It seems like hours before I hear anything outside the room. I've changed into the clothes that were in the backpack. The cargo shorts fit me perfectly but aren't exactly something I would have chosen. I think. I've worn nothing but jeans and sweatpants my whole life to cover up my shriveled legs.

There's creaking and clunking outside, and I start banging on the wall. "In here! Uncle Robbie, I'm in here!"

A moment later, I hear the sound of a crowbar prying something open, then some muted beeping. "Elara, stand back. Next to the bed."

I do as he says.

My mouth falls open when the entire wall with the built-in countertops rotates. It stops when it's perpendicular to me, and there, standing on the other side, is the familiar figure of my uncle, clad in army fatigues and a relieved expression on his face.

"Uncle Robbie!" I rush forward and wrap my arms around him. "It worked! I can walk!" I pull away to jog in place. "And run!"

He chuckles and evaluates my new limbs. "Not bad."

"Not bad? They're awesome! Where's Mom and Dad? I want to show them."

His smile fades as he rasps a hand over his stubbly jaw. "There's a lot we need to talk about."

"What do you mean? Aren't they here?" And it's not until then that I get a good look around me. The place looks ransacked and dirty, like in one of those post-apocalyptic movies—overturned chairs, shredded couches, shelves torn from the stained walls. This can't be the bunker I grew up in.

But I recognize the now-stained books on the floor. The special ergonomic chairs my mother insisted on. The same plush carpeting that is now filthy and waterlogged. But the strangest thing is how it looks like it's been this way for a while. Dust coats everything that isn't wet, roots dangle from cracks in the ceiling, and an old, musty smell hangs in the air.

Uncle Robbie stands there, sopping wet like the room we're standing in, a scuffed rifle strapped to his back. His hair reaches past his ears and is peppered with gray. Thick scruff as gray as his eyes lines his strong jaw. But instead of looking bedraggled, his posture is tall, arms sinewy. He looks ready to dive into action if something were to jump out at us.

"What happened here?" I ask.

Uncle Robbie surveys the ravaged room. "Well..." He passes the crowbar from one hand to the other. "A lot has happened."

"And I take it from your reluctance to elaborate that none of it is good."

He avoids my eyes and scratches his back with the crowbar.

Dread laces its way into my brain, pushing out all my previous elation. "What happened to my parents?"

His eyes shift away. "How about a sip of water? You've got to be thirsty."

"I'm not thirsty. Uncle Robbie, they're not... they're not dead, are they?"

"Not as far we know, no."

"What do you mean you don't know for sure? Why not? And who is 'we'?" My voice rises in pitch along with my distress.

He sighs and drags a hand over his face, streaking dirt across. "I'm happy you're finally awake, Ellie. But I've also been dreading this moment. Having to explain everything." He shakes his head. "It's a lot to handle."

"A lot to handle?" My voice quavers. "A lot to handle? What does that mean? Are they dead or not?"

"Ellie, like I said—"

"Just tell me what happened!" I stomp to a ruined couch, the waterlogged carpet squishing beneath my shoes, and steel myself for bad news.

"You sure you're ready?"

"I don't know, but I'm tougher than I used to be. I feel stronger." I realize this as I say it. It's been no effort whatsoever to pace around on these legs. "I can handle it."

He sighs again. "All right." He pauses as if deciding where to start. "The Eagles found this bunker and took your parents."

My face contorts with confusion. "The Eagles? Dad's favorite band?"

A flash of amusement crosses his face but fades quickly. "Eagles are what we call the automatons under Fade's control."

I search my brain for that name. "Fade... that's the AI they built to run the defense network, right?"

"Yeah. It does a lot more than that now."

"My dad thought that might happen. That's why he built this place." I pause, looking at the wreckage of my former home. "But why bother coming after us? And how did they find this place? It's underground! And off the grid."

"My best guess is the paper trail to build this place. You have to file blueprints and get licenses and a bunch of other crap. Fade is incredibly smart. It's all in digital records."

"But... but why? Why go through all that trouble to find them?"

"Did you forget your dad is the world's leading expert on integrating robotics with complex neural networks? It's why his cybernetics are unparalleled." He taps the crowbar against his leg. Even through the army fatigues he's wearing I can hear the metallic clank.

"So... you think Fade wants him to make improvements to his robot army?"

"It's why I also think he's still alive."

"But why take him and Mom and leave me behind?"

His eyes drop to the dirty carpet. "They hid you in the safe room. It's got shielded walls, and the only way to open it is if you know where to find the control panel."

I look behind me at the half-rotated wall. "I had no idea that was back there."

He ambles over and touches the wall as if absorbing a memory from it. "When the Eagles breached the outer perimeter, your parents radioed me. They told me—" He swallows hard. "They told me not to try to save them. To stay behind and watch over you. Keep you safe. That you needed more time to recover."

A lump forms in my throat. "How much time?" I whisper.

"Um." Uncle Robbie clears his throat.

"How. Much. Time?"

"It's been six months since your surgery. Four months since they were taken."

"I've been out for six months?" My mouth hangs ajar. "But... but I remember them prepping me for surgery, like, yesterday or something."

"You've been in a coma all this time."

Stunned, I drop onto the damp couch and feel a piece of wire press against my back. "But nothing like that happened to you when you got your leg. You didn't go into a coma."

He shrugs uncomfortably. "I didn't have a degenerative disease."

"Six months," I mumble. "That means I missed The Bachelor finale on TV." My mind is so numb, it's the only thing that comes to mind.

The radio on his belt crackles to life. "King, movement in the east. Better get out of there. Over."

My uncle frowns and pulls the radio out of its holster. "Copy that. Over and out."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "King? Did you change your name? You get tired of being a Clay like the rest of us?"

He gives me a curt shake of his head. "Field names. Come on, let's go." He settles the radio back into its holster and holds a hand out to me.

I stand but seem rooted to the spot. "Wait." I suddenly realize I'm about to leave my childhood home, probably forever. My mother taught me how to cut onions here. My father made windup toys for me here. When I got older, Mom showed me suture techniques while Dad demonstrated how to rewire a busted toaster. I had a lot of memories here. "I should—I need to—"

Instead of finishing the sentence, I snatch the backpack out of the safe room and speed to my old bedroom. I stare at the clump of concrete sitting on the bed, my soaked teddy bear in the corner, the toppled chair missing a leg. The clothes in my drawer are mostly dry, so I stuff some into the backpack.

I go to my parents' room and search around for a memento. I might never get this chance again.

"Elara, we need to go!" Uncle Robbie calls out.

"Just give me a second!"

Most of their things are gone—perhaps taken by their captors?—but I find a framed photograph on one of the nightstands. It'll have to do.

I shove it into my backpack and take one last look around. I can't believe they're gone. The impact of this hasn't hit me until now. My chest feels tight and I'm having trouble breathing. We were a tight unit for so long. Just the three of us. Mom was the practical surgical genius, Dad was the visionary inventor, and I...

What was I without them? It didn't matter which parent you were talking about, I was always Dr. Clay's crippled daughter. What was I supposed to do now?

I look down at my new legs.

I'm not crippled anymore.

My whole life they've taken care of me. Repaired a heart valve when it got weak. Made an awesome motorized wheelchair with built-in gadgets when I could no longer walk. Distracted me from my condition by teaching me all sorts of things. I would literally be dead without them.

Uncle Robbie said they were likely still alive. Which made my new purpose clear.

I pick up Dad's old aviator jacket crumpled in the corner of the closet and put it on.

Whateverit takes, whoever's butt I need to kick with these new legs, I will find my parents.

Strength! Determination! Voting! (Quite an elegant segue, don't you think? Let's pretend the answer is yes.)