Strike: The Hero From The Sky

By Charlie Wood

Tobin Lloyd's life is perfect: he's a senior at Bridgton High, he's one of the funniest kids in school, and his only worry is whether or not his latest prank is going to result in yet another detention.

But when he wakes up in the world of Capricious, a place where superheroes are real and attacks by super-villains are just another hassle of living in the city, all of that changes. Suddenly, Tobin's last year of high school is not going as he expected.

Far from home and pretty sure he's gone insane, Tobin must join a strange group of companions (including a beer-drinking dog and a genius, three-foot-tall robot) as he desperately tries to find a way back to Earth. However, that may be even harder than Tobin knows: a mysterious super-villain named Vincent Harris has big plans for the planet Earth...and Tobin is the only person standing in his way.

A carefree, C-student class clown is the world's last hope? Yikes.

Full of action and humor, Strike: The Hero From The Sky is the perfect novel for anyone who loves a good adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlie Wood
• Release date: May 4, 2013

Charlie Wood

Charlie Wood lives with his wife, Kate, in Massachusetts. He enjoys movies, baseball, and comic books. This is his first novel.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Tobin? Are you ready?

Tobin Lloyd sat up with a start, knocking over the bowl of cereal that was resting on his chest and spilling it onto the couch.

Aw, c’mon, he groaned, maneuvering away from the milk and soggy corn puffs. He had woken up early to study for his upcoming history test, but had apparently fallen back asleep during breakfast. Whoops.

Tobin? his mother called again. Are you up? It’s almost time, you know.

Yeah, I know, he replied, grabbing the spoon from the floor and using it to scoop the rest of the corn puffs from the couch 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, so his mom wouldn’t hear he was actually watching YouTube clips of The Three Stooges. Yeah, I’m actually looking at it right now, and you know what, 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. She was now standing in the doorway of his room.

Oh, hello, he said with a smile.

Looking across the room, Tobin’s mother spotted his history book, lying underneath a pile of clothes.

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.

She smirked. 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. Yup. And can you please stop calling them ‘dates,’ by the way? It’s creepy. Plus the guy practically lives here.

She walked to Tobin 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?

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.

TobinLloyd

Seven hours later, Tobin opened his locker and began putting his books away while his best 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.

She stared at him. And you don’t even care, do you?

I know. Wait, what’re we talking about again?

He smirked and closed his locker. The two friends walked down the noisy hallway.

You are unbelievable, Tobin. I swear, you drive me absolutely crazy.

Why? he laughed. Because I got kicked out of the cafeteria? Big deal, Jen, who cares? What are you so worried about?

She shoved the detention back to him. This, Tobin. This is what I’m so worried about.

This? Okay, watch, watch this.

He 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? he said, holding up his empty hands. No more worry.

Jennifer watched the detention get lost in a sea of teenagers’ feet. Yeah, that’s great, Tobin, that’s 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?

He thought a moment. I can, if you want me to, he said, looking through his backpack. I have it right here.

She turned and walked towards the school’s lobby.

You know what, Tobin? Fine. If you don’t care, then I don’t care.

Following his friend outside, Tobin walked with her 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, catching up with her. 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 on the sidewalk, but they only glanced at him before returning to their conversation.

Okay, 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.

I know it does. You’re weird.

No, I’m not, she laughed, I’m normal. She stopped and turned to him. "Look, I’m as excited as anybody for the rest of senior year, Tobin, but this is all gonna be over in a few months, 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 doesn’t lead to a career."

Sure it does.

What?

He grinned. "Host of Family Feud."

Turning the corner of Middle Street, the two friends walked toward a soccer field behind the high school, where the Bridgton Panthers were getting ready for their afternoon match against the Hillside Warriors. Chad Fernandes, the third member of their trio of best friends, was waiting for them there, so Tobin hopped up onto a set of bleachers while Jennifer stood nearby.

I still don’t get why you’re so worked up about all this, Jen, Tobin said. "It’s freaking October. I still have plenty of time to think about all this."

No, you don’t, she said, not really. Even Chad has started thinking about colleges already. That’s how far behind you are.

Tobin snickered. No, he hasn’t. He turned to Chad. Have you?

Yeah. Chad was tall, lanky, and one of Bridgton High’s best athletes. He and Tobin had been friends ever since the second grade, when they were both teammates on the Bridgton Little League Blue Jays. Some dude from UMass is coming to watch my first game next month.

Yeah, well, that’s not fair, Tobin said, rolling his eyes. You’re only going to college because you can put an orange ball into a hole with a net on it. Congratulations.

Chad laughed. Hey, it’s not my fault I have a skill at something, Tobin. Maybe if you had any kind of skill, you’d be going to college, too.

Tobin has skills, Jennifer said. He just…doesn’t know what they are yet.

Yeah, that’s right, Tobin agreed. I’m good at plenty of stuff. Like… He scanned the soccer field. I’m really good at watching other people do things, he said proudly, holding up a finger. I could sit here and watch other people do things all day.

Tobin watched the field, then sighed as if exhausted.

Whew. I am really good at this. Really, really good.

Jennifer groaned and rubbed her temples. God help me.

Nearby, in the school parking lot, a car honked its horn.

Oh, that’s my mom, Jennifer said. I better go. But you guys are going to Stacey Redmond’s party tonight, right?

Yeah, Chad said, I am, but Detention-Boy over here is working.

You are?

Yeah, only till 9:30, though, Tobin said, so I’ll probably stop by after.

Oh, good, Jennifer replied, you definitely should. Everyone’s gonna be there, and who knows how many more times we’ll all have to hang out like this, you know? Plus, I really wanted to talk to you guys about something, too. You promise you’ll be there?

Yeah, Tobin said. I’m going.

You promise? Jennifer held out her pinkie. I really want you to be there, Tobin.

He looked at her with a confused smile, then completed the sacred pinky swear.

Okay, he laughed. I’ll be there. I promise.

Okay.

She walked toward the parking lot.

Bye, guys. See you tonight.

Later, Jen.

Bye.

Tobin watched as she got into the car and it drove off.

What was that all about? Chad asked.

Tobin turned back to the soccer field. I don’t know. She’s probably just having a nervous breakdown. Again.

The two friends shared a laugh. Then, as the referee blew his whistle, they turned their attention to the game and cheered on their school’s team.

What they didn’t know, however, was that they were being watched.

Jonathan Ashmore—a thin, pale man in his late twenties dressed in a perfectly tailored purple suit—was standing behind the bleachers, leaning against the high school and studying the boys with a smirk. As the soccer match got underway, he popped a piece of gum into his mouth, kicked himself off the building, and strolled down Middle Street, walking among the people of Bridgton.

CHAPTER TWO

A dozen miles from Bridgton High, on the outskirts of town in an area nearly devoid of people, Jonathan Ashmore hopped over a rusted fence and walked across the crumbling parking lot of the old Bridgton Amusement Park. The park had been abandoned for over two decades, yet its structures still stood: the merry-go-round, with its wooden horses, elephants, and swans swollen into deformed monsters; the popcorn booths, with their doors boarded up and their windows coated in thick grime; the rollercoaster, with its barely-there track covered in peeling white paint and its loops ending abruptly in mid-air. The place was like a forgotten memory, left to rot in the sun and sit alone in the night.

Ignoring these macabre remnants, Jonathan made his way through the park until he reached the creepiest structure of them all: the Haunted Forest Fun House, with its scary-looking trees and their scary-looking faces looking down on him. Inside, he walked along the track, weaving around its motionless carriages and broken-down ghosts, goblins, and reapers, and eventually reached an elevator door. The door was surrounded by plastic trees and cobwebbed shrubs, and a sign above it read:

ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER! DO NOT USE!

Paying no mind to the warning, Jonathan pressed a small button near a speaker on the wall.

Harold, it’s me. I’m here to see Vincent. He’s expecting me.

With a ding, the elevator door opened and revealed Harold—a scrawny, wispy-haired, elderly man dressed in a long, black coat with green trim on the sleeves. As he stepped aside, he greeted Jonathan with a smile that made him appear younger than his eighty-eight years.

Hey, Jon, how are ya? Good to see you. Come in, come in.

Jonathan stepped into the elevator and the doors closed.

***

A few moments later, the doors opened again and Jonathan stepped out. He was now in an elegant, serene entryway, with walls lined with gleaming emerald stones and a ceiling that was over forty feet high. The focal point of the entryway, facing the elevator, was a giant pair of golden doors, resting in an arch. Not only were the doors so tall that they almost reached the ceiling, but they also had eight doorknobs at their very top, where no one could reach them.

Stepping aside, Jonathan watched as Harold walked out of the elevator and removed his coat. The elderly man actually had a second pair of arms, located directly underneath his normal pair, and also a second set of legs, which folded down from behind his back. Skittering like a spider, he climbed up the golden doors and grabbed each of the eight doorknobs with each of his hands and feet.

You know, Jonathan asked, I’ve been wondering: what would happen if you didn’t turn all eight at the same time?

Harold leaned back with a smile. Well…you don’t want to know, let’s put it that way.

Jonathan raised his eyebrows, leaving the conversation at that. Above him, the eight-limbed man turned all the doorknobs at once and leapt back to the floor. Slowly, as Harold stepped aside, the doors opened with a smooth, elongated WHOOOOOOOSH!, revealing a swirling, humming portal of black energy behind them. The massive portal filled the entire arch, had a reflective surface like a mirror, and snapped and cracked with occasional bursts of purple electricity.

There you go, Harold said, walking back to the elevator. It’s all yours, Jon.

Thanks, the pale man replied. Then, just as he had so many times the last few months, he stepped into the portal and disappeared into its mirrored surface.

***

A half-second later, as easily as if he was walking through a door, Jonathan emerged from the other side of the portal and stepped into a strange city. It was a bustling place, with large, gleaming apartment buildings; streets filled with sleek, retro-cool cars that appeared to be from the 1940’s and 50’s; and perfectly paved sidewalks lined with smiling vendors selling fruits and vegetables. The people of the city—many of whom had skin that was a light shade of green—wore suits and hats and sundresses, and up-tempo jazz music from a street corner band filled the air. The city, known as New