The Wild Robot: Chapters 68-80

They stood flush together like a sparkling wall.

Butterflies flitted around the flowers that sprouted from its body.

“One year ago, a cargo ship carrying five hundred ROZZUM units was sunk by a hurricane. Four hundred ninety-five units have been retrieved from the ocean floor. We have come here in search of the last five, and we have located them. ROZZUM unit 7134, you are the property of TechLab Industries. We will return you to the factory, where the Makers will refurbish you and sell you to a work site. You will then live on that work site indefinitely. Now come with us.”

“That is incorrect. ROZZUM unit 7134, any further resistance will be proof of defectiveness, and we will deactivate you.”

The RECOs peered past Roz, toward the mysterious noises, but saw only foliage.

His blocky head swiveled from side to side, scanning for any sign of Roz.

The forest was seething with an army of wild animals, distracting the robot, luring the terrible thing deeper into their trap.

It grazed poor Chitchat, singeing the end of her tail, but she ignored the pain and scurried up to the safety of the canopy.

His churning legs slowed to a stop, and he stood there computing whether to move forward or backward.

“Begin the bombardment!” ordered Swooper.

He pounded the robot’s head with his heavy hooves, denting and crushing it into an ugly shape, and with one final crack the head broke loose, soared through the air, and squelched into the muck.

The avalanche slowed and settled as a cloud of dust billowed out from the cave.

“I have broken bones,” she rasped, “but they will heal. Where is the robot?”

The young bears caught up with him as he was entering a grove of pines.

Soon, the robot was standing beside the roiling, frothing river, just above the falls.

Soon, the robot was standing beside the roiling, frothing river, just above the falls.

She rolled through the rapids, crashed into one rock and then desperately clambered onto another.

With water sloshing over his back, he forced a paw between the logs and pried the top one loose.

And there, at the bottom of the waterfall, strewn across the wet rocks, was the shattered body of the dead robot.

Then she bounded away through the thickly tangled underbrush without stirring a leaf, without snapping a twig, and vanished into the green.

He was pelted with flaming pinecones, and tripped by taut vines, and crunched by tumbling rocks.

After hours of relentless pounding, it finally gave out.

Waves crashed as the robots grappled for the weapon.

They squawked and squeaked and fumbled with the weapon, trying to aim the clunky thing.

RECO 1 turned his face to Roz and spoke in a quiet, garbled voice.

Geese and otters were bustling all around Roz.

Roz was a mangled wreck, and there was nothing they could do to fix her.

There were stark differences of opinion, and tempers flared, but by daybreak the group had agreed to a plan of action.

She looked so sad and frail.

The robot’s voice cut through the din.