swept up the remnants of the glass and debris, making my room look somewhat normal. We kicked out the rest of the glass that hung onto the sides of the window, leaving an empty hole in the wall.

“Maybe it would be safer”—Dad looked at me—“if you went with them. I can’t . . . protect you from this.”

“Dad.” I touched his shoulder.

“I couldn’t stand to lose you, knowing there was something I could have done.” Dad looked out the window. “I think you’re right. I think they might be your only chance.”

I felt my breath catch in my throat. This seemed so impossible. This seemed so out of a dream.

I can’t believe this is my life.

Dad grabbed my shoulders. “I’ll fix this. I will. And when I do, you’ll come home. Think of this as a temporary solution.”

I nodded, knowing neither of us would say the things lingering in the back of our minds.

This might never end.

Dad pulled me into a hug. He smelled of Old Spice aftershave.

“You should pack some things before you leave.”

“I know,” I said. His gray eyes lost their twinkle. “It’ll be okay. I’ll come back.”

Dad smiled. “Of course you will.”

I smiled as wide as I could. I think we both wanted to believe it.

When I was done packing, I scanned my room one last time. My eyes slid over my high school graduation picture. I picked it up off my desk and ran my hands over our smiling faces.

Our lives had been so isolated before. Maybe if I came back things would be different, better. Maybe Mom would . . .

I couldn’t finish the thought. Hope. Hope was a dangerous word. One I had said too many times in my mind.

I set the picture down and carried my bag outside.

The three of us sat in silence on the couch. Not moving or looking at each other. If we had a clock in the kitchen, you would have heard each tick.

I was actually going to do this, rely on robots, flee with robots. I’m sorry, half-human robots. I was going to be utterly and completely dependent on robots.

“Have you decided to leave tonight?” Robotatouille asked. His collar was ripped and dirt stained his pants.

“Yes,” Dad said.

“Good. She’ll be safe. She’ll be with the best, and I’ll be here to help you.”

Dad’s vein throbbed. “What do you mean you’ll be
here
? Who the heck is she going with then?”

Robotatouille scratched his head. “I can’t leave. If I’m gone, they’ll know something’s up. And I need to protect you in case anything else happens.

“What about Vienna?” Dad asked.

“Vienna will be in the best hands possible.” Robotatouille waved, as if Dad’s concern was nothing, as if everything was okay. “She’ll be with four other robots and our commander, and if she isn’t safe with the commander, then she’s not safe with anyone.”

“Well,” Dad said, throwing up his hands. “Where is he now? And why hasn’t he been here this whole time?”

The muscle in Robotatouille’s jaw flexed. “He’s been here the whole time. He was watching over her. The. Whole. Time. You think this is the only time something like this has happened? Do you even know how many others have tried?” Robotatouille narrowed his eyes. “They send more advanced robots each time, and each time, they keep getting harder to stop. He had his hands full tonight taking care of five of them. Two got away. The guards posted outside were only able to take one of them out. That’s why the last got through.” Robotatouille’s hands fisted at his sides. “Yesterday, it was even closer. He snuck through the front door. We even had a little scrimmage—in the kitchen—with Vienna asleep right next door. And let me tell you, it has been close. So close.”