(The Push Chronicles (Book 2): Indefatigable Read Free Page A

slat.  Though nowhere near the heart, the wood itself seemed to be repellent to the beast, at least able to wound it better than my fists or feet.  There was a shudder that ran through my arm as wood pierced inhuman flesh.  The glowing red eyes gaped and in a fraction of a second I was free as the beast recoiled to howl in rage.  It turned away from me, clutching at the board that had impaled it through the guts.  I was sickened to see not only bits of dead matter drip out of the wound, but surprisingly fresh blood as well.
    Willing myself to hold it together, I forced myself into action and rolled to my feet.  The creature was having trouble extracting the crude stake; for all its feral qualities, it seemed to realize that leaving splinters of wood inside it was bad.  Thinking myself unnoticed for the moment, I surged towards it with the intent to drive it chest-first in the wall, hopefully impaling it further and buy me time to find another sharpened piece of wood.  I had underestimated the corpse's sensory powers or its primal instincts, however, as my rush was met by an immediate backhand, delivered with preternatural speed and power.  There wasn't even a muscle twitch to read in the animated corpse; I had no chance to divert.  I did, however, manage to roll with the impact as it sent me sprawling backwards, landing face-down on the slick stones.
    Having been hit by the most powerful Pushed on the planet already, I certainly wasn't put out of action, but I was still dazed by the hit, spitting up blood from my now-gashed lip.  The bruise would certainly be impressive if I lived through this.  I could only be glad that the impact had shattered the corpse's hand into fragments, so much so that even the Push aura couldn't properly form a hand out of it again. As I pushed myself up with my hands, I couldn't help but notice that, to the right of me, was a dirty but still intact crucifix.  I quickly surmised that it probably had belonged to the victim, lost in the struggle before it could be brought to bear.  I wondered if it would work at all, especially for an avowed skeptic, as I crawled for it.  It was just within my grasp when I felt a vice-like grip on my ankle.
    Three months of on-the-job combat training kicked in when I instantly lashed out with my free leg, feeling the brief slow of the shell before the sickening squish of biker boot in mouldering flesh.  Unfortunately, there was no recoil of pain or shock, only the relentless corpse grip.  The world sickeningly whirled as I was yanked through the air by one leg.  Muscles and tendons screamed before I was suddenly free, only for one more violent impact on cold, hard stone.  It was only a miracle that kept my head from being brained open on jutting stones and my bones intact.  Still, my ability to shutdown pain and push my body had its limits, and I was left slow to getting my bearings and defending myself.
    The world was still a gray blur as I felt myself once again hoisted into the air, this time by the scruff of my jacket, a dead cold corpse hand on my forehead, driving it back and to the side.  No protection there.  It wouldn't drink my blood with its phantom fangs, but it would still easily chew open a deadly wound there.  Two things happened, near-simultaneously, that stopped that.
    First, I opened the hand that had clenched just as I was thrown by the leg to reveal the glittering necklace, with its smudged but intact cross.
    Second, there was a sudden pure white flash, the same color as the Whiteout itself, that radiated from behind the monster, followed by an immediate loud twang, like the release of a bow string magnified ten fold.
    The vampire dropped me, recoiling its eyes from the crucifix, just as a large metal arrow protruded from its upper right chest.  It looked like I had help, help from someone I didn't want it from.  That white flash was indicative of only one thing: one of Epic's teleport gates.  The Crusaders sent someone