“Debriefing? With who?” I cast a glance at Brooks who, to my surprise, didn’t look guilty at all.
“The better question is who we haven’t! I’ve lost track of the committees, the sub-committees, the alphabet agencies, law enforcement, NASA.” He slumped back in his chair, tapping his head against the wall. “It's fine, I guess, though, if it keeps folks out of jail and starts to get our reputations cleaned up.”
“Okay. Now, really, before I fall asleep again, I need to know.” I raised my bed up to a reclined sitting position, in an effort to keep myself awake. “What happened?”
“Well, after Schuller called for help and you passed out, we loaded you on Burnt Rubber and wheeled you towards where the police were rushing onto the mall,” Extinguisher began. “We dropped the wall the moment Epic took his crew out of there, you see, what with it keeping emergency services out.”
“Trussst me, chica, you ssshould be glad you weren’t awake for that.” Medusa’s snake heads hissed. “It took a lot of sssweet talking to not only convince the cops not to ssshoot on ssight but to get you in an ambulance. Thank God there were ssome actual paramedsss there; they wanted to help more than shoot though I wouldn’t be sssurprissed if Mind’ss Eye worked la magia on them.”
“I don’t want to know and I don’t care. I’d prefer to be the optimist and think that some of those cops saw what went down and knew we weren’t the bad guys. Anyway, we wound up making a deal with the commanding officer on site: we’ll help with the clean-up and rescue efforts and then immediately turn ourselves in peacefully afterward.” Extinguisher chewed on his lip a moment. “Speaking of that, technically, you’re kind of under house arrest right now.”
“Hold on.” I felt at my face. Yep, that mask was still there and it didn’t feel like it was gruesomely bonded to my skin. “If I’m under arrest, why did they keep this on? More importantly, how the hell did this fool anybody enough for them to decide I needed it on anyway?”
“You’d be surprised how much a difference it makes, Doc,” Brooks chimed in. “And your identity is still under lock because we called in our last favors.” Duane frowned. I had never seen him sad before, but imagined that was what he was right now.
“Essentially,” Rachel added from her own bed, still out of my field of view, “we pulled some strings, noting your extensive help as a C.I.. After all, you’re not only the woman who got the FBI ahead of our rival agencies in regards to Pushcrime, but you also provided access to key information to finger the real culprit behind the bombing of our own headquarters. It was enough to convince our superiors that you would be more useful to everyone if you kept a layer of anonymity. Think of it like a bizarre form of witness protection.”
“I take it, though, the FBI knows who I am under this thing?”
“Yep,” Brooks nodded. “Expect them to be a continual bug up your ass from now on.”
“Won’t it just be like before?” Extinguisher asked. “You know, her working with you two as her handlers or bosses or whatever you guys call it?"
Rachel let out a sigh. Brooks instinctively reached for his cigarettes, but produced only nicotine gum.
“We would, if our resignation hadn’t been part of the deal.”
“What the hell, guys?” I was definitely more woman than alien now. “Why would you even agree to that?”
“Indy, it’s alright. Duane and I, well, we were going to quit anyway. At least this way, we got something more than a pension out of the deal.” Rachel’s voice carried no regret.
“Sssso, what did happen then?”
“Simple. The agency wants to cover up who caused the bombing.” Duane’s sadness turned to anger in the snap of a finger. “They were going to pawn it off on the first dead Pushcrook that fits the M.O. as soon as they sorted the bodies. They don’t want anyone to know it was an inside job.”
“Mackenzie!” I regretted the shout as my enthusiasm tore at my throat and lungs.
“Yesss, that wasss the name Gerald sssaid, right?”
“Yeah, as far as we can figure, the same dude.” Brooks looked over at the two Push heroes. “Nice work getting Schuller out of there, by the way. There isn’t shit connecting him to Reaper, so maybe if we’re all lucky, we can let him slip away and enjoy a peaceful life on his meds.” I was far from sure that would happen, but I tried to take Duane’s enthusiasm to heart.
“No one at the agency knows how he did it, but it was definitely Ian.” Rachel paused for a thought, then continued. “He was one of our instructors at the academy. His specialty was fringe cases. You know, cults, extremists, conspiracy theories, the occult, that sort of thing. After the Whiteout, he was one of the first agents who wanted to get out there and tackle Pushcrime. He was in charge of our investigation of you, in the first place.”
“I don’t know what his game is now and I don’t care what the FBI wants, Rachel and I are going to hunt him down and bust him.”
“Isn’t that going to be pretty hard without you two being agents anymore?” Extinguisher’s question was quite valid.
“Well, as I am recovering, I’m getting everything into place for us to become licensed private investigators.” Rachel tapped at what I assumed was a laptop. “Do you people prefer R and D Investigations or the Brooks-Choi Foundation?”
“You two do know that this Mackenzie character isn’t exactly a mere mortal anymore, right?” My question caught everyone’s attention. I had forgotten that, for the most part, no one was paying much attention to Gerald after the end of the stand-off save for me. “Schuller said he was like me.” I gave Duane a knowing look.
“Huh,” he replied. “Maybe that’s why … “ His voice trailed off as thought overtook speech, rubbing his unshaved chin.
“He’sss like you, kind of Pussshed but not Pussshed?” Medusa’s snakes danced around her head as she tapped her chin. “We really need a name to call thisss sssort of thing.”
“We can nail down nomenclature later, guys. What’s important is you can’t go after him alone. You’re going to need help.” That thought not only got the attention of the two former agents, but the Push heroes as well.
“Well, I was going to let Rachel do her smooth-talk thing but,” Duane shrugged, “how about you lend us a hand? Off the FBI radar, natch.”
“Don’t leave us out of this,” Extinguisher added. “If Ian Mackenzie led to so many people dying this week, I can safely say for all of us that we want to help bring him in.”
“Groovy,” was Duane’s one word reply.
I settled my head back. My growing realization was that, despite all the blood and bones, I was not a single step closer to my actual goal of stopping the Whiteout. For the sake of my friends, I tried to put that thought out of my head. Instead, I simply said yes.
The doctors were shocked at my rapid recovery. I didn’t bounce back as fast as, say, any of my powered friends, but I was on my feet before the end of the next week. Frankly, it looked like the most lasting damage would be to my hair. That flame gout had crisped more than a bit of my shoulder-length locks, so the doctors had it efficiently but crudely chopped into a short mop. Otherwise, I was amazingly sore, but functional. It was on the first day I was allowed to walk outside of the hospital that I found out one small detail my friends had failed to warn me about.
It was innocent enough at first and, frankly, it all came down to my own decision to keep the mask on. It seemed like a smart idea. After all, Duane and Rachel had gone through so much trouble to keep my identity hidden so it made sense to keep it that way, even if it would be pretty anonymous to take it off for a walk. I could have blamed my poor decision on the last of the pain-killers in my system, but that would have been an excuse. I honestly didn’t think the mask would bring on what it did.
I had been lucky that my legs had been relatively undamaged despite the insanity of the last week. It had felt so good to finally stretch them with a good walk. I still felt quite weak; the most life-threatening condition I had when I arrived at the h
ospital was, to the doctors’ shock, acute malnutrition. They didn't know the cause but I was all too aware of the cause. With that weakness in mind, I still thought it was easily in my power to take a walk around the block, nothing drastic.
At first, it was a pleasant afternoon stroll. Little by little though, people began to cast glances at me. Well, I was a woman walking around in a mask, which was pretty weird, even after the Whiteout. I didn’t give off that pulse the Pushed did, so I doubted they would think I was one of them.
Still, I continued on, trying to ignore the obvious clues around me. Furtive glances led to whispers, which in turn led to pointing, which culminated with a little pig-tailed girl, no more than eight, who walked right up to me as her mother was calling for a taxi. She looked up at me through thick, square-framed glasses.
“Wow!” she gasped. “You really are Indomitable! You’re my favorite.” I was shocked speechless. The girl looked back at her mother.
“Momma! It’s Indomitable!” Without waiting for her mother’s response, Pig-tail dug out a little notebook from her coat pocket and a stub of a pencil.“Can I have your autograph?”
I found myself responding to the girl on auto-pilot, taking the pen and inscribing my alter-ego’s name. I tried to figure out what the hell was going on, but I had no way to be prepared for this. Me, who had been ready to throw her life away facing unthinkable destructive forces, was just not ready to be popular.
The girl’s cry seemed to break the wall holding back other passers-by and I found myself surrounded by people shouting my name, yelling questions, holding out paper and pencils. I even received some rather naughty requests of where I could put my autograph. It was by far the most bewildering and terrifying experience that week had brought.
I didn’t want to be a role-model or an idol or a leader. Somehow, though, I was now all of those things. We had won, sure, but I had gotten nothing of what I wanted and now had everything I didn’t want. Somewhere, I told myself, Eric was probably laughing his ass off at me.
Chapter 21 Cycle
It was a hot, sultry Atlanta night, the kind of weather no sane person would be caught in leather motorcycle gear, no matter how customized it was. Of course, I wasn’t sure anymore if I was the last sane woman on the planet or the only crazy one. Either way, over the past week back home, I was starting to enjoy these evening jaunts.
To be honest, I was even starting to enjoy the suit; it meant something to people. I ran my gloved hands through my newly-styled faux hawk hair; I hadn’t had much choice after the mess the doctors made. I sighed, alone with my thoughts, as I leaned against the roof’s ledge and gazed out over the twinkling lights of the city.
After the Battle of Washington, as they had decided to call it, the President had decided to peel back some of the more stringent restrictions on the country. The curfew was over and more leeway was offered to police and courts in dealing with Push crimes. Congress rapidly pushed through a new bill, the Pushed Regulation and Rights Act.
The PRRA was a mixed blessing. While it reaffirmed basic human rights for the Pushed, it also was explicit in pointing out, correctly I was sad to agree, that Push powers were the equivalent of lethal weapons more deadly than firearms. Therefore, the Pushed were ordered to register their powers with the federal government, just like gun owners registered their guns, to be administered by a new department, the Department of Push Administration. While that clause was instantly tangled in legal actions and government red tape, the states moved much quicker with state-level DPA equivalents already forming from legislation rammed through state houses across the nation.
People were still afraid though, no matter how much the government tried to reassure them. They didn’t go out much at night anymore, even now that they could do so. The media treated the Pushed more as hot button topics for pundits to argue about instead of rock stars in the making.
Though Epic was still considered a hero, some tarnish had been splattered on his shining image. He was held up as an example of either progress or chaos by the political extreme and the morally uncertain and viewed with suspicion by the majority of the populace. Of course, in that kind of popularity vacuum, basic science demanded that it be filled by something. Of course, that something was me.
“Daydreaming, Doc?” Brooks said into my ear. “I hate to interrupt, fearless leader, but there’s another report of Push crime at Underground. Everyone else is busy following that lead in Savannah so it’s all you.” Duane found the pedestal I was placed on to be endless amounts of fun.
“Initial reports seem to indicate someone with matter manipulation powers has a real problem with soft drink companies,” Choi added dryly. “Watch out for exploding soda cans, apparently every one of them in this kid’s wake is blowing apart. Twenty serious injuries at least, no confirmed fatalities.”
“Right, here I go,” I said into the whisper-mic. I was lucky, really. Despite being the public poster child for the Pushed People movement (the name was very much not my idea), Duane and Rachel’s deal kept me mostly independent, while the FBI’s inter-agency rivalries maintained my anonymity. The Atlanta Five weren’t as lucky.
They did what they thought was best though, volunteering to be the first group officially registered with the DPA. While not officially a member, they all still looked to me to be leader. I frowned slightly at the uncomfortable thought, then made to hop down the fire escape to my bike.
I stopped the moment I felt the clench in my gut and the gooseflesh ripple on the back of my neck. It was him. It had to be.
“Hold on, guys,” I said. “Switching off the audio a moment.” Duane shouted something, but I cut him off as I clicked off the mic and receiver. Overhead, a streak of white light mimicked a shooting star, then abruptly turned and arced down to the rooftop. It was Epic. It was funny, I didn’t think of him as Eric Flynn any more, even though I saw Eric inside of that shell every time we ran into each other. That man was gone to me.
“I am not here to fight.” His arms were upraised as he hovered towards me. “Irene, I –“
“It’s Indomitable,” I retorted. “You don’t have the right to call me that name anymore.” The demigod’s expression flinched, but he continued.
“I simply wish to tell you: these setbacks do not mean anything.” He opened his arms out to the city below, coming up beside me at the ledge. “My calculations are still viable. It will simply be a slower process. Already, peace is starting to return.”
“Right.” My sarcasm was not veiled in the least. “Your peace is sending more people to the hospital by the minute while you blather at me.”
“All good things take time, I see that now.” Epic seemed impassive to my comment. I don’t even know that he heard it. “Indomitable, just make sure, when the time comes and my Crusade moves, do not be in the way. No matter how you profess to feel about me, I know I still care for you.”
“Epic, when that time comes, you better get a lot of practice at saying ‘I surrender’.” I shot a glare at him. “Whatever stunt you try to pull, I’m going to be right there, to stop you from hurting and killing innocent people. That’s what zealots like you do, after all.”
“Do as you wish; you always do.“ He gazed out over the city, looking thoughtful for a long moment.
”Oh, I do look forward to all of this. You move, I counter-move. I thrust, you parry. I have a feeling we will be doing this for a long time, my dear.” He finished with something that made me pause. “You do know, I have already won the game, no matter how many of my pieces you take.” He started to drift away.
“What the hell?” I barked at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He rotated to face me once more, still drifting up and away with increasing speed. “I won the moment you finally agreed to play the game.”
Epic sped out of sight like a blazing comet. I wanted to scream at him as he flew away, to shout curses, to argue down his points. I couldn’t. How could I? He was right. I could feel su
dden, surprising tears coming on, but I bit down on them. I wouldn’t give him the pleasure. Instead I leaped down, sprinting to my motorcycle, finding succor in the act of saving lives.
I couldn’t shake his words though. I wanted to break the cycle of violence and fear by ending it at its source. Instead I felt I was a part of the system now, a cog in the machine.
What could I do though? Each day I was trapped by the same choice: Try to find the means to end the Whiteout or try to save as many lives as I could. Stopping the Whiteout was no sure thing, certainly not any more, but if it could be stopped, so many lives would be spared. Every moment I spent trying to find the answers I needed to stop it, though, countless lives were in danger from my purposeful ignorance of the threats I could stop.
If it wasn’t Pushcrooks, it was Epic and his Crusaders. If it wasn’t them, it was trying to hunt down Ian Mackenzie before he struck again. If it wasn’t any of that, it was the looming threat of a government that still didn’t trust any of the Pushed, good or bad.
As I rode into the night, more empowered than I ever had been in my life, beloved by millions, trusted with the fate of so many people’s lives, I felt like the lowest human being to have ever lived.
About the Author
J. B. Garner was born in Baltimore, MD on December 1, 1976, the youngest of three children. While still young, the family moved to Peachtree City, GA. His parents always encouraged his creative side and J. B. began writing and drawing from an early age. Though considered talented by his teachers, he never fully applied himself and bounced through high school and into college at the Georgia Institute of Technology. During his freshman year, his father died suddenly.
Grief and lack of purpose caused J. B. to drop out of school. If not for a few close friends, he might have dropped out of life as well. Taken in by his friends and given a second chance, J. B. matured, applied himself, and finally, after over a decade of hard work, is now back to doing what he loves the most: writing.
The Push Chronicles (Book 1): Indomitable Page 19