by Lucas Flint
I was about to say that I didn't care one way or another about who became President when I noticed movement outside the window. I looked over, but saw nothing in the garden outside, which made me think that I had seen a bird or something fly by when something smashed through the window and landed on the floor.
“What the hell?” said Plutarch, rising to his feet and looking over at the thing that had broken through the window. “What was that?”
I didn't answer. I looked at the thing on the floor and saw that it was a sphere. I thought it was just a rock at first, but then I heard a tiny beep from it and I, instantly realizing what that was, said, “Mr. Plutarch, get down!”
I grabbed Plutarch and shoved him to the floor. Then I fell down on top of him just as the bomb exploded.
Chapter Eleven
I felt the heat and flames from the exploding bomb behind me, but did not look over my shoulder at it in order to save my face. I was trying to keep Plutarch—who had become a quivering mess under me—safe from the explosion, even though my hodgepodge of a costume was probably not good against fire. The volume of the explosion was the worst part, however, because I was practically deafened by the noise it made.
But eventually, the explosion faded. Hesitantly, I looked over my shoulder to see the damage.
The living room looked like it had been completely nuked. The flat screen TV had been almost completely melted, while the sofas were on fire or burnt to a crisp. What remained of the main window had been shattered, while the curtains were nothing more than smoking remains. Oddly, there were nails embedded in almost everything; in fact, there were so many nails that I wondered how we had managed to avoid them. My clothes, thankfully, were still in one piece, although I noticed a few holes in the back of my hoodie that smoked slightly.
Standing up, I looked around carefully, but did not see anyone who might have thrown the bomb. At least until someone jumped through the smashed window and landed in the crater created by the bomb.
The guy who jumped through the window looked crazy. He wore homemade metal armor and carried a really weird-looking gun that didn't seem to fire bullets. And on top of his bald head was a hard hat, although I doubted this guy was here to do any construction.
“Did it work?” said the guy, looking around the room eagerly. “Is he—”
He cut himself off as soon as he saw me and Plutarch and scowled. “Damn it. How did you survive?”
I wasn't sure who this guy was until Plutarch, who was now crouched behind me, said, “Nail Gun? What are you doing here?”
“Why, I am here to kill you, of course,” said Nail Gun. He pointed his gun at me. “I don't know who the kid is, but I'll kill him, too, while I'm at it.”
Nail Gun? That was one of the former members of the Vile Four. I took a fighting stance and said, “Kill me? Good luck with that. I'm not just a kid. I'm a neohero.”
“So? Neoheroes can still be killed,” said Nail Gun. He waved his gun. “Especially with my nail gun, which I designed specially to kill neoheroes like you.”
“Where's security?” said Plutarch, looking at the entrance to the living room. “They should have caught you before you even thought about entering.”
“They did, but I killed them before they could catch me,” said Nail Gun with a crazed grin. “I disabled your security systems, too, so no one else knows that we're here. And by the time anyone finds out that I killed you … well, there won't be enough of you left to cremate.”
“Stay back, Mr. Plutarch,” I said, holding my hand toward Plutarch behind me. “I'll distract Nail Gun. You should leave and call the police.”
“Oh, no you don't!” Nail Gun yelled.
Suddenly, nails started shooting out of Nail Gun's gun. I grabbed a nearby chair and held it in front of us, catching the bullets in the chair's soft upholstery. They hit like actual bullets, but thankfully the chair was thick enough to catch them.
Then I heard something fly through the air and in a second another nail bomb flew over the chair and landed on the floor behind us. Alarmed, I lashed out and kicked the nail bomb as hard as I could, sending it flying so fast that it broke through the wall and exploded on the other side, sparing us from getting blown to bits.
Then I tossed the nail-studded chair at Nail Gun, but the villain dodged it by rolling to the side. The recliner crashed into the ground just as Nail Gun aimed his gun at us again.
But this time, I activated my super speed and zoomed over to him. Before Nail Gun could even realize what was happening, I snatched his gun from his hand and threw it away. But Nail Gun immediately pulled out a long, rusty nail from his armor and tried to stab me with it, though I dodged it easily and punched Nail Gun in the face.
Or tried to, but Nail Gun dodged my fist at the last possible minute. My punch went wide, leaving my stomach unprotected. A second later, I felt something thick and hard pierce my abdomen, followed by a rush of hot blood that made me shout in pain. I lashed out wildly, but Nail Gun dodged it easily and then, yanking his nail out of my side, kicked me in the side with his foot, which was covered in a thick, steel-toed boot.
Damn it, the pain hurt. I fell to the floor with a gasp, feeling the blood leaking out of my wound. I had taken some serious hits before, but this hurt more than any other. The pain was so overwhelming that I could barely think. I was conscious enough, however, to notice Nail Gun step over me, probably making his way to Plutarch, but I couldn't ignore the pain long enough to even sit up.
Gritting my teeth, I heard Nail Gun pick up his gun off the floor nearby. I also heard him start to walk over to Plutarch, but I couldn't let him do that.
Doing my best to ignore the pain in my side, I rolled over onto my other side and grabbed Nail Gun's boot. I looked up at him through tears in my eyes, blinking hard, while he looked back at me over his shoulder with surprise.
“You're still conscious?” said Nail Gun.
“No …” Each word was impossible to get out. “Don't … kill … Plutarch …”
“Dumb kid,” said Nail Gun. He aimed his gun at me. “Why don't you let the adults talk?”
There was no way I could dodge Nail Gun's gun. I just stared up at it, trying to gather the strength to knock him down, but I had lost too much blood and was in too much pain to even try to pull him down. I hoped, at least, that my death would be quick and painless.
But then, all of a sudden, a large book came out of nowhere and struck Nail Gun in the back of the head. Nail Gun yelped in pain, staggering to the side as Plutarch—wielding The Science of Negotiation—appeared. He swung the book at Nail Gun's hand, knocking the weapon out of it and making Nail Gun jerk his hand back with a howl of pain.
Plutarch caught the gun before it hit the floor and aimed it at Nail Gun. Nail Gun immediately raised his hands in surrender, a look of fear on his face.
“Hey, Adam, let's not be hasty now,” said Nail Gun. All of his confidence and composure from earlier had been replaced with a cowardly, trembling tone. “There's no need to shoot me, you know. If you just want to call the police to take me in, I'd go as quietly as a mouse. I'll even take off my armor if that's what you want.”
Plutarch snorted. “You haven't changed at all, Nathan. Acting all tough and manly when you are in charge, but then turning into a groveling nitwit when the tables turn on you. Now I remember why you were always my least favorite minion. Annoying.”
“So will you spare me anyway?” said Nail Gun with a gulp. “After all, only supervillains ever kill their enemies in cold blood and you are no supervillain anymore. Therefore, you should be much more merci—”
A click of the gun's trigger and a nail struck Nail Gun in the head. Nail Gun immediately collapsed, blood leaking from the spot where the nail had sunk.
Plutarch lowered the nail gun, a look of pure disgust on his face. “Just because I'm not a villain anymore doesn't mean I'm a hero.”
I stared at the dead Nail Gun with a mixture of relief and horror, but then I remembered I was still ble
eding to death. I gasped in pain, putting my hands over the bloody wound, while Plutarch looked down at me.
“You okay, kid?” said Plutarch, kneeling over me, the nail gun still in his hand. “Do you need a doctor?”
“Y-Yes,” I said. My consciousness was fading in and out. “Please call one right … right away …”
I couldn't handle the pain and blood loss anymore. Everything went black and I thought no more.
Chapter Twelve
My head. For some reason my head hurt. I didn't know why. I just knew that there was a dull, throbbing pain, a pain that I could barely tolerate. Ow, ow, ow … god damn.
Not only that, but people were talking nearby. They spoke quietly, but even their low tones made my head hurt. I tried to open my eyes, but it was hard, like they had been taped shut.
Nonetheless, I eventually managed to crack my eye open wide enough to see that I was lying on a soft bed, with a white sheet pulled over my body. I blinked, trying to figure out where I was, but my senses felt like they had been knocked out and were slowly coming back to normal again.
That was when I noticed that I was not alone. Two people sat in chairs next to my bed, two people I didn't recognize at first. I blinked a couple of times to clear my vision and saw that they were Incantation and Hopper, of all people. They sat by my bed, practically whispering to each other, leaving me unable to understand what they were saying. I thought I heard my name—my superhero name—mentioned, but that was all I could discern.
I needed to know how I had gotten here; for that matter, I needed to know where 'here' was. I tilted my head toward them and said, in a weak voice, “Hello?”
I didn't say that very loudly, but Incantation and Hopper jumped when they heard me nonetheless. They looked at me with concern and Incantation even leaned toward me a little like she was worried about me.
“Bolt?” said Incantation. “How do you feel?”
“Like a rock,” I said. I groaned. “Where am I?”
“The House,” said Incantation. “You're at our on-base medical station. This is where we get our injuries healed.”
“The House?” I said. My throat was dry, but I kept talking anyway. “Not a hospital?”
“Nope,” said Hopper, shaking his head. “Can't trust hospitals. Doctors and nurses tend to be very nosy people, if you catch my drift. They'd probably unmask you if we brought you there.”
I raised my hand and touched my face, feeling the ski mask that still covered it. I sighed in relief. “So no one removed my mask?”
“No one,” Hopper confirmed. “Though we had to remove your shirt to fix your stab wound.”
I felt the spot on my body where I had been stabbed. I winced slightly when I felt a bandaged area, but it was not bloody and the pain had gone down quite a bit.
I looked at them again. “Who fixed me?”
“Technical,” said Hopper. “Not only is she a tech whiz, but she's also a budding surgeon. She got you fixed up no problem.”
“So I'll be okay?” I said.
“As long as you rest,” said Incantation. “Do you need some water? You sound thirsty.”
“Yes, please,” I said.
Incantation stood up and hovered away, while I looked around the room I was lying in. It was a medium-sized, white room that looked like the kind of room you'd find in a fancy hospital. My hoodie hung on a coat hanger near the door, while some potted plants stood in the corner. There was also a sink, where Incantation filled up a cup for me and then walked back over to my side.
I took the cup of water and started drinking. The cool liquid felt good on my parched lips and I didn't stop until I drank it all.
Then, lowering the cup, I said, “Ah, that was good. Thanks.”
“No problem,” said Incantation. “So where is your suit?”
I rubbed my head. “My dad took it from me. He didn't like the fact that I had lied to him about where I was going, so he took my costume away and won't give it back to me until after graduation.”
“Aw, man,” said Hopper, snapping his fingers. “And you just let him take it?”
“What could I do?” I said with a shrug. “He's my dad. But anyway, how long have I been out? What time is it?”
“It's noon on Saturday,” said Incantation. “You were out all night.”
“Do my parents know where I am?” I said.
“We don't know where your parents are, so we couldn't contact them,” said Incantation. “But who cares, really? What matters is that this is the safest place for you at the moment, so you don't need to worry about anything right now.”
“What about Plutarch and Nail Gun?” I said. “I remember Plutarch killed him. What happened after that?”
“Plutarch called the police,” said Hopper. He said Plutarch's name like it was an insult. “He tried to stop us from saving you, but he's still an old man and was too slow to keep us from taking you through one of my portals.”
“You didn't hurt him, did you?” I said.
“No, but we did warn him not to mess with us,” said Incantation. Her hands balled into fists. “I would have loved to hurt him, though. That bastard deserves it, considering all of the bad things he's done.”
“Why were you even at his mansion in the first place?” said Hopper in disgust. “Why would any self-respecting neohero be at his mansion?”
“I was trying to find out whether Plutarch was behind the attacks from the former members of the Vile Four,” I said. “That's why.”
“Well, what did you find out?” said Incantation.
“He said he has nothing to do with them,” I said. “He told me that he didn't bail them out of jail, but he didn't know who actually did.”
“Right,” said Incantation. She rolled her eyes. “Of course Plutarch didn't bail out his former minions. Why would he? It's not like he has worked with them in the past or anything.”
“But if they're working for him, why did Nail Gun and Steel Skin try to kill him?” I said. “It makes no sense.”
“It's probably just a trick,” said Incantation, shaking her head. “Plutarch was known for creating complex schemes and committing crimes that were impossible to trace back to him. He probably lied to you as a way to throw you off his trail.”
“That's exactly the sort of thing he'd do,” said Hopper, nodding seriously. “He's so icky and gross. I'm glad we don't have anything to do with him.”
“He seems sane to me,” I said, “but I guess he could have been lying.”
“He was,” Incantation said. “He absolutely was. We can't prove it yet, but one of these days we will. Of course, it might not matter if Senator Sagan wins the election next month, because that by itself would ruin whatever Plutarch is planning.”
I rubbed the back of my head and said, “So how did you guys even find me? I didn't tell anyone that I was going to meet him.”
“We received a report that Nail Gun was attacking Plutarch's mansion,” said Incantation. She gestured at herself and Hopper. “We've been tasked with keeping an eye on the Vile Four in case they attempt to mess with the election. So when Nail Gun attacked, Technical's drones sent us a message about it.”
“Yeah,” said Hopper. “We didn't even know you were there until we arrived and saw you bleeding out like that. We almost thought you were dead until we noticed you were breathing.”
“Well, I'm glad you showed up anyway,” I said. “I really thought I was a goner back there. I just wish Plutarch hadn't killed Nail Gun, though.”
“Why?” said Incantation. “As much as I hate Plutarch, I have to admit that he did the right thing there. Nail Gun was a bad guy.”
“Because I hoped we could capture him and interrogate him to find out who hired him and Firespirit and possibly Steel Skin, too,” I said.
“He was working for Plutarch,” said Hopper. “Probably Plutarch killed him so that no one would know. I mean, if the police caught Nail Gun and he confessed to working for Plutarch, that alone would completely destroy his ca
mpaign even among his most diehard supporters.”
“Right,” I said, “but I'm still not sure about it. Something doesn't add up. Like a piece of a much larger puzzle is missing.”
“The only thing that is missing is definitive proof of Plutarch's connection to the Vile Four,” said Incantation. “Or should I say, the Vile Three, because Plutarch was the fourth member who never went to jail for his crimes.”
“Maybe,” I said. I sat up in the bed and stretched my arms, trying to get the tiredness out of them. “Has anything else happened since you guys took me here?”
“Not that we know of,” said Incantation. “All I know is that Nail Gun's body is going to be given back to his family and that they will likely give him a funeral sometime soon. There won't be any charges filed against Plutarch, either, due to the fact that he killed Nail Gun in self-defense.”
“So Sagan didn't say anything?” I said.
“Why should he?” said Hopper. “Plutarch is always attacking Sagan, so why should Sagan comment on Nail Gun's attack? Besides, Sagan probably hasn't had enough time to respond, so if he does have a response, it won't be until later.”
“Right,” I said. I rolled my shoulders. “Anyway, I think I'll be leaving soon. I'm not looking forward to talking to my parents, because they're probably going to be very angry with me, but I don't want them worrying about where I am or how I'm doing, either.”
Incantation suddenly stood up. “No. You should stay and rest. You are still recovering from your injury and shouldn't be going anywhere until tomorrow at leas.”
I felt my bandaged wound gingerly. “It doesn't feel that bad. Besides, I'm not planning to get into another fight. I just want to recover in my own bed back home.”
I sat up straighter, but then Incantation suddenly shoved me back down. She wasn't particularly strong, but her sudden movement took me by surprise. She then pulled her hands away from my chest, looking down at me with her green eyes.