Superman: Dawnbreaker (DC Icons #4)(80)
“I can,” he said. Then he gave her a big hug, whispering in her ear, “I’m so incredibly happy for you, Gloria.”
“Thank you,” she told him. “Maybe you can help me move in September?”
“I’d love to.”
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go celebrate. I’m meeting Marco and some friends at All-American. They’d love to see you.”
“Sounds great,” Clark said.
They began walking the few blocks to the All-American Diner. Gloria was beaming, unable to let go of the letter. She kept reading it to Clark over and over again. Like she needed to make sure it was real. They talked about what she might study, and how excited she was to go back to Metropolis.
But as they neared All-American, Clark heard something else.
It was the steady whine of a failing airplane engine. He heard it approach the area at thirty thousand feet. Pass overhead and then start to fade in the distance.
Then the sounds of the engines were suddenly gone.
Clark strained to hear them, but there was nothing.
Instead, he heard a man’s faint voice. “Mayday! We are declaring an emergency. NationAir Five-Zero-Two. Repeat, full engine loss at thirty thousand feet.”
A strained robotic voice in the background repeated an emergency cockpit message over and over: “Pull up. Pull up. Pull up. Pull up. Pull up.”
Other cockpit sirens and alarms wailed. The noise became so clear, Clark felt like he was with them inside the cockpit.
Clark turned to Gloria. “Listen, I have to…” Clark couldn’t figure out what to say. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a sec, okay? I promise. But first there’s something I have to take care of.”
Gloria looked confused but eventually smiled. “Of course, Clark,” she said. “Do what you gotta do. We’ll see you when we see you.”
He nodded and jogged away behind a building.
Ducking behind a dumpster in an alley, he tore open his button-down shirt and quickly shed his regular Clark Kent clothes and glasses. Leaping into the air in a blue-and-red blur, he soared toward the falling airplane. Now nearly two hundred miles away. And descending rapidly.
His blue-and-red suit seemed to sparkle and shimmer so close to the sun. The bright red cape billowed behind him. The family emblem on his chest practically glowed, reminding him of who he was and why he needed to drop everything to save this crashing airplane.
And why he always would.
After all, he was more than just Clark Kent.
More than Kal-El, son of Jor-El, from the planet Krypton.
He was Superman.
I’d like to thank the following people who helped make this book possible. First off, a huge debt of gratitude goes out to the entire DC/Warner Bros. team for letting me dip a toe into the incredible Superman legacy. This was truly an honor! Thank you to the talented and tireless editorial team at Random House, especially Chelsea Eberly (you were incredible!), Michelle Nagler, and Jenna Lettice. Thanks to Chris Rylander, who was instrumental in the early part of this process. I’d like to thank so many other folks at Random House who played vital roles in this process: designers Regina Flath and Stephanie Moss; copyeditor Barbara Bakowski; the marketing team, including Lauren Adams, Tara Grieco, Kerri Benvenuto, Elizabeth Ward, Hanna Lee, Kate Keating, Kristin Schulz, and Mallory Matney; publicist Aisha Cloud; Tim Terhune in production; and the entire Random House sales team. I’d also like to thank Afua Richardson for creating such a beautiful Superman poster and Steven Malk for being the best agent a writer could ask for. And most importantly, I want to thank my wife, Caroline, and our two little people, Luna and Miguel. You all are my superheroes.
MATT DE LA PE?A is a #1 New York Times bestselling and Newbery Medal–winning author. He has penned six critically acclaimed YA novels, including Mexican WhiteBoy and The Living, a Pura Belpré Author Honor Book. Matt’s picture book Love was a #1 New York Times bestseller, and Last Stop on Market Street was awarded a Newbery Medal. Matt received an MFA in creative writing from San Diego State University and a BA from the University of the Pacific, which he attended on a full basketball scholarship. Matt lives in Brooklyn, New York.
mattdelapena.com
@mattdelapena
As Bruce rounded another bend, the wails suddenly turned deafening, and a mass of flashing red and blue lights blinked against the buildings near the end of the street. White barricades and yellow police tape completely blocked the intersection. Even from here, Bruce could see fire engines and black SWAT trucks clustered together, the silhouettes of police running back and forth in front of the headlights.
Inside his car, the electronic voice came on again, followed by a transparent map overlaid against his windshield. “Heavy police activity ahead. Alternate route suggested.”
A sense of dread filled his chest.
Bruce flicked away the map and pulled to an abrupt halt in front of the barricade—right as the unmistakable pop-pop-pop of gunfire rang out in the night air.
He remembered the sound all too well. The memory of his parents’ deaths sent a wave of dizziness through him. Another robbery. A murder. That’s what all this is.
Then he shook his head. No, that can’t be right. There were far too many cops here for a simple robbery.
“Step out of your vehicle, and put your hands in the air!” a police officer shouted through a megaphone, her voice echoing along the block. Bruce’s head jerked toward her. For an instant, he thought her command was directed at him, but then he saw that her back was turned, her attention fixed on the corner of the building bearing the name BELLINGHAM INDUSTRIES & CO. “We have you surrounded, Nightwalker! This is your final warning!”