(The Push Chronicles (Book 2): Indefatigable by J.B. Garner Page A

rat's ass!"
    "It's safe, they're all dead."  Maybe that would work.  I gave my compatriots a hopeful look.  There was a brief silence.
    "Prove you ain't a vamp," the man replied, semi-coherently.  "Take one of them crosses and put yer hand in the door holding in and not burning.  No gloves or shit or I swear -"
    "Right, no problem, hold on,"  I assured him.
    "Better do it, it actually makesss ssensse."
    Fortunately the nails had been hammered in haphazardly and, with the help of the multi-tool from my gear bag, I pried one of the crosses off and, taking off my gloves, stuck my bare hand gripped around the crucifix through the door.  I fully expected, with how my day had been, to have my hand shot off with a double-barreled shotgun.   That did not happen.
    "Okay, you can come in."
     
    Paul Blanchard was more than just a White Power sympathizer, more than just a Humans for God supplier.  He was also, unknown to us at that moment, an expert bomb-maker.  Blanchard sat in a rocking chair in the center of the room as I opened it wide.  He did, indeed, have a double-barreled shotgun in his lap.  What was far more concerning was that he had a dead-man’s switch gripped tightly in his hand.  The connecting wire ran to the timer of a rather large and dangerous looking explosive device.  The first thought in my mind was an absurd one:  Why would anyone include a timer on a bomb attached to a dead-man’s switch?
    "Right ... now ... lemme get a look atcha", the old man said, adjusting his glasses.  Medusa and Archer came in right behind me, just as I was about to turn and tell them to stay back.
    "What?!" Paul cried in despair.  "Yer not humans either!"  There was no time to see what decision he would make.  I sprinted at the old man in a scramble for that switch to the surprise of my friends, who were still getting their bearings.  He raised the shotgun and I got a good look at both of the cavernous 12-gauge barrels as he pulled the trigger.
    Medusa, though, reacted quicker than the old man.  With snake-like swiftness, she grabbed me from behind and threw me to the side as both barrels exploded with sound and fury.  Even so, I caught a few stray pellets in my arm.  Far worse, in my opinion, Meds took the largest portion of the blast, peppering her with buckshot in the side, the arm, the face.
    Worst of all, Blanchard threw down the dead-man’s switch as he fired.  There was a click audible even through the sounds of the gunshot and the LED timer started to rapidly count through numbers.

Chapter 8 Bomb
    I dove over Medusa's falling body towards the discarded switch.  I, personally, had no idea how to disarm a bomb, especially not in mere seconds.  I hit the floor at the same time as the dead-man's switch and caught it before it bounced once.  Jamming the thumb switch down, my eyes were locked on the LED clock.
    It stopped at three seconds to detonation.  A sigh of relief escaped my lips as I pushed up on my elbows and knees.  Then it hit me, well, the butt end of a twelve-gauge shotgun hit me.  I had forgotten about the old bastard.  My world lurched a second, but I refused to let myself pass out, gripping hard to the switch.
    Archer bellowed out an angry shout and the floor shook a little as his armored boots pounded the hardwood.  I tried to clear my head and get my bearings, dropping onto one side to look up.
    The old man's feet were dangling in the air as the Crusader held him aloft by the neck.  Blanchard's feet were still kicking so he was thankfully alive, though I doubt he would be for long.  Why did I care whether one old terrorist lived or died?  This was a man who just about blew up not only us but who knows how many innocents in the adjacent buildings; this was a man who had just shot my best friend.  I had no real reason to tell Archer to stop, I told myself, as I glanced at Medusa clutching her side, blood seeping onto the floor.
    "Archer," I said, "put him down."  As ever, I would