The man strode over to Chief Willingham and gestured in a way that made it very clear the army was now in charge. To reinforce the point, soldiers carrying rifles began herding Chief Willingham and the other firefighters out of the garage.
Finally, when the last of the trucks had rumbled past, Mr. Taylor steered through the gate and started home.
• • •
Deejays were taking calls from frantic listeners insisting that the world was coming to an end. Others phoned in to say it was all a hoax. After cycling through the stations twice in search of someone talking about anything else, Mr. Taylor gave up and clicked off the radio.
“We know it wasn’t a hoax, don’t we?” he said.
Miles nodded slowly.
“Well, those people saying it’s the end of the world don’t know any better than the people saying it’s a hoax. Because they weren’t there. So don’t worry about what you hear.” He looked at Miles reassuringly. “Besides, we don’t have anything to be afraid of, so long as Gilded is around.”
Miles wondered how many other parents were telling their kids the same thing at that moment. Mr. Taylor had used the line a million times on Miles, and it had always worked. It weaned him off of his night-light, ended his fear that there were monsters under his bed, and kept him from having nightmares that time he’d hidden around the corner and listened as his parents watched Saw. What kid wouldn’t feel safe with a superhero patrolling the skies? An hour ago, the thought would’ve made Miles feel safe, too. An hour ago.
“What if he wasn’t?” Miles gulped. “Around, I mean.”
“He is. And it’s a good thing, because if he hadn’t been there today, then you might’ve been hurt. Or worse.” Mr. Taylor looked away, and his voice grew heavy. “Anyway, he’s around. That’s all there is to it.”
Miles held his backpack tight. He realized for the first time that the city would be depending on him now, and the thought terrified him. He replayed Gilded’s words in his head: You’ll figure it out. I did. Miles didn’t know what that meant, but he knew he needed to learn. Fast.
• • •
It was well past dark by the time they arrived at Cedar Lake Apartments. The name didn’t make much sense, since there was neither a cedar tree nor a lake to be found. The only trees on the property were a pair of crepe myrtles overgrown from years of neglect, and the closest thing to a lake Miles had seen was during a hard rain a few weeks back, when trash had clogged the sewer grates and the parking lot had flooded all the way up to the sidewalks. At least the mallards had enjoyed themselves.
The apartment complex consisted of a pair of two-story stucco buildings facing each other across a cracked asphalt parking area. They were painted beige with dark brown trim, a combination that was intended to blend in, but instead put them in stark contrast with the brightly colored strip malls and fast-food restaurants all around them. Cedar Lake’s lone amenity was a Dumpster with a lid that didn’t close flush, making it a favorite haunt of the local raccoons. The Taylors were a far cry from the wooded subdivision they’d moved away from.
Miles followed his dad up the concrete stairwell and down to the farthest end of their building. It was the location of apartment 2H that had convinced Mr. Taylor to sign the rental agreement. A second-floor end unit meant they’d have neighbors only on one side and no one above them, so he reasoned it would be as peaceful as an apartment could be. For Miles’s part, he was glad his bedroom looked out on the row of Leyland cypresses behind the complex. The same unit in building 1 would’ve given him a bird’s-eye view of the never-ending traffic on Jimmy Carter Boulevard.
Mr. Taylor unlocked the dead bolt and dropped his tool belt onto the wooden chair in the apartment’s entranceway. “Hungry? I can fry us up some hot dogs.” He pulled a pack of buns from the cupboard, checked the expiration date, and frowned. “Or not.” He set the stale buns aside.
Miles couldn’t think about eating anyway. His heart raced as he hurried down the hall. “I’m tired,” he called without looking back. He turned into his bedroom and locked the door.
Miles clicked on the bedside lamp. His room was orderly, all his belongings in their proper place. The laundry was in the hamper. His skateboard was under the bed. His globe was on the desk, the continent of Asia facing the room, so he couldn’t see Florida on the other side.
Miles knew his tidiness didn’t come from his dad, whose life was a never-ending hunt for some misplaced tool or set of keys. All Miles knew was that for as long as he could remember, he’d found comfort in the organization of things. Organization relaxed him. It made him feel in control. The outside world had experienced an attack unlike any it had ever seen, and it would never be the same. Inside Miles’s bedroom, however, nothing had changed. Everything was just as it had been when he left for school that morning.
Everything except the contents of his backpack.
Miles carefully set his pack on the nightstand, unzipped the pouch, and peered inside. The cape glowed, just as it had in the parking garage. He took it out and once again felt it vibrating. In the quiet of his room, he realized that when he touched it, he could hear it, too. It emitted a low hum, like a fluorescent lightbulb doing its job. The sound traveled through his body and reverberated in his eardrums. Never did he think he’d be so close to something so magnificent.
Miles was no athlete—just ask Coach Lineman. Still, he was sure that he was faster, stronger, and could jump farther than the old man in the garage. But none of that had prevented the cape from transforming the old man into the greatest hero the world had ever seen. Maybe what they said in those commercials for that local chain of men’s stores was true: Clothes really do make the man.
Miles spread the cape flat on the bed. Even though it had been stuffed tight inside his backpack, it hadn’t wrinkled. It showed no signs of wear, either—not a single rip or frayed thread despite the battle it had gone through. There wasn’t even any grime on it, as though the dirt and concrete dust had simply been unable to stick to it. It was perfect.
Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the full-length mirror nailed to the inside of the closet door, Miles noticed, not for the first time, how utterly average he was. Mouse-brown hair and fair skin. Not too short or too tall, too fat or too thin. He didn’t think of himself as ugly, but he certainly wasn’t handsome, either. He just was.
Miles carried the cape over to the mirror. The fabric was thin, but weighty. Solid and substantial. He laid it over his shoulders, holding one half of the clasp in each of his hands so the cape wouldn’t slide off. He turned to the side to see how it looked, like he was trying on an outfit in a dressing room. It hung all the way to the floor and bunched up around his feet, but it still looked better than anything he’d ever worn in his life.
Miles rubbed his thumbs across both halves of the clasp, marveling at how smooth and flawless they were. Each half was lined with a part of some kind of curled, alien symbol. He slowly started bringing the pieces together to complete the image. Like magnets, the nearer the two halves came to each other, the more forcefully they pulled themselves even closer. Closer.
“Miles?” Mr. Taylor called from the other side of the bedroom door. “You still awake?”
Startled, Miles dropped the clasp pieces, and the cape fell to the carpet. Mr. Taylor jiggled the locked doorknob. “Come on, son. Open up.”
Miles heaved the cape into the closet and shut the door.
The bedroom doorknob jiggled harder and was followed by a loud knock. “Son?” Miles sensed the impatience in his dad’s voice.
Miles swung the door open to find his dad standing in the hall with his arms crossed. “What is it about today?” he fumed. “If I’m not getting stuck in a room, I’m getting stuck out of one.”
“Sorry. I guess I locked it on accident.”
Mr. Taylor stepped inside and scanned the room suspiciously. His eyes settled on the open backpack. “What’re you up to in here?”
“Nothing,” Miles answered innocently
.
“Mm-hmm.” Mr. Taylor motioned at the bed. “Sit. There’s something I need to say.”
Miles sat and tried to act casual. “If you’re worried about me, you don’t have to be. I mean, it was kind of a weird day, but I’m okay.”
Mr. Taylor sighed and sat beside Miles. “That’s because you’re a kid. You don’t get caught up in thinking about what things mean. But you’re twelve now, and the day isn’t long off when you’ll start seeing the world differently.”
Mr. Taylor scratched his beard, searching for the right words. Then he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “What I’m trying to say is, life can get pretty darn confusing. I’m here for you, if you ever need to talk. About anything at all.”
Considering what was stashed in the closet, Miles had the feeling his version of “anything at all” was a lot different from his dad’s. His dad probably thought Miles would want to talk about the creature with the nightmare snarl, or about seeing the old man’s body getting wheeled away on a gurney, or even his mom being gone. They still hadn’t talked about that one. Not really.
The thing on Miles’s mind at the moment, though, he doubted his dad would want to hear: The old Gilded was gone, and for some inexplicable reason he’d picked a seventh grader to fill his golden boots. Miles was tempted to show his dad the cape and see his reaction, but Gilded’s warning had been clear. No one can ever know. After all the good the hero had done over the years, the least Miles could do was obey.
“I know, Dad. Thanks. I’ll, um, let you know if something comes up.”
Mr. Taylor’s shoulders drooped. Whatever he’d expected Miles to say, clearly it wasn’t that. “Okay, then. You know where to find me. Good night.”
On his way toward the door, Mr. Taylor stopped and picked up Miles’s backpack. He opened the pouch wide and stared down into it. Miles’s heart froze. Was there some trace of the cape still inside?
“Guess your books got buried at the site?” Mr. Taylor frowned.
Miles tried not to look as relieved as he felt. “Oh. Yeah.”
“In the morning, I’ll call the school and tell them an alien ate your homework. Wouldn’t be right, you catching hell for something like that.”
“No!” Miles blurted. “I’ll handle it. One less hassle for you to deal with, right?” The last thing Miles wanted was people at school quizzing him. Asking what he’d seen at the parking garage. Asking if he’d taken anything with him. Normally he wouldn’t have objected to an uptick in his popularity, but that was attention he didn’t need.
Mr. Taylor set the backpack down again. “All right, but if they try charging you for the books, I’ll have to talk to them. We can’t afford that right now.”
With one hand on the doorknob, Mr. Taylor turned back to Miles. “Kill that closet light before you turn in.” He pointed at the floor, where a patch of gold light beamed from under the closet door. “We can’t afford a high power bill, either.”
Miles didn’t remember his closet having a light.
The bedroom door closed with a click. Miles dashed over to the closet. On the floor next to his sleeping bag and his tackle box, the cape lay in a glowing heap. Apparently, it was capable of doing a lot of things, but camouflaging itself wasn’t one of them. He rummaged around for a box or a sack—anything to hide it in—but there wasn’t anything. Stashing it in the sleeping bag would have to do for now.
Miles changed into his sleeping shorts, brushed his teeth, and climbed into bed. He lay in the dark and listened to his dad root around in the fridge, followed by the familiar creak of the sofa springs and the mumble of the living room TV.
Miles was anxious to put on the cape and see what would happen. He’d had it for only an hour, though, and already he’d almost been caught with it. To be safe, he’d wait until after his dad went to bed and try it on then.
But Miles wouldn’t get the chance. Exhausted by the day’s events, he drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER
4
LORD COMMANDER CALAMITY SLUMPED dejectedly on his throne. For years innumerable, he’d been waiting. He was beginning to think he was waiting in vain.
The Lord Commander was the leader of a race who called themselves the Unnd. There was no earthly language that possessed a word capable of describing their culture. The closest any word came was “opposite,” meaning “diametrically different or of a contrary kind.” Only in the Unnd’s case, they weren’t the opposite of one thing, but of all things. Or of all good things, at least.
They were the opposite of kindness. They were the opposite of happiness. They were the opposite of generosity and selflessness and basic decency. They were the opposite of all that was right and good—of every positive impulse that any living thing had ever possessed—because those were the trappings of weakness. Selfishness and conceit and downright meanness were the way to true domination, and the Unnd had those traits in spades.
A human might see them and think they were the descendants of some intergalactic species of reptile. They were scaly and sharp-toothed and had small, beady eyes like a snake or a lizard. But their large tusks and concertedly nasty demeanor set them apart as something far more sinister than merely reptilian. Come to think of it, their deadly alien weaponry did, too. In fact, if an Unnd were to stumble upon a snake or a lizard, they would smash it with whatever heavy object was closest at hand and never take note of any similarity between them.
The Unnd were bullies. They were lousy sharers. They were liars with pants ablaze. And their leader was the worst of them all.
Whether the name “Calamity” had been given to the Lord Commander at birth or was one he adopted later in life, none who served under him could say. If it was the former, his parents had a knack for predicting the future, because calamity accompanied the Lord Commander wherever he went, and he instructed the Unnd horde at his command to make it as calamitous as possible.
Especially when it came to the GGARL!
Of all the things in the universe that Lord Commander Calamity and the Unnd were the opposite of, they were the most opposite of their sworn enemies, the GGARL! The GGARL! were so revoltingly beneficial, so determined to help others, their presence made any Unnd worth its bile want to vomit. And not in a good way.
Since longer than the Unnd could remember, they’d been at war with the GGARL! So deep was the Unnd’s enmity of the GGARL!, their true name had been erased from every Unnd dictionary eons ago, and to speak it aloud was a crime punishable by a most Unnd-pleasant death. They could be referred to only as the GGARL!, which wasn’t even a word, so much as a sound—a throaty growl that by law must always be accompanied by a clenched fist and followed by spitting on the ground.
The war between the Unnd and the GGARL! stretched back so far in time, it predated even the GGARL!’s hideous golden capes. For there had been a time when the GGARL! didn’t possess such technology, and the Unnd were the most powerful force in the universe. No one opposed them, least of all the GGARL!, who had nothing but their puny statures and their revolting goodness with which to defend themselves (and, as even the youngest Unnd whelp knew, goodness was no good at all in a fight).
Back then, the Unnd had driven the GGARL! from every planet and star system where they dwelled. The GGARL!’s numbers had dwindled, and the Unnd were on the brink of eradicating them from existence altogether. The Lord Commander remembered those days fondly. They were terribly Unnd-happy.
But in their most hopeless hour, the GGARL! had proven themselves to be most resourceful. They invented a weapon that was exceptionally good in a fight: the golden capes.
The capes granted the GGARL! extraordinary abilities. Speed, flight, resilience, and strength that matched any Unnd, even the Lord Commander himself (though he’d never admit it). And those were just the abilities the Lord Commander knew of.
The capes turned the tide in the war. The GGARL! began spreading their awful goodness among the planets and star systems again. If many GGARL! combined their efforts, no Unnd
horde stood a chance against them. Indeed, it was the Unnd who might’ve been eradicated, if the GGARL! hadn’t made a single, ill-fated decision.
Believing their numbers were too few to withstand the Unnd forever, the GGARL! divided their forces. They dispatched lone scouts in ships to search the universe for allies, other worlds that might use their own technologies to join the side of good and squash the Unnd threat once and for all. In their desperation, Lord Commander Calamity saw opportunity.
The Lord Commander scoured the ranks of his horde for the vilest trackers he could find. Ruthlessness was a prerequisite. Cruelty a positive. Above all, their hatred for the GGARL! should be so intense and festering that the very thought of them would throw the trackers into a fit of frothy rage. The trackers must be Unnd-decent in every way.
The Lord Commander cast these trackers among the stars, tasking each of them with a single mission: Track down one of the GGARL! scouts and transmit its location to the Lord Commander’s waiting horde. Once alerted, the horde would mobilize, and all the Unnd’s considerable military might would rush to engage the lone GGARL! in unison. Against such a force, not even the protection of a golden cape would be enough. And when the GGARL! scout was dead, the Lord Commander would have one of the coveted capes in his grasp.
If a cape could be studied, and Unnd scientists could somehow discover its secrets, then the Lord Commander could make his own arsenal of capes. A horde of Unnd in capes would decimate the GGARL! for all time, and the universe would be under the Lord Commander’s heel forever. He’d have to pick a different color for his capes, though. The gold used by the GGARL! was much too cheerful and decent.
Maybe mauve. The Lord Commander had always been partial to mauve. After all, he wasn’t without a sense of fashion.
These were the Unnd-kind thoughts that had consumed Lord Commander Calamity’s mind for ages. They consumed his mind even now, as he sat on his horrible throne in the horrible great hall of his horrible fortress. But even amid all of that horribleness, he still wasn’t Unnd-satisfied. Because despite all his considerable efforts, not a single GGARL! scout had been located. Not one cape was in his possession. And so the universe was not yet his.
Attack of the Alien Horde Page 3