The hunger I had overpowered every one of my usual health-conscious food restrictions. I ate and drank whatever I could grab, at least twice what I would ever consider normal. After the refrigerator was ravaged, I recovered my emergency ‘depression chocolates’ from their hiding place and began popping them one by one in my mouth as I turned on the TV. While chewing on one with a caramel center, I found my fingers already dialing the nearest pizza joint.
As I ordered a large pan pizza loaded with whatever they felt it was safe to top a pizza with, the local news came on. I realized I had been eating for at least twenty minutes straight. At least the clawing in my stomach was starting to subside; hopefully the pizza would finally conquer the rumble inside my gut. I put down my phone and tried to focus past the hunger and the aches, hopeful to get some more answers as to what happened at Westview today. It didn’t come as a shock that the Whiteout and all related issues were at the top of the news.
“Congress has been in continual emergency session since 9 am Eastern time this morning. Scientific experts from all governmental departments have been brought in throughout the day to testify on what limited information has been discovered about the mysterious Whiteout and it’s origins," the news anchor reported.
"Spokespeople for various members of Congress all echo the same message: the United States government is taking the potential security dangers of the Push with the utmost seriousness and there will be a vote on emergency legislation by noon tomorrow.”
I forced myself to close the chocolate box before it began habit-forming. What I was wondering now was just how wide-spread and deep did the mind-altering effects of the Whiteout go? Were there other people like me out there, still resisting it? How many of them were in positions of power?
“Locally, police and fire departments, as well as all other emergency services, have been swamped with Push-related incidents, false alarms from panicked citizens, and quite a number of outright hoaxes. We want to advise all of our listeners to please refrain from making emergency calls for any reason but a real emergency and to please be patient with any delays.”
“That’s right, Bill,” the co-anchor added. “With all of the rules seeming to change overnight, the police are having to take every claim, no matter how bizarre, seriously, which has led to a rise of pranks and jokes slowing response times and taking needed personnel away from real problems. I can’t stress enough that, with how dangerous our world has become overnight, we all have to do our part to get through these unusual times.”
“Thanks, Jessica, and well said," the lead anchor answered before moving to the next news piece.
"In breaking local news, we have extensive reports on the largest Push-related incidents of the day, as well as an interview with one of the Pushed who has come forward as the savior of Flight 287, the plane that collided with a small private plane in the early hours of this morning at Hartsfield International Airport.” Was this calculated? Knowing Eric, it had to be. He couldn’t position himself as the biggest hero in the world if he didn’t put himself out there into the public spotlight.
“But first, we begin with a Push incident at Westview Cemetery that took place in the early afternoon. Jessica?” I leaned forward in my chair. A little part of me was wondering if I was going to get my five minutes of TV fame now.
“Well, Bill, visitors to the historic Westview Cemetery had their peace disturbed by what witnesses described as ‘a shout so loud it was like a gunshot’, followed almost immediately by what was described as the sounds of shattering plastic and stone. No one was an eye-witness to the action, but in the aftermath, more than one visitor reports seeing a large perfectly spherical body, glowing with white light, flying away from the scene.” I could put the pieces together easily enough as I continued to listen.
“When one of the caretakers ran over to what is believed to be the exact site of the incident, he was horrified to discover that a large section of earth had entirely disappeared, including several entire graves. In addition to the missing graves and markers, two other tombstones were also reported as badly damaged. As of yet, police have no reported leads in the bizarre incident.”
I could feel myself zone out as they moved on to report about a bout of gang violence turned into a superpowered turf war. I don’t know why I fixated on the fact Eric had actually taken his parent’s bodies with him. It fit his stated intentions, after all. Damn, it was so unnatural though. Not like any of what was going on could be classified as normal, but this one thing more twisted than the rest. The idea of bringing the long dead back to life, felt wrong to me.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything I could do about it. It was patently obvious Eric, or whatever he was going to call himself, was set on seeing this through. I didn’t know where he was or what he might need to go about his macabre task.
On top of that, who could forget about Eric's overarching plan: to form his own cadre of ‘good guys’ and ... do what precisely? When would ‘stopping bad guys’ transfer into ’unleash supernatural powers on anyone I think is wrong’? How many people would die from those battles like the one I saw first hand today? Would anyone even care or would their brains be so altered by then that they won’t care? What could I even do about it at this point?
The sense of powerlessness, the loss of agency ... it twisted in my gut. I hated it. As the news reports went on (a three-story tall draconic thing had burst out of the Wachovia building and tore through downtown before several other Pushed drove it off, a red-skinned man with a monkey-like tail was found shot and hung lynch mob style, and so on), I tried to master the hate and push it away, before it became hate for something else. I had to retake control of my situation and not get sucked down into the wallows of self-pity.
I sat there, mulling over a myriad of possibilities, tossing out the random nonsensical ones. After my panic earlier today, some of my old confidence in myself was coming back. I was more sure of who I was and who I wasn’t now than ever. Even while I was answering the door for my pizza, I was still focused on a new course of action. I forgot about the pizza even as I laid it on the coffee table. The hot pie was already starting to cool when something finally snapped me out of my bubble of thought.
“Earlier this evening, our investigative news team acquired the exclusive opportunity to interview one of the first Pushed caught on camera, the hero that saved three hundred and seventy-eight passengers and crew on board Delta Flight 287. Here is that interview.”
New God Eric appeared on camera. From the background, I could gather that they were on the top of a building, either very high up or in a more sparsely populated part of town. The suburbs perhaps? Unlike when I met him in the flesh, there was only the new perfect superhuman, no painful double image. Still, though, his face made my skin crawl.
“Thank you for this unique chance, Mr. ...?” Kelly Graham, the interviewer in question, prompted.
“You are welcome. I wanted to take time to come forward before but there is so much work to do.” Eric let the implied question hang. “Still, to calm the public’s perceptions of me and several of my fellow Pushed, I realized I had to make the time to ensure everyone out there knew what my intentions were.”
“I think what the public wants to know as much if not more is who you are and how you came to be like this.” At least it looked like Graham wasn’t going to totally softball this.
“I do not have a name anymore. There is nothing left of the man who was, and all that is left is someone who wants to use the power he has to make the world a better place. As for how I came to be this way, as with many of those who have been Pushed, there was that great white light and I found myself like I am now. There is not much else to tell.”
“Of course. The city appreciates all you have done over the past day. The Hartfield disaster, putting a halt to a Push Battle in Grant Park, and stepping in to rescue people trapped in that tenement fire in College Park, but not everyone like you seems to think that serving the public is the right thing to d
o. What are your thoughts on that?” Here comes the puff piece questions, I told myself, gnawing on a pizza crust.
“I think you are seeing a lot of confused, frightened souls going through a life-altering change. In time, I think most will see the error of their ways. If they do not, all I can say is I, and other like minded Pushed, will contain and stop them.”
“That sounds like it may be an epic undertaking.” Eric smiled at that. Even as changed as he was, I could recognize that certain smile he always had when he had inspiration.
“Well, if the deeds I am committed to are epic, maybe that is what you should call me.” Eric gave a humble-looking shrug.
“I suppose it’s as good a name as any. So, ‘Epic’, how do you know you won’t be doing this alone?” I heard myself groan. The analytical part of me chimed in that, regardless of my own opinions, it had the proper flavor to be picked up rapidly in by the apparent tastes of post-Whiteout humanity.
“We Pushed are not any different than you or any other normal person. When like-minded people seek to accomplish something they cannot do alone, they band together. They always have.” Eric paused dramatically and before he could be interrupted, continued.
“In fact, I want to put out a call. A message to all the Pushed out there that want to help their fellow man. I want them to join me, to band together not only to present a united front for the good of mankind, but to present an accountable face to allay the fears those same men may have of us.”
“Exactly where do you plan to hold this ... rally? Meeting?”
“Either words work, Ms. Graham. Washington, D.C. The capitol of this great nation. I will go there in three days to present myself to our government as an act of good will. All who wish to do the same should join with me there.”
“Aren’t you afraid that your appearance might startle the military or the Secret Service? We still have little word of what might be coming out of Congress tomorrow.”
“I am not. My intentions are stated and I expect, like all wise leaders, they will read those intentions for what they are. Now, I apologize, but I fear that duty calls.”
Before Graham could get another word in, Eric streaked off in a corona of unnatural white light. The camera shook as the backblast of wind from his departure rattled the interview crew.
“There you have it. Epic, one Pushed declaring his intentions to help his fellow man. We’ll have more news on this possible Push rally as word comes in to us. Back to you, Bill.”
I clicked off the TV. Experts and pundits would be all over this. The word would spread like wildfire. Who knows how many people Eric’s speech would attract? It’s not like they would know how much half-truth there was to it.
His move to get himself exposed to media quickly, but not so fast as he looked like he was simply there for attention, was well-planned. If Eric could establish himself as a hero to the public, any misdeeds could be forgotten or pushed under the rug. If he came into a position as a leader in a community of super-powerful people, the entire nation, hell, the entire world would have to pay attention to him.
Maybe that could be his weakness as well. Eric may be detached from reality and he may be unbalanced, but he wasn’t ‘evil’. Direct violence was out of the question. Even if I thought that a direct confrontation was needed, I had no idea how it could be done. Hell, if it was even possible now.
To try to counteract Eric, to finally show him the light of reason, the only way to go would be to challenge his notions publicly and overtake his growing reputation. Basically, someone needed to be the other party in an election for consensual reality, as corny as that sounded. As the only person I knew on the planet who knew what really happened, I had a growing sense of dread that it would have to be me.
Chapter 7 Facet
I broke my day-old cardinal rule of this new reality as I sipped at my morning coffee. I let my mental guard down and fully embraced at least one of the inane notions the Whiteout had brought on. I was adamant, though, that I was going to do it my own way. I finished jotting down in my scratch pad a brief list of what I thought I was going to need to carry out my plan, then finished my breakfast.
Whatever had caused my unnatural hunger had subsided and my injuries seemed to be healing nicely. I was still worried about that particular oddity, but I couldn’t tell if I was simply being paranoid or not. I was starting to believe that I would just have to accept some unnatural things until the Whiteout had been reversed.
It was probably true that I could have kept with the illness excuse and bought myself another free day but I realized that my laboratory at the university was a valuable asset that I couldn’t deprive myself of. If I was seriously going to try to lead some kind of resistance (was that the right word?), I would need to know more about what exactly Eric’s experiment was doing to everyone and everything on the planet. I couldn’t match his genius, but I had my own specialties to draw on. On top of that, I was anxious to hear what was going to be coming from the federal government this morning. The press conference was scheduled to start in less than two hours and I wanted to be somewhere useful, just in case something insane like national curfews or the like was announced.
It’s a good thing that I left the apartment when I did. While it seemed that the first initial surge of Push activity was starting to subside, Atlanta was still reeling from it. There were entire city blocks cordoned off by police barricades. Bridges and overpasses had been shattered. The part of Downtown I cruised through bore more resemblance to pictures of shattered cities from World War II than anything else.
Even the people out and about seemed in a state of recovering shock, if they weren’t glued to a TV, radio, or mobile device spewing whatever bits of news they could shove out about the Whiteout. The only ‘good’ thing I noticed was that there were far fewer people on the streets than normal. If there was another Push Battle or other unnatural event, there were far fewer innocent bystanders to be hurt by it today.
My favorite parking deck was half-collapsed from some tremendous force, so it took me a few extra minutes to get to the physiology lab. I rushed down the hall, glancing at my watch from time to time, when I caught sight of Dean Tyson with a small stack of manilla folders under one arm and an expectant look on his face. Undoubtedly, the dean had my research group’s next assignment ready and waiting. I raised a hand to catch his attention and met him halfway to the lab door.
“Dear God, Irene, what happened to you?” His eyes were flitting around my face, then the cast, then back again to look at my cuts and scrapes.
“Push Battle. I had to run by the drug store and one broke out right on the freeway nearby.” I may have been lying a little, but it was close enough to the truth to sneak by his notice.
“Fascinating!” Reginald had that same star-struck look I had seen in the eyes of most people when talking about the Pushed. “I would have loved to been able to observe that in person. For scientific purposes, of course.”
“Of course.” I clamped down on the hundreds of disgusted comments I wanted to say. Who would love to see a dozen people dead or horrifically injured in front of their eyes? A lot of people in this new world order, it seemed.
“I was lucky and was only caught on the fringes. I don’t really want to talk about it too much.” I shook my head sadly. I didn’t need to actually put on an act. I only needed to let my feelings of anguish over what I had seen come to the fore.
“I’m sorry, I was being inconsiderate. How about we get to business then? Maybe throwing yourself into some work will help you cope with things; it always helps me!” Dean Tyson wasn’t the best judge of character, but at least he was trying to be compassionate in his own peculiar way.
“Right, let’s get to work.”
We sat down in my office. It was almost surreal being here again and to see it completely unchanged from the time days ago I locked up our prototype. I suppressed the urge to unlock the storage cabinet to see if the feedback device was actually there like Ken said it was. After
settling in our seats, the dean laid the collection of folders on my desk.
“This is private information, Irene, so please keep this to yourself and only let your research associates know the bare minimum needed to do their jobs.” The Dean pushed the first folder towards me.
“According to the initial data we were sent from the Department of Energy’s Office of Science this morning, the Atlanta area appears to be a hotspot of post-Whiteout phenomenon. With that being the case, we were offered the chance to get first crack at studying the Whiteout and the Pushed with our easy access to data.”
I picked up the folder and gave the numbers a cursory glance. Considering this is where the Whiteout started from, it made sense its effects would be strongest here, near ground zero.
“Alright.” I nodded slowly. “What projects do you want us to start with here?” A strong part of me wanted to have nothing to do with any Whiteout related work, not when my life’s work was sitting mostly finished in the cabinet behind me. It galled me to have it swept under the carpet like this. Still, I couldn’t argue that something even more important had reared it’s head and I had an obligation to find out everything I could about it.
“Fortunately, despite the occasional outbreaks of violence, many Pushed are just normal people caught in extraordinary circumstances. We already have a Pushed citizen, a student here at Tech as a matter of fact, that has already come to us seeking help understanding what was happening to them.” Tyson handed me the next folder.
“Normally, we wouldn’t be able to get all the paperwork arranged and ready so quickly but, well, let’s just say that certain wheels are being greased by some very important individuals.” I flipped open the folder and began to glance over it as Reginald continued. “The specifics aren’t important. What is important is that this young woman wants to understand her condition and we want to understand it as well. I want you to do a full physiological and biochemical study of her bodily changes using every tool and technique at your disposal.”
The Push Chronicles (Book 1): Indomitable Page 5