The Wild Robot Escapes: Chapters 24–54

The robot was an excellent mimic, and she began crying out in the sad voice of a wounded calf.

Shadow led the way, silently stalking through the night. Covered in dark fur, he was practically invisible.

Reader, you and I are well aware that our robot was not programmed to be violent. Roz couldn’t have pulled that trigger if she wanted to. But she didn’t want to. She was bluffing.

As far as the wolf knew, he was defeated. And so he did what wolves do when they’re defeated. He lay down and he cowered before the robot.

You see, it was the hottest time of year on the farm. The sun was scorching, the fields were baking, the pond was drying up, and foul odors were floating all throughout the dairy.

Only when the sun set and the air began to cool would they venture outside.

Cicadas sang their summer songs.

On occasion, thick clouds would start funneling downward, reaching for the ground. So far, the funnel clouds had all receded back into the sky before doing any damage.

Our robot’s Survival Instincts were blaring in her head, urging her to protect herself, but what could she do?

Together, the family heaved Roz into the bed of the pickup truck, where Oscar was waiting.

The road was littered with debris from the storm, and the truck had to drive slowly.

She powered up and her garbled voice automatically said, “Helloooo, I am ROZZZZZZUM unit 7134, but youuu may call me Rozzz.”

He looked similar to a ROZZUM robot, but he was shorter and wider. The word PATCH was lightly etched on his torso.

The man stroked his chin, mulling over his options, until the children blurted out, “Just fix her!”

Hours after it had been devastated by a tornado, Hilltop Farm was better than ever.

And then she noticed a small journal. The name Cyrus Shareef was elegantly scrawled across its cover.

He believed that the modern world owed its entire existence to ancient farms, when early humans first started growing their food. Those farms were small and primitive, but they supported villages, which became towns, which became cities.

The lush greens of summer faded to reds and browns. Crops were harvested, leaves fell away, and the landscape turned stark and gray.

The owls spruced up their nests.

Their excited moos echoed out from the barn and across the farm. Roz sent the milk truck away for its evening deliveries and hurried off to see what the ruckus was about.

All of Roz’s stories came flooding back to the children. The robot, the island, the wild animals, the adventures. Those stories seemed so fanciful. Could they really be true?

Children care about others, and about the world, and as Jaya and Jad gazed at Roz and Brightbill, their little hearts were full of compassion.

“Your father can track my movements. If he sees me trying to escape, he will think I am defective, and he will send me away to be destroyed.”

The information wasn’t easy to find, but the children were persistent, and after weeks of work, they finally found what they were searching for.

Her quiet whirring slowly stopped.

After all, the robot couldn’t even perform the simple act of eating. How could she possibly describe the flavors and sensations of tasting delicious desserts?

Even the first-time mothers knew what to do instinctively. And soon, newborn calves were frolicking around the farm.

Then the family grabbed their knives and forks and dug into dinner. A colorful, leafy salad. A plate of sautéed asparagus. Creamy mashed potatoes and buttered bread and tall glasses of milk.

The song ended with a flourish, and the music faded to silence.

They read their ancestor’s name on the cover. Then they carefully opened it and turned the brittle pages.

The robot lurched forward, then backward, again and again, as her computer brain struggled with all of these thoughts and feelings.

Some farms let their animals graze through open pastures. Others kept their animals confined to small enclosures.

The farms were teeming with robot workers, and Roz couldn’t resist spying on them as she carefully slunk past.

They passed craggy rock formations and rushing waterfalls and meadows lush with flowers.

They sat around the crackling flames, reminiscing about life on the island, until Brightbill drifted off to sleep.