The Push Chronicles (Book 2): Indefatigable Page 7

  "Methinks someone had foreknowledge of the evil that bred below," Archer observed. "Mr. Blanchard, mayhaps?"

  "Posssible, he wassn't with the corpssess or the ssurvivorss."

  "Let's find out." I moved the string of garlic out of the way and knocked gently at the door.

  "Go away, you bloodsucking freaks!" came the hysterical reply. It sounded like a man with a smoker's voice, raw from either screaming, crying, or maybe both.

  "Sir, I can't be one of those vampires," I explained. "The crosses and garlic would stop me."

  "I don't give a rat's ass!"

  "It's safe, they're all dead." Maybe that would work. I gave my compatriots a hopeful look. There was a brief silence.

  "Prove you ain't a vamp," the man replied, semi-coherently. "Take one of them crosses and put yer hand in the door holding in and not burning. No gloves or shit or I swear -"

  "Right, no problem, hold on," I assured him.

  "Better do it, it actually makesss ssensse."

  Fortunately the nails had been hammered in haphazardly and, with the help of the multi-tool from my gear bag, I pried one of the crosses off and, taking off my gloves, stuck my bare hand gripped around the crucifix through the door. I fully expected, with how my day had been, to have my hand shot off with a double-barreled shotgun. That did not happen.

  "Okay, you can come in."

  Paul Blanchard was more than just a White Power sympathizer, more than just a Humans for God supplier. He was also, unknown to us at that moment, an expert bomb-maker. Blanchard sat in a rocking chair in the center of the room as I opened it wide. He did, indeed, have a double-barreled shotgun in his lap. What was far more concerning was that he had a dead-man’s switch gripped tightly in his hand. The connecting wire ran to the timer of a rather large and dangerous looking explosive device. The first thought in my mind was an absurd one: Why would anyone include a timer on a bomb attached to a dead-man’s switch?

  "Right ... now ... lemme get a look atcha", the old man said, adjusting his glasses. Medusa and Archer came in right behind me, just as I was about to turn and tell them to stay back.

  "What?!" Paul cried in despair. "Yer not humans either!" There was no time to see what decision he would make. I sprinted at the old man in a scramble for that switch to the surprise of my friends, who were still getting their bearings. He raised the shotgun and I got a good look at both of the cavernous 12-gauge barrels as he pulled the trigger.

  Medusa, though, reacted quicker than the old man. With snake-like swiftness, she grabbed me from behind and threw me to the side as both barrels exploded with sound and fury. Even so, I caught a few stray pellets in my arm. Far worse, in my opinion, Meds took the largest portion of the blast, peppering her with buckshot in the side, the arm, the face.

  Worst of all, Blanchard threw down the dead-man’s switch as he fired. There was a click audible even through the sounds of the gunshot and the LED timer started to rapidly count through numbers.

  Chapter 8 Bomb

  I dove over Medusa's falling body towards the discarded switch. I, personally, had no idea how to disarm a bomb, especially not in mere seconds. I hit the floor at the same time as the dead-man's switch and caught it before it bounced once. Jamming the thumb switch down, my eyes were locked on the LED clock.

  It stopped at three seconds to detonation. A sigh of relief escaped my lips as I pushed up on my elbows and knees. Then it hit me, well, the butt end of a twelve-gauge shotgun hit me. I had forgotten about the old bastard. My world lurched a second, but I refused to let myself pass out, gripping hard to the switch.

  Archer bellowed out an angry shout and the floor shook a little as his armored boots pounded the hardwood. I tried to clear my head and get my bearings, dropping onto one side to look up.

  The old man's feet were dangling in the air as the Crusader held him aloft by the neck. Blanchard's feet were still kicking so he was thankfully alive, though I doubt he would be for long. Why did I care whether one old terrorist lived or died? This was a man who just about blew up not only us but who knows how many innocents in the adjacent buildings; this was a man who had just shot my best friend. I had no real reason to tell Archer to stop, I told myself, as I glanced at Medusa clutching her side, blood seeping onto the floor.

  "Archer," I said, "put him down." As ever, I would be my own worst judge. Even the most justifiable murder is still a murder.

  "This madman deserves to be put down, else he takes more innocent lives," Archer growled. I couldn't see though his visor, but his tone said all I needed to know.

  "That isn't for you to decide. Not in this town." I shot another glance at my friend. She was alive, which didn't surprise me exactly. Even those Pushed that weren't bullet-proof were notoriously hard to kill, but Meds needed help. "You swore to me you would do things our way in this town. Are you telling me your word means so little?"

  "I ... no," he said, slowly lowering the panicked bomber to his feet. Understandably, Archer didn't let the man go. "I am most sorry, Milady. I give thee thanks for not letting me lose myself." Crisis one averted. Two to go.

  "Right, then show me your thanks by getting Blanchard and Medusa out of here. She needs a doctor and he needs handcuffs." I shuffled until I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, thumb still pressed down on the switch.

  "Ye gods!" the armored hero exclaimed. "Where did my mind go?" Without a word of warning, he tossed the old man like a bag of seed over his shoulder and moved to cradle Medusa in his arms. Meds yelped in pain as she was moved, her snakes hissing defensively.

  "It'sss okay, girlsss," she assured her snakes, calming their writhing. "What about Indy?"

  "Yes, what about you, Milady?" Archer paused at the doorway.

  "We'll brainstorm over the com," I replied. "Just get them out of here, okay?"

  Reluctantly, the armored bowman disappeared down the stairs with his charges, leaving me alone with my silent, deadly companion.

  "So, who knows how to disarm a bomb?"

  I tried to make it sound as happy and joyful of a prospect as possible. My throbbing headache and the growing welts from the rubber bullets informed me it was quite alright to be sarcastic in a crisis. As I waited the brief moment for the coms to explode, I took a closer look at the bomb I was the caretaker of.

  It was home-made but compact. I could identify the timer, the plastic explosives, and realized there were far more wires and electronics than a standard 'boom-you-die' bomb would need. Redundancies? Booby-traps? Or, worse, was there also a transmitter that would set off multiple bombs? Ultimately, it meant, for now, I had no clue what to do other than hold onto the dead-man's switch for dear life.

  There was a cacophony of concern over my earbud that persisted until Extinguisher managed to make himself heard over the channel and bring about some order.

  "Shut it, people," he ordered. "We're on the clock. If you have any experience with this sort of thing, say 'aye'. If you don't, coordinate with PART and evacuate the block, starting with the bar survivors."

  "Verily, I have invented many an explosive weapon in the past few months," Archer volunteered. "Mayhaps I can be of service?"

  "I'm coming there," Rachel said. "Just let me get my tools." I thought I caught some objection by Duane for the moment the line was open, but it was lost when her channel closed.

  "Let Rachel see what she can do, Archer," Ex decided. "Not that I don't trust your skills, but we need our most mobile people focused on evac. No matter what, we can't let any innocents get harmed here."

  "Very well, sir," the Crusader relented. "Your point is most accurate."

  "Yeah, guys, take your time," I said, starting at the unblinking LED timer. It was an electronic reminder of my looming mortality. Oh, sure, most likely I would walk away from this moment. The team would get the bomb disarmed and we'd all have a celebratory cup of coffee back home. However, all that kept those last three seconds of life from slipping away was my thumb on the button. One day, sooner as opposed to later, I ha
d the bad feeling my thumb would get tired and it would all slip away.

  I rubbed my eyes with my free hand. Maybe I was just tired, hurt, and feeling sorry for myself. Maybe I was still kicking myself for being a total asshole to Ex, not that he hadn't done his fair share to deserve it. Most likely, I was doing exactly what everyone else said I was doing: working myself to collapse.

  "Are you conducting a private brooding session?" Rachel Choi asked. "Or can I join you?" She tried to sound jovial, but there was a justified undercurrent of nerves. "I promise I'll just observe while you spout Gothic poetry to the bomb." I gave her a brief smile as she ever-so-gently set a hard-shell tool case on the floor.

  "You can join the fun, but the brood is over for now," I replied. I looked back at the implement of destruction I was chained to. "Being forced to stay next to this thing with only a hair trigger and three seconds between you and death, well, yeah, I suppose it was making me morose."

  "It is certainly understandable." Rachel opened the case and began to pick and choose her tools, laying them out with the utmost care. The closest things I could associate them with were the tools of a surgeon: delicate and precise. After securing a headband laden with a variety of magnifying eyepieces in place, the detective gestured for me to move to one side.

  "If it won't break your concentration too much," I said, scooting, "can I chat?" Rachel made a vague nod of assent as she started to gently examine the device, moving aside wires and components with the ginger movements of a non-conductive probe.

  "Am I really pushing myself too hard?" Rachel paused for a moment.

  "Are you being serious, Irene?" Rachel's eyes never flitted from the dangerous work she was doing. "Or are you compensating for your fear of this situation with funny commentary?"

  "I'll take that as a yes." I wiped my brow. I was certainly sweating a lot today, but considering the stress and my injuries ... I was hurting considerably now. I really wanted a bottle of pain-killers right then. "What can I do about it? Seriously. Everyday there seems to be another Pushcrook or terrorist plot or public appearance that comes up. I have responsibilities."

  "We all do. Maybe yours are larger than, say, mine. It wouldn't be unreasonable to argue that." I could see the sweat bead on her brow. "All that should mean is that you should delegate more of the responsibility to those that you trust instead of shouldering it all yourself."

  "It's not their burden, though. It's mine." Was that as silly sounding as it seemed? Was the Whiteout creeping a bit of influence under my guard? "They weren't there when this happened. They're victims in all of this."

  "I would argue that most of them would disagree. I would also argue that they, being as affected by the change of the status quo as you were, have as much a right to shoulder the burden as you do." She retracted the probe and reached for some cutting tools. "I won't be surprised if, in the end, you wind up being personally instrumental to fixing all of this, being one of the only people who even knows for sure what the world was like before, but you won't be there alone. You need to accept that."

  "You're probably right." My reply prompted a faint smirk from Rachel.

  "I suppose I should be happy for a partial acknowledgment. Now, be very still and, well, pray if you think it helps." Rachel leaned in and started clipping.

  "The whole place was rigged to blow?" Captain Joe Braxton of PART asked. I was sitting with my legs hanging out of the back of the ambulance where Medusa was being attended to, a job Duane dealt with personally while an EMT fussed over my own wounds. Extinguisher and Rachel were also there, recounting the details of the raid to PART's chief field operative.

  "Correct, Captain," Rachel answered. "Blanchard had planted strategic explosives throughout the building. Individually damaging, but in concert, the whole building would have collapsed, not to mention the collateral damage to adjacent structures." The Captain took off his hat and scratched his head.

  "Jesus. Look, great job taking that apart but ..." He glanced at the bar. " ... I'm not exactly kosher with you guys digging through evidence at the same time we are."

  "Joe, it's really okay," Ex smiled and put an arm around Braxton's shoulder. "You know how committed we are with working with PART and the city. Honestly, have we ever kept any evidence from your team?"

  "Well, no," the Captain admitted. "My only worry is, well, there are a lot of people starting to wonder if we are even doing our jobs or just relying on the Five and Indomitable all the time."

  "That's just not true, Cap," I chimed in. "I wouldn't have even known to look into the missing persons case if your excellent detectives hadn't put the initial pieces together." I snapped my fingers and pointed at Rachel. "Oh, and what about the Firebug gang? We caught Firebug, but his gang would have torched City Hall if PART hadn't tracked them down during the big fight and busted them."

  "Indy is correct as usual, Captain," Rachel soothed. "As former law enforcement myself, I certainly understand your concerns. When you give your press conference about tonight, just make sure to remind people of PART's involvement in the case and our close partnership. Whatever you do, though, please do not limit our access."

  "The situation is just too dangerous, Joe." Ex gestured at the pile of staked corpses. "We have no idea, even now, if that was all the changed Hogs. What we do know is that whatever started this wasn't here." He crossed his arms. "These were all locals and either just recently reported missing or not even reported at all."

  "You're right, Ex," Braxton nodded after a moment. Though I didn't know for sure, with the rarity that any Pushed talked about their lives pre-Whiteout, Ex and Joe must have been friends before the change. "We've got Blanchard through processing, so I'm going to head down to the station for interrogation. The moment he coughs up something, I'll be in touch."

  "Thanks, Joe," the firefighter nodded and shook the Captain's hand as he left. We were sitting there in silence for a few moments until Duane came to the rear of the vehicle, pulling off bloodied rubber gloves.

  "Good news is that Medusa is healing right up once we got the pellets out of her," he announced, tossing the gloves into the proper receptacle. "With that crazy Pushed healing, she should be back to normal in a day tops."

  "The way you put that makes me ask what the bad news is," I glumly observed.

  "The bad news is that everyone who got a bite taken out of them gets to swallow a horse's load of antibiotics for a while," he answered without query, a big grin on his face. "The average human mouth is a nasty enough place, but top that with corpses who have been feasting on who knows what, including raw blood? Shit, it'll be lucky if no one winds up in the hospital with who-knows-what kind of infection."

  "Ever the bright spot of my life," Rachel chided. "Mr. Brooks, shall we go investigate the crime scene and let our casualties get transported back to the Foundation?"

  "I think that's a prime idea, Ms. Choi." Duane hopped out of the back of the ambulance. "Indy, tuck those legs up. I'm going to button this up."

  "Wait, I want to -"

  "No." All three of them answered in chorus.

  "You're going home and resting, Indy," Ex added. "Your doctor, your landlord, and your team leader are all ordering the same thing." Rachel and Duane nodded in agreement.

  "Hold on now," I said, "I can go along with that, but that will leave us without any backup there. It's not like we'd be in a condition to stop anyone from doing anything and, considering how this went down, we just made ourselves a big public target."

  "Indy's got a point," Duane agreed.

  "Right," Ex nodded. "I've got an idea."

  "Verily," the Argent Archer beamed as we lurched home through rush-hour traffic, a hazard that survived even in the post-Whiteout world, "I agreed most heartily with the suggestion that I protect our injured, especially as that includes you, Mi-er-Indomitable."

  "I am really, truly happy for you," I replied. My chest and side were throbbing in pain and, as if not to be outdone, the shrapnel wound from earlier today was singing i
n shrill notes of agony. Naturally, the way to make this better was to leave me with the mechanized Robin Hood from Merry Old England. At least Meds was somehow managing to sleep peacefully through this.

  "Oh truly!" he gushed. "Lord Epic wouldst be most proud of my performance thus far, methinks."

  What Medusa had mentioned before my nap earlier came back to me. Maybe I could get something useful out of the time I had to spend with Archer, as I had no doubts he would feel the need to play bodyguard. Really, how bad could it be? I owed him the benefit of the doubt, after all. He had saved my life back there in the bar and had, surprisingly, listened to me and spared Blanchard.

  He couldn't be all bad, could he?

  Chapter 9 Charming

  To be completely fair to the Archer, everything started off smoothly. The two of us got Medusa moved to the Foundation's infirmary. The snake woman seemed to be peacefully resting; a quick look at her wounds showed me that nothing had actually penetrated to the real woman inside. I had never really considered it fully but I supposed then that was the real trick of Pushed healing: it was never more than a flesh wound if it didn't get to the person inside.

  "Methinks she will recover quite readily," Archer nodded. "Now, wouldst Milady wish to rest here in yon bed or retire to another locale?" I glared at him a moment before I spoke.

  "I thought we had talked about the 'milady' nonsense," I said. "Why do you even call me that anyway? You don't do that with anyone else but ... oh."

  "'T would seem obvious to mine eyes that you have already made the proper connection," he said, starting to undo clasps on his helmet. "I am impressed by Lord Epic's firm conviction that you two will once again be together. 'T is a romantic thought, is it not?"