The Push Chronicles (Book 3): Incorruptible Page 6

  "You don't know what the 'cavalry' will be like then." Medusa knew what I was thinking.

  "It could be good but, at the same time, it could go very bad. As much as I want to get Alma out of whatever damn contraption they have her in, I don't know if we can risk it. After Washington, it was like moving mountains to get the powers that be to back off and give us a chance to let the Pushed police themselves," I said. I avoided shaking my head at the thought of all that lost goodwill. "What Epic did here, no matter how well it was spun for the press, is going to ruin all of that, if it hasn't already."

  "They might be right," Vee hummed after a moment's silence. "Unless the Crusaders have a top-notch bullshit artist out there, the Pentagon's going to see this as an armed invasion of U.S. territory. Heck, they will no doubt connect 'Crusader' with 'terrorist' and I doubt they will be too picky when it comes to dangerous-looking Pushed when they get in here."

  "It doesn't matter." Quentin had put down his silverware and his tone had darkened. "There is no other way to win this. Even with both Irene and myself, how can we beat a thousand man army? Add on to that all the people who do support the Crusaders. That is a lot of bystanders, not to mention those in the police and emergency services who are on their side."

  "There'sss alwayss another way! There hasss to be!"

  I wondered about that. I wanted to say yes, to agree with Medusa with every ounce of my heart. It wasn't entirely the Whiteout thinking for me either. I knew that once the military became involved, it would be lighting the fuse of the bomb. At the same time, though, Quentin had a pile of excellent, realistic points. The forces just weren't there for a viable Option B. As I mulled this over, another aspect of the argument, a personal one, came into my head.

  Like it or not, I had gained a reputation since the Battle of Washington. People looked up to Indomitable, believed in that smiling image I posed for in pictures. Whatever I said, if I gave it that same sincerity, would strongly sway everyone at this table. So what was I going to be? Irene Roman, scientist and realist picking the lesser of two evils in a bad situation, or Indomitable, relentless heroine who would always choose 'the other way', even if she had to make it up on the fly?

  The argument had continued, polite but passionate, as I collected myself. The pause I needed to say my peace came when I suddenly stood up from my chair. Everyone at the table turned to face the abrupt movement.

  "All of us here at this table, we want to save lives, don't we? We want to protect the innocent and the people who can't stand up for themselves. That's why we're here, right?"

  One by one, they all nodded or gave a solemn yes in reply.

  "We have a terrible choice to make then, it seems. We can keep going how things have gone these past weeks, a delaying action at best from everything you have all said, or we break down that barrier and let the full wrath of the United States government, justified as it may be, wash down on this city. Either way, it seems, thousands, tens of thousands, can ... will ... die. Can any of you make that decision with a clear conscience?"

  I only let the silence stand for a moment before continuing.

  "The only choice, then, is to find another option.

  "I know it doesn't seem rational. That it seems crazy. Any other option is suicide." I took in a deep breath. "That's probably a fair assessment. Even if we took what seems to be our best shot ... freed every one of our friends and allies ... we would be hopelessly outmatched. After all, that's how they took this city, right? Force of numbers?

  "I'd argue that it doesn't matter. I'd argue that even the slimmest chance to save everyone is worth the risk when every other choice knowingly damns them. The only choice of a moral individual in this position is to choose the chance for life, not for themselves, but for the innocents."

  I had started sweating, a lingering fever from my detox most likely. My fingernails were digging into my palms as I craved the relief a few hydromorphone could give me. Somehow, I held my ground, waiting for the silence to end.

  "Alright." Quentin looked at me and, despite the obvious doubt on his face, nodded. "Option B, it is then."

  Chapter 8 Bait

  "How bad is it today?"

  That was the first thing Duane Brooks asked me every day for the past week, since I had returned to the realm of the living a week ago. Naturally, it was the first thing he asked as he came into the examination room that day as well. I took a moment to consider the question, staring at my bare knees.

  "It's not so bad today, really." That was the truth. I felt a bit wrung out from a wave of craving the night before, but at the moment I was centered. The flimsy examination gown was more annoying than my lingering addiction. "I'm getting past it."

  "Don't get cocky, Doc." Duane motioned for my wrist. Time for all the usual exam stuff. "You know as well as I do you just don't get over this kind of thing." He nodded, seeming pleased with my pulse. "Promise me, though, that when it comes back, don't keep it under your mask, okay?"

  "Right." The goosebumps rose up as he put the cold stethoscope to my back. "Am I cleared, do you think?"

  "Honestly, I'm hard pressed to say 'no', which should give Rachel and you endless amounts of joy." He directed me to breathe in and out regularly. A moment later, another nod and a mark on my chart.

  "It's not about joy, but yes, I want to get out there and try to do something about all of this." There was a distinct temptation to keep the decision the rest of us had made at that brunch days ago from Rachel and Duane but that was the petty part of me. Delaying this long had purely been to wait for us to be fully ready before presenting it. "Look, I need to talk to you and Rachel about something very important."

  Duane ran his hands over his bald scalp with a rueful look.

  "Sure, if you need to." He moved on to the next part of the exam mechanically.

  "You've been subdued for days now. What's wrong?"

  "What do you think, Doc?" Duane shook his head to no one in particular as he checked my eyes. "Serious shit is going down and this time I don't think we've got the tiger by the tail. That tiger is mauling the ever-loving hell out of us."

  "Yeah, well, that's true. Probably more true than I know." I shot him a cocky grin, even if I didn't feel it. "Chin up. I'm here now and ready to roll. Give me a few days and everything will be fine."

  "Nice sentiment," he said with a snort of laughter. "It might even be true." Duane glanced at the charts and sighed. "I hope it's true. I'm sick of putting your people back together and being stuck in this place. I just want to go outside, smoke a cigar, and go to a steakhouse without being thrown into the slammer."

  "Just give me a chance."

  It must have been something in my voice that made him give me a hard stare. Maybe I was starting to buy into my own bullshit.

  "Alright, Irene. Look, the rest of this is just a formality." Duane tossed the clipboard onto a nearby counter. "Get dressed and let's talk to Rachel."

  "You realize that's putting this entire city's future on the line on what is essentially a hunch with only the barest evidence to back it up?"

  Unlike the first meeting I had with Rachel Choi after I had been rescued, the atmosphere was akin to the old days. Sure, the old days weren't even a month in the past but that was only a technicality. Instead of feeling like an employee to her 'boss behind the desk', Duane, Rachel, and I were arrayed around a side table strewn with folders of information the Detroit team had gathered while I was out of the picture. I was going my best to push down my annoyance at all the previous secrets and Rachel was doing the same, looking past her frustration with my bullheadedness.

  "We've seen it happen once and we know some of these folks are obviously not happy with how things are going," I said. "I don't see any other option that doesn't end in certain bloodshed."

  "You've got a point there, Doc." Duane stood up and arched his back. "Christ, even if the military doesn't just go all-out shock and awe on the Crusaders, there's no way any fight between the two isn't going to trash half of
the city."

  "Now wait, I didn't say I wasn't thinking about it," Rachel said, raising her hands up. "I just want us all to know and take full stock of what is on the line here and how tenuous the facts are." She rubbed her eyes, red with lack of sleep. "I wish I had something more concrete myself."

  "Honestly, I never intended for the plan to drop the barrier to be the final one. I had expected to figure a more effective strategy before now but it looks like Epic had spent far longer on his own planning." Rachel shook her head. "Even the civil protests aren't as large as I was expecting."

  "Well, that asshole has all the cards," Duane growled. "People can be pretty complacent when a God-on-earth is looking down on them. They've got food, medicine, and shelter still. I'd say we could wait until shit gets tight then ride the wave of resentment, but I'm not that cruel."

  "Is this the part where we all talk in circles about other ideas that we could do, but we aren't, and then eventually settle on the risky-but-moral plan we started this discussion with?" I sat back down into my chair. "If we are, I'm going to go get a pot of coffee started."

  Rachel answered by bouncing a thoroughly-abused stress ball off of my forehead, eliciting a deep chuckle from Brooks.

  "That's my Rachel." He smirked at me. "I think that's your answer."

  "Great!" I favored Rachel with a smile. "So, you're the expert planner. How do we do this?"

  "The first step I think is obvious to everyone here at this table." She turned to the desk-mounted map and tapped the Plaza. "That would get the right kind of attention, I think."

  I stared down at the uniform laid out on the bed and wondered if this wasn't becoming the real addiction. The reinforced motorcycle leathers, almost garish in their white and blue coloration, had become a second skin over the months I had worn them and just the thought of suiting up once more sent a shiver up my spine. I picked up the domino mask and looked into its empty eyeholes. Would I ever put this down? Maybe a better question would be if I would be allowed to put it down.

  No more recriminations, no more doubt. I had to get back to work.

  Even though this was a brand new suit, it seemed to fit like a well-worn glove. The leather creaked as I made a fist. This was good. This was right. As I stuck the mask to my face, letting the spirit gum set, there was a knock at my door.

  "It's open."

  Medusa came into the room as she opened the door. Her serpentine eyes gave me a look up and down.

  "Welcome back, Indy."

  "Thanks, Meds." I let myself have a small smile. "Let's start saving the world again, shall we?"

  The hardest part of our initial plan was getting everyone into the right place without raising anyone's alarms. The fact was that subtlety was hard for the Pushed, especially if they didn't have any powers to assist them in being so. By their very nature and that Pulse they gave off, the Pushed attracted, no, demanded attention. Still, with a little work, it could be done.

  For myself and Quentin, it had been simple, if stifling, to wear coats over our more distinctive clothing. Between that and helmets, we looked no different than any other motorcyclists out for a drive. That, of course, exposed me to the changes that had overtaken the city while I had been put out of action.

  The striking things weren't the obvious changes. It only made sense that, in the continuing state of emergency, all traffic was scarce. Many businesses would be disrupted and who knows what kind of economic system the Crusaders were enforcing. The only places I saw with any real concentration of people were cafes, restaurants, any place that was a point of food distribution. At least people were getting fed.

  No, the real things that put me on edge were the subtle things. There were still police on the streets, but few of them work badges or normal uniforms, not to mention the heavier firepower they carried. The people that did roam the streets looked down, never at others, and made little, if any, conversation. Even the ever-present cellphone seemed to have been silenced. What had been a bustling, vibrant city seemed to have been repopulated with shuffling masses of sheep.

  We parked our bikes in a parking structure a block away from the Bank of America Plaza. It was surprisingly empty, I noticed, as we walked out to the street.

  "Fuel rationing," Quentin said offhandedly. "Sorry, I saw you staring around and figured..." He shrugged.

  "Excellent deduction. Dead on, actually." I stopped for a moment at the exit and stayed in the dim lights of the building. It was late afternoon now and the sun was starting to descend, throwing shadows everywhere. "You're pretty perceptive."

  "It's a gift, I guess." He perked. "Frost just touched down on the rooftop here."

  I gave him a dubious glance and listened to my earpiece. A moment later, it crackled to life.

  "I've perched," Frost rumbled softly. "I shall try to get closer, but we dragons are not precisely sneaky."

  Quentin gave me a huge smirk.

  "Understood." I cut my mic. Voltage and Medusa were currently intangible electricity bouncing between the lines, out of contact. My watch said we still had a minute and twenty-three seconds until go time.

  "How?"

  "Good ears."

  "Anything else I should know?"

  "Just alert, I guess."

  "Smart ass."

  That time was gone now. I could only assume that this was another expression of what Mackenzie had told me: every Natural was a little different. My strength was in my physical talents and Ian had been an intellectual powerhouse. Quentin's abilities seemed to be in his perception, senses enhanced beyond any of the rest of us. I kept that fact in mind as we moved out onto the street.

  The Plaza pierced up into the sky, already dominating the immediate skyline. That dominance was extended by the pure golden beam of light, overpowering the glowing background of the dome, which shot up into the sky. The entire block housing the Plaza was surrounded by police barricades with gated checkpoints at the main entrance and the attached parking deck. The conventional security seemed somewhat lax outside of the guards at the two gates. That was because there were far more dangerous security watching, only a moment away.

  We were about to cross the street to the main gate when my watch's alarm sounded softly. Right on schedule. I gave Quentin a single nod as we crossed. His only response was to refocus on the security guards ahead of us.

  Our approach had not gone unnoticed. The three guards at the gate itself moved into action. One seemed to take center, his hands raised to arrest our approach. The two others raised their sub-machine guns, taking aim to cover their fellow.

  "Stop right there, folks," the officer said. "Authorized workers only. Let me see your ID cards." The people who had been shuffling along the sidewalk behind us began to slow, attracted to the change in the silence around them.

  "Sure thing, officer," Quentin said in a soothing voice as we both raised our hands.

  "Can we, well, get them out?" I added, pointing a finger at the gunmen.

  "Go ahead. Just don't make any sudden movements." The officer seemed relieved. "We've had a lot of problems the past week."

  "I'm sorry to hear that." We both slowly dug into our coats. I felt a pang of regret as I closed my hand around the handle of the industrial-strength pepper spray. My mind and body kicked into overdrive as I flicked that certain mental switch. Unlike the escape from the prison, the mental focus came easy, almost as easy as it did before my imprisonment.

  The guards seemed to be moving like slugs as I drew the pepper spray and squeezed the trigger as Quentin did the same, firing concentrated doses right into the eyes of the two gunmen. Rachel assured me that every security profession tries to familiarize its members with these kind of chemical weapons, but I still didn't like to use them. As the two guards screamed in agony, I easily hopped the gate, landing beside the first guard.

  He was disarmed before he could draw his sidearm as Quentin hit the ground beside me, discarding his overcoat. The guard had more than enough experience to realize it was better to just scr
amble away than to try anything more. I wasn't going to argue with him. One less normal person I had to hurt was so much the better.

  "Give it a moment and they'll be here," Quentin assured me. "I can hear the orders to back off now."

  I nodded, casting my own coat aside, as well as the spray canister. That wouldn't do me any good in a moment. The helmet was next to go. I wanted whoever was watching to see who it was that was coming.

  "Alright, Epic, here I am!" I shouted. My ears weren't as good as Quentin's, but they were good enough to hear a sudden strange stir in the people that had stopped to watch across the street. "I'm taking this thing down so I'd suggest getting your people out of here before I come up there."

  Quentin had drawn the two fighting batons he carried in a back sling before the sickening twist of an influx of Pushed energy hit my gut. Reality split asunder as a white disk formed in the air. One of my ex-boyfriend's teleportals. I felt my muscles tighten as another surge of adrenaline rushed through my veins. I only hoped the right people stepped out.

  I wasn't disappointed when the Atlanta Five Minus One emerged. Even Mind's Eye, her sash fluttering in the supernatural wind, floated out. If my mental clock was right, five seconds to go. Voltage had assured me he'd be aware of everything once they left the wires. I hoped he was right.

  "Indomitable, Quentin Strange, by order of the -" Extinguisher began to say, pointing in his best authoritative manner at us, which, to be fair, was pretty impressive. That's when the huge arc of electricity blasted up from the metal utility access panel in the sidewalk and blasted the pavement right in the middle of the cluster of them. The shockwave of the thunder and the stunning force of the electricity scattered the lot of them as Voltage and Medusa returned to material form.

  "One by one, just like the plan," I called into the com as I rushed into motion, Quentin on my heels and the shadow of dragon wings in the sky cast down from above me.