(The Push Chronicles (Book 2): Indefatigable (13 page)

"Just how do you propose we do this?"  I knew the answer already before he even opened his mouth.

"Well, it sounds simple but is obviously very hard, as you must know:  We have to recreate the experiment your boyfriend made.  The Whiteout altered the very fiber of reality, so it only makes logical sense that it can be rewoven.  You obviously provide the core know-how and I provide the safety and resources to accomplish the mission."

"Wait, now, you said you didn't think this was possible before," I pointed out.  "What happened to change your mind?"

"All I am at liberty to say, at this time, is that certain information has come into my grasp."  Mackenzie gave an enigmatic smile.  "Now, let's get back to Epic and his Crusaders.  I think that topic might help you put my offer into better perspective."  The weight around my neck was starting to itch and I instinctively moved to scratch at it.

"Oh, I wouldn't touch that, Irene."  My hand froze.  "It would be uncomfortable if you set it off."

"Great," I grumbled.  "I suppose it would have been a bit much to think you wouldn't have some kind of restraint on me."

"I'm not stupid, am I?"  He held up a small remote.  "It's simply a more powerful version of the hand taser I used on you, but, well, around your neck.  Most likely it wouldn't kill you, but it would most certainly put you down."  I gave him a sharp look, but that was all I could do.  So much for my carefully arranged fantasies of suddenly leaping the table and taking him out before escaping.

"Well, good to know, Mr. Mackenzie."  I put on a smile.  "So about Epic taking over the city?  Is he scheduled to do that before you or did you pencil in the vampire-death-army ahead of his in the City Invasion sign-up sheet?"

"I'm glad your situation hasn't totally dampened your sense of humor," Ian chuckled.  "Well, it's really rather simple.  Let's take a hypothetical situation:  there is a medieval city that is being threatened by an enemy army.  They don't know where this army is precisely and they know little about the people themselves, so the townspeople are ever vigilant for strangers.  One day, such a stranger comes into town.  A diplomat from the opposing country, he impresses the suspicious townspeople simply by being a decent human being."

"They get to know each other and the people start to see that what they thought was a monstrous enemy is, at the end of the day, just like them.  Meanwhile, the stranger experiences life in the city and learns all about it as the two cultures mingle.  After he has done his job as a diplomat, the stranger returns to his people, leaving hope for a peaceful tomorrow."  Now I could see where he was going with this tale, so I finished it for him.

"The diplomat, of course, was a spy.  Even if he wasn't, he's sure to talk to his superiors all about the city, its people, and, unknowingly, about its defenses.  It's probably even better if the diplomat wasn't a spy.  It would make a greater impact on the townspeople, who now have their own guard lowered as their defenses are being given away."

"Another gold star, Doctor," Ian nodded.  "Your Argent Archer is that diplomat.  I'm sure he has no idea what his true purpose here is, but do you doubt that once he returns to Epic, he wouldn't be glad to recount every single thing he heard or said and think nothing suspicious of it?"

"I can't say that you're wrong."  I didn't ask what Ian's suggested course of action was.  It would undoubtedly be 'imprison or kill the man, preferably kill'.  "But your vampire army, the good citizens of Atlanta shouldn't worry about that, right?"

"I won't lie to you, Irene," Ian said while retrieving his gun, "it hasn't been easy at all dealing with the Pushed as lackeys.  Especially such a horrific variety.  However, as I said, until just recently, I have been thinking purely in terms of how to stymie the Pushed through warfare.  If I could find a way to manufacture an army of Naturals, like us, I would have taken that."

"So instead, you'll take the plague of walking corpses?" I asked.  "You do realize that makes you seem as mad as a bag of hammers."  There was fighting fire with fire then there was fighting fire with an atom bomb.

"I'm afraid that the specifics of my strategy might be lost on you, not for lack of intelligence, but lack of military experience."  He paused then raised a finger.  "Oh, let's not forget that you're still an enemy agent.  I'm not a villain out of a comic book, Irene, I'm not going to spout off my entire plan and organization to you here and now just because I have you 'in my clutches'."  He actually air-quoted the last part, his voice dripping with hatred.

"Now, let me make this plain."  As he said that, a man, completely human, dressed in paramilitary fatigues came in and immediately gathered up the empty plates.  "You have a simple choice, in my opinion."  He put one hand palm-up on the table.  "You can join forces with me.  Between the information I have and the knowledge you possess of the actual catalyst of the Whiteout, we can rebuild reality.  We can fix all of this."  He then put his other hand palm-down on the table.  "Or you can choose to keep going as you already have been.  How long do you think you will last before your body or your heart gives out?  Frankly, the map of scars I saw does not paint a pretty picture of your future, let alone the wounds my medic tended to."

"How many of those are you responsible for, Ian?  A week's worth?  A month's worth?"

"I had no real choice." Mackenzie sounded neither happy or sad; he spoke with an even tone.  "It was obvious to me that if I approached you, there would be violence before discussion.  Completely understandable, I know, but I couldn't have you taking me into custody or, worse, killing me before that point.  That was a very real, very likely possibility given what we have now seen of our respective capabilities."

"How many innocent people got hurt or killed just so you could soften me up for our talk?  Let's not even talk about how much pain and suffering I've gone through just because an e-mail couldn't do."  I didn't try to mask my anger and pain.  For the first time in our discussion, Mackenzie frowned slightly.

"I'm not happy that anyone was hurt or killed because of all of this, Irene, but surely you see now that this is a war.  To win a war unfortunately calls for sacrifice and sometimes that sacrifice comes from the innocent.  Even more than before, you have to see that joining me is the only way to end this swiftly."

"Even if I take you at your word that you have some vital piece of information and you are willing to devote everything you have to fix this, what gives us the right to do this?  If it was wrong for Eric to change the world, what makes us different from him?"  I know I had started to raise my voice.  These were arguments of morality and ethics now, not cold logic, and emotion had to be my weapon for them.

"I hate to put it this way, but who cares, Irene?"  Mackenzie was still ice-cold.  "Don't you see it?  All of my crimes, all of your mistakes, all of the blood and death, will get wiped away.  Clean-slate.  Full reboot."  He tried to make it sound so simple.  In a way, it was.  It is entirely possible he was right, that we could reboot the Whiteout.  With the power to alter reality, what was impossible, after all?

What Mackenzie either didn't know or didn't want to accept was that it was no sure thing.  All you had to do was look at the flawed reality that Eric Flynn had made.  It was a place where a good man might be forced to monologue dramatically as a civilian bled to death in front of him or men and women would fight with horrific consequences simply because one was picked to be a Push Hero and the other a Pushcrook.   Eric hadn't intended all of this; his own mental traumas made it happen.  Who knew what traumas hid in Mackenzie's mind?  Who knew what demons were in my own?

The man in fatigues left the room as we stared at each other in silence.  The argument had turned internal for both of us, it seemed.  Any moment, Ian would ask for a final answer.  While he seemed to imply I would be free to go if I said no, I had far more realistic expectations that involved two or more pistol rounds to the back of my head while I lay there twitching from the shock collar.  So, what was it going to be, Irene?  Partner with a man ruthless enough to kill whoever he needed to in his course of saving the world or die for your principles?  The clock was ticking.  Quite literally, I discovered, when Mackenzie's wrist watch let off a ping.

"I am afraid, Dr. Roman, that I need your answer now.  The time for debate is done.  Where is your loyalty?  With me and mankind?  Or with your friends and the chaos out there?"  I looked him eye to eye.

"My loyalty is to my principles, Ian.  Which means you can go fu -"

His expression had twisted to anger before I was done my first sentence.  My second was cut off as he stabbed the button on the remote and my entire world spiraled into electric spasms.  I know I fell out of my chair onto the stone floor.  It only took a few moments, despite my best efforts, before convulsions and burning pain led to unconsciousness, a blackness I didn't expect to wake from. 

Chapter 14 Deathtrap

Much to my surprise, I woke up.  My situation was far less desirable than it was the last time I awoke in Mackenzie's care as I was hanging from manacles around my wrists.  The sewer chamber I was in was relatively new and big, though I didn't dare estimate the size with the dim lighting.  The wall behind me was slick with moisture and my feet dangled far above any floor.  Evidently, I had been already hanging long enough for the manacle cuffs to cut into my wrists and my arms to already be aching.

"This isn't how I wanted our discussion to end, you know," Mackenzie called out.  He was at a small platform with an open vault door, the only significant source of light in the chamber.

"I have to say we agree on that point," I replied, trying to sound as chipper as possible.  "So what is it?  Mutant sewer gators?  Sharks with machine guns implanted in their bodies?  Good old fashioned piranha?"

"It is pretty melodramatic, isn't it?"  He shook his head.  "Damn if I don't know why I didn't shoot you in the head, but this is good enough."  Ian gestured at the water below.  "This is a central chamber for containing and rerouting sewage.  In, oh, let's say the immediate future, this chamber will fill from top to bottom with raw sewage water.  Redistribution doesn't start for ten minutes after it's filled, possibly longer depending on who's throwing switches.  Pretty basic, really.  Now, I have a theft to perform and a city to take over."   He turned for the door.  "I'm sorry it didn't work out between us.  Thank you for holding off Epic these past few months; I couldn't have done this without you."

"If you're so appreciative, tell me one thing before I die."  Considering he had given in to the Whiteout just enough to not kill me outright, it was worth a shot.

"I'm embarrassed enough as it is, Irene,"  he said as he shook his head.  "I'm not Pushed; I don't have to fall into the 'last request' trope or perform a 'villainous monologue' either."

"Look, I'm a scientist and I can't help but want to know how.  How did you get the vampires?"

"Okay, sure.  I'll give you just a tidbit so you can die that much more curious."  He started to close the hatch.  "What if I told you that this isn't the first event like this?"  That must have been the tidbit, because, the door open only a crack, he said, "Goodbye, Dr. Roman," and closed the door.  There was the distinct sound of a locking mechanism and I was alone in the darkness.

Despite the pain in my arms and lingering injuries, I felt in pretty good shape.  That was concerning in another way (just how long was I out each time?) but for the moment, it was a good thing.  First things first.  I had to get a better idea of how I was secured without the benefit of sight.  I focused myself, twisting my wrist so I could get a good grip on my two chains.

From there, it was a matter of pulling my arms up and straight, like a gymnast on the rings.  Sweat beaded on my brow at the strain of holding the position, but I
persevered
as I walked my feet up the wall behind me.  Every step shifted a bit more of my weight from my arms to my stronger legs, until I was standing on the wall, staring down at the inky blackness below me.

Now, with the help of my legs, I could now keep myself braced in place without using both of my arms at once.  It took a few moments of delicate shifting, but I managed to get enough slack in the chain on my right arm that I could feel the wall and, more importantly, the moorings of the chains.  My blind searching took on extra urgency as I could hear the distant grind of valves and the gurgle of water filling pipes.

I ran my bare fingers down the chain, brand-new metal chain, to the rungs themselves.  The thick circular ring was planted straight into new concrete, no doubt poured right around the ring.  The block itself, though, was mortared to the older, original stone.  Even most 'new' sections of the Atlanta sewers dated back decades.  If there was any weak point to try to exploit, it was that.

So it wasn't impossible to get free.  That was good.  Of course, I'd be left with a good two feet of heavy chain and two small blocks of concrete to lug around.  That was bad.  Worse, that much weight combined with lots of water.  I was too high up to simply pull myself loose now and look for a way out.  It sounded stupid in my head, but I needed the water intended to drown me to have any chance.

Step two was to figure out how to get out of the chamber itself.  The biggest problems would be time and air.  I would have to wait for the chamber to be at least partly filled, which limited the time I had to investigate other options, not to mention I would still be blind.  Blind and in the water.  I could try the hatch that Mackenzie left through, but that would obviously be locked.  There were probably other hatches like that in the chamber but they would almost certainly seal themselves for this water-changing operation.  There could be some emergency safety switches in the room, but I hadn't seen any earlier; it would be a long shot to depend on them.

Down below, I heard the crashing sound of water on water.  I was almost out of time.  I pulled my back against the wall, letting the blood flow properly into my brain from all the hanging.  That's when it hit me.  What was behind me?  Or more importantly, what was past the wall?  I pressed my ear to the wall, shutting out the sound of my impending watery doom.

For a long moment, I heard nothing.  There was just cold stone on my cheek and the dank smell of sewer slime.   I gave myself a few more precious moments, praying to hear something, anything.  After a long moment, a sound did come to my ears, the very faint scuttling of rats.

The thing about rats is that they needed air and open space to scuttle in.  The wall behind me could only be so thick then.   Hoping that Ian didn't cheap out on the rings themselves, I tried to position myself as best as I could to yank up the right block.  The water had to be coming on quickly now, but I ignored it.  I would need all my focus for this.

Wrapping what loose chain I could around my right hand, I stomped hard several times, despite my bare feet, on what I felt to be the line of mortar around the brick.  There was a satisfying, cracking sound accompanied with a scrape on my foot from the now-jagged mortar.  That would have to do, as there was no more time to prepare.  I could smell the moisture and feel the fine spray of splashing water on my side.

The sublime surge of adrenaline and endorphins shot through my system as I planted my legs and pulled.  Muscles flared and tendons strained.  There was no give at all for a few seconds until, with an inevitable shatter of mortar and brick, the entire concrete block pulled free.  My body swung free for a moment, straining hard on my left shoulder, and the chained block made a splash as it crashed into the water.  Two feet at most before I was bobbing in the water myself.

With desperate speed, I replanted my legs and felt for the hole I had just made.  There it was!  Water splashed on my legs, soaking instantly through the thin cotton scrubs as I gathered up the free chain, grabbing the block through the ring.  I drew back my hand with this new, crude weapon, and threw it forward, trusting on my amplified mind to direct it dead on target.  The sea of sewage lapped at my waist as stone met stone.  There was a violent sound as new concrete beat out decade old brick.

There was a suction of air as the water in this chamber shoved what air there was out of it's brand new escape hole.   The sewage was up to my breasts and armpits as I drew the block back out and began to drive it like a jackhammer into the older bricks around the hole.  It was going to be close, I thought to myself, as I took a deep breath.

The water washed over the top of my head as I shattered through the aging mortar.  My right arm felt like lead, I was sure I had torn a muscle or pulled a tendon, but I had my hole now.  My last battle was with air as I wrapped both of my hands around the last chain that held me prisoner.  I resisted the instinct to scream out as I pulled with all of my might.  I couldn't hear the cracking of stone through the turbulence, but I could feel myself suddenly come free from the wall.  Now I just had to navigate the blind darkness and disorienting currents of the sewer water.

Or let myself go with the sucking new current I had made with my hole.  I ceased struggling against the water and let it carry me, putting my arms out ahead of my head to deflect any debris or jagged edges I might encounter.  The rushing current shot me through the hole like a torpedo.

For the briefest of moments, my head crested the water's surface to feel cold, fetid air, but that moment passed as the weight of my chains began to pull me straight back down to the bottom of whatever chamber I was in now.  My lungs were already starting to cry out for oxygen, but I pressed on, pulling myself down the chains to the blocks below.  Whatever my body wanted, it wouldn't get until I was free of these weights.

I fumbled for a moment with numb fingers, trying to feel out the rings themselves.  There was no way out of these manacles, at least not the moment, but I thought I could probably fake swimming enough to survive without the stone weights.  What seemed like eternity passed without fresh air until I had I found the first ring.  I quickly wrapped a few lengths of chain around the enlarged ring, following up by planting my feet on either side of it.  I tried to think of it as a very important rowing session as I pushed with my legs while pulling on the chain itself.  After an agonizing second, there was the wonderful sensation of freedom as I pulled the short length of chain past my submerged head.

By the time I had torn the other ring free, I could feel myself graying out.  I barely knew which way was up, but I focused my willpower and kept myself awake, kicking hard.  Panic started to overtake me after a moment.  I should surely have reached either the water's surface or the roof of the tunnel, I wagered.  Still, I had one more kick in me.

I was never so glad to take a lungful of smelly, rotting sewer air in all my life.  Though the sudden onrush of water had almost filled this sewer tunnel, I could tell already the water was receding slowly, redistributed throughout the network of tunnels and pipes, like so much excessive rainfall.  That was as much a  problem as a solution.  I wasn't just floating; I was rushing through the darkness, barely staying afloat in the equivalent of white-water rapids with steel chains around my wrists.  I didn't give the sewer rats the satisfaction of hearing me scream as I careened through the rushing current into whatever new peril lay in the darkness of the sewer.

I was being tossed like so much salad by the waves.  The initial turbulence was the worst as the water from the pumping room I had been imprisoned in was focused through the narrow hole I had punched out, but it still took all of my attention and a fair bit of luck to both keep my head above water enough to breath and to avoid loosing a major body part to some obstruction or debris.

It didn't matter how strong or nimble or quick I was, nature and the laws of hydrodynamics were far superior.  Between the strong currents, the disorienting darkness, and the pounds of steel chain around my wrists, I spent far too much time with my head below the sewage line and it was starting to wear on me.  Before my head was driven once more under the surface, a chance for salvation glinted ahead in the form of some overhanging pipes crossing the tunnel.

I had wound the chains around my wrists to keep them from pulling me to the bottom.  Now, though, I quickly unwound one of those lengths.  The tunnel and my current condition offered a hundred distractions, all of which I tried to ignore.  I wouldn't have another chance at this, not for sure.  On the surface, the idea was simple: swing chain around pipe, pull up, then enjoy a victory breath.  What complicated matters was the four or five inches short I thought I would come if I just swung it over my head, the unpredictable waters, and the sheer insanity of the plan.  I comforted myself with the knowledge that I had already defied death several times over recently.  What was one more time?

I stopped fighting to keep my head above water, taking a single deep breath as I let myself plunge into the depths.  That terrific, accelerated brain was the only thing I could count on to give the cue to kick straight up with all of my might.  If I calculated right, I could just get enough height off of the jump.  If I was wrong, I would probably plow into the walls of the tunnel, knock myself out, and drown.  I just felt my bare feet touch the tunnel floor when that mental timer went off.

I kicked hard off the floor, launching my body up through the murky sewage.  There was time for one more powerful kick of my legs before I broke the surface.  No time to clear the sewer muck from my eyes; I simply swung the chain over my head and prayed.  My forward momentum was suddenly arrested, as clattering metal and a horrible creaking sound filled the air.  I had no time to cheer for my safety, because that chain started slipping immediately.

I yanked with my chain hand as I grasped overhead with my other arm.  Before I was tossed once more into the dank water below, my fingers gripped around a grime-covered pipe.  Grimacing with effort, I pulled my other arm free and grabbed hold before hauling myself up onto the pipes.

For the first time, I was able to find the time to assess where I exactly was.  There was a faint luminescence that provided some dim light here, probably from some fungus or chemical, allowing me to see a little.  From the rundown of the sewer system Rachel had given us, this had to be a main tunnel.  It wouldn't normally be so flooded and it was likely that the water would recede shortly once the engineers realized there was a breech in the system.  In theory, if I waited a few minutes and paid attention, I should be able to fumble my way to the surface in short order.