Rise of the Robot Army by Robert Venditti

Author:Robert Venditti
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

CHAPTER

13

MILES AWOKE SHIVERING ON A metal cot. He was feverish, cold and sweating at the same time, as if every cell in his body were alerting him that something was very wrong.

He didn’t know where he was or how he’d gotten there. He didn’t know why the concrete cell he was in was so small, or why there was a thick, plate-glass wall across the front. He didn’t know why he was wearing a snug orange jumpsuit with what looked like ports for electrodes and devices he didn’t want to imagine.

Most worrisome, Miles didn’t know anything about what had happened between the arrival of the helicopter in the rainstorm and now. Hazy memories poked at the corners of his mind—the white room, the looming figures, the syringe. But if he tried to grasp the memories, they slipped away like water through his fingers.

Miles did know two things. He knew the cape was missing. And he knew that was bad.

Miles pulled his knees up to his chest, holding himself tight. The cape was gone. The only thing in existence that could protect the world and he’d lost it—probably to the sort of bad guys who the world most needed protecting from. How many people were in trouble right now, looking to the sky for a glint of gold that wasn’t going to come? If a disaster occurred while he was away . . . if one single person got hurt because Gilded wasn’t there to help them . . .

A lump gathered in his throat, a dense tangle of emotion that, if he let it out, might never stop flowing.

His dad must be worried sick. Miles had just come back from a jaunt around the country and now he’d flown out into a thunderstorm and vanished. And Henry—

Oh my God. Henry.

He’d been with Miles when he was captured. If something had happened to Henry because of Miles, he’d never be able to live with the guilt.

Miles sat up on his cot. It took all his strength to speak the words, as though a dump truck were parked on his chest. “Henry? Are you here?”

There was a stretch of silence that seemed to last a year. Then a voice answered back, “Keep your voice down.”

Miles scrambled to the front of the cell. He pressed his palms and cheek against the glass wall. He saw a hallway about ten feet wide with a row of cells running down each side, all of them appearing empty. “Henry!” he yelled. “Is that you? I’m over here!”

“I said, keep it down,” the voice answered sternly. Miles had heard that tone many times lately. Usually accompanied by data recited from an unholstered smartphone.

Miles peered into the gloom of the cell across the corridor from his. Henry stepped out of the shadows. He, too, was clad in an orange jumpsuit. Rather than being snug, though, it hung a little loosely on his diminutive frame. Whoever had captured them, they apparently weren’t expecting a prisoner who was sized extra-extra-small.

Henry gazed wide-eyed at Miles through the glass.

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