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flags for Veteran 's and Memorial Days. Because of the dirt floor, it always smelled musty inside. Barry, Doug, and Timmy often waited with their pump-action BB and pellet guns until a rat or groundhog burrowed up through the floor. Then they 'd nail it. Barry especially enjoyed this activity since it was one of the few times his father seemed genuinely pleased with him; they were taking care of the rodents that plagued the graveyard. This morning, the shed 's doors hung open, swaying slightly in the breeze, and the tractor was missing-- both signs that Barry had been there earlier.
    The path to their right bordered the northern end of the cemetery. On one side were gray and brown tombstones carved from granite and marble. On the other side was a long, sloping pasture in which beef cattle grazed. An electric fence kept the cows from wandering into the graveyard. Last summer, Barry and Doug had dared Timmy to pee on the fence, offering up back issues of Man-Thing, Defenders, Captain America, and Kamando from their collections, as well as one of Doug's Micronauts action figures (a blue Time Traveler) and some of Barry's extra Wacky Packages cards. It was a hard deal to turn down, especially because Timmy collected Defenders and it was an issue he didn't have-- the one where Hulk, Dr. Strange, Valkyrie, Nighthawk and the rest of the team fought a villain called Nebulon, and Chondu the Mystic possessed the Hulk's pet fawn. So, steeling himself, he'd peed on the fence, got the shock of his life, and had endured two days of not being able to sit down comfortably along with the jeers of his two best friends. His testicles had turned black and blue, and after returning from the doctor 's office, his parents had grounded him for two weeks. By that time, it didn 't matter. Admitting to his parents what he'd done had been, until that point, the most mortifyingly embarrassing moment of Timmy Graco's life.
    And it had totally been worth it.
    At the bottom of the hill, beyond the lush, rolling pasture, was a small hollow with a thin stream running through it's center, emptying into a deep pond, complete with diving board, boat dock, and a tire swing hanging from a drooping willow tree. Next to the pond stood Luke Jones 's three-story farmhouse and a long barn, both white with green tiled roofs. Several other outbuildings sat clustered around the two larger structures. The view beyond the farm was clear for miles and miles --the paper mill's stacks belching white smoke into the sky, the twin towns of Colonial Valley and Spring Grove, and in the distance, on the horizon, the forested tops of Pigeon Hills and the radio transmitter tower for 98YCR nestled among them. On a quiet day, visitors to the cemetery could hear the distant whine of traffic on Route 116, which cut through Spring Grove and passed by Colonial Valley on its way to Hanover and Gettysburg.
    The far end of the cemetery was bordered by a cornfield, which bridged the pasture to the side with the older graveyard, shed, and vast forest beyond them. It was at the intersection of the cemetery, cornfield, and the electric fence that the boys had built the Dugout. It sat only a few feet away from the blacktopped cemetery path, invisible to passersby (except, apparently, Timmy's grandfather), and the electric fence skirted the fort's far edge. They weren't sure whose property it was on, the churches or Mr. Jones 's--and in truth, they'd never stopped to consider it. At twelve, they saw all of the area as theirs, and begrudged the adults their usage of it. Had Timmy been able to figure out a way to tax all the grownups for their usage of the surrounding countryside, he 'd have happily done it.
    They rode down the pathway, searching for Barry. The smell of fresh cut grass hung thick in the air. A bird chirped happily overhead. White and yellow butterflies hovered over a puddle leftover from the rainstorm two days before. Honeybees buzzed in a patch of clover.
    As he pedaled, Timmy watched