by Charlie Wood
The Strike Trilogy Collected Edition
Copyright © 2014 by Charlie Wood. All rights reserved.
First Kindle Edition: 2014
Formatting: Streetlight Graphics
This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Contents
BOOK ONE: THE HERO FROM THE SKY
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
BOOK TWO: DAWN OF THE DAYBREAKER
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BOOK THREE: THE RETURNING SUNRISE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
EPILOGUE
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY CHARLIE WOOD
BOOK ONE:
THE HERO FROM THE SKY
CHAPTER ONE
Catherine’s eyes flashed open. Startled, she turned and looked out the window next to her bed. As a thunderclap rolled off into the night, she watched as three lightning bolts ripped across the sky, almost sideways, shedding a split-second’s worth of blue-ish light on the swing set, shed, and tricycle in the backyard. Then—just like that—all was quiet again. With her heart racing, Catherine waited until she caught her breath, then reached across the mattress.
“Scott?” she whispered. “Are you awake? Do you think we should check on Tobin? Do you think he’s okay?”
But, there was no answer, and Catherine realized that the other side of the bed was empty. With a sigh, she swung her feet onto the floor, tied her bathrobe around her waist, and stepped into the dark hallway outside her room. It was happening again.
As she walked downstairs, Catherine could see her husband, Scott, in the kitchen. He was standing at the breakfast nook, nearly hidden in the streaky shadows, and frantically packing clothes into a blue duffle bag. His dark hair—slightly graying at the temples—was messy and unwashed, and his face was gaunt and unshaven. Rain was battering the window behind him.
“I know,” he said, without looking up from the duffle bag. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry.”
Catherine stepped toward him, her arms crossed against her chest. “Scott…just tell me what is going on. Please. I’m not—I’m not going to allow something like this to happen to us. Whatever this is, let me help you. That’s why I’m here. Please.”
He shook his head. “I know, Cathy, but it’s not that easy. I don’t have enough time, I just…I just need you to be patient.”
A boom of thunder shook the house. Catherine arched her head toward the ceiling, feeling her breath leaving her. She had known Scott for five years, and been married to him for four, but had never felt this way about him before. Now, suddenly, everything was changing.
“Scott,” she said, her voice wavering. “Just tell me where you are going. Please. Tell me.”
He moved to her. “Look,” he said, pulling her close and pushing her blonde hair away from her face. He gently tucked it behind her ear with one hand, while holding her around the waist with the other. “It’s still me. I’m right here, just like always. I know…I know this is completely unfair, but I promise you—I promise you—there is nothing for you to worry about. I just need you to trust me on this. Okay? Can you do that?”
She pulled away from him and looked to the floor. The both of them were silent as the rain fell down outside.
“When I—when I get home,” Scott began uneasily, looking at his shoes, “I’ll explain it. Everything. I’ll—it’s only going to make you think I’m even more insane, but when I get back, I’ll tell you every last detail. All of it. Okay? As long as you promise not to be mad at me.”
She looked up. Scott flashed the smile that had gotten him out of trouble nearly every day, without fail, since he was a small boy.
“Please,” he said. “I only need you to put up with my stupidity for one more night.”
Catherine couldn’t help it and she laughed, shaking her head. She breathed out through her nose. “It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than that, but as long as you explain it, sure, I’ll try.”
“Okay.”
He let go of her and walked back to his duffle bag on the breakfast nook. As he slung it over his shoulder, he quickly looked back and opened the front door.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, one foot already outside. “I promise. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Scott ducked his head and disappeared out into the rain. From the kitchen, Catherine watched out a window
as the headlights of his blue pick-up truck turned on and then sped out onto the road. When they were completely out of sight, she broke down and cried, covering her face with her hands.
“Mommy?” a voice said from behind her.
Catherine turned around. Her and Scott’s three-year-old son, Tobin, was standing at the bottom of the stairs in the living room, dressed in his Sesame Street pajamas. His dark hair was wild from sleeping and he was wearing a frightened pout, rubbing one of his eyes with the bottom of his fist.
“Hey, honey,” Catherine said in a shaky voice. Quickly wiping away her tears, she scooped him up and held him on her hip. “Did the storm wake you up? Were you afraid?”
Tobin nodded and pressed his face against her, gripping the back of her bathrobe with his fingers.
“Well, it’s okay, honey. There’s no reason to be afraid. It’s only rain, that’s all—just some big loud noises and some rain. Do you wanna watch a movie with me before we go back to bed?”
Tobin raised his head up, his eyes wide. “Yeah!” he chirped, suddenly forgetting the scary noises outside. “Yeah!”
Catherine laughed and brought Tobin to the sofa in the living room. Reaching to the coffee table, she turned on the TV and VCR with a remote control.
“We’ll start right where we left off yesterday, how’s that sound?”
“Good!”
Catherine pushed play and the movie began. It was an animated classic from the 1940’s, about a big-eared elephant and his friend, a wise-talking mouse. Tobin had already memorized it word-for-word.
“Is Daddy gonna watch the movie with us, too?” he asked.
Catherine sat down next to him. “No, honey. Daddy’s working right now.”
With her mind elsewhere, and as the storm continued, Catherine pulled Tobin closer and watched the movie with him until he fell back asleep.
CHAPTER TWO
Tobin Lloyd turned over with a groan and looked out the window next to his bed. The other houses in his neighborhood were still dark, and the sun was just starting to rise over the trees across the street.
“Why am I doing this?” he grumbled, as he sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his face in his hands. But he knew why: he had promised his best friend, Jennifer, that he would wake up early this morning and study for his history test later that afternoon. Like most high school students, Tobin hated getting up early, but there was something else he hated even more: having to withstand the torture of listening to Jennifer lecture him on the benefits of studying.
So, after quickly showering, brushing his teeth, and getting dressed, Tobin returned to his bedroom, carrying his bowl of cereal in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. But, as he flopped down onto the futon near his bed, he grabbed the remote control from the floor and turned on his TV. Sweet, he thought to himself. I’m up early enough to catch the Three Stooges. That’s a benefit, at least. He checked the time on his phone. A couple minutes couldn’t hurt. After all, it will get my brain going. That’s gotta be good for studying.
“Tobin?” the boy heard his mother, Catherine, suddenly call from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you ready?”
Tobin sat up with a start, knocking over the bowl of cereal that was now resting on his chest and spilling it onto the couch.
“Aw, c’mon,” he grumbled, maneuvering away from the milk and soggy corn puffs. He checked the time on his phone. 7:20. Dammit. Apparently he had fallen back asleep during breakfast without even realizing it. Whoops.
“Tobin?” his mother called again. “Are you up? It’s almost time, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” Tobin replied. He grabbed the spoon from the floor and used it to scoop the rest of the corn puffs from the couch cushions into his mouth. “I’m just, uh, eating breakfast.”
His mother started up the stairs. “Well, don’t be late. And don’t forget what Mrs. O’Neil told you: it’s a great idea to look over in the morning what you studied last night. Did you read from your history book again this morning?”
Tobin turned down the volume on his TV, just as Moe whacked Larry over the head with a shovel. “Yeah, you know what, I’m actually looking at it right now. I think it’s really helping.”
“Good,” his mother said from the hall, “because I don’t want to see another—”
She stopped. Tobin turned around. His mother was now standing in the doorway of his room.
“Oh, hello,” Tobin said with a smile.
Looking across the room, Tobin’s mother spotted his history book, lying underneath a pile of rumpled clothes. She picked it up and showed it to him.
“Looking at it right now, huh?”
“Oh, the book!” Tobin said. “The book! I thought you meant, was I looking at a guy in a bowl cut poking a bald guy in the eyes.” He pointed at the TV screen. “’Cuz that’s what I was looking at.”
His mother smirked and handed him the book. “Right. Up, let’s go. It’s time for school.”
Following his mother out of the room, Tobin walked with her downstairs and into the kitchen.
“I know I’ve told you this a million times,” she said, tidying up the table, “but since I also know that means nothing, I’ll tell you again: Bill and I are going out on a date tonight, so when you get home from work, we might not be here. Okay?”
Tobin stuffed his hand into a cookie jar on the counter near the door. “Yup. And can you please stop calling them ‘dates,’ by the way? It’s creepy. Plus the guy practically lives here.”
His mother walked to him and took the cookies from his hand. “Okay, first of all, this isn’t breakfast.” She put the cookies back into the jar. “And second of all, it is a date, a nice dinner and a movie, so I’m asking you, right now, to behave yourself today. Please don’t ruin my night with something ridiculous you do at school. Got it?”
Chomping on the remnants of his cookie, Tobin stood at the door and slung his backpack over his shoulder, offering his mother a salute.
“Mom, you have my word: I will absolutely, positively not do anything ridiculous today.”
Seven hours later, Tobin was standing at his locker and putting his books away while his friend, Jennifer Robins, waited for him. She was a short, pretty brunette who was well on her way to becoming class valedictorian. At the moment, she wasn’t very happy.
“I can’t believe you got another detention,” she said, reading the yellow slip in her hand with Tobin’s name on it.
“I know,” he replied.
“Your mom is gonna kill you.”
“I know,” he said again.
Jennifer stared at him. “And you don’t even care, do you?”
“Care? Of course I care. I’ll be thinking about this forever. I think—wait, what’re we talking about again?”
Tobin smirked and closed his locker, looking to Jennifer. The two friends walked down the noisy hallway.
“You are unbelievable, Tobin. I swear, you drive me absolutely crazy.”
“Why?” he replied with a laugh. “Because I got kicked out of the cafeteria? Big deal, who cares? What the heck are you so worried about?”
Jennifer shoved the detention back to him, pushing it into his chest. “This, Tobin. This is what I’m so worried about.”
“This?” he replied. “Okay, watch, watch this.”
Tobin crumpled the slip into a ball, held it out in front of him, and kicked it across the hallway like a football. It bounced off another student’s backpack before dropping to the floor.
“See?” Tobin said, holding up his empty hands. “No more worry.”
Jennifer watched as the detention got lost in a sea of teenagers’ feet. “Yeah, that’s great, Tobin. That’s just great. And what about the test Mr. Hastings gave you back today? You know, the one with the big ‘thirty-two’ circled in
red at the top? Are you gonna kick that across the hallway, too?”
Tobin thought a moment. “I can, if you want me to,” he said, spinning his backpack to the front and looking through it. “I have it right here.”
Jennifer turned and walked towards the school’s lobby.
“You know what, Tobin? Fine. If you don’t care, then I don’t care.”
Pushing through the other students in the hall, Tobin walked outside and followed his friend down the school’s front steps and onto the sidewalk of Middle Street, which ran through the center of their small, seaside hometown of Bridgton, Massachusetts. The street, only a few miles from the beach, was made up of an ice cream parlor, a general store, and a barbershop, among other things, including three antique dealers. It was a Norman Rockwell painting come to life.
“Aw, c’mon, Jen,” Tobin said, quickly catching up with her. The sun was exceptionally bright on this strangely warm, clear October afternoon, and Middle Street was filled with cheerful, chatting people. “Don’t be mad at me. I hate it when you’re mad at me. And so does Julie Meyers. Right, Julie Meyers?”
Tobin turned to a group of girls gathered on the sidewalk, but they only glanced at him before returning to their conversation.
“Okay,” Tobin said. “Julie Meyers didn’t answer me, but I know that she also hates it.”
“I’m not mad at you, Tobin,” Jennifer said. “It’s just that you don’t care—about anything. We’re already a month into our senior year, and you still haven’t even started thinking about colleges or the SAT’s or anything. That makes me...nauseous.”
Tobin nodded. “I know it does. You’re weird.”
Jennifer stopped and turned to him. “No, I’m not,” she laughed. “I’m normal. Look, I’m as excited for the rest of senior year as much as anybody, but this is all gonna be over in a few months, Tobin, whether you like it or not. And what’re you gonna do then? Last time I checked, skipping class every day and watching Family Feud for hours and hours doesn’t lead to a career.”
“Sure it does,” Tobin replied.
