In Over Their Heads by Margaret Peterson Haddix
One of those new robots was a girl with freckles and light brown braids. A girl who looked entirely human and wore old-fashioned clothes.
“Eryn! Nick!” Ava cried. “I know where Lida Mae came from now! Lida Mae’s not human, after all! She’s a robot like me!”
TWENTY-FOUR
Jackson
Jackson felt snow on his face. His eyelids fluttered; his vision swung in and out. He saw trees. Sky. More snow.
Nobody stood over him shaking his shoulders and shouting, Jackson! Jackson! Wake up!
This had never happened before—he had never awakened on his own after shorting out. His breakdowns had always required Mom or Dad or even Ava to unscramble his circuits or splice his wires and then do a total reboot.
But . . . maybe . . . maybe I could have rebooted on my own, if they’d ever just left me alone and let me try, Jackson thought groggily. At least some of the time.
Was that possible?
Jackson tried to remember why there wasn’t someone standing over him. First he needed to recall what had happened right before he collapsed—always a tricky proposition.
The van . . . the cops . . . running and dragging Dad . . . falling . . . Dad landing on top of me . . . Dad . . .
Where was Dad?
Jackson blinked, scattering the snowflakes caught in his eyelashes. He tried to muster the energy to turn his head and look around for Dad. It was a good thing he didn’t just try to move his whole body right away, because a voice sounded off to the side: “Tell me how any of this makes sense, Sergeant.”
It was the female cop.
Jackson risked darting his eyes to the side, but only his eyes. It was good that he’d enhanced the range of his peripheral vision too. That meant he could see both the male and female cop standing side by side, and Dad’s body stretched out on the ground before them.
They found us! he thought, fighting panic. He could feel his circuits threatening to sizzle and zap out again, but he struggled against the sensation. As long as they think you’re still unconscious, you’re fine. Just . . . listen.
The male cop let out a heavy sigh.
“The first part of it seems obvious, doesn’t it?” he asked. “Kid looks about the right age. He’s not human, after all, but a kid almost due for . . . you know. The dad couldn’t bear it, blah, blah, blah, he went through the usual channels, he wanted to hide his son . . .”
What? Jackson thought. It was true that Dad had brought Jackson—and Ava—to the nature preserve to hide, but how would the cop know that? What did he mean by “you know”? Or “the usual channels”?
“But why was the kid driving the van?” the female cop asked. “Why draw attention to himself? Why did he run off dragging his father?”
Oh no—did they see me running? Jackson wondered. It hardly mattered now. But it bothered him that he’d felt so confident he was out of sight when he really wasn’t.
“And why are they both unconscious?” the male cop asked.
Jackson saw the cops glance his way, so he froze in place. He kept his eyelids at half-mast. Snow blew into his eyes, and he let the flakes brush right against his cornea.
“Should we take them back to the station to find out?” the female cop said. “Or just . . .”
“It’s your call, boss,” the male cop said. “Glad it’s you and not me who has to write up this incident report.”
“We always face the question of how much to keep secret,” the female cop muttered.
Jackson’s head spun, and he didn’t think it was because he’d just awakened after falling. What were the cops keeping secret? And why? Even as a little kid in school, he’d learned that police officers did their jobs honestly and openly, enforcing every law as perfectly as they could. Later, once he’d learned that he and his sister were breaking a major law just by their very existence, Mom and Dad had explained that if the cops ever caught them, Ava and Jackson shouldn’t be mad at the cops. The cops would just be doing their job. It would take someone at a higher level to see that it was really the law that was wrong, not Ava and Jackson.
The female cop put her hands on her hips and rocked back on her heels. The male cop cupped his chin in his hand. They seemed to be having a terrible time deciding what to do.
If it were just Jackson sprawled on the ground by himself, he would have jumped up and tried running away again. But he had Dad to worry about too. He couldn’t abandon Dad. Could he grab Dad and then take off running? Would he make it more than two steps before the cops tackled him?
Who’s to say I’m capable of running again anyway? Jackson wondered. More of his memory was coming back—he remembered not being able to move his arm. What if he really was paralyzed? What if he couldn’t do anything but blink?
What if he had no choice at all about what happened to him next?
His brain ached. His innards twisted, as if his wiring and circuitry were tying themselves in knots. He felt woozy—exactly as if he was going to pass out again.
No! he told himself. That can’t happen!
He heard a whimper escape from his throat.
Oh no, he told himself. Don’t be pathetic. If you’re going to fail, go out in a blaze of glory.
He made himself sit up. His left arm sagged uselessly, but his other muscles worked.
“I demand an attorney!” Jackson said. “I have rights! My life has value!”
Both cops turned to gape at him. They acted like they’d never heard such a request before. Their eyes grew to the size of quarters; their jaws dropped so far so fast they seemed in danger of scraping the ground.
“Do you . . . ,” the female cop began. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Do you have any idea what you just set in motion?”
TWENTY-FIVE
Nick
“Lida Mae is a robot?” Nick repeated numbly. “Ava, how . . . why . . .”
But Ava didn’t answer. She stayed completely still, her back against the wall, her eyes wide and vacant. Whatever trance she was in seemed unbreakable.
Eryn slugged Nick’s arm.
“Nick, we’re idiots!” she said. “Why didn’t we think of that as a possibility? I mean, I did think she might be a robot when she first showed up, but as soon as I saw her eyes, as soon as I heard her speak . . .”
“Ava and Jackson don’t look or sound much like robots either,” Nick argued. “Not unless you pay really close attention. Or unless they break down. They’re different kinds of robots from Mom and Dad. So . . . Lida Mae could be even more different.”
“Why didn’t we think about how the killer robots could have improved their technology too?” Eryn asked. Her face suddenly turned three shades paler. “Oh no, the killer robots . . .”
“Ava, did Lida Mae come from the leftover killer robots?” Nick shouted at his stepsister, down on the floor. “Is she a killer robot, too, who just hasn’t . . . acted yet?”
Ava still didn’t answer. If it was possible, her face looked even blanker than before.
Eryn clutched Nick’s arm. Maybe Nick clutched hers, too. He wasn’t thinking very clearly.
“Eryn, we’ve got to—we’ve got to—” he stammered.
Eryn looked over her shoulder toward the door, as if she expected a whole horde of killer robots to come stomping in.
“Lida Mae’s out there chasing Mom and Dad and Brenda,” Eryn said. Now she was practically shaking.
“But they’re safe. From her, anyway,” Nick said. “Because they’re robots. Killer robots only kill humans. Don’t they?”
“But does she know they’re robots?” Eryn asked. “What if she thinks . . . she thinks . . . We’ve got to go save them!”
Eryn yanked on Nick’s arm, pulling him toward the door.
“But, Ava . . . we can’t leave Ava . . . ,” Nick protested.
“They’ll know she’s a robot because she’s sitting there plugged in!” Eryn said. “Come on!”
She pulled harder on Nick’s arm.
“Ava!” Nick shouted.
Ava still didn’t answer. Eryn tugged Nick practically over to the door. He gave in and ran with her. But when he reached the door, he resisted again. He hesitated just long enough to slide his fingers under the FOR ROBOT ACCESS ONLY sign and yank it off the door. He dropped it to the ground. Then he pulled the door shut behind him.
“That way . . . that way they won’t recognize this room anymore,” he gasped to Eryn. “They’ll stay out. Ava will be safe.”
Eryn just kept running.
TWENTY-SIX
Ava
Ava looked up, and Nick and Eryn were gone.
They’re safe as long as they stay in the cave, she thought. They know to stay in the cave. Because Lida Mae told them.
She went back to absorbing all the robot history she’d never known.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Eryn
Eryn’s backpack thudded up and down, beating against her spine. Her breath came in ragged gasps. She was used to running on a basketball court or soccer field, but not in such a full-out sprint for such a long distance. Was this cave endless? How could it seem like they’d been running for hours to get out of the cave, when they’d only walked for ten or fifteen minutes to get into it?
And how could the walls keep getting closer and closer together, rather than opening out into the huge entryway?
What might Lida Mae be doing to Mom and Dad right now, while Nick and Eryn just kept running and running to rescue them?
“Do—you—think—” Nick panted beside her. “Maybe—we went—the wrong way? Back—where—the trail—split?”
Eryn skidded to a halt. Pebbles slid under her feet and she almost fell.
“What do you mean . . . the trail split?” She gulped for air. It was hard to get more than two or three words out at a time. “It was a straight path in! It should be a straight path out!”
Nick shook his head, the motion barely detectable outside the main glow of the flashlight.
“There was a fork back there,” he said, gesturing toward the darkness behind them. “We probably didn’t see it coming in, because of the angle. You were ahead of me when we got to it this time, and you just kept running, so I thought you knew what you were doing.”
“I didn’t see there was a choice!” Eryn fumed. “I couldn’t see. . . .” She yanked the flashlight out of Nick’s hand and shone it all around. “We weren’t anywhere before where the passageway was this narrow! Nowhere before had such a low ceiling! Nick, we’re lost!”
“We just have to retrace our steps,” Nick said. “We’ll be fine.”
“But will Mom and Dad?” Eryn asked.
She started to whirl around, sending the beam of the flashlight into a crazy arc. It shone to the right, to the front, to the ceiling, to the left . . .
Nick grabbed her arm, steadying the flashlight and sending its beam back into the thick darkness directly ahead of them.
“Wait, Eryn—doesn’t it look like the cave opens out ahead of us?” he asked. “Maybe we did go the right way, and we just didn’t notice this one narrow section before. Maybe we just have to keep going. . . .”
Tugging on Eryn’s arm, he took another step forward. The flashlight beam did illuminate a much higher ceiling ahead of them, but that still didn’t convince Eryn they were going the right way. She hated not knowing.
“Well, let’s look fast, and then if it’s not the right way, we’ll turn around,” Eryn said.
Now she was the one rushing Nick forward. She kept sweeping the light around in a pattern, looking up, down, right, left, ahead. The passageway kept widening, until they reached a point where the ceiling was so high overhead it was hard to see.
“Maybe this is that Rotunda place Lida Mae was talking about,” Nick suggested. “Maybe we got totally turned around when we left Ava.”
“No, I’m sure we turned the right way then,” Eryn insisted. “We—”
She swept the flashlight beam to the right, and it landed on a long row of . . .
“Are those cribs?” Nick asked, sounding spooked. “Is this . . . Is this the exact room where we were kept as babies?”
“No—we were just kept at Mammoth Cave as frozen embryos,” Eryn corrected. “Remember? When it was time to restart humanity, they moved the embryos somewhere else. All over the planet. Once we were babies, we were always with Mom or Dad. We had a home.”
It was hard just to say “Mom or Dad.” Or “home.”
“But . . . ,” Nick began.
He didn’t have to go on. Eryn knew he was going to say, But look at all those cribs! Somebody had babies in them! Lots and lots of babies . . .
The row of cribs stretched on and on, past the range of the flashlight beam, even after Eryn stepped forward and held the flashlight out farther.
“Is there something on the other side of all those cribs?” Nick asked. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Something . . . hiding?”
The question gave Eryn chills, and she wanted to turn around and run back to Mom and Dad. But now she wanted them to help her, rather than her to help them. She wanted them to brush her messy hair away from her face and pat her on the back and say, There, there. Everything’s going to be okay. . . . You’re just imagining that anyone’s in danger. . . .
She wasn’t imagining the dangers around her. But she didn’t understand them either. And if she was going to rescue anyone—herself or Nick or their parents—she needed to know what was going on.
She took a step toward the row of cribs and the dark shadows behind them.
“Let’s go look together,” she muttered to Nick, reaching for his arm. “We’ll be safe as long as we’re together.”
That wasn’t logical, but it made her feel better to hold on to him.
She lifted the flashlight higher, trying to arc the beam into the nearest crib.
“These cribs were for babies,” Nick breathed. “That one’s still got a baby in it!”
Eryn stifled a scream. Nick was right. The crib in front of them held a tiny form under a pink blanket. The infant’s head was turned to the side, its rosy face framed by curly dark hair, a tiny thumb pressed against the bottom lip. But the baby didn’t move; the portion of the blanket covering the chest didn’t rise and fall with any rhythmic breathing.
“Is it . . . is it dead?” Nick whispered.
Eryn whipped the flashlight beam from the one motionless baby in the crib in front of them, to the next crib, and the next one, and the one after that. They all contained babies, too.
“No,” Eryn said, her voice harsh and raspy. “It was never alive. Not really. It’s a robot baby. They all are. And those back there”—she moved the flashlight past the row of cribs, to the shadowy shapes beyond—“those are robot children. This is a roomful of robots waiting to take over!”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Jackson
“Do I have any idea what I just set in motion?” Jackson repeated the female cop’s words back to her. “I believe I was just asking for my Miranda warning rights. You know, I have the right to remain silent, I have the right to an attorney . . .”
He let his voice trail off, because the cops weren’t reacting right. They both still looked stunned. Flabbergasted.
Maybe even scared.
“We—we weren’t arresting you,” the female cop managed to stammer.
“Oh. Then I’m free to go?” Jackson asked. He would have stood up if he’d felt sure his legs wouldn’t tremble or collapse. He did shake the snow out of his hair. He hoped the motion looked defiant and confident.
The two cops exchanged glances.
“There are too many oddities here to just let him go,” the male cop muttered. “His father’s unconscious.”
“And he asked for an attorney,” the female cop sighed.
“I could take it back, if you just let me and Dad go,” Jackson offered.
Both cops ignored him.
“
No! Jackson wanted to scream. If the cops scanned Dad’s memories, they’d see that he and Mom had created Ava and Jackson illegally. They’d see that Ava, Mom, and the rest of his stepfamily were hiding out at the campsite up by the entrance to Mammoth Cave.
They’d arrest everyone.
“You—you can’t do that,” Jackson managed to stammer. “Dad shut himself down before . . . before we came here. So it wouldn’t do any good for you to check his memories. He doesn’t remember anything about the last half hour.”
The female cop’s eyebrows shot up practically to her hairline.
“That’s a new strategy,” she said.
“Maybe he’s telling the truth,” the male cop said. “We had to expect the plotting to evolve constantly. And the kids in question are getting older.”
Jackson had no idea what they were talking about. But at least they weren’t dismissing everything he said.
“If only he hadn’t asked for a lawyer,” the female cop said, shaking her head sadly.
“What’s wrong with asking for a lawyer?” Jackson asked.
“Paperwork,” she answered. “Records. Proof. Attention.”
Jackson felt dizzy all over again. He gulped in air.
“We can’t stand out here in the snow forever trying to figure this out,” the male cop pointed out, glancing toward the sky.
“I know,” the female cop said. “You’re right.”
The snowflakes were blowing sideways now. Jackson wondered if some of the snow had blown into his circuit casing. That would make it even harder to fix his bum arm.
I should have told them Dad’s circuits were blown by the snow, Jackson scolded himself.
But they would have figured out the truth as soon as they tried to reboot him.
What am I going to do? he wondered. What can I do to keep them from scanning all of Dad’s memories?