by Charlie Wood
Orion and Keplar watched Tobin’s display.
“Doesn’t look good, Orion,” the husky said.
“He’ll be fine,” Orion replied. “The boy will be fine.”
Later that night, Tobin was sitting on the landing area of the museum and looking over the forest. It had been a quiet night, and for that he was glad. He had felt so angry earlier, so betrayed, and he had wanted nothing more than to get away from Orion and the others and never see them again. Now, though, as a warm breeze swayed slowly through the trees, he had begun to feel better. He could think clearly again, and he knew what he had to do.
But he also knew he had acted foolishly toward the others. Even mean. It was a problem he had had his entire life.
The doors of the museum opened behind him, so Tobin turned and saw Orion. The old man sat down next to him, and it was quiet a long time before anyone spoke.
“I was very impressed with the way you used your electricity to create that ball lightning, Tobin. That’s a very difficult but effective trick.”
“Yeah. I remembered how you said my dad used to do that against multiple targets, so I gave it a shot. It worked pretty good on those little bug-bot things.”
“Yes, it did. It was a very well done exercise all around.”
A silence.
“I’m sorry for how I acted before,” Tobin said. “I feel like an idiot.”
“It’s okay. I know what it’s like to feel like your friends are in danger, and you can’t be there for them right away. But that’s one of the toughest things we have to learn, Tobin: people in our position have to make the right decision, even when it seems like the wrong one. We can’t think about ourselves, we have to think about others. And that’s very tough.”
Tobin nodded. “I’m just so frustrated. With everyone in so much danger with Vincent out there, and they don’t even know it. I just…when I do finally go after him as Strike, I hope it’s all worth it.”
Orion looked at him. “‘Strike,’ huh? So you’re gonna keep your father’s name?”
“Well, you did give me a shirt with a big lightning bolt ‘S’ on it.”
Orion laughed. “I guess you’re right.”
“But, no, I like it. It has a nice ring to it. ‘The Red Wolf’ on the other hand...”
They laughed.
“My costume was red,” Orion explained. “That’s the only reason I called myself that. It sounded much cooler when I was fourteen.” He reached into his pocket. “Here, Tobin. I wanna show you something.”
He took out a pocket watch. It was hanging from a silver chain, and about the size of a small seashell.
“Wow,” Tobin said. “Where’d you get it?”
“In that duffle bag of your father’s. Your dad was…a bit of a collector. Some people might have called him a thief, but he always preferred ‘collector.’ He was always taking souvenirs from the missions we went on, and keeping them in that bag.
“That’s why Gallymoora had been attacked—when it was already too late, I realized Vincent has been searching for something in that bag, even though he knows full-well he destroyed it years ago. But apparently he doesn’t want to take any chances.”
Tobin looked at the pocket watch; it was blue and transparent, and inside he could see all of its mechanical parts—gears, cogs, a small gyroscope.
“Your father always used to say that watch was lucky,” Orion said, “and that if he ever got into any trouble, it would take him wherever he wanted to go. As far as I can tell, that was just your dad being your dad—making up stories to get a laugh—because I never saw it do anything.”
“Does it still work?”
“I don’t think so. But when we face Vincent, I thought maybe you’d like to take it with you, for good luck. Just in case.”
“Okay.” Tobin handed the watch back to Orion. “I will.”
“We’ll work tomorrow on teaching you how to use the portal pistol,” Orion said. “Step one to getting you back home. Sound good?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Tobin.”
“Goodnight. I think I’ll just sit out here for a little while longer.”
Tobin watched Orion walk back into the museum. When he was sure that the old man was gone, he leapt off the landing area and onto a lower part of the mountain. When he hit the ground, he ran into a dense circle of trees.
Even though he was no longer angry, and even though he was embarrassed by how he had acted, Tobin still knew one thing: there was only one way to make sure his friends were safe.
After running into a small clearing, Tobin looked back at the mountaintop. The museum was now far off in the distance.
“Well, here goes nothing.”
The boy reached into his pocket, pulling out a portal pistol. Earlier, without Orion knowing, he had snuck into the old man’s room and taken the chrome, red gun, hiding it away until now. He wished that he didn’t have to go this sneaky route, but felt he had no choice.
Nervously pointing the pistol away from him, Tobin pulled the trigger. There were different settings on the pistol, and different ways to fire it so you ended up exactly where you wanted to be on the other world, and when nothing happened, Tobin wasn’t sure he was using it correctly.
But then he felt the hair on his arms stick up. His clothes clung to his body. There was electricity all around, tingling in the air.
Then there was a red flash and a snap of lightning.
Tobin opened his eyes. A swirling, red-and-white portal was now hovering in front of him. Reaching forward, he stuck his hand into it, and felt a tremendous burst of static run up his arm. “Whoa,” he said, pulling his hand back. It felt like it had fallen asleep.
The boy eyeballed the portal, taking a deep breath.
“Home, here I come. I hope, anyway.”
With more than a little trepidation, Tobin jumped into the portal and it closed behind him with a SNAP!
In the sky above Bridgton, Massachusetts, directly above Paul’s Auto Repair, a red dot appeared. At first it was non-discrete—no bigger and brighter than a star. But then, slowly, it grew. It grew bigger and brighter until it pulsated with red light and buzzed in the night. Finally, when it was the size of a small car—CRACK!
The red circle was gone, and in its place there was a seventeen-year-old boy wearing a superhero costume.
But Tobin couldn’t fly, and soon he was falling. Screaming the whole way down, he watched the auto repair shop’s roof grow closer until he crashed into it with a THUD! Stunned and shaken, he stood, feeling a dull aching in his bones. Then he vomited over the side of the building.
“Ow,” he said, rubbing his elbows. “Something tells me that’s not how that’s supposed to work.”
He looked over the other buildings; he was in his hometown. He realized how long he had been gone, and how much he had missed it.
“Hello, Bridgton. It’s good to be back.”
With a grin, Tobin ran to the edge of the roof, leapt, and landed on top of the next building. Then, eyeballing the next rooftop, he used his newfound strength to leap onto that building. After sizing up his next jump, he came to a conclusion:
“I really gotta talk to Orion about getting me a ‘Strike-Mobile’ or something.”
Leaping from rooftop-to-rooftop, Tobin continued his journey all the way down Middle Street, heading toward Thomas Grocery. There, he knew, he could cut through its parking lot, cross through the woods, and, in no time at all, be at his friend Jennifer’s house.
In the Museum of the Heroes, Keplar and Scatterbolt were sitting at a table and playing cards. At the top of the mountain, where they were now, there were bedrooms, a kitchen, and a common area, all set up for a time like this when the museum was needed as a place for people to stay for a short period of time. As both Keplar and Scatterbolt hadn’t felt like sleeping (or, in Scatterbolt’s case, didn’t need to sleep), the two friends had instead settled in for a long night of junk food, cards, and laughter.
> “I bet...twenty-five,” Scatterbolt said, pushing a stack of chips across the table.
“Okay, you got it.”
Keplar threw his own chips into the pile, then put his cards down, face-up. “Three of a kind,” he chuckled. “Sorry, SB. Maybe next time.”
The dog reached for the chips, but then Scatterbolt showed his cards.
“I have all the same color.”
Keplar looked at the cards in astonishment. Happily, Scatterbolt wrapped his arms around the chips and gathered every last one.
“What the…?!” the dog said. “You played a seven and a three? Who the heck plays a seven and a three?”
The robot shrugged and counted his money. “They were all the same color.”
Keplar threw the cards down and sighed, giving up.
Several floors below Keplar and Scatterbolt, Orion was sitting at the duck pond, tossing some breadcrumbs to a trio of ducks. He was grateful for their company, as tonight he just couldn’t sleep, and needed something to take his mind off all that was troubling him. As he threw his last piece of bread into the pond, he turned, looking out the open window at the trees outside. He could not shake the feeling that something had gone wrong.
Tobin walked through the woods until he reached a spot where he could get a clear view of Jennifer’s house. As he peered from behind a tree, he was relieved to see that all was quiet—the house looked exactly the same as any other time he had visited.
“Well,” he said, “everything looks fine, I guess. But I should probably stay for a little while longer, just to make sure.”
Sitting on a rock, Tobin watched the house. He found it was nice to simply sit there, away from all the craziness of Capricious. As he thought and remembered what everything was like before, he did not notice something shuffling behind him.
In the museum, Keplar and Scatterbolt were about to start another game of cards when Orion burst in.
“Where is he?!” the old man shouted. “Where is he?!”
Keplar was startled. “Whoa, Orion, where’s the fire, buddy?”
The old man dashed by the card table. “The boy! Where is the boy?” He opened the kitchen door, looked inside, and then slammed it shut.
“I don’t know,” Keplar said, looking to Scatterbolt. “In his room sleeping, I guess? What’s going on?”
Orion rushed to Tobin’s room and opened the door. But the bed was empty.
“Dammit,” Orion whispered.
Outside of Jennifer’s house, Tobin was sitting on the rock, with his elbows on his knees, his chin in his palms, and his desire to leave waning by the second.
But then he heard something move behind him. He sat up, startled, and turned around.
A Gore was standing there, only a few yards away. As it stared at the boy, its red eyes were blinking out of the darkness of its hood, and it was raising one of its two-clawed hands.
Tobin stood up and removed his bo-staff from his back. “Get away,” he said. “Get away…”
But then there was more movement to Tobin’s right. He turned.
Two Eradicators were looking at him. The moonlight was shining off of their black armor, and as they lifted their fists, they pointed their blasters at him. Stepping closer, they tilted their heads and studied the boy.
Tobin turned to run, but stopped. What he saw took his breath away.
Orion dashed out of the museum, running toward the Sky-Blade. Keplar and Scatterbolt followed, confused and startled.
“Yo, Orion!” the husky shouted. “You mind telling us what the hell is going on?”
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, the demons were clicking their claws together, while the robots were whispering orders to each other.
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 mountain when a red flash and a burst of electricity snapped behind him. He 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, 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 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, but cried out and fell.
“Stay there,” Orion said, helping him lie down. “Don’t move.”
The old man inspected one of Tobin’s wounds; it was two slashes, side-by-side.
“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 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.”
The old man looked to Scatterbolt. The robot was standing in the rain, 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
IT 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. They had been on their way to various places—to work, to their parents’ house, to their friend’s place—but suddenly the sunlight had gone away. The blueness of the sky was replaced with a grey, swirling storm, rolling like an ocean, and the 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 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 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 g
reen 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 demons in hoods 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 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, freezing 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 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.”
