by Lucas Flint
“Don’t worry, boy, don’t worry,” said Nightbolt in a low voice. “Almost done here, though you should probably stay off the leg for a while.”
“Is he going to be okay?” I said, stopping near the desk with all of Nightbolt’s mail on it.
“Yeah, he will,” said Nightbolt without looking up at me. “His wound wasn’t as bad as I thought. But he probably won’t be able to walk very well for a while.”
“Don’t you think we should take him to the nearest vet?” I said. “Have a doctor look at him and make sure he’s going to be all right?”
“Later,” said Nightbolt. “Right now, these bandages should keep his wound from getting infected. Our local vet doesn’t get up this early except for emergencies and this doesn’t qualify as a medical emergency, in my opinion.”
Nightbolt finished bandaging Spike’s leg, fed him a small doggy treat, and then looked up at me. His expression was serious. “Did you see the spaceship?”
I nodded. “Just briefly, but yes. Looked just like how you described it.”
“I wish it didn’t,” said Nightbolt with a sigh. “In the year since the abductions started, the aliens have never tried to attack me like this. They’ve always been focused on the ranches and farms around here. That they decided to attack me is a sign that they see me as a threat.”
“Or they want their bracelet back,” I said. “Remember that thing Teresa gave us last week? I think they were trying to get it.”
Nightbolt nodded. “Undoubtedly. I have it in a safe under my bed, but I have a feeling that that won’t do much to stop them if they get into the house. They must really want—or perhaps even need—that bracelet if they are willing to try the direct approach to getting it.”
“What should we do?” I said. “Tell the government?”
Nightbolt shook his head. “No way. I don’t want those two idiots knowing about this object. And if they do come by and ask why Spike is injured, tell them that he was attacked by a coyote.”
“There are coyotes out here?”
“No, but those two idiots don’t know that. Of course, Spike is going to have to stay indoors for a few days until it’s safe for him to go back outside. The two idiots never come into my house, so in all likelihood they won’t notice his bandages.”
I nodded, though I was thinking less of Agents Camel and Jake and more about the aliens. “But we still need to do something about these aliens. First they abduct some cows during the day, then they attack us in your house … sure seems like they’re getting bolder to me.”
“They are,” said Nightbolt grimly. “I didn’t think they took notice of individual humans, given how they have never done something like this before, but maybe they’re finally getting tired of me investigating them. Or they just want that thing back.”
“It must be important,” I said. “They wouldn’t have sent that … that thing, whatever it was, unless the artifact was important to them in some way.”
“No doubt. I will probably have to find a new place to hide it, because I have the strongest feeling that it is not an object meant for peaceful purposes.”
“Why don’t we try to find the aliens?” I suggested. “Hunt them down and tell them to leave us alone?”
Nightbolt rose to his feet and dusted off his knees. “Kid, if that was even possible, I would have already done it. As it is, these aliens are probably using some kind of alien technology to hide themselves. Even the government can’t find them, and one thing the government usually is good about is finding things or people it wants. I doubt we’ll be able to hunt them down successfully even if we tried.”
“But they’ll be back, won’t they? If they want that bracelet, they’ll probably attack the house again. Maybe they’ll send more of their own men to get it … or maybe they’ll just outright destroy the house while we’re still inside and bury us all alive. We need to find them ourselves.”
“Weren’t you just listening to what I said?” said Nightbolt irritably. “Kids these days, I swear. You explain the simplest concepts to them and it seems to go right out the other side of their head. Are you like this around Dennis or did you get too much West Texas dust in your ears?”
My hands balled into fists, which was the only way I could keep my temper in check. “I’m just trying to find a solution here, Nightbolt. We can’t just keep going on like normal, not after this.”
“Agreed,” said Nightbolt, nodding. “I’ll beef up security around the house. That way, if the aliens come back, we’ll hopefully be made aware of their presence before they get into the house.”
“That’s not going to be enough, and you know it,” I said. “Those aliens clearly must be incredibly technologically advanced if they’re able to traverse space to get to Earth. Adding extra security won’t change a thing; what are you going to do, put a padlock on the front door or something like that?”
Nightbolt grinned for some reason. “You seem to think that this house is the only thing on this property.”
“No, I don’t,” I said, shaking my head. I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. “There’s the Arena in the back, plus Spike’s doghouse and the fence. None of which really counts as security.”
“Ah, but I haven’t shown you the Basement yet,” said Nightbolt.
“Basement?” I tried to think if I’d seen any exterior indications that the house had a basement, but I couldn’t remember seeing anything like that. “Your house doesn’t have a basement.”
“Just because I haven’t shown it—or mentioned it—to you yet doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist,” said Nightbolt. “Besides, it’s not where you think. Come with me. It’s easier to show it than to explain it.”
Nightbolt walked toward the front door. I followed, though not without casting one last look back at Spike. The poor dog was fast asleep now, although his bandaged leg twitched every now and then, though whether it was out of pain or because of some dream he was having, I didn’t know.
One thing I did know, though, was that I probably wouldn’t get a good night’s sleep for a long time after this.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I expected Nightbolt to take me to the side of the house, where I would expect the entrance to some place called ‘the Basement’ would be, but instead we went over to the Arena. The Arena’s doors still stood open; although the rays from the sun helped illuminate its interior and showed that it was empty, I couldn’t help but remember the sight of the giant spider creature slowly descending toward me on that disgusting green webbing. Nightbolt passed the threshold without the slightest hesitation, and I followed, though not before I hesitated for a split second.
As we entered, I looked over my shoulder and saw that the spider creature’s green webbing still hung from the rafters. Nightbolt must have noticed it, too, because he reached up, grabbed the webbing, and ripped it off the rafters without any sort of hesitation whatsoever.
“I’ll study it later,” said Nightbolt, holding the webbing in his hands like a hose. He pulled it taut. “Much stronger than normal web, though I imagine it must burn easily.”
“It is,” I said. I raised my wrists. “The alien pinned me to the ground with some of that webbing, but I saved myself by burning the webs off with my lasers.”
“Interesting,” said Nightbolt. “That gives us at least one clue which could help us if we ever run into that particular alien again. I’ll just take this webbing down to the Basement for later study, along with the bracelet.”
“Let me guess,” I said, “we’re not going to tell the government, are we?”
“You’re catching on,” said Nightbolt. “Guess you’re not as thick as I thought. Anyway, we’d better hurry. The Basement is usually cold early in the morning, but when the sun comes out, it rapidly heats up. Best not to waste anymore time.”
As Nightbolt walked over to the gun cabinet in the nearby corner, I said, “Where is the Basement? I don’t see it.”
Nightbolt tossed an irritated glance over his shoulder at me whe
n I said that. “I take back what I said before. You’re exactly as thick as I thought you were, no more, no less.”
“That’s not funny, you know.”
“It wasn’t meant to be,” Nightbolt replied as he stopped in front of the gun cabinet and pulled out an enormous key ring from his pants pocket, which he started flipping through in an apparent effort to find the cabinet’s key. “Back in my day, we jabbed at each other all the time. We were tougher for it, much tougher than this newest generation of superheroes. Even our sidekicks were tougher than this current crop of ‘heroes.’ Honestly, what are they teaching people these days?”
“I’m not weak,” I said, although it sounded like a lame defense even to me. “And Rubberman isn’t, either.”
“Dennis definitely isn’t, but he was trained by me, so of course he’s not weak,” said Nightbolt without looking at me. “Ah, here we go.”
Nightbolt, having apparently found the key to the gun cabinet, inserted it into the lock and turned it once. I heard a small click, followed by Nightbolt throwing open the cabinet doors. Though Nightbolt blocked off most of it, I caught a glimpse of the weapons in there and was surprised at the sheer number and variety of guns stored inside there. It looked less like a storage cabinet for a person’s personal gun collection and more like the arsenal of a small military or police unit, though even that didn’t quite capture the sheer variety of guns stored in there.
“Whoa,” I said, staring at Nightbolt’s collection in amazement. “I didn’t know you had so many guns. I thought you just owned the shotgun.”
“The shotgun is my favorite, but over the years I’ve collected a few extras here and there,” said Nightbolt with a shrug. He seemed to be looking for something in the gun cabinet, though what, I couldn’t say. “Especially after I retired and had a lot of free time. Spent the better part of a decade looking for the guns my father owned during World War II. Took me even longer to find my grandfather’s World War I weapons, though they were, oddly enough, in better condition than my father’s guns, despite being older.”
I blinked. “Why did you want to find the guns your father and grandfather used? They’re just guns, aren’t they?”
“They’re part of my family history,” said Nightbolt, again without looking at me. “I’ve got no living family anymore. My grandfather passed away fifty years ago, my grandmother forty, and my dad thirty. Never had any siblings, never married, and don’t have any kids. No aunts or uncles, either, or cousins for that matter. I’m all on my own.”
That sounded kind of depressing to me. Both of my parents were still alive, as was my brother James. My grandparents on both sides of the family were also still alive, plus my aunts and uncles and cousins. I didn’t see them all the time, true, but they were at least alive, which meant I could see them if I wanted. But if Nightbolt was telling the truth, then he had no one other than himself and Spike. I wondered how he dealt with the loneliness.
Suddenly, Nightbolt said in triumph, “Ah, here it is!”
From my position, I could see Nightbolt press a button behind the rows of guns in the cabinet. A second later, the center of the Arena floor began to shift to the side. It shifted slowly, with the sound of rusting gears grinding against each other, but in just a few seconds, the portion of the ground had slid away to reveal a steep set of stairs going down into the darkness. After the first ten steps or so, the rest of the staircase was lost in darkness.
Nightbolt walked back over to me, looking not even remotely phased by the sudden appearance of the stairs in the floor. “There it is, the entrance to the Basement. Follow me; it’s not as scary as it looks.”
-
Nightbolt was right. Although the way the steps vanished into seemingly endless shadow after the first ten steps looked frightening at first, when we actually went down there, Nightbolt merely flicked on a light switch on the staircase wall, causing a small but bright light to illuminate the staircase. The light showed that the staircase was not as steep or as long as I thought, ending about twenty more steps ahead of us. Nightbolt showed no hesitation in marching forward, though due to his age he had to move slowly. When we reached the bottom of the steps, I looked around to get a better look at the Basement itself. My jaw dropped.
The Basement was huge, much bigger than I originally thought, and was made entirely of concrete. It looked somewhat like the inside of a warehouse, with boxes, crates, and shelves scattered everywhere. But the boxes and crates weren’t the most interesting parts. No, the most interesting parts were the various objects which stood posed or in glass cases down the middle. One was the arm of what might have been a large robot, though instead of a hand, it ended in a wickedly sharp blade. Another was a demonic suit of armor that seemed to be looking at us despite being empty, while another was a long, beautiful golden sword set firmly in a long glass case. Hanging from the ceiling was some strange-looking pad, next to a black jet pack that reminded me of something straight out of a science fiction movie. In one glass case was what looked like the full suit of a supervillain, complete with a bear-themed mask and claws.
“Whoa,” I said, looking around the Basement in awe. “This is the Basement?”
“Yep,” said Nightbolt, nodding. He held up the webbing. “But enough staring. I need to put away this webbing before it disintegrates.”
Nightbolt immediately made his way down the middle of the various display cases standing around the Basement. I followed as quickly as I could, but I lagged behind somewhat because I kept looking at all of the strange objects which dotted the Basement like some kind of weird museum. “What is all of this stuff? Your possessions?”
“Yep,” said Nightbolt without looking at me or slowing down. “The crates and boxes hold most of the stuff I couldn’t fit into my house after I retired, like family photos and stuff like that. The things in the display cases, on the other hand, are trophies I took from supervillains I beat during my youth.”
I stopped and looked at Nightbolt in confusion. “Trophies?”
Nightbolt stopped and looked over his shoulder at me. “Oh, I forgot you don’t know much about the old ways. See, back when the superhero business was first starting, it was common for superheroes to take ‘trophies’ from supervillains or criminals we defeated. Usually, we’d take a weapon or mask or something like that, but sometimes we’d take whole costumes and, in a few memorable cases, entire bases that supervillains were forced to abandon when they were arrested. Some superheroes, like my old friend Hodgepodge, even made their costumes entirely out of trophies they won from their enemies. That was never my cup of tea, but you get some interesting costumes that way, for sure.”
“Rubberman doesn’t do that,” I said. “He’s never even mentioned the concept to me before.”
“Because it was basically outlawed in the late eighties when the Department of Superheroes began confiscating weapons or equipment left behind by defeated supervillains,” said Nightbolt. “It’s technically not illegal, per se, but if you take a trophy from a supervillain you’ve defeated without telling the government about it, they could revoke your superhero license or even arrest you. The reasoning was that some of these supervillain weapons are too dangerous to be in the hands of even superheroes, though if you ask me, it’s just because they just wanted to consolidate power in the government.”
“But you have all these trophies,” I said, gesturing at the display cases all around us. “Doesn’t this mean you’re breaking the law?”
“Most of these are very old,” said Nightbolt. He pointed at the robot arm I noticed before, the one with the sword hand. “That belonged to Ultimatos, the Robot King, as he called himself. One of the first villains I ever fought and his arm was one of the first trophies I got. My collection was grandfathered into the law, so I’m basically not in danger of being arrested as long as I don’t collect any new trophies.”
“Does the alien bracelet we have count as a trophy?”
“It counts as something the government wants,�
� said Nightbolt. “Not that I care. The government will never know about it once its down here, because those two agents don’t even know about the existence of the Basement.”
“How did you build this place, anyway? I was under the impression that you weren’t very rich.”
“I’m not,” said Nightbolt. “But I’m smart with my money. When I retired from the superhero business, I had a gigantic retirement fund set aside for just this purpose. When I purchased this land some thirty years back, one of the first things I had done was the creation of the Basement. I wanted a place where I could keep all of my old trophies and possessions without having to put them in those danged storage units or fill my house with them. It was pricey, but well worth every penny.”
“So no one knows about this place except for you and me.”
“And Dennis,” Nightbolt added. “I took him down here once to put something away. He was just as shocked by its existence and size as you were, though he asked a lot more questions than you did and touched more stuff without my permission.”
I nodded, although I was so distracted by all of the trophies that I wasn’t paying as much attention to what he was telling me as I should have. “I could spend ages down here looking at all of this stuff. Every one of these trophies has to have a story behind it.”
“Ultimatos’ arm has a pretty short one,” said Nightbolt. “He was terrorizing innocent people, so I destroyed him and took his arm as my trophy. Very simple.” He turned around. “Anyway, let’s keep walking. I know I’ve got a container in here that should be able to hold this webbing. And, like I said, this place gets very hot during the day, so let’s try to get out of here before the sun rises fully.”
Nightbolt resumed walking. I started following him again, but I lagged behind slightly, because I kept looking at all of the cool trophies scattered around. It really did feel like a museum, albeit one that had no discernible theme other than whatever Nightbolt happened to pick off supervillains he beat. It also felt colder down here than it did on the surface, making me shiver slightly in my pajamas.
