Superman: Dawnbreaker (DC Icons #4)(75)

“Doesn’t matter,” Clark said.

“You’ll never be one of them.”

“You’re probably right,” Clark said. He recalled the signs the protesters had carried. “But…Smallville’s my home, too.”

Bryan shook his head, looking mentally broken. Torn between two drastically different ways of seeing the world: his dad’s power-hungry, Machiavellian approach, and the one closer to Bryan’s own nature.

“Remember that first time we ate at All-American together?” Clark asked, sensing it was time to stop talking and start acting. “When you said you wanted to make your own path? Find your own success?”

Bryan tilted his head, wary, but listening.

Clark knew that this time he couldn’t be the hero. Not with the green substance flowing in the veins of every man down on the field. But maybe Bryan could.

“This is your chance,” Clark told him. “You could go talk to your dad. Stall the demonstration until the police get here.”

Bryan wheezed. “He’d never listen to me.” He coughed up blood and spit, staring at the ground for a few long seconds. Then he glanced over at his brother and Dr. Wesley before turning back to Clark. “Wesley developed a substance that reverses the effect of the Project Dawn compound. They prepared it for today in case anything went wrong. But it’s in Structure A, which is heavily guarded.”

Clark looked toward the field. “How would the fighters have to take it?” he asked. “From a syringe?”

Bryan shook his head. “It can be inhaled. They made the antidote even stronger than the compound itself. For safety reasons.”

Clark considered this. He turned to study the helicopter. “Where’s Structure A?” he asked, turning back to Bryan.

“It’s the smaller of the two buildings down…” Bryan’s eyes widened when he realized why Clark was asking. “You’d never make it out alive. Even if you did, there’s no way you could actually get it to each of those men before they killed you.”

“Not alone, I can’t,” Clark said. “If I’m going to pull this off, Bryan, I’ll need your piloting skills.”

“Those fighters will be on you the second you walk down the hill. My dad would probably welcome the chance to show off how much control he has over his army.”

“There’s no choice—”

“I’ll go,” Bryan interrupted.

Confused, Clark looked at his injured friend. “You said your dad would never listen to you.”

But Bryan didn’t seem to hear Clark. He was looking toward the crest of the hill now. “The fighters will assume I’m still on their side.”

Clark studied Bryan and could tell the substance still had a hold on him. “Are you on their side?” he asked.

Now it was Bryan who was studying Clark.

There was a long silence between them, and finally Bryan lowered his eyes. “I think I’ve always been searching for his approval. Secretly. And this time…I thought I actually had it.” Bryan stood up. “I’ll go.”

Clark wasn’t sure if he could trust Bryan. But at this point he didn’t really have a choice.

He moved toward his friend, but Bryan waved him back.

Bryan began to say something else to Clark, but then he closed his mouth and started toward the edge of the hill instead.





After Bryan disappeared from view, Clark walked over to the helicopter, where Corey was still pinned to the ground, cursing him. “My father’s going to destroy you, freak!” Clark ignored him and climbed on top of the helicopter, making sure the blades were in working order. He checked the windshield and the cockpit, too, then climbed back down and went to where Dr. Wesley sat on the ground, rubbing his hands against his legs, trying to thaw them out.

“You’re going to spend the rest of your life behind bars,” Clark told the man.

Dr. Wesley looked up at him, emotionless. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Montgomery and I are going to change the world.”

Clark was desperately trying to keep his rage in check. “Those are actual human beings down there. They’re not pawns for your experiments.”

“Sentimentality is a weakness,” the man said in an even voice. “The leaders of great empires don’t waste their time worrying about perception. They do what is necessary to win. To increase their power. The highest bidder down there will be able to turn his immigrants, his refugees and homeless and indigent populations, into a powerful army that will heed every command. Their physical abilities will be a dozen times greater than that of a normal soldier. And they will fight to the death.”

Clark started to respond, but Dr. Wesley immediately cut him off. “I already know your counter. ‘But it’s wrong. It’s immoral.’ Well, what do you think we’ve been doing since the founding of this nation? Answer me that. Remember, it’s the winner who gets to frame history.”

Clark stood there, fuming.

“Try to see it rationally,” Dr. Wesley went on. “These men…they’ve come here to make a better life, right? Well, we’re giving them purpose. Meaning.”

Clark realized he didn’t need to put his thoughts into words.

He went over and helped the man to his feet. And the second Wesley opened his mouth to say something else, Clark cracked him right in the jaw.