The Strike Trilogy (14 page)

The old man ran into the Sky-Blade, looked around, and then walked down the ramp.

“He’s gone,” he said. “The boy is gone.”

Keplar looked to Scatterbolt, who was very frightened. “What’d you mean, he’s gone?” the dog said. “Where’d he go?”

Orion stood at the edge of the landing area and looked over the forest.

“C’mon, Tobin. C’mon.”

Tobin was surrounded in the forest near Jennifer’s house by dozens of Gores and Eradicators. As the creatures approached him, the demons were clicking their claws together, while the robots were whispering orders to each other in a strange language.

A million thoughts ran through Tobin’s mind. A million scenarios fighting to be heard. But the boy could not focus on any of them, and instead he was only able to stand in the circle of creatures as they enveloped him.

One of the Gores broke from the pack, stepping in front of Tobin. When it was only a few inches away, a mouth opened in the blackness of its hood. A piercing scream then came from the mouth, like broken glass being scraped across a window.

Orion was looking over the forest near the mountaintop when a red flash and a burst of electricity snapped behind him. The old man turned to the museum.

Tobin was there, lying on the ground. A crack of thunder boomed, and rain began to fall.

“Oh, no,” Orion said. “No…” He ran to the boy and dropped down next to him, but when he turned him over, he had to restrain himself from gasping—the boy had been mauled. His costume was torn to pieces, and his nose and mouth were bleeding. His right eye was swollen shut, and gashes were covering his arms. When Orion felt something warm on his hand, he looked there to find blood. A pool of it was already forming around the boy’s stomach.

“Oh, no,” Orion said. “Tobin, please, no...”

“I’m sorry, Orion,” Tobin said. “I’m so sorry…” The boy’s voice was barely a whisper. He tried to stand up, but cried out and fell back to the landing area.

“Stay there,” Orion said, helping him lie down. “Don’t move.”

The old man inspected one of Tobin’s wounds; it was two long slashes, side-by-side, torn through Tobin’s costume.

“Who did this to you?” Orion asked. “Did the Gores find you? Where did you go?”

The boy whimpered. “There was so many of them, Orion. I couldn’t do anything. They held me down, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t—”

He sobbed and curled into a ball, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

“It’s hurts so much, Orion. It hurts so bad.”

“Stop. I’m putting you to sleep.” The old man looked to Keplar. “The kit! Keplar, bring me the kit!”

The husky ran through the rain and dashed into the Sky-Blade.

“I’m sorry,” Tobin said again. “I’m so sorry, Orion.”

“Enough,” Orion said. “There’s no time for that. Close your eyes.”

When Tobin was finally quiet, the old man looked up at Scatterbolt. The robot was standing in the rain near the museum’s doors, with his fists at his sides and his eyes fixed on Tobin. The old man began to say something, but then stopped and looked back to Tobin.

The pool of blood was flowing away from the boy and across the landing dock, mixing in with the rain and falling off of the bricks and into the forest.

Orion cradled Tobin’s head, holding him close and rocking him.

“What have you done?” he whispered.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I
t was a day like any other, until the skies darkened.

At 10:27 on a Monday morning, the people of Bridgton, Massachusetts stopped and looked up. Only seconds earlier, they had been on their way to various places—to work, to their parents’ house, to their friend’s place—but now suddenly the sunlight had gone away. The blueness of the sky was replaced with a grey, swirling storm, rolling like an ocean, and the dark clouds were intertwined with quick, sharp flashes of purple light. The hundreds of people stopped and stared. No one knew what was happening, but each of them realized this was not a normal storm.

Thunder rumbled. The people looked to the north. A monstrous skyscraper was there, up in the clouds, far away but moving closer. Floating across the sky, the flying building eventually came to a neat, perfect stop above them. As it hovered there, a quiet hum emanated down from it.

The people were frightened. Were they in danger? Did others see it, too? Should they run to their families? What was happening?

A hatch then opened on the side of the skyscraper. A man was there—a giant hulk of a man—and he was staring down at them. He had red, rough skin, yellow eyes, and was dressed in a black and green uniform.

After a moment, the giant man motioned behind him and made a fist.

“Now!” he bellowed. “Now!”

The invasion began: hundreds of robots in black armor and red-eyed demons in brown cloaks jumped out of the hatch and flew down to Middle Street. The Eradicators used their jetpacks to make their journey downward, but the Gores simply freefell, striking into the pavement with their clawed feet. The two groups had come to do the only things they were programmed to do: for the Eradicators, it was to empty Middle Street of all people; for the Gores, it was to cause as much destruction as possible.

Witnessing creatures that this world had never seen, the people of Bridgton began to panic, running into one another and looking for places to hide. But the Eradicators and Gores were overtaking the street, descending upon it in waves from the hovering skyscraper.

The Gores, in frenzied rages, began ripping apart everything that they saw: windshields, newsstands, trees—even grabbing people and tossing them around like bags of trash. The Eradicators, with their faces hidden behind gasmasks, began herding the frantic humans into groups. The people of Bridgton quickly learned that they had no choice: anybody seen running away from the robots was immediately stopped by the green lasers from their hand-mounted guns. When hit by the lasers, the people dropped and fell into hideous convulsions, before freezing in place on the sidewalk as if encased in ice.

It was a nightmare turned real. In the darkness, at 10:27 AM, Hell had arrived on Middle Street.

But not everyone was outside in the invasion; many of them were inside their homes or businesses, watching it through their windows. As they began to barricade their doors and try to call for help, they turned to their TV’s and computers for answers. What they found, however, was bizarre: every screen in Middle Street—even the cell phones—was filled with static.

A picture then faded into view on the screens—it was an image of Vincent Harris. He was sitting behind his desk in his skyscraper, and wearing his black-and-green uniform.

“Hello,” he said. “My name is Vincent Harris, and I am not of your world. You do not know the world I am from, nor do you know my intentions, but this will all be made clear to you in time. The only thing you need to know now is that—as of this moment—I am taking over. It is my wish to initiate this process as quickly and humanely as possible, but if anyone, as either individuals or governments, does not cooperate, I will be forced to react as necessary.”

The screens then showed what was happening outside: as a police officer tried to escape from the invaders, he fired his handgun at them. After he was shot by a green laser, though, he dropped to the ground and froze. Two Eradicators then lifted him and brought him into a building.

“You cannot prevent this,” Vincent said, “so please do not force me to take actions that I do not wish to take. This is a transition—from one era to another—and I only wish to make this new era safer, more educated, and more humane. Your leaders were given their chance to guide this world; for eons, you have been left alone to grow and evolve, but the people in charge have failed you and sent you on the wrong path. I only wish to reverse this while there is still time, and show you the true way you should have been living all these years.

“This is all a part of what we are here to help you with: starting over. Together, we will create a world the likes of which this universe has never seen. This is what has to be done, and I am willing to work with those who accept it.

“It begins here, in this town, and will then move on to all others, in every part of the Earth. Thank you, and long live our new world. Long live New Capricious.”

The TV screens, computers, and cell phones were then turned off. The people of Middle Street were left to wait and hide, until the robots came to their doors to group them with the others. It was now time to wait for their turn.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I
n the Museum of the Heroes, Tobin was sleeping in a bed. His wounds were partly healed, but he was still covered in bruises, and parts of his costume were showing tears and gouges. Next to him, Orion was sitting in a chair, with his elbows on his knees and his hands against his mouth.

Finally, after nearly four hours, Tobin woke up. Orion ripped the covers off of him.

“Get up,” the old man said.

Tobin looked around the room. “What?” He found that his throat was raw and his head was pounding. The world seemed to be awash in smoke. “What’s going on, what happened?”

“Get up,” the old man said again, pointing to the floor.

Tobin stood up, unable to remember what had happened and unsettled by Orion’s anger. His legs were shaking and he felt like he was going to vomit.

“Put your mask on,” the old man said.

Tobin grabbed his mask from a nearby table. “Why? What’s happening?”

Orion pointed to a monitor; onscreen, Tobin could see Middle Street covered in fire and darkness: overturned cars, robots marching through town, demons ripping apart everything that they saw. And the people. The screaming, horrified people.

“Oh my god…” The boy fell forward, catching himself. “No,” he said. “No…”

Orion stared at him. “Put your mask on.”

Tobin tied the piece of cloth around his face. His eyes never left the screen.

“Vincent made his move a little past ten o’clock this morning,” Orion began. “The first part of his invasion was to create a toxic, poisonous cloud that formed in the sky over Bridgton and then drifted downward, where it settled and created a dome around Middle Street that is now blocking it off from the rest of the world. This dome is called the Dark Nebula, and Vincent has been waiting to use it for decades. He wasn’t planning on calling on it for another month or so, but when he learned that you could travel back to Earth, and he saw how ill-prepared you are…the destruction began.”

“This isn’t happening,” Tobin said. “We can stop this, right? This hasn’t happened yet, we can—”

Orion pointed at him. “Do not speak. Listen to me. Do not say a word.”

Tobin nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat and fighting back tears. He could not believe what he had done.

“No one outside the Dark Nebula has any idea what is going on inside of it,” Orion said. “It is better that way. Behind its walls, people are screaming, people are crying, and people are begging for their lives. They are being captured, separated from their families, and put into groups. Whole buildings are gone, with nothing in their place but smoking, burning shells. Nothing can be heard except gunshots, explosions, and screams.

“But the rest of the world doesn’t know this. They are simply at home watching the outside of the dome on their televisions—billions of them around the globe—watching as medical and emergency teams try to get through the poisonous cloud that fell from the sky in Massachusetts. The rest of the planet is frightened, looking out their windows to see if another death cloud is going to come down and surround their town, too. And soon, one will. All over the planet, people are thinking that today is the End of the World. And they are right.”

Orion looked at Tobin.

“Vincent is waiting for you, Tobin. He’s standing in the middle of your hometown, and he’s taunting us. He’s gloating and he thinks he has already won. He hasn’t.”

The old man took Tobin’s bo-staff from the table.

“You screwed up, Tobin. More than any of us will ever be able to comprehend. Now all you can do is try and fix it. With everything that you possess. That’s all we have left now.”

The words rang through Tobin’s ears.

“It’s your time,” Orion said. “You aren’t ready, but you have to be.”

Tobin took the bo-staff from Orion, but the old man didn’t let go of it. The two of them held it together.

“I’m sorry, Orion. I don’t know what I—”

“Go,” Orion said. “Just go now.”

Tobin stepped away. Silently, he watched as Orion handed him a portal pistol—it wasn’t the red one Tobin had stolen earlier, but instead was one made from blue chrome.

Tobin squeezed the pistol’s trigger, and it created a blue-and-white portal in front of him. As the boy stepped forward, he glanced at Orion, moved into the portal, and then disappeared. When he was gone, the gateway closed behind him.

Orion stood in the middle of the room. He listened to the static remnants of the portal, and the little pops of energy it had left behind. Then, he sat on the edge of the bed and covered his face with his hands.

Chaos reigned on Middle Street: smoke was rising from buildings, billowing up and swirling against the purple, domed roof of the Dark Nebula; fires were roaring atop overturned cars, with their alarms pathetically repeating themselves over and over; Eradicators were marching rows of prisoners through the town and toward the giant skyscraper, which had settled itself directly in the middle of the street. The fear seemed to be emanating from this building, and from the man dressed in black standing in front of it.

Among the dark sky, a blue-and-white circle of electricity slowly formed. It grew in brightness and intensity until it flashed with thunder and Tobin appeared. He floated down to Earth, but to the people watching, they did not see a seventeen-year-old boy who lived only minutes away. They saw Strike.

Strike walked towards the towering skyscraper, oblivious to the horrors around him. To his left, a Gore was crouching on the sidewalk, demolishing a car, when it looked up and saw him. Enraged, it ran at the hero, with its claws raised.

Strike stopped and waited. He pulled his bo-staff from his back. When the Gore was only a few yards away from him, it pounced, and Strike swung his weapon.

CRACK!
In a blue flash, the Gore was sent flying, screeching across the street. When it hit the road, it tumbled over itself and burst into a pop of smoke. Just like that, nothing was left of the demon but an empty cloak.

Strike marched on.

However, it wasn’t long before three Eradicators stepped in front of him. As the robots readied their wrist-mounted laser blasters, Strike held his staff by his side and charged it with lightning. The staff swirled with blue energy.

When the Eradicators moved to fire their lasers, the hero hurled his weapon. It tumbled like a boomerang, slicing through the air and curving toward the robots, before cutting through them as if they were not there. As the weapon made its way back to Strike, the robots fell, crumpled in a pile of armor.

Strike plucked his returning bo-staff from the air and continued.

Behind the hero, a Gore suddenly stepped out from behind a tree, following Strike down Middle Street. Tracking its prey like a hunched, vicious jackal, the demon bided its time, until finally jumping at Strike’s back. But the hero simply stopped, pointed his bo-staff behind his head, and fired a lightning bolt. The Gore dropped, its cloak smoking and sizzling on the ground.

Strike only had a few more steps to go before he reached the skyscraper.

Vincent was there, leaning on the handle of a massive, black axe. The blade of the axe was digging into the ground.

Strike realized this was it: either he would accomplish what he came to do, or he would die. As he gripped his bo-staff, he tried to push away the suffocating feeling that his life may be coming to an end.

In front of Strike, Vincent breathed in through his nose, studying the hero in the familiar blue-and-white costume. “You seem like a smart kid, Tobin,” he said. “You probably understand why I’m dong this. I’m in charge of a large number of people, and these people depend on me to protect them and keep them safe from others who would do them harm. Since that’s the case, I simply could not sit by and do nothing while your species continued on its path toward the destruction of the universe.”

Vincent stepped forward, swinging his axe over his shoulder.

“Because sooner or later, Tobin, someone from your world would have discovered our world, and when that happened, we would have been destroyed. That’s what your people do when you find something new—you get excited and frightened, and you take whatever it is that you found and you destroy it. Like animals. I could not allow my people to live among the danger of loose, wild animals.

“This is for protection, Tobin. That’s all. I’m protecting myself and billions of others from a species that can’t even live with each other without killing the very planet they live on. Orion and all the others would do the same, if they could see things the way that I see them. Because, Orion and I, we really aren’t that different, when it all comes down to it.”

Vincent watched Strike. The boy didn’t move.

“Did Orion tell you what I used to be before I became one of the leaders of Capricious? I was thinking about that recently, and I realized he probably didn’t. He has a way of retelling history, you know—of leaving out the parts that he doesn’t like. Especially…he especially does this when he talks about that old superhero team of his, the Guardians. From everything that I’ve read, and from what people tell me, he always says that there were three members of that team. But, if he was telling the truth, Tobin, he would admit that there were
four
heroes involved in all those adventures all those years ago: there was Titan, there was your dad, there was Orion…and there was me.”

Strike stepped back. Vincent smiled.

“Huh. He didn’t tell you. Well, that’s okay. You know, I bet he went through that whole thing: ‘I knew your father so well, he was my best friend, I only want you to do what he would have wanted.’ Well, guess what, Tobin: I knew your father pretty well, too. He was one of my best friends, too. And this is not what he would have wanted. He was much more interested in chasing girls and cracking terrible jokes than he ever was in ‘saving the world.’ So if you’re doing this because it’s what your dad would have wanted, you can stop right now.

“Your dad wasn’t some big, great, grand superhero, Tobin. To tell you the truth, he was kind of a scumbag.”

Strike looked at his surroundings: hundreds of Gores and Eradicators were gathered around them, watching the confrontation. A few remaining humans had even come out of their hiding places to inspect the two strange, costumed people.

“You know we even had a truck?” Vincent laughed. “It’s true: four super-powered, color-coded teenagers, driving around in a truck and fighting crime—making sure people were safe. So, you see, Tobin, Orion might tell you that I’ve changed, but that simply isn’t true. I’m still protecting people—I’m just doing it on a scale so immense that Orion and the others can’t comprehend it. And it’s what I’m doing right now.”

Vincent stepped forward, only a few feet away from Strike. The boy tried to hide his nerves, but, without realizing it, backed away.

“I know why you’re doing this,” Vincent said. “I can see Orion has gotten to you, and that you can’t see the world as it is. So, okay.”

The grey-haired man tossed his axe to the ground and extended his hands, palms in the air.

“C’mon, Tobin. Take your best shot. A freebie.”

Strike thought it over—was this a trick? Even if it was, it was too much of an opportunity to pass up. He was being underestimated, and he needed to take advantage of it.

Strike ran at Vincent, lighting up his bo-staff. But, instead of swinging at him, he leapt, flipped, and landed on the ground behind him. When his boots hit the street, he slashed his staff down Vincent’s spine.

“Argh,” Vincent grunted. He stumbled and reached back, rubbing the ripped fabric of his uniform. Thunder rumbled in the sky. “Not bad, kid. But did you really think, for even a second, that one week of superhero kindergarten was going to be enough?”

Vincent looked up, and his eyes suddenly flashed with black fire. His body began to grow, stretching out from a little over six feet tall to nearly eight feet tall. Muscles ripped through his uniform, and his face and arms sprouted green fur. His hands morphed into clawed paws, while his mouth and nose swelled into a broad, protruding jaw. Finally, as he stared at Strike, his hair grew long and black.

“I wanted you to hurt me,” Vincent said. His voice was low, grumbling—inhuman. “I wanted to feel the power of the Guardians, to make sure that what flowed through Matt and Orion and Scott and I, now flows through you. I needed to know, without a doubt, that you are one of us.”

Vincent’s transformation was complete: he was now the Rantamede, an eight-foot-tall, green-and-black monster, with the face and fangs of a tiger and the body of a mythological beast.

“It feels good,” he said with a smile.

Leaning down, the monster let out a mighty
ROAR
! Stunned by the sound, Strike stepped back. He braced himself as Vincent ran at him, but the monster quickly swung his giant fist and sent the hero flying with a brutal punch. Strike crashed against a building and slid down it, falling to the street with the wind knocked out of him.

Stomping across the pavement, Vincent marched toward Strike. When he opened his clawed paw, a ball of black fire formed in the middle of it. “You came here to play the superhero going up against the bad guy, Tobin. But it’s not like that. It never is.”