Page 77 of Even Robots Die
“I’m going after Dad. I can’t stay here or the birds are going to come after Daniel. They will not care that you don’t know him or that today was the first time you met him. They won’t discriminate. I need youall to think, and fast. What is the last thing Dad told you that could pinpoint a destination?”
I wait a couple seconds before I hurry them to talk with my hand.
“He withdrew everything we had left. That should be answer enough,” Elodie says as she crosses her arms under her breast. She’s the perfect picture of bored annoyance.
“I heard him say if there was someone who would know what to do, it would be Christina when he thought I wasn’t listening,” Coralie says. She is the quietest of us all, but it means sometimes people don’t even realize she's there unless she’s right under their nose. I’m not surprised that she is the one with something that could help.
“Don’t turn off your holos, and lock after us. Don’t let anyone in unless it’s me or Dad,” I tell them before I unlock the door.
“How long, Milton?” I ask without bothering to mouth without sound this time.
Before I close the door, Milton’s voice is heard through the house again.
“Fifty-two seconds.”
“Shift or run,” I tell Daniel before I’m sprinting for the jet.
Luckily, Brice rented it until I can go back to Blois, or else this escape would be even more difficult.
44
Florentine
Surprisingly, Daniel chose to run instead of taking to the sky in his natural form.
But I guess shifting now would mean leaving his clothes on the sidewalk and helping me find Dad in his birthday suit.
I would probably make the same choice if I was him.
For a second I think we’re going to make it without any trouble, but then the bird from earlier jumps from the roof of the building right next to mine, his gun in hand and pointing at us.
I don’t hear any sirens to signal anyone is coming for us, but I still know we’re running out of time.
Without stopping his course, Daniel pulls a knife from his pocket and throws it at the man.
It lodges itself in his forearm, just above the hand holding the gun, and the bird drops the gun as if it was on fire. We have just a few seconds before he retrieves his other gun and starts shooting.
“Milton, open the jet and program theSacré Coeuras our destination,” I mutter under my breath while I change course.
I’m not dying today, neither is Daniel.
I rush in the direction of the shooting bird and that seems to throw him off, because weirdly, the bullets stop flying around us.
But then his brain seems to comprehend the situation, and he lowers his gun and shoots at my legs.
I feel something hit my thigh, and then a second or two later, another bullet ends its course in my shin.
I lose my balance, but it’s over. I’m as close to the bird as I need to be.
I collapse to the ground at the bird’s feet and try not to look at the blood that seeps from my legs in a gruesome display.
The bird looks down at me like he just won the lottery.
Quickly, I take a look at Daniel. He’s holding himself against the jet and blood is pooling on the fabric of his shirt. Luckily, it only looks like it’s coming from his shoulder.
Nothing that can be fatal.
“You’re done. They’re coming,” he says triumphantly.
