(The Push Chronicles (Book 2): Indefatigable (2 page)

Chapter 2 Cross

I had come to accept that it was nigh-impossible to prepare for anything in a world where everything was possible.
Still, I had never even considered that I would find myself struggling with a dead body that was trying to kill me.  One part of my swiftly-moving mind tried to formulate some plan of attack, observe some insight on how to not get myself killed.  Surprisingly, it had nothing to offer me.  After all, it was one thing dealing with normal Pushes.  There was a mortal being inside and I was a nemesis to the unnatural.  I could get at the vulnerable thing in the superhuman shell and ways to hurt a human, well, was something easy to formulate for a physiologist.  How do you hurt a corpse?

With my mind and body moving as one, I was faster than any normal person but, compared to this vampiric thing, I was moving in molasses.  I had only moved three steps before it had crossed the dank chamber, lunging with grime-encrusted nails at my shoulders.  Though faster in speed, I seemed to be competitive in terms of pure reflexes and found myself instinctively correcting for the creature's attack, slipping to one side of it before throwing a Hail-Mary cross at its head.  The monster seemed to have no conception of self-preservation and moved into the blow in its efforts to snatch me.  As with all the 'invulnerable' superhumans I had faced so far, I felt the slight resistance of the supernatural outer skin, then my fist carried through, powered by all the strength my body could put behind it.

Punching the partially rotten corpse was, to that point, the most disgusting thing to ever happen in my life.  My full strength tore into dead skin and flesh, knocking the jawbone completely free on one side.  The air was filled with an explosion of new, fetid aromas as coagulated fluids and decomposing tissue went flying in a spray away from the impact.  Any living creature would have been instantly incapacitated from shock and would certainly die without immediate medical attention from such an injury.  Unfortunately, I wasn't fighting a living creature.  The outer vampiric form matched the inner corpse, its phantom jaw being knocked off its hinges with a tearing of alabaster flesh, but it did not crumple.  There was a brief guttural howl as it turned back to me.  Already I could see that some force, the unnatural shell itself, was forcing the jaw back into place, just as the vampire's form seemed to regenerate in mere moments.

The distraction of watching the bizarre double-action was a stupid mistake.  The vampire felt no pain, no more than I did, and in its animalistic rage simply barreled into me.  It was only a few steps before my back slammed once more into the dripping brickwork except that this time, there was a supernaturally strong corpse limb jamming me into it.   The vampire had pinned me to the wall by virtue of its rotting forearm across my chest.  As my collarbones creaked, a blood-stained hand snaked up to grab my head, most likely to pry it aside to get at the blood vessels in my neck.  Classic movie monster.

This thing was far stronger than I was, but I still felt some relief when I pushed against its elbow with one hand.  My other hand moved to intercept his groping hand.  I didn't try to match its grip; I deflected the arm to one side, sending the corpse's fingertips burrowing into the bricks behind me.  My accelerated thoughts cycled through my options.  Any physical damage I did to the corpse, I assumed, would be temporary: the Push shell would simply force it back into position and carry on.  It felt no pain, no shock ... frankly, it had no conventional vulnerabilities.  At the same time, I could use whatever violence I needed to without fear of hurting a living person.  What I needed to remember was every popular myth about vampires.  The Whiteout stole its template for the universe not just from Eric Flynn's mind, but bits from every mind it touched.  However the myths say the methods are to kill a vampire, that is most likely what this thing was vulnerable to.

I ruled out sunlight immediately as I brought my free hand back down with a hammer punch right on the corpse's shoulder.  As with the jaw, the power of my blow was enough to crush the entire shoulder socket, giving me a momentary gap of safety as the arm was pulled back into place by the regenerating vampiric form.  Using that opening, I released my grip on its pinning forearm and delivered a short, sharp blow to the ribcage.  My hand dug into the viscous mass of the monster's torso and I was infinitely grateful for my leather gloves and full-body uniform.  With the vampire's equilibrium disrupted by the two structural breaches, I was freed of enough pressure to bring my legs up to my chest and violently thrust outward, sending the vampire flying across the room into the steamer trunk.  The swollen wood burst from its bands and sent a torrent of earth spilling out to the ground.  The monster was already stirring, white flesh knitting together and corpse parts being shoved back into place.  I need real options and I needed them now.  My brain, thankfully, delivered as I slid down the wall, catching myself in a crouch.

I pushed off from the crouch into a smooth pounce, crashing on top of the corpse while it was still off-balance.  Another spray of moist earth blasted up into the air as I tried to pin the creature with my knees.  I frantically dug through the mounds of earth and debris for something wooden, long, and pointy.  It didn't take long, a mere moment, to find something suitable.  It was time for a classic horror-movie-vampire-staking.  I raised the broken, jagged-edged plank up high and brought it down, letting my scientific knowledge guide my hand.

If it had gone according to plan, my strike would have been true.  My aim was impeccable.  I had failed to properly account, though, for the plethora of supernatural abilities vampires were reputed to possess.  Just as the makeshift stake began to part the perfect outer flesh, the creature shrieked and exploded.  Not, unfortunately, into inert dust like so many TV show portrayals, but into a sickly cloud of fog.  I held my breath as the mist suddenly burst past me on an unnatural wind, ending with another slight pop as the air pressure shifted back and forth.  I threw myself from my kneeling position to spin onto my back, just in time to see a pair of massive fangs descend.  There was no room to maneuver in the wreckage of the trunk.  All I could do was throw up a forearm in defense.

I was saved from the worst case scenario once more by my peculiar immunity to the Pushed.  Those knife-like teeth were immaterial to me.  Still, the inhuman strength behind the corpse's jaws mashed hard into my leather sleeve.  I could feel my forearm muscles get torn and mangled as my mind ticked off the damage and suppressed the pain.  My eyes locked with the double gaze of my attacker, who continued to try to gnaw through my sleeve, I blindly stabbed upward with the sharpened slat.  Though nowhere near the heart, the wood itself seemed to be repellent to the beast, at least able to wound it better than my fists or feet.  There was a shudder that ran through my arm as wood pierced inhuman flesh.  The glowing red eyes gaped and in a fraction of a second I was free as the beast recoiled to howl in rage.  It turned away from me, clutching at the board that had impaled it through the guts.  I was sickened to see not only bits of dead matter drip out of the wound, but surprisingly fresh blood as well.

Willing myself to hold it together, I forced myself into action and rolled to my feet.  The creature was having trouble extracting the crude stake; for all its feral qualities, it seemed to realize that leaving splinters of wood inside it was bad.  Thinking myself unnoticed for the moment, I surged towards it with the intent to drive it chest-first in the wall, hopefully impaling it further and buy me time to find another sharpened piece of wood.  I had underestimated the corpse's sensory powers or its primal instincts, however, as my rush was met by an immediate backhand, delivered with preternatural speed and power.  There wasn't even a muscle twitch to read in the animated corpse; I had no chance to divert.  I did, however, manage to roll with the impact as it sent me sprawling backwards, landing face-down on the slick stones.

Having been hit by the most powerful Pushed on the planet already, I certainly wasn't put out of action, but I was still dazed by the hit, spitting up blood from my now-gashed lip.  The bruise would certainly be impressive if I lived through this.  I could only be glad that the impact had shattered the corpse's hand into fragments, so much so that even the Push aura couldn't properly form a hand out of it again. As I pushed myself up with my hands, I couldn't help but notice that, to the right of me, was a dirty but still intact crucifix.  I quickly surmised that it probably had belonged to the victim, lost in the struggle before it could be brought to bear.  I wondered if it would work at all, especially for an avowed skeptic, as I crawled for it.  It was just within my grasp when I felt a vice-like grip on my ankle.

Three months of on-the-job combat training kicked in when I instantly lashed out with my free leg, feeling the brief slow of the shell before the sickening squish of biker boot in mouldering flesh.  Unfortunately, there was no recoil of pain or shock, only the relentless corpse grip.  The world sickeningly whirled as I was yanked through the air by one leg.  Muscles and tendons screamed before I was suddenly free, only for one more violent impact on cold, hard stone.  It was only a miracle that kept my head from being brained open on jutting stones and my bones intact.  Still, my ability to shutdown pain and push my body had its limits, and I was left slow to getting my bearings and defending myself.

The world was still a gray blur as I felt myself once again hoisted into the air, this time by the scruff of my jacket, a dead cold corpse hand on my forehead, driving it back and to the side.  No protection there.  It wouldn't drink my blood with its phantom fangs, but it would still easily chew open a deadly wound there.  Two things happened, near-simultaneously, that stopped that.

First, I opened the hand that had clenched just as I was thrown by the leg to reveal the glittering necklace, with its smudged but intact cross.

Second, there was a sudden pure white flash, the same color as the Whiteout itself, that radiated from behind the monster, followed by an immediate loud twang, like the release of a bow string magnified ten fold.

The vampire dropped me, recoiling its eyes from the crucifix, just as a large metal arrow protruded from its upper right chest.  It looked like I had help, help from someone I didn't want it from.  That white flash was indicative of only one thing: one of Epic's teleport gates.  The Crusaders sent someone here.  Why here and how did he know?  Those questions would have to wait for a vampire to be dead first.

The figure who had just appeared seemed ready to assist with that.  I could tell instantly that he was Pushed but, more importantly, he was using Pushtech.  Invented and built by 'super scientists', to me, it was nothing more than random parts and structures put together, but to mundane eyes, it was impossibly advanced technology.  Of course, it only worked for a Pushed, something always excused away with one conceit or another.  What to me was a suit of random looking armor bits with a crossbow strapped to one gauntlet appeared with its shell to be a magnificent suit of powered armor with an advanced-looking mechanized crossbow system attached to it.  Annoyingly, because he had a real motorcycle helmet on, I couldn't see his features or read his expression.  At least the bow was aimed at the vampire and not me.

"Monster!" he cried out with an accent straight out of an Arthurian movie.  "Stand down or I shall smite thee again!"

Great.  I was going to die either from a vampire or his horrid dialogue.  Ultimately, I decided that beggars couldn't be choosers as the vampire, tearing the steel arrow harmlessly from its chest, sprang back to the attack.

Chapter 3 Archer

If I could say one nice thing for all the yelling and posturing that is mentally ingrained into the Pushed, it makes for an excellent distraction.  The vampire snarled and leaped at the armored Crusader who responded with another round of metal shafted arrows.  Though the projectiles didn't seem to harm the creature, the tremendous force of the volley sent it flying back towards the far wall.  I tumbled away from what I had so recently been planted against.  My goal was the only obvious way to stop this: the shattered remains of the steamer trunk.  As I moved up into a crouch, just past the armored archer, he glanced sidelong at me.

"I am most pleased to see Milady isn't too badly hurt," he boomed, apparently lacking in any sense of volume control or practical sense.  "Lord Epic made no mention that -" 

The vampire barreled over him during his commentary and the pair hit the wet ground hard.  Again, on top of the obvious animal instinct, there was a more cunning intelligence at work, as the corpse had the Crusader's bow in it's one working hand, pushing on the attached arm with the other.  It could recognize a threat, that much was obvious.  I could already hear the phantom creak of metal in the air as I left my search for another stake.  My accelerated mind was racing.  The creature was far too strong to pry off and the Push Hero was in a bad position to free himself.  As much as I had my problems with Crusaders, I certainly didn't want to see him as item one on the vampire buffet.  That's when it hit me.

I hopped the pile of broken wood and rusted metal bands as, with a twist of the wrist, I let the necklace chain wrap around my fingers, until I felt the crucifix settle on the outside of my knuckles.  Whatever intelligence was at work, it considered me a minimal threat, ignoring me as I stepped up to it with my fist clenched.  It didn't even move to flinch as my punch came in, a glittering cross at the forefront of the blow.

Instead of the usual feeling of striking phantasmal gelatin, there was a solidity I had never experienced when striking a Pushed before.  It was accompanied, strangely, by a comforting warmth that came from the crucifix.  The effect on the creature, though, was far different.  There was smoke and the fetid smell of burnt rotten meat while its head recoiled to the side as if I had fired a cannon in its face.  As it recoiled, I could just barely catch a glimpse of a cross-shaped melted hole in it's flesh, giving full view of the teeth in the beast's mouth.  In a strange reversal, what burnt the vampire had no effect on the corpse inside.  The dead thing retreated from me, leaving the armored Pushed behind.  Holding my crucifix-wrapped fist out as a ward, I extended my other hand to the Crusader.

"A little less talk, a little more action," I ordered, one eye on the vampire, who scurried and scuttled, trying to find a way around the cross.  The melted hole in its fact still smoked and refused to heal as all of its other injuries had.

"Yes, Milady, well said," he replied as he took my hand to help right himself.  Unlike some Pushtech suits I had seen in the past few months, his was lighter.  It seemed it's primary purpose wasn't to make him stronger or more powerful, it was all built around the crossbow.  As he stood, he lined up a shot.  "Once through the heart!  Ho ho!"  I would have palmed my face had I not been fighting for my life.

As once more the overpowered twang of his crossbow echoed in the tiny chamber, the monster, alerted to the danger to its vital organ, put on a burst of unnatural speed, almost disappearing from sight for a moment.  The steel arrow sunk deep into the brick wall as I tried to turn to keep the corpse facing the crucifix.  I very much desired to cuff this guy right upside the head, but I was far more concerned with keeping myself alive.  The bad, bad thing was that I didn't see the creature any longer, just mist.

I grabbed the Crusader by a shoulder and pulled us both hard towards the shattered crate right as the cloud of mist formed into a pouncing vampire.  While initially surprised, I was relieved that my would-be savior had enough sense to roll through the tumble and came up in a crouch, having already reacquired his target.  There was a click and whir as something in his weapon's ammo feed changed as he fired.  Even a preternatural creature can apparently be off-balance; this time the corpse didn't blur out of the way.  The head of this arrow was different and exploded into a weighted net.  The bow-driven force of it yanked the creature off it's feet as the weights on the edges of the net bound it together into a neat package.  Of course, this could only hold a creature that could turn to mist for mere moments.  I ran at the struggling mass, the cross held outward in front of me.  It hadn't turned to mist when confronted with the crucifix before, hopefully this would be no different.

"Zounds, it's just like the stories say!" the archer expounded.  "Methinks I would have loaded wooden bolts if I would have known."

"Christ, man," I replied over my shoulder, "there's wood all around you.  Just grab something pokey and stake this bastard."  I held the minute cross just out of the creature's struggling reach, honestly trying to believe in what it represented.  Strangely, concentrating so hard on it seemed to be taking something out of me, but I shook my head and held off the unnatural fatigue in my body.  There was a moment of rummaging, then the sound of rubberized sole on stone.

"Make room, Milady," came the voice from behind me.  I took a step to the side as there came that horribly loud ch-chunk of his bow.  I didn't even catch it's flight, only the violence of the huge splinter of wood crudely but powerfully ripping through the corpse's chest.  There was a final, soul-wrenching shriek and, in its outward appearance, the writhing beast slowly shriveled to a corpse-like state.  For me, the phantom shell simply dissipated, leaving behind only the sad reality of the situation: a dead rotting corpse with a big sliver of wood impaling him.

"Ye gods, what a vile beast!  'T was most boon that -"

The moment the corpse returned to it's natural state, the strange fatigue left me instantly, giving me plenty of strength to grab the Crusader by the plastic sport pads that existed underneath his Pushtech armor and shove him roughly, not so hard as to hurt him, into the nearest wall.  He let out a cry of surprise as I glared holes into his visor.

"Atlanta is not a Crusader town," I growled, anger welling up unbidden inside of me.  "Your beloved demigod knows that."  I reared back a fist.  "You've got ten seconds to tell me why you're here and if 'because Epic wanted me to be safe' is the only one, I swear to all I hold dear I'll -"

"Please, Milady, still thy rage," the archer begged, raising his hands either defensively or diplomatically.  "Though 't would be folly to lie and say that Lord Epic's concern for your safety does not often weigh upon his glorious brow, it is not why I was bidden to come here."  I didn't lower my fist, but I did loosen my grip on his mock armor.  Where my grip had cracked the plastic shell, the phantom armor was deformed and twisted.  "Verily, Milord had tracked vile scoundrels from the Humans for God group to this very chamber.  He suspected some new treachery when his omnipresence failed him suddenly whilst trying to pinpoint what exactly had happened."  I so badly wanted an excuse to send this guy packing back to Epic, beaten, bruised, with his tail between his legs, as a message to keep his nose out of Atlanta.  There was a long moment as I held the archer to the wall.

I would have felt totally justified with my original plan.  Just as Eric had predicted, he and I were now in a perpetual dance, as he tried to spread the Crusader movement across the country.  Already most of the Deep South embraced his vigilante justice and obeisance to the Pushed as some kind of messed-up Second Coming, not to mention Epic's scattered pockets of supporters around the world.  Growing pockets, I would have added.  I spent as much time making public appearances and political speeches to try to turn the populace away from his insane philosophy as actually saving lives, and far more than the time I invested in to stopping the Whiteout permanently.  However, did our personal war mean that I should hurt a man who came here tracking something that was worse than either of us?

The Humans for God movement were terrorist assholes, plain and simple; there was a reason why they were dubbed 'the Hogs' early on.  They weren't really religious, except at the grunt level.  The religion was just a ploy to bring in gullible, jealous bigots who saw the Pushed in the same way they saw anything that wasn't like themselves: with hate.  I first ran into them just after the Whiteout, when I first met the Atlanta Five.  At that point, they had been set up and manipulated by Ian Mackenzie, the man who made the entire Battle of Atlanta happen and the only other person I knew of for sure that was a Natural like I was.  Since then, they managed to take root like some disgusting weed.  Taking them out was one of the few points Epic and I agreed on.

What was more important?  Taking a cheap shot at Eric or saving lives?

I unclenched my fist and settled the Push Hero on his feet.  I turned towards the corpse.

"So this guy had been with the Hogs?"  I knelt down for a closer look.  "Did you or Epic have any idea he was, you know, like this?"

"Yes to the first and no to the second, Milady," he replied.  "At least if it was so, Milord did not see fit to inform me as such."  He cleared his voice.  "Allow me to formally introduce myself.  They call me the Argent Archer.  'T is an honor to -"

"Please, no."  I didn't even look up.  The fading adrenaline as my mind and body down-shifted combined with the horrid stench of death was making my stomach nervous enough.  The way he was treating me wasn't helping.  "Just ... no more of this 'Milady' crap.  Let's focus on the task at hand, okay?"

"Oh."  There was a distinct hint of disappointment in his voice.  "As you wish."  I heard an electronic whine.  "Whilst Mi- you investigate the former beast, I will employ my visual sensors and quest for more clues to what transpired."  His booted footfalls began to move around behind me as I steeled myself to investigate the dead terrorist further.

Now that I had some peace and quiet, a few things were immediately obvious.  First, my communications were down.  While Rachel's constant tinkering had greatly improved the robustness of the uniform's electronics, any one of those slams or tumbles could have broken or shorted any piece of the gear.  Second, I recognized the face on the body, even in this early state of rot.  This was the third of the seven victims, which meant that this wasn't our man.  Or at least he wasn't the only one.  I felt along the discolored flesh of the neck and, just as with the girl's body across the room, there were two distinct circular wounds.  His wounds were larger than hers, which brought a chill to my bones.  This wasn't the end of the nightmare ahead, this was only the beginning.

Forcing my nerves to quiet, I continued searching the body.  There were still tatters of an olive green wife-beater T-shirt tucked into the pants, black with a military cut and plenty of pockets.  I rifled through them and, in short order, had a small pile of personal belongings to examine.  A battered leather wallet with identification and some cash, a half-empty matchbook, three filterless cigarettes, a roll of fishing line, a multi-tool, and a few spare bullets, that is all I cataloged.  It seemed little to go on, but there was undoubtedly something I was missing.  I was brought out of my thoughts when Archer spoke up from across the room.

"Mi ... Indomitable," he corrected himself quickly, "methinks you should lay eyes upon this."  I rose from my crouch and turned towards the voice.  The armored Crusader was crouched over the girl's body, having laid it out respectfully.  More specifically, he was looking at her teeth.  My stomach took a queer turn for some reason.  "Oh, and bring another stake of wood from the rubble.  'T would be wise to do so quickly."

The teeth are what confirmed it even if I thought to lie to myself about the growing sick feeling in my stomach, the indication of another Push presence added to the room.  She was starting to grow phantasmal fangs, very real to anyone besides myself.  It was with a heavy heart that I drove the large splinter of wood in my hand through the body's chest.  To his credit, Archer seemed equally disturbed by both the prospect and the deed itself.  I was sure he was saying a prayer as I finished the grim task.

"My most sincere apologies," Archer said, breaking the moment of silence.  "If I did but have a wooden bolt, I would have spared you the need to do such a grim task yourself, but I did not dare leave the body unattended, even for a moment."  I nodded slowly.  He was right, and he was being honest, I was quite sure.  "On perhaps a brighter spot of news, I do believe I have constructed at least a partial scenario based on some physical and chemical evidence my scanners have located."

"Alright, lay it on me, then you can head on back to Epic with your mission done, right?  No more terrorist, after all."

"Tish tosh!" he exclaimed.  "I could never leave this fair city in such peril.  Not only must there be more than one of these 'Hogs', I would most certainly believe there are more of these vile, infectious monsters as well."  I contemplated arguing with him, but there was a raw passion in his voice.  Whatever insanity the Whiteout had pumped into Archer's brain, the words he was saying right now and his dedication to them were coming from something deeper.

"Fine, but this isn't Crusader-land."  I raised a warning finger.  "We follow the rules and the law as best we can, got it?"

"Understood, Mi-, Indomitable."  Archer gestured towards the crate with a gauntleted hand.  "That was not part of the original furnishings of this dank chamber.  The earth within does not match the composition of the mud either in this chamber or the surrounding area."  He then pointed at, though now heavily obscured by the chaos of battle, what seemed to be drag tracks.  "That was where they dragged it in."