The Winter of the Robots (15 page)

“Fine.” I turned on the camera and zoomed in on the car. I started with the cartoonishly big spoiler on the rear, across the top of the car to the front. Dmitri got the hood open, stared in wonder at the engine.

“I think this is the original engine!” he said.

“OK. I got it all on tape.”

He pulled himself up directly to the embankment, using tree roots for handholds. He navigated around some leaking piles of insulation and metal drums.

“Can you believe it?” he asked. “A Superbird. I think it’s the real thing, too, not a kit car. Sergei would know.”

“Amazing,” I said. “Let’s go.”

We started toward the fence, when there was a shift in a pile of junk. I didn’t panic this time—it could be the wind, or an otter, or whatever. I turned just in time to see a three-foot-tall robot scuttling toward me.

I froze in disbelief and wonder. Even though it was
exactly what I was hoping to see, the sight of it stunned me. The robot was poised on two large feet and had folded forearms, flicking a long barbed tail. I could see why Sid compared it to a dinosaur. It glared at me with electric blue eyes.

Dmitri shoved me just as it fired, the eyes brightening as it let loose with a bolt of blue electricity. I felt a crackling in my shoulder; my muscles gave way, and I fell in a heap. I didn’t lose consciousness—the Taser had just grazed me.

“Git!” said Dmitri, like he was scolding a stray dog. He grabbed a metal pole and hurled it. I quickly sat up and aimed the camera, which was still rolling. I’d forgotten to turn it off after scanning the car. I got a few seconds of the robot, but the camera was now flashing red for low battery.

The robot easily evaded the pole and now aimed its Taser eyes at Dmitri. I looked about for something to use as a weapon, but didn’t see anything handy. I reached in my pocket and found the lump of blackened glass, heavy as a stone. I hurled it at the robot. The throw was short and wide, but the robot scurried away.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Dmitri, as if I needed the suggestion. We hauled it for the fence and crawled through. This time, I remembered my backpack.

“What do we do now?” asked Dmitri when we were past the railroad bridge.

“Pocket burgers?” I had just enough money left after buying the camera.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

The restaurant had just opened and was empty. We sat at a table by the window, enjoying the greasy heat wafting over from the grill. I watched through the window, half expecting a battalion of dinobots to come flying across the street.

“Why did one come after me this time?” I wondered aloud. “They never bothered me before.”

“Because you took something,” said Dmitri. I remembered the lump of molten glass. It wasn’t much to fight over. “It left us alone when you gave it back.”

“Ha.”
Gave it back
was a funny way to put it.

“They’re like junkyard dogs,” he said. “They protect their turf. They don’t care if you’re there, as long as you don’t take anything. And the second you put something down, it’s theirs.”

“
Theirs
. So you think there’s more than one?”

“Yep,” said Dmitri.

“Me too.”

“You guys are becoming regulars,” said Sid. “One Roo, one Pig?”

“Sure,” I said. The guy had a good memory for people and food.

“Fine with me,” said Dmitri.

The camera battery was dead, so I switched to the AC adapter and plugged the camera into an outlet by the table—the same outlet that used to light up the hopping-kangaroo sign. I popped open the viewer.

“I want to see.” Dmitri nudged the camera.

“After me.” The viewer was too small for us both to watch at once. I rewound the video until I saw the car, then watched my herky-jerky camera work as we walked toward the fence, the blur of junk when I was tackled by Dmitri, and the final seconds of footage with the robot. I wished I’d zoomed in on the machine before it scurried away. It’s hard to think about that kind of thing when you’re completely freaked out and are under attack.

Would this convince a skeptical stranger of anything?

A few more customers came crashing in, hooting and shouting the way men do. “Hey, it’s the Panther!” one of the men said, waving. It was Dan, the guy from the excavation company. He came to our table and clapped me on the back. “I hear your missing pal showed up, no worse for the wear?”

“A bit worse, but getting better,” said Dmitri. He showed his hands, which were still scarred from the frostbite.

“Oh, wow. You’re the guy.” Dan offered a high five, but Dmitri left him hanging.

“My hand’s still a little ouchy,” he explained.

“No worries.” He dropped his hand. “Dan Clouts.”

“Dmitri.”

“So glad you’re all right.” Dan noticed the camera, leaned in to get a better look.

“My brother Sergei is a regular here,” said Dmitri. “Maybe you know him?”

“Huh?” Dan looked up. “Yeah. Good guy. Hey, enjoy your lunch. Go Panthers.” He forgot about the camera and headed for the counter.

“Come on,” said Dmitri. “My turn.”

“Fine.” I handed the camera over just as the food came. I bit into my stuffed burger and got a mouthful of flesh-searing molten cheese. I would never learn! I took a long drink of Coke, looked up just in time to glance through the plate glass and see a tow truck double-parking.

“Your brother is here.”

Dmitri shrank, tried to disappear, but it was too late. Sergei barged in and came straight to our table.

“Why aren’t you two in school?”

“We’re working on a school project.” I pointed feebly at the camera.

“What are you doing, making a documentary about hamburgers?” He grabbed the camera and stared at the screen. “What’s this?” He looked at Dmitri. “Were you at that junkyard where you got hurt?”

Dmitri nodded slightly. “But it’s fine. Nothing happened.”

“What are you doing skipping school, Dim? You want to
be a dropout like me? End up at the alternative school for losers like Masha? Or maybe just get yourself killed by bums?”

“Masha’s school isn’t for losers,” Dmitri muttered.

This was a family argument and none of my business. I focused on my burger, which had cooled enough to eat. I took careful bites, trying to taste it with the nonburned part of my tongue.

“You’d break Mom’s and Dad’s hearts,” said Sergei. “Skipping school, trespassing, stealing. I don’t get it.”

Sid noticed him and came over to the table.

“I won’t be able to stay,” said Sergei. He handed him a couple of bills. “I’ll pay for these truants, though. You guys go get in the truck. I’m taking you to school.”

“Er. Thanks,” I said. We’d fulfilled our mission, at least. We had the video. There was a dinobot on it. I doubted it would be enough to send SWAT teams and military forces into the old junkyard, but it might be enough to send a couple of police officers to investigate.

It turned out the school did call home, but I told Mom I’d been there and the school made a mistake. I had proof: I’d taken a math test in fifth period.

Penny walked into the office while I was importing the video. I wasn’t dumb—I had the screen showing the video docked, and some homework open in another window.

“You did skip school,” she whispered. “I saw you not get on the bus. What did you do?”

“I just met a friend,” I told her. “We still went to school.”

“Was it Rocky?”

“No.”

“I bet it
was
her. Do you like her?”

“Not the way you mean.”

“Well, you should. She’s smart and makes robots and cares about animals.”

“She’s awesome,” I agreed. “But FYI the friend I met is her boyfriend.”

“Oh.” She made a sad face and left.

I burned the video to a DVD. I wrote in all-caps on the DVD with a dark blue Sharpie, OLD NOMICON SITE, and popped the disc in a mailer. I wrote the address for the police department in the same style, put four stamps on it, and stowed it in my backpack. The next day I dropped it in the mail. Nobody could say I hadn’t tried.

I saw Rocky at the bus stop on Wednesday.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she hissed.

“Hey, I’m sorry about what happened,” I told her. “I didn’t even know we were cheating.”

“I know about
that
,” she said. “Your sister told me it was her idea. She sent me a message on Facebook.”

“She did?” She wasn’t even supposed to have a Facebook account. “Then how come you’re mad at me?”

“Because you and my stupid boyfriend went off on a dangerous little adventure yesterday.”

“Hey, we were careful.”

“Sure you were. And you didn’t even think to invite
me
.”

“I just thought—I didn’t want—”

“You didn’t want a girl cramping your style.”

“Being a girl doesn’t have anything to do with it. I didn’t ask Oliver either. I just didn’t think you’d want to come.”

“Well, thanks for not even asking,” she said. She sat down next to someone else so I couldn’t keep talking to her.

The truth was, I didn’t ask Oliver because he wasn’t talking to me. He’d ignored my Facebook messages and walked away from me when he saw me coming. I guess cheating at robots was an uncrossable line with him.

Dad tapped on my door after dinner.

“I’m headed to the neighborhood meeting,” he said. “Why don’t you come with me?”

“Sure.” I dropped what I was doing—which was nothing—and followed him downstairs.

“Good luck!” Mom yelled as we left. I wasn’t sure why we needed it.

The meeting was a block away, in an old garage that had been turned into a community theater. Lots of cars were parked in the lot, including a police car.

Dad had been going to the meetings for years, but I’d never been before. There were about thirty people inside, most of them old enough to be retired and have grandchildren. “These are good folks,” Dad whispered. “Sometimes a few concerned people make all the difference.”

There was a cop at the front of the room and a tiny woman with white hair. They both said “Hi” to my dad.

“Anna,” Dad said. “Bob.” He stopped to talk to them, so I went on up to the back. I wished I’d brought a book.

Dad was working the room, greeting everybody, handing out business cards. The people here seemed to like him. They told jokes I couldn’t hear, but made Dad slap his knees. They got in earnest discussions about things that made him turn serious and nod in sympathy.

A few minutes later, Ted Whaley from the Laundromat walked in. He nodded hello to Dad and the others, then came up and planted himself right next to me. He still smelled of stale cigarettes and dirty laundry, but now he also reeked of alcohol.

“They’re making a golem,” said Ted. “You know what a golem is?”

“That guy in
Lord of the Rings
?”

“No, I mean the one made out of clay. ‘Golem, golem, golem, I made you out of clay,’ ” he sang, then laughed. “It’s a fairy tale.”

“Um, OK.” I’d never heard of it.

“They built a monster to defend themselves,” he said.

“Oh.”

Dad was sitting more up front, but he turned back to make sure I was there and paying attention. I wondered what I was supposed to get from this meeting.

Anna started the meeting by talking about meeting
minutes from last time, the final report of the holiday committee, and an open steering-committee position.

“Mr. Knox is the only candidate for the position, and will say a few words,” she said. Dad was running for something?

He stood up and told a couple of jokes—about how cold it was, about how the garbagemen never put the cans back in the right spots. People laughed. Dad went on and said he’d lived in the neighborhood a long time, and thought it was a great place to raise a family, despite what anyone said. The people in the audience nodded appreciatively.

“I want you all to meet my son,” he said. I had to stand up. People wheeled around to see me. I realized what this was all about. I was there to help humanize Dad. Just like when politicians posed with their whole family in TV commercials. He could have brought mom and Penny, too, but probably didn’t want to overdo it.

“Well, since Mr. Knox is the only candidate for the position, we can just have a show of hands,” said Anna. But before she could do it, the door swung open and Rocky’s dad came in, stooping so he didn’t bang his head on the low frame. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Is it too late to throw my hat in the ring for this thing I read about in the newsletter?”

Dad winced, then grinned and said he hoped there wasn’t a real ring involved, because he could never take Mr. B. in a boxing match. There was a belated tittering. Mr. Blankenship had a chance to say a few words himself, and he only said a few—that he was a firefighter, lived right there (he pointed), and grew up over there (he pointed the other way). He wanted to join the committee because when he’d volunteered for cleanup after the tornado hit (clever how he slid that in), he’d gotten to know a lot of people and wanted to do more.

“Never vote for the good-looking guy,” said Ted. He tapped his nose.

“I’ll try to remember that.”

“Well, maybe we can let people ruminate on both of our excellent committee candidates, and we’ll vote at the end,” Anna suggested. I let my mind wander as they talked about green spaces and early planning for the community garden and super-early planning for the summer cookout. They moved on to the police report. Bob the policeman recited
the past month of local crimes: a couple of robberies, a rash of car thefts, a few domestic disturbances. Vandalism was down—people clapped, but I figured it was because of the cold. Who wanted to tag stop signs when it was below freezing?

“What about Sidney’s?” shouted Ted, standing up. Heads cranked around to look at him. “They smashed up Sidney’s!”

“There was some unexplained vandalism at Sidney’s,” Bob admitted. “We suspect it was random and incidental; there haven’t been any other—”

“The hell there haven’t!” Ted shouted. “Them dinosaurs did it is what happened. The ones you keep ignoring me about.”

“Ted, please sit down and let Bob speak,” Anna whispered.

“I want to know why they’re ignoring the dinosaurs,” said Ted.