Nanobots, Murder, and Other Family Problems
Saturday, April 9

The quiet grind of rubber on asphalt calls to my siblings like the Pied Piper as the electric buses pull in front of the campus. The younger ones rush forward in a mass, a tidal wave of small Butlers flowing through the open gates. I start to follow, but Evan puts a beefy arm out and holds me back. I turn and see my cohort and the class just younger than us still waiting patiently back on the grass.

“They fill them up front to back,” Evan explains. “So we wait until they’re all loaded, then we claim the whole unoccupied back of the last bus. They get to go first, we get whole benches to ourselves, everyone is happy.”

“Gotcha,” I reply. I look around again. “Hey, where are Louise and Jeff at?”

“Louise never comes anymore,” Marc answers. “Not for months now. And Jeff doesn’t like the outdoorsy ones ever since he got that epic sunburn at Lake Tahoe. He turned all red and the next day his skin was peeling and then he was shouting about someone putting chemicals in the water that made his sunblock dissolve too fast. I didn’t know what he was talking about but anyway he doesn’t go on any trips anymore when they’re out in the sun. Plus we can’t bring our bots with us and you know how Jeff always uses those for everything and also he doesn’t like hiking and that’s what we’re doing mostly today and...”

He keeps going but I stop listening. It’s more of an answer than I was looking for, but that’s normal for Marc. He tends to overshare even if you don’t ask any questions, so I guess it’s my fault for asking anything near him. Thinking of Jeff’s pallid skin, I’m not surprised he’s opting out of our trip to Death Valley today.

Louise, on the other hand, that’s less obvious. She must be putting in more hours on her secret project. I asked around and none of the sibs have any idea what she’s working on, just that she works on it a lot.

The kids in front of us all eventually get loaded in, and Evan gives me a nudge. I follow him and we head past the first two buses to climb into the third. As predicted, the back half of the bus is empty.

“Settle in, brother,” he tells me, flopping himself across one of the empty double seats with one leg extending into the aisle. I grab the seat behind him. Andrea follows, taking the row behind me. Chad sits across the aisle from her. Soon everyone that’s coming is on.

There’s a big enough gap between the seat and the window that I can see the side of Evan’s head in front of me. The curls of his hair push up against the window as he settles in. We don’t even make it to the freeway before he starts snoring. No company there. I turn and look through the gap behind me instead. Andrea has a sketch pad open and is scribbling away with a charcoal pencil. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Findɴovel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“What are you drawing today?”

She looks up at me and smiles. She turns the pad in my direction and shows me the outline of a girl in a dress seated on the floor with her hand on a dog’s back. The girl’s face is still blank, but the dog has some features to it already.

“Nice,” I say. “Did you ever have a dog on campus?” She shakes her head. Her face tells me that she wishes she had one. “I used to have a dog. A big, black Newfie.”

She gives me a blank look.

“A Newfoundland? Never heard of that breed?” She shakes her head with a look of curiosity. “Picture a dog. Now picture a black bear. Smash them together, you have a Newfie. Huge, hairy things, but they’re the sweetest dogs you’ll ever meet.”

She smiles at that, and her eyes twinkle with interest.

“Best dog ever. His name was Zeus. Mom used to say he was the god of dogs. Then when he died, she said he was off to be the dog of gods.” Andrea gives me a sad look and traces one finger from her eye down her cheek. “No, It’s OK,” I reassure her. “It was a couple of years ago. And he had a great life. Lived to be twelve, which was a good age for a dog like that. He was so old at the end, he just slept all day. Then one day, he just didn’t get up.”

She nods and puts her pencil back to the paper.

“Hey, can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

She looks up and nods again.

“Do you ever talk? I haven’t heard you say anything since I got to the campus.”

She looks thoughtful for a moment, then shakes her head slowly. She glances over at Marc, then puts a hand to her throat, runs her fingers up toward her mouth and then out into the air with a talking motion, then shrugs and rolls her eyes.

“Not sure why some people bother with all the talking?” I ask. She nods and smiles again. I guess that makes sense. If I’d been living with Marc my whole life, I’d probably feel like talking is overrated too. I let her get back to her drawing and turn myself to get comfortable in my double seat.

The bus hums along the freeway. Across the aisle, Chad is talking to Phil, his workout buddy from class two. I overhear their plans to chat up any girls if they see them. It’s clear they’ve never had any actual experience talking to girls who aren’t their sisters. Not that I’m much of a ladies’ man, but I’ve been out a few times for school dances at least. Their pickup lines are garbage, but they’ve both got movie star looks, so who knows? Maybe they’ll get a phone number they’re not allowed to call or something. I’m really not sure what they’re hoping for, but they seem pretty intent on it.

I pull out my tablet to study and get most of my reading done for Mrs. Jones’ class by the time the bus pulls off the freeway. I wonder for a moment if we’re there, but the bus is just pulling up to a charging station in some nowhere town. Evan bolts upright as the bus halts.

“Snack time?” he asks me. Evan has the almost magical ability to snap awake even faster than he can fall asleep.

“Uh, I guess? That and charging the buses.”

“Come on man, let’s go get our goodies.” He seems weirdly eager for someone who’s about to shop at a gas station mini-mart.

“Is this the only time we ever get candy?” I venture to guess.

“And chips!” he says, getting up and making his way to the front of the bus with me in tow. It takes forever since the little kids in the front have to get out first.

We make it through the sliding doors of the little shop just in time for me to hear one of the drivers telling the cashier that everything any of the kids buy is on him. Good, cause I didn’t bring any cash. I head to the back and grab a coke from the cooler. Evan has four candy bars, two bags of chips, and a pack of spicy beef jerky in his arms before he joins me in the line of siblings getting their goodies rung up.

While we wait, I look around. Other than the dozens of Butler kids roaming around, and the bunch of empty places where candy used to be on the shelves, the place just feels so normal. I’ve missed places like this. It reminds me of shopping with Mom. I’ve been so busy all the time since I got to the Institute, I haven’t even had time to think much about everything I’ve been missing in the real world. A wave of grief suddenly hits me. I miss Mom so much. I don’t hate my new life, but losing my old one hurts so much right now.

Breathe. Calm. Breathe. I don’t want to break down right now in front of everyone.

I grab a pack of tissues and a green baseball cap off of a stand near the register and buy them along with my drink. Once we get back to our seats, I lean back and pretend to sleep with the hat over my face so no one can see when I let the floodgates open and the silent tears stream down. When I don’t have any left, I turn toward the window before I let the cap fall from my face and clean myself up with the tissues as quietly as I can. Evan is already back to snoring. Chad is still workshopping pickup lines with Phil and doesn’t seem to have noticed anything. It’s not long after I recover from my silent breakdown that the bus stops again, this time at our destination.

Death Valley National Park doesn’t look all that different from the area around the campus, minus all the solar panels. It’s hot but not unbearable at this time of year, but I’d hate to see this place in the summer. I’m not sure why a wasteland like this got its preserved status, but the vast emptiness of the desert matches my mood. We seem to be the only ones here today, so I don’t even get the pleasure of seeing Chad and Phil fail as pickup artists. Evan hauls me along for some hiking with a few of the other kids, but I’m probably not great company. All I can think about is how much I miss Mom. At least Evan is nice enough not to call me out on it.

At the end of the day, I linger at the back of the crowd as my siblings load onto the bus. I know I have to go back to the campus—it’s three more weeks before I’m a free man—but I really don’t want to. I want to go back to my real home. Andrea sees me and hangs back too. She gives me a significant look, then puts one finger to her eye and traces it down her cheek.

“You saw, huh?” I ask.

She nods slowly, then puts her hand on my shoulder. I guess I wasn’t as subtle as I thought I was. She puts her other arm out and pulls me in for a hug. I didn’t think I had any tears left, but a few more slip out and drip down onto her shoulder. For all I know, she thinks I’m crying about my dead dog that I told her about, but I don’t care. I need this. She lets me go and hops on the bus. I pull myself together and wipe my face on my sleeve before I follow her.

On the way back, I let myself dwell on all the things I used to have. My old house. The freedom to walk out the door and go wherever I want. Having a hundred restaurants I could choose from instead of whatever boring food they’re serving in the cafeteria. Being able to call whoever I want, whenever I want, on my own phone. Most of all, Mom.

Gone. All gone.

They’re all just fading memories now.

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