Strike 2: Dawn of the Daybreaker (20 page)

“Everybody say ‘high school graduates!’”

Tobin, Jennifer, and Chad smiled. “High school graduates!” they replied in unison. The three friends were at Chad’s graduation party in his backyard, with a banner hanging above them that read: CONGRATULATIONS, CHAD! As usual at Chad’s parties, the house and surrounding yard of the Fernandes clan was filled with dozens of members of Chad’s very large, very emotional Portuguese family, while his father, a heavy man in his late forties named Tony, had just finished taking his ninety-ninth picture of the afternoon.     

“Great pic, guys,” Chad’s father said, inspecting the photo on his camera. “Don’t forget to come in and have some food—there’s plenty of it, and I really don’t feel like having miniature chicken salad sandwiches for lunch for the next two weeks.”

Tobin laughed. “Okay, thanks, Mr. Fernandes.”

As Chad’s father walked up the stairs and onto the patio, Tobin reached into a nearby cooler and grabbed a couple of cans of soda (and a bottle of water for the health-conscious Jennifer, of course.)

“I still can’t believe it,” she said, taking the water from Tobin. “We were just at our high school graduation, guys. We are literally no longer students at Bridgton High. We’ll never walk those halls ever again, and we’ll never take another test there ever again. How weird is that?”     

Chad nodded. “I know. It seriously doesn’t even feel real. I keep thinking that next September I’ll just wake up and drive there, out of habit.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re gonna have to do that, anyway,” Tobin said. “I still have no idea how you graduated, considering your senior project was on Pokémon.”

“Listen, Pokémon has had a huge impact on our generation, okay? And I really don’t wanna hear this crap from you, considering you were number 158 out of 168 in our graduating class.”

Tobin grinned. “I’m still just amazed there were ten kids with grades worse than me.”

Jennifer shook her head. “I’m still just amazed that I made it all the way through high school, and yet somehow I’m still stuck with you two dim-wits as best friends. How did I not find new friends somewhere along the way? Honestly?”

“Because nobody is as awesome as us,” Tobin replied, throwing his arm around her. “Just think, if it wasn’t for us, you would’ve gone through your entire high school career without ever getting a single detention.”

“The great ‘Ice Cream Sandwich-Eating Superbowl Championship World Series Final Battle of Sophomore Year,’” Chad reminisced. “Best day of my life.”

“I’m still gonna kill you two for that,” Jennifer said. “I wasn’t even in the stupid contest.”

“No, but you were a judge,” Tobin replied. “And like Mr. Hastings told you, that’s as bad as being in the contest, Jennifer Robins. He was so disappointed in you. I thought he was gonna cry.”

“Seriously,” Chad said. “Best day of my life.”

The three friends walked toward a length of the backyard where two of Chad’s cousins were playing horseshoes.

“What’d you guys wanna do now?” Jennifer asked. “You wanna play horseshoes? Chad, who else did you say was coming? We could go swimming; I’m not sure how warm the water is, but it’s so hot that I don’t—”

“Oh my god,” Chad’s father said from the patio.

Tobin, Chad, and Jennifer turned toward the patio. Chad’s father was looking at his cell phone. He was concerned, and frightened.

“What is it, Dad?” Chad asked.

“There was some kind of attack in Boston. Some guy is standing on top of the Garden, and there’s fire everywhere.”

Chad and Jennifer turned to Tobin. He was staring at Chad’s father, waiting for more information.

“I’m gonna turn on the TV,” Chad’s father said, as he walked into the house. Other members of Chad’s family had also heard the conversation, and were now checking their phones and following him inside. Tobin, Jennifer, and Chad also followed, bringing up the rear of the group and walking into the back door. Tobin’s heart was thumping. His adrenaline was kicking in. He knew he was most likely going to be needed in Boston, to take care of the situation, whatever it was. Hopefully nothing too intense, as usual. Just some weirdo trying to get on the news.

In Chad’s living room, Tobin made his way through the crowd gathered around the television set that was hanging on the wall. He couldn’t see the screen, but the boy could hear that the TV was tuned to WTN, the popular twenty-four-hour news network. Various members of Chad’s family were gasping, and whispering to each other.

“Oh my god,” Chad’s Aunt Paula said. “I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it.”

Tobin reached the front of the crowd. He looked at the TV. The twenty-four-hour news network was broadcasting a live image of the exterior of the sports arena known as the Garden—the arena where the Boston Celtics and Bruins played their home games, near the North End of Boston. The shaky video footage was being filmed by a helicopter, and as it recorded, the viewers at home could see that a man was standing on the roof of the arena. White pillars of fire were shooting up from the streets and sidewalks around the arena, and the thirty-foot tall flames were snapping with black, snaking streaks of energy. A group of pedestrians and police officers were gathered on the street below the arena, looking up at the roof, unsure of what to do.

Tobin watched from Chad’s living room as the news camera zoomed in on the person standing on the rooftop. It was a man dressed in silver armor, with a helmet covering his face and head. The helmet had two insect-like eyes, red markings along its cheeks, and a grid of silver strips of metal for a mouth.

It was the Daybreaker.

Tobin stared at the TV. Jennifer and Chad were very frightened.

“Tobin, is that...?” Jennifer asked. “Is that…who you told us about?”

Tobin didn’t answer. He was concentrating on the TV.

“Oh, great,” Chad’s father said, throwing his arms up. “Another one of these costumed lunatics. What the hell is going on in that damn city, lately? All these freaks popping out of the damn—”

“Wait, wait,” Chad said. “Something’s happening. Turn it up.”

Chad’s father turned up the volume.

“We are looking live at the city of Boston,” the WNT reporter said on the TV, “where a masked figure is standing on the rooftop of a sports arena in silence, already having conjured up several large, bizarre fires that have created a traffic back-up for miles throughout the city. As of yet, the strange figure has done nothing but stand there, unmoving, but it appears…yes, it appears he is going to take off his helmet.”

The helicopter camera zoomed in on the roof of the arena. Reaching up with both hands, the Daybreaker placed his palms on the sides of his helmet, and pushed up. Removing the helmet from his head, he revealed his face.  

The Daybreaker was Strike.

More specifically, the Daybreaker was Tobin Lloyd dressed as Strike. The mysterious figure was wearing a blue, triangular piece of cloth over the lower part of his face, so that only his eyes and dark hair were visible, but for the few people who knew Strike’s secret identity, there was no doubt that it was Tobin Lloyd’s eyes and dark hair above the mask.

The party guests and family members at Chad’s house gasped at the sight of Strike underneath the Daybreaker’s helmet. But how could this be, Jennifer and Chad asked themselves? Tobin Lloyd, the hero known as Strike, was standing right next to them in Chad’s living room, forty miles away from Boston.

“Tobin, what’s going on?” Jennifer asked, her voice cracking. “How could...who is that?”

Again, Tobin didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His eyes were wide and pinned to the TV, his jaw dropped. His chest was rising with rapid breaths.

“It appears that the person standing on the roof is the mysterious crime-fighting vigilante of Boston known as Strike,” the news reporter said. “This masked man—some say teenage boy—has been sighted repeatedly in the city in recent months, stopping crimes, helping the police, and saving pedestrians in need. He has never been known to do anything like this, however, so we are still waiting on confirmation that this is indeed the crime-fighter known as Strike.”

The crowd gathered in Chad’s house watched as the Daybreaker’s metal armor dropped off him in pieces, landing on the rooftop around him. With his armor removed, the rest of the Strike costume on the Daybreaker’s body was revealed—the white ‘S’ in the shape of a lightning bolt on his chest, the tattered black cape, and the black gloves and black boots.

“I can confirm that it does indeed appear to be Strike who has set these fires around the city of Boston,” the reporter said, “but the reason for this bizarre scene and demonstration remains a mystery.”

The cameraman in the helicopter turned to his right. There was now a military helicopter in the sky, hovering above the sports arena.

“The United States Air Force is now on the scene,” the reporter explained, “along with the National Guard—dozens of troops are on the ground, convening with the members of the Boston police department. The Air Force helicopter is now shining a light on Strike, and it appears to have gotten his attention.”

Onscreen, the Daybreaker raised his head and looked at the U.S. Air Force helicopter hovering above him. After his eyes flashed with blue lightning, the mysterious teen boy raised his hand and shot a stream of raging white fire from his palm. The helicopter was engulfed in the white flames, and it immediately dropped, its pilot losing control, and the vehicles’ blades spinning erratically as it plummeted to Earth.

The party guests at Chad’s house screamed, covering their mouths. Most of them looked away as the helicopter crashed and burst into flames on the chaotic street in front of the Garden sports arena.

Many of Chad’s family members were crying now, including Chad, who was hugging his mom. Jennifer watched Tobin. The boy was staring at the TV, craning his neck forward, his eyes narrowed and full of fury.

“Oh my god...” the reporter gasped. “Oh my god...Strike has attacked the United States Air Force. The helicopter has crashed to the ground, to the streets full of people. Oh my god, why is Strike doing this?”

Onscreen, the Daybreaker walked to the edge of the arena. After raising both hands and holding them in front of him, he sent streaks of blue-and-white lightning down from his palms and toward the sidewalk below. The lightning crashed into the police cars surrounding the building, sending the vehicles and the police officers standing behind them hurtling through the air.

“My god...” the reporter said. “Strike is now attacking the police and pedestrians gathered on the streets below. The pillars of white flames around the arena are growing and spreading now, catching fire to the surrounding buildings. Good lord...this is an attack. The mysterious vigilante known as Strike is on the attack.”

“I knew it,” Chad’s father said, shaking his head, his jaw clenched. “I knew that freak was up to no good. For weeks, I’ve been telling everyone—all this damn Strike has brought to this place is more harm than good, with the attack on Bridgton, all these whackos in the city, and now look at this!”

“Tony, stop,” Chad’s mother said. “This isn’t the time to—”

“No, the freak is showing his true colors. I told everyone. Watch, I said. Sooner or later, he’s gonna show what he’s really here for. And look at this. Here it is.” Chad’s father shook his head. “Someone shoulda killed that freak when they had the chance.”

“Tobin,” Jennifer said, tears in her eyes, “what’s happening?”

Tobin stared at his exact likeness on the TV screen, as the Daybreaker extended his arms and spread his white fire and blue lightning throughout the streets and buildings of Boston.

“I have to go,” the boy said to Jennifer.

Tobin turned and walked out of Chad’s living room, pushing past the people gathered around the TV. The party guests were so frightened that they didn’t even notice as the boy walked out the back door and down the sidewalk.