(The Push Chronicles (Book 2): Indefatigable (11 page)

I drew another stake as I scrambled to my feet.  The ringing in my ears still persisted, but it was getting better.  It was good enough to hear a series of hammering footfalls to my right.  And my left.  And from behind.  I just cursed and drew a stake with my off-hand.

To my personal credit, I staked the first bastard.  To my dismay, I wasn't quite so lucky with numbers two and three.  To my surprise, I wasn't beaten like a drum, though I pulled my shoulder as I struggled.  There was only a moment of movement, a rush of wind really, then I was hurled like a rag doll through the air.  I hit the stone floor hard and rolled to a stop, scraped up, bruised, but remarkably alive.

As I rolled up to my feet, I realized they had moved me quite a ways, far enough that my memory of the sewer map was useless.  No gas or mist here, it looked like a crude break room, probably set up by some maintenance workers who didn't want slog all the way to the surface each time they wanted to sip a cup of coffee.

"I apologize that the invitation was rough, Dr. Roman," came the cultured, even-toned voice from the shadows, "but it really was imperative we meet in person, don't you agree?"

I recognized the man I saw as I spun to face the voice.  Ian Shane Mackenzie, the architect of so much spilled blood, stood there casually, thumbs hooked into the loops of his fatigue pants.  If not for the head-to-toe paramilitary gear, you could have easily mistaken him for your kindly, older uncle with his graying red hair and bright eyes.

"I'm not sure we have a lot to talk about, Mr. Mackenzie."  I eased into a fighting stance.  He was untouched, not even a cut from shaving and I was a complete mess.  I may have had a decade of youth on him, but with his Natural abilities, I wasn't sure how much that would matter.

"Oh, Irene, seriously, you can't see that?"  Ian shook his head, tutting softly.  "Well, maybe there does need to be a demonstration made.  Maybe then, you'll understand that it's better to talk than to posture."

With that, he came at me, as fast as I imagine I looked to others.

Chapter 12 Mackenzie

"What I am sure you didn't know," Mackenzie calmly noted as he led in with a right hand, "is that we are as different as they are."  Slipping under his first punch, I barely saw the second jab blur in, but I was still able to deflect it.  Unfortunately, I had to use my right forearm which added to the damage it already had suffered.  As close as we were, I retaliated with an unorthodox headbutt, looking to clash skulls right at the start.  He must have seen it coming just as I had seen his own attacks as he suddenly leaned back at the knees, evading the blow.

"Oh really?" I asked, just to keep him engaged.  "I know you're crazy and I'm not.  There's one difference."  Maybe, though it wasn't likely, it might distract him.  As he popped back up, I grabbed the lapels of his camo jacket and pivoted, swinging him with all my might at the metal door of the chamber.  Before I could release, he countered by grabbing my own lapels.  In a complete reversal, it was the back of my head that was smashed into the metal, not his.  I really didn't have a total conception of just how hurt I was until now.  All I could hope was that I could keep focused and ignore my myriad injuries long enough to take Mackenzie down.

"Don't play that game, you know it won't work," he smiled as he jammed a forearm against my jaw.  "I can think as fast as you can, faster actually."  Asshole.  I brought a knee up hard into his chest; even with all of his training he was just a  bit too close to avoid it.  Preferring to release the hold than take excessive punishment, Ian bounced back as I dropped back onto my feet.

"Oh, my dear, do not be offended in the least."  God, would he shut up?  "As I said, even people like us ... there are more than just us two, you know ... have different unique qualities.  For instance -"  I interrupted his lecture by hurling a stake at him, blunt end first.  He managed to duck it, but it was only a distraction to cover a step kick aimed for Ian's family jewels.  Sure, he probably had some kind of protection there, but one biker boot and my full strength and it was the end of the family line.  I couldn't tell if he expected the second attack or simple reflexes let him catch the leg and push himself back away a step.

The thing was he was right.  I began already to read the differences.  He was actually slower than I was, maybe not as strong either.  If I were not a walking road map of bruises and cuts, I would probably be winning this handily.  At the same time, I couldn't bother myself with a conversation and keep focused on the fight so my accelerated thinking must be a tad slower than his.  Who knew what other differences there were?

It didn't matter, because I wasn't going to let him prattle on about it.  I let the deflected kick just act as another step forward and threw a quick right hand in pursuit of Mackenzie's jaw.  He blocked that shot easily enough and tried to counterstrike with a cross.  As the punch whistled over my ducked head, I crab-stepped forward and threw a sharp short uppercut out of my crouch.  Ian barely kept his head attached to his body as he pulled his neck back, but I know I scored a hard tap on the chin.

Too late, though, I realized I had thrown too much of my weight forward with that punch.  Mackenzie recovered from his swaying dodge first and struck like a snake, stabbing his fingers like a knife into the the meat of my lats.  Ignoring the register of pain, I pulled away, hoping he would follow.  He must have decided his own game was more fun than anything I had to offer as he too danced back a step.

"See, right there!" Ian chuckled., rubbing at the growing bruise on his chin.  "That amazing quickness, even faster than I am."  He kept retreating, almost goading me in.  "The footage really doesn't do it justice.  I just hope to see it someday when you are at your best."  He was either stalling or leading and I wouldn't play that game.

"Point made," I acknowledged, trying to assess just how bad that strike to my side was.  "You know, I may not be quite as fast-thinking as you, but I'm not stupid."  I kept a close eye on him.  It didn't help that he was armed to the teeth.

"I know you aren't," Ian nodded.  "Why do you think I had, until now, stayed far away, observing?  I couldn't risk a potential confrontation, not before I was ready or, more precisely, you were ready."  That explained why we never came close; he wasn't there to begin with.

"What makes tonight so gosh darn special?"  I could see the little muscles starting to tense in his arms.  He was about to move.

"Oh please," Ian rolled his eyes, "you know as well as I do that I'm not one of your silly Pushcrooks.  The Whiteout hasn't blanked my mind like so many other people."  There it was, movement, as he drew his sidearm in a blur.  I guess this was his way of testing how fast I actually was.

I pushed off with everything I had left in the tank.  Two hopping steps ate the distance to the wall as he fired his first shot into empty air.  The second bullet struck the stone right behind me as I kicked off the wall.  He tried to wait for an opening for one more shot, but I was already in his face, smacking the gun aside with a backhand.  There wasn't a look of surprise on his face though.  That tell-tale 'oh no' look that most sane people make when they are disarmed.  The hand taser jabbed into my ribs and sent who knew how many volts of electricity through my body.

Muscles contracted, nerves fired erratically, and a million danger signs fired off in my brain.  As I fell backward twitching, I found I was strangely still in control, still grimly hanging in focus.  I tried to will everything to work, to start back up.  In theory and practice, it was possible.  There were trained people who could shrug off a full-powered taser in moments.  As I fought my own body, I heard the footsteps approaching my side.

"You see, while you were constantly occupied trying to do what you thought was the right thing, I've been watching, studying, and waiting," he explained.  There was a pause.  Every extra second counted as I managed to wrangle my rebelling neurons into their pens.  "Oh, very very good.  I suppose you need another shock or three."  I could feel his presence looming.  It was now or never, Irene.

The second I heard the faint spark of the taser, I forced my arm to swat it with all the grace of a zombie.  It was, thankfully, enough ... even Mackenzie hadn't expected me to right myself so soon.  I must have annoyed him with that, as he grabbed my wrist and cranked that arm back to a dangerous extension.  The sudden jolt of pain signals kicked in the adrenaline and with a sudden biochemical surge, my entire body was back on board with the brain.  Too bad my arm was about to snap like a chicken wing.

"The taser would have been more pleasant, Dr. Roman, but if you insist."  Something popped as my elbow hyper-extended, but I ignored it as I had already written off that joint in my brilliant (read insane) gambit.  I pushed my knees up to give me a hint of leverage and then yanked with all the strength I could muster with my mangled arm.  Technically, Mackenzie had the win.  The technique was flawless and his position perfect, but he hadn't factored in the possibilities when dealing with people like we were.  I didn't have to out-technique his hold if I just put enough muscle to lift him and myself clean off the ground.

He was, for the first time, surprised as his feet left the ground with the sudden motion.  Unfortunately, my shoulder, already wrenched, dislocated and I was sure I tore some stuff inside that was important.  Even my unnatural pain tolerance was topping out.  But I was free and Mackenzie had hit the stone floor hard.

In a desperate bid to keep the bastard down, I pushed up to my feet, took two big steps, and hauled off with the hardest punt kick I could manage, straight to his ribs.  To his credit, he managed to roll with the impact, but I imagined I at least cracked a rib or two.  He curled fetal as he tumbled.  The moment he stopped, Ian madly scrambled to his feet and I was right on top of him, one arm useless and the other still mangled from yesterday, not that I cared one bit.

I led with a wild swing as I charged, which he blocked and replied with a sharp jab to my gut.  Ignoring the instinct to curl up, I simply continued my rush, letting momentum slam my body into his, throwing us both back against one of the stone walls.  Now I got that headbutt I so richly wanted.  Why?  I wasn't even sure at that point.  Maybe just to say I had managed it.  I drove my forehead into the bridge of his nose and was delighted by the crunch of cartilage as blood poured out of his nostrils.

Problematically, that left me with only one arm to try to keep him pinned against the wall.  Just as I figured I would have done, Ian managed to ignore the instinct to cover his broken nose and used my poor position to jab his fingers into my dislocated shoulder.  I wanted to be able to focus through it, but that had finally, after all the brutalization my body had taken in so short a time, been too much.  I cried out and staggered back, letting Uncle Terrorist slip free.

I needed to relocate my shoulder; I needed two arms, even if they were both mangled.  As I tried to get a handle on the pain, Mackenzie took the smart move and drove a hard punch at my head, probably hoping for a sweet-spot knockout.  I was only saved by my staggering retreat, but I still was tagged in the cheek.  I was working with raw desperation and let that fuel a wild, low kick which, by some miracle, knocked the legs out from under Mackenzie.  That would last moments.

Fortunately, I knew how to relocate a shoulder which shockingly is not by slamming it into a hard object like in an action movie.  I closed my eyes, loosened up my body, and rotated my bent arm in a full circle.  There was another flare of pain and then a distinct pop.

Excellent timing as Mackenzie, still in far better shape, was back on his feet.  The thing was, all it took was one lucky shot from either of us.  We weren't Pushed and our strange abilities just made this kind of fighting even more dangerous.  It explained the stun gun ... for some reason, Mackenzie very much wanted me alive.

In line with that thought, Ian advanced nimbly forward, trying to use my sloppy stance to try to get a solid grip on me.  I brushed aside his first attempt and tried to push him off with the sole of my boot; there were still tingles up and down my arm and I was hoping for just a few moments to get ready.  Instead, Ian caught my extended leg and heaved upward.  As before, when enough strength is applied, no amount of balance matters.  The world spun as I flipped over backward.

By some miracle of agility, I carried through the flip and landed on my feet in a crouch.  As impressive as that had to look, it mattered about zero, as I was still at a horrible disadvantage.  Mackenzie had no qualms capitalizing, grabbing me by both shoulders as I regained my feet, digging his thumbs hard into the joints.  I didn't give him the pleasure of crying out, but the surge of pain, now only dulled instead of ignored, left me open to two swift knees into my gut.

I contemplated throwing up whatever I had in my stomach all over him but I somehow held on and threw my arms up and out violently, hoping my assessment of strength earlier was true.  Sure enough, the sudden push tore me out of Ian's grasp.  Seizing this one moment, I slipped to his right, slammed a fist into his kidney, and then shoved him hard into the nearest wall.

I know the kidney punch hurt him, but he still had the presence of mind to guard his head with his forearms.  Everything was turning hazy around the edges and it was getting so hard to focus, but I managed to shake my head and stay awake.  With one last desperate rush of energy, I swung a full-strength haymaker at his exposed back.

He wasn't there.  The man had experience, extensive training, at least a dozen years in dangerous situations.  I was a former physiologist who had been relying on luck, some strange gimmicks, and crazy on-the-job training.  It wasn't a surprise that Ian would have instantly moved away, but I was too tired and too beaten-down to figure that.  Instead, I broke my knuckles as I shattered a fist-shaped hole in the stone wall.

There was a tremendous stabbing pain in my left shoulder blade.  It wasn't just a hard punch or a stabbing finger-thrust.  Mackenzie had shoved a knife straight through the flesh and just shy of cracking the bone.  My pain centers overloaded and I slumped against the wall.  I tried to keep standing, scrabbling for some handhold with my battered right hand, but it just wasn't working.  I continued to slide down until I crumpled to the floor.  It was damp, cold, and surprisingly soothing.

"Well now," Ian said with a startling level of calm, "that was educational.  You really would have had the best of me if I hadn't ensured you would be properly prepared."  Just how much of the past few days, hell, the past months had Mackenzie been behind?  I didn't know, so I pushed up to my hands and knees.  Just as I didn't want to know what all he had done, I certainly didn't want to know what he intended to do now, especially with me.   Despite that valiant effort, I was loosing the war with gravity.  I just couldn't force myself back up, especially with a knife still sticking out of my back.  I could hear the scrape of plastic then more footfalls approaching me.

"Don't worry, Dr. Roman.  You won't enjoy this, but you won't be dead."  The electric crackle of the taser.  "When you wake up, let's try to have a rational conversation, alright?"

The first long shock locked up my joints and I felt my cheek hit the floor.  The second one finally shattered my focus and, in one giant wave, pain, agony, nausea, and fatigue hit at once.  Thank God for the black slate of unconsciousness.