Chapter 1
The sun would soon be no more.
But for now, it beat down upon Henry. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. He wiped it off with a dirty work glove. He just needed to dig for another hour. Then he could head back to the Bunker, where there was air-conditioning and water that wasn’t lukewarm.
He stabbed the ground with a shovel again and barely got a handful of dirt for his efforts. He had dug the square hole six feet deep and eight feet wide over the course of several days. Now he needed a stepladder just to climb out.
Henry had always been a little spacey, but ever since he’d joined cadets it had only gotten worse, resulting in numerous punishments for incidents not quite his fault. It sometimes got so bad that he had to go see the nurse. But he only needed to remember three things today.
Dig. Throw. Repeat.
He jammed the shovel into the ground, expecting tough soil, but the shovel hit a solid object instead. Henry looked down at his handiwork and saw that he had struck gold.
Or, rather, silver.
Henry sighed. “Sure hope that isn’t the septic tank . . .”
The silver glinted in the sun. He put his shovel down and began to push the soil off the shiny surface with his hands. The object was somewhat spherical in nature. It felt smooth and polished despite being in the ground for who knows how long. He started to pull it out. As he tugged, he realized that the base of the object was attached to something, a heavy something, a fleshy something.
A human body.
The cadet jumped back and stared at the object with fascination and dread. It was some kind of silver helmet. His scattered mind also focused upon the inanimate figure wearing it. He spent half a minute hyperventilating before forcing himself to take a deep breath. He leaned forward a little to examine the body, keeping his distance.
The body convulsed.
“Waa!” Henry yelped. The body convulsed again. And again.
Then it went still.
Any composure Henry had left vanished. He screamed, ran for the stepladder, and began to unfold it. He had just set it up when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey there, scrawny boy!”
Henry shrieked. The hand spun him around, forcing him to face its reanimated owner. The figure standing before him was about six feet tall. It wore tattered clothes, old combat boots, and gloves covered with holes.
The body then grabbed Henry’s throat with one hand. Henry gagged. He clawed at the limb, but the body didn’t react even when his nails drew blood.
“Please . . .” Henry croaked. “Let go . . .”
The body complied. Henry fell on his backside and gasped for breath, feeling the dry air fill his lungs.
“I . . . Who are you . . . ?” he asked.
The body scratched its silver helmet. The helmet was smooth and wrapped completely around its owner’s head. It also had no eyeholes or any distinguishing marks. Henry didn’t know how its wearer could breathe, let alone see. The helmet seemed to go underneath the jaw, all the way to the neck. It looked impossible to take off. The silver surface gleamed. It reflected back Henry’s petrified face.
“Are you scared?” the body asked, sounding constipated. “Is it because I’m bald? Don’t worry. Bald people creep me out too.”
Henry got on his feet, gingerly touching his neck. “My throat . . .”
“Whoa, no need to whine. You were the one poking me with a shovel. How was I supposed to react?”
Henry snatched up his shovel. He pointed it at the Helmet Man. “By the–the authority of the Western Union . . . you’re under ar–arrest . . .”
The Helmet Man put his hands on his hips and laughed. “Oh, please. Don’t hurt me. I’m no match for a dehydrated teenager with a shovel.”
Almost on pure instinct, Henry hit the Helmet Man in the leg with the shovel.
“Ow! You actually did it!” The Helmet Man collapsed and tried to crawl away.
“You’re not getting away from me!” Henry yelled, not stuttering this time. He raised the shovel and hit the Helmet Man’s torso repeatedly.
“Ah! What kind of parents raised you?” the Helmet Man cried.
Henry was on autopilot. He didn’t know he had it in him. A small smile materialized on his boyish face. He couldn’t wait until Gilda heard about this.
But the Helmet Man grabbed the end of the shovel just as it was coming down for another hit. He tore the shovel out of Henry’s hands and smacked him right in the jaw with it. Henry fell to the ground. His eyes rolled back.
“Ha, the tables have turned!” the Helmet Man yelled. He got up and walked over to Henry, holding the shovel above him. “Prepare to die, piggy!”
A gunshot interrupted his attempted murder. A soldier in a dark green uniform appeared on the edge of the hole with his rifle aimed at the Helmet Man.
“Uh . . . I mean prepare to live a long and prosperous life.”
The soldier cocked his weapon.
“What? What did I do?”
