“Dr. Roman, this is the point where I’m going to ask you again: What happened? To your face and last night,” Brooks growled out.
“Maybe you should also tell us what you know about Dr. Flynn and his disappearance,” Choi added. “We know you had already stated to Dean Tyson that he was ‘sick and bedridden’, but he apparently contacted the Dean of the physics department and went on indefinite sabbatical starting, coincidentally, the day of the Whiteout.”
“To be specific, we’re talking about Eric Flynn, not Heinrich Flynn. Or maybe you know them both.”
I looked from one agent to the other. I was screwed. I took a deep breath.
“Can we talk in private, at least?” Agent Choi produced a set of handcuffs like magic but Brooks raised a hand.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Rachel. Dr. Roman knows she’d be an idiot to run now, don’t you?”
I nodded silently in response and got to my feet. I actually wasn’t entirely sure I was trapped. Maybe it was the confidence brought on by decking what was probably the most powerful individual on the planet but I had a feeling I could probably get away and escape from these two if we got out onto the open streets. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to.
It would be playing into the stereotypes the Whiteout was trying to enforce in people: heroes above the law, a suspicious government, all the old tropes. I made up my mind as we exited the ER, Brooks behind me and Choi leading the way, to try to change up the game.
Rachel Choi and Duane Brooks sat with only the occasional comment as I talked. We also ate. I insisted we talk in a place where I could get food. That massive hunger had returned, though not quite as bad as last time. Still, I couldn’t help but notice that, despite their forced-neutral expressions when it came to the story, at least Rachel seemed astonished at how much food I was putting away. I pushed away the empty sundae dish, my second in a row, and dabbed at my lips with a napkin.
“ ... and that’s, in broad strokes, what happened.” There were still things I left out. I felt the need to downplay the extent that I seemed to be able to ignore the new reality’s effects around us. I didn’t totally understand it, the odd state my body seemed to be dropping into under duress, or these massive hunger spikes. If I didn’t understand it, I didn’t want to encourage them to push further about it.
I also kept my own plans in the background. To be honest, they were unimportant to most of the narrative. The two glanced at each other as Choi flipped back and forth in her full notepad. Brooks was the first to speak.
“I still think you’re keeping a few things from us. That is, though, a hell of a lot closer to the truth than that bullshit you told us in the hospital. Rachel?”
“I agree. I don’t mean to bring up your recent personal tragedies, but the fact you were about to break down when you told us what happened to Dr. Flynn, well, that added a great deal of authenticity to the tale.” She tapped at the notes. “However, I don’t think you’re doing yourself any favors by hiding anything, no matter how minor, from us.”
“We’re special agents. Our job isn’t just investigating Push Battles and penny-ante shit.” Duane dug into his coat, pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes, and finally fished out a pack of nicotine gum. “NASA is sure the Whiteout is Earth-based, you collaborated that, and we were sent here specifically to verify that theory and track down the source.”
“Well, job done, Agents.” I gestured out towards the street. “Welcome to Ground Zero of the new world.”
“My question is, Dr. Roman, why hasn’t Dr. Flynn a.k.a. Epic gotten rid of you? His actions, especially tonight, seem to indicate that he considers you, for a reason you are keeping from us, some kind of threat or at least the cause the disruption of what he sees as a natural order of events,” Choi noted as she sipped at her coffee.
“I think he’s still in love with me, in some weird way. He doesn’t want to kill me; he wants me to join his side of things.”
Choi nodded slowly in response. Brooks chewed on his gum like it was more work than relief. After a few moments of silence, he looked me square in the eye.
“Look, let’s be straight, Irene. Rachel and I are going to track down Dr. Flynn and, if he is going crazy like you think, we’ll find a way to stop him. We don’t know what your part is in this, but if you find out anything, you had best tell us. It’s the best for everyone concerned.”
“Duane is right, you know. This isn’t the time for half-cocked vigilante actions. That cowboy attitude that seems to be going around is what’s causing this crisis in the first place.”
I broke gazes with the agents and mulled it over for a few minutes. There were pros and cons of course. If I came clean entirely with them, they might just arrest me on the spot and take me to be tested, questioned, and held for my own good. They might also decide that because of both the changes in me and my willingness to cooperate, my plan had enough merit to let me stay free, only with the addition of a government leash. The biggest concern I had was that I would, from now on, always be watched by the government, whatever choice I made.
“I can’t entirely disagree with you guys. The problem is, well, I don’t want to be watched and hounded for the rest of my life. I want to be able to walk away at the end of this, when the world gets fixed. Can you tell me that I’ll be able to do that?” I glanced from one to the other, trying to gauge their reactions. If they decided to arrest me, I suspected they would do it now and I would have to be ready to run.
“I don’t think we can give you a promise like that. Shit is just too damn weird right now; it’s not business as usual,” Brooks began, shaking his head grimly.
“What Duane is trying to say is that, we have no power to make such a broad statement. What we can do, if you think we can trust her, Agent Brooks, is utilize you as a confidential informant. Your identity will stay off the books and under the radar, at least for now, but we’ll still be able to maintain official ties. It’s the best we can offer you.” Rachel glanced at her partner, who confirmed her statement with a short nod.
The alien thoughts tried to poke through to me again, urging me to run now, that no good could come from relying on the police at all. I clenched my jaw and resisted the intrusion on my mind. If I was actually going to try to buck the system the Whiteout was trying to enforce, I had to go through with this now.
“Okay.” I nodded slowly. “I’m in. Now, here’s what I didn’t tell you before ...” I filled in the few gaps I had left about what was happening to me and my ultimate plan to try to beat Eric at his own game.
“That’s insane. Not to mention highly dangerous.” Rachel shook her head, then looked at Duane. “I don’t think we can condone that kind of action from a civilian.” To my surprise, Brooks shook his head.
“Rachel, we’ve already seen that we can’t tackle the Pushed problem head on. Kowalski and Roberts proved that one, rest their souls.” He waved in my direction. “Whatever happened to Irene here, she’s not one of them, but she’s got something going on that at least gives her some chance at protecting herself if the shit hits the fan. Well, that’s if we believe her entire story from start to finish.”
Choi flipped through her notepad for a few minutes. I remained silent and alert; I would simply have to let them hash this out themselves.
“The evidence, as astonishing as it seems, points to corroborating at least the broad facts she’s presented.” She chewed on the end of her pen, then sighed. “Okay, fine. I don’t want to risk anyone’s lives here but our own, but I don’t see another way out that doesn’t end with you and I in the morgue and all of this investigation evaporating with it.”
“Well, Irene, I guess we’re going to help you become a superhero. Shit, that sounds as crazy as it feels.” Agent Choi nodded in agreement but finally added a shrug. Neither one of them saw any better options. She was gracious enough to put the massive meal on the FBI’s dime as we departed to begin the most insane series of actions I have ever contemplated in my life.
; Chapter 10 Mask
The suit was ridiculous. Alright, it wasn’t as ridiculous as some of the costumes I had already seen cropping up on the news, but it felt no less silly to see myself in it. I couldn’t say no, however; this was my plan as much as it was the two agents’. They had only procured and assembled the materials. Unfortunately, that had meant they made most of the aesthetic choices.
At least Brooks and Choi had made some nods to practicality. In essence, the suit was a top-of-the line leather motorcycle suit, complete with all the best safety features from the racing circuit. Obviously, all logos and corporate emblems were taken off; anonymity was vital. Don’t ask me how or why, but they had procured a suit that was pure white with bright blue highlights and panels. I had argued for black, a sensible color, so obviously the opposite was chosen. With matching touring gloves and boots, I at least had steel-toed boots as a weapon because, fighting all common sense, that’s all the agents would let me get away with. I knew it was the Whiteout twisting their sense, but it was still frustrating. The odd thing was, despite the insanity of this entire get up, it felt so very right.
Even the mask, something that in design reminded me of something out of a Hollywood movie and colored bright blue as if in attempt to bring more attention to my vulnerable head, felt more like a second skin than the irritating annoyance it was. The mask was Duane’s idea. Apparently the trend had swept like fire among the publicly-seen Pushed, which is amazing when you consider it had only been two days since the Whiteout. That made it another piece of the ‘superhero’ disguise needed to fit in. Rachel was the one who pointed out that it might also help keep me from being tracked down by any local police agencies I might run afoul of. It was comforting to know that it didn’t matter really, because the FBI would just arrest me for everything at the end of it all.
“OK, Doctor, you’re coming through loud and clear on the pick-up,” Agent Brooks informed me through the tiny earpiece. “Just remember, the less shit you get into, the less shit we have to clean-up when this whole thing is done.”
“What my partner means to say, Irene, is that you are have no official status or law enforcement powers,” Agent Choi added. For such small equipment, it certainly worked well. “You are what is known as a confidential informant. Anything you do that is considered a crime is still a crime. We only have the power to work an appropriate deal to lessen or wipe away those offenses, assuming we all live through this. Oh, obviously, the pick-ups are always on, so remember, everything you say is being recorded.”
“Understood, loud and clear,” I whispered low to myself. Even though my motorcycle was tucked in a side alley, I already felt amazingly conspicuous. No matter how I felt about the suit or how important it was to what we were trying to accomplish, it still felt like I was wearing a walking target.
“The whisper mic is working perfectly,” Rachel confirmed. “It’s all on you now. Duane is arranging some discrete transport for us to Washington for the rally tomorrow. I’ll keep you appraised of the details when he gets that done.” I heard some keyboard chatter.
“If you want to get your feet damp, local police are getting calls about a series of house invasions, Push activity suspected. Brook Heights housing project, east side of town.”
“Sure, sounds good to me,” I said. One kick and the Kawasaki roared to life as I secured my helmet. “I’ll head that way, if you can give me directions once I get close.”
I didn’t bother ask if they had a GPS tracker in with the wire, the pick-ups, and the other tidbits of electronics I had under the suit. As much as I hated it, for now, I was under the government’s thumb. I just hoped, as I raced through the Atlanta traffic, that what I was giving up would pay off in the end.
What worried me more than my two new friends in the FBI was the fact I was about to put what was so far mere guesswork, backed up by limited field observation, to a very real and very dangerous test. After the agents and I had come to our arrangement late yesterday, I had been 'encouraged' to travel with them, to avoid curfew entanglements, and stay in the hotel where they had been put up by the FBI. In the morning, as both of them made arrangements for the equipment they would need and Rachel did some work putting it all together, I had some free time.
Well, if you define free as ‘not being actively monitored but strongly suggested to stay in the hotel room and stay out of contact with the rest of the world’. As angry as the conditions made me, my rational side could see that it was certainly logical that neither Choi or Brooks completely trusted me yet. To not waste that downtime, I decided to run some figures based on what analytical programs I had on my laptop, using my observations about the Pushed and my own reactions to them as data.
That’s when I discovered yet another wrinkle the Whiteout had brought about. I was about to do the calculations regarding muscular force and the current theories on hysterical strength when I noticed there was an error in some of the constants the program was showing for the formula. I checked and double-checked, then cross-referenced with several online resources.
What I discovered is that many known facts and measurements regarding not just the physical makeup of the human body, but a wide variety of scientific fields, had all changed. I could remember how it was before the world changed but, in every recorded form, it was as if the numbers had always been the way they seemed to be now. In terms of the human body, by the new numbers, a human being was, theoretically, capable of far greater physical feats than before the Whiteout. Nothing compared to what the Pushed were capable of, but still scarily impressive.
I couldn’t help but believe that this may be why I wasn’t hurt as badly as I thought I should have been and why I was recovering far quicker. By nature of the changes to the universe, my body, like every other human being’s, was tougher, stronger, healed quicker ... everything was simply better than before. What it didn’t explain was why I, unlike everyone else, was able to see the reality underneath the changes of the Whiteout.
Maybe being at the core of the Whiteout protected me, like being in the eye of a hurricane. Maybe it was some x-factor immunity that cropped up not only in me but scattered others in the world. The only person who might be able to figure it out would be Eric. Whatever the reason, I told myself as I weaved through traffic with an abandon I never had previously, I had to trust in my strange immunity and the knowledge I had of how much further I could push my body to keep me from getting killed before this could be set right.
It was a testament to how stretched the Atlanta Police Department was that there was only one police cruiser in front of Brook Heights by the time I arrived. There was a cluster of terrified people hiding behind whatever cover they could find in the parking lot while an older officer was staunching a bleeding wound in the side of his partner.
I had no idea what it was they were hiding from exactly until the pavement no less than five feet away from me exploded violently, followed immediately by what I was sure was a sonic boom. Whatever had just struck the ground next to me had literally burned through the air, the rapidly fading path of fire angled up to somewhere in the upper stories of the building. My skin crawled with the now familiar feeling of the Pushed.
Ignoring the twist in my gut, I turned the bike into a skid as I braked and, in a fit of bravado and stupidity, I ditched the bike in mid-motion. Somehow, I had managed to gauge the speed perfectly. As the bike started to tilt and my knee came precariously close to the earth, I was able to kick free and instantly rise into a run.
My poor motorcycle did it’s job as a target, as another supersonic projectile punched through the center of mass with a horrendous screech of metal. There was just enough time for me to make the mad dash to the police cruiser. Old softball instincts kicked in as I did a classic slide, skidding to a halt prone next to the officers.
“Who the hell are you?”
I couldn’t blame the officer for his attitude. His partner was gushing blood, he was pinned down by an apparently homicidal superhuman, and some crazy wo
man in a motorcycle suit and a mask comes sliding in out of nowhere. It didn’t help that I had Rachel yelling in my ear, wondering if I had been shot. Frankly, I was shocked that the police hadn’t started shooting anyone in a mask on sight just to be sure.
“Look, officer,” I said, raising my hands, still on my back, “I know you have no reason to trust me, but believe me, I’m here to help.” It was obvious this man had seen plenty of action and frankly didn’t look impressed. “Do you have a choice right now? We can both be pretty sure you don’t have backup coming and the only way your friend is going to make it is if you can get her to a hospital.”
“I can’t leave these people to get picked off by some maniac up there. At least now he’s-” The officer, Officer McDaniels from his name tag, was interrupted as another projectile ripped through the top corner of the police cruiser’s top. “-shooting at us instead of those folks over yonder.” At this rate, there wouldn’t be a car that could drive anyone anywhere in a few minutes. I took a deep breath and looked McDaniels in the eye.
“OK, how about this?” I said. “I’m going to go out there. If he shoots twice in a row at me and I’m not dead, will you take that as a sign that I can keep him from killing anyone else long enough for you to save this woman’s life?”
I could tell that she was fortunate to be alive as it was. She must have only been nicked by whatever this crazy was throwing down at us and even then, it had torn a horrific wound through her side. McDaniels looked torn, then nodded.
“Deal.” I took one last fortifying breath and started to stand. “You’re crazy, but still, good luck, lady.”
I nodded and rose to my full height, reminding myself that no matter what this Pushed guy was doing, it wasn’t entirely real. The real world didn’t have people flying or throwing jets or made of fire. That’s when I felt the impact into my right shoulder.
The Push Chronicles (Book 1): Indomitable Page 8
