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

be my own worst judge.  Even the most justifiable murder is still a murder.
    "This madman deserves to be put down, else he takes more innocent lives," Archer growled.  I couldn't see though his visor, but his tone said all I needed to know.
    "That isn't for you to decide.  Not in this town."  I shot another glance at my friend.  She was alive, which didn't surprise me exactly.  Even those Pushed that weren't bullet-proof were notoriously hard to kill, but Meds needed help.  "You swore to me you would do things our way in this town.  Are you telling me your word means so little?"
    "I ... no," he said, slowly lowering the panicked bomber to his feet.  Understandably, Archer didn't let the man go.  "I am most sorry, Milady.  I give thee thanks for not letting me lose myself."  Crisis one averted.  Two to go.
    "Right, then show me your thanks by getting Blanchard and Medusa out of here.  She needs a doctor and he needs handcuffs."  I shuffled until I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, thumb still pressed down on the switch.
    "Ye gods!" the armored hero exclaimed.  "Where did my mind go?"  Without a word of warning, he tossed the old man like a bag of seed over his shoulder and moved to cradle Medusa in his arms.  Meds yelped in pain as she was moved, her snakes hissing defensively.
    "It'sss okay, girlsss," she assured her snakes, calming their writhing.  "What about Indy?"
    "Yes, what about you, Milady?"  Archer paused at the doorway.
    "We'll brainstorm over the com," I replied.  "Just get them out of here, okay?"
    Reluctantly, the armored bowman disappeared down the stairs with his charges, leaving me alone with my silent, deadly companion.
     
    "So, who knows how to disarm a bomb?"
    I tried to make it sound as happy and joyful of a prospect as possible.  My throbbing headache and the growing welts from the rubber bullets informed me it was quite alright to be sarcastic in a crisis.  As I waited the brief moment for the coms to explode, I took a closer look at the bomb I was the caretaker of.
    It was home-made but compact.  I could identify the timer, the plastic explosives, and realized there were far more wires and electronics than a standard 'boom-you-die' bomb would need.  Redundancies?  Booby-traps?  Or, worse, was there also a transmitter that would set off multiple bombs?  Ultimately, it meant, for now, I had no clue what to do other than hold onto the dead-man's switch for dear life.
    There was a cacophony of concern over my earbud that persisted until Extinguisher managed to make himself heard over the channel and bring about some order.
    "Shut it, people," he ordered.  "We're on the clock.  If you have any experience with this sort of thing, say 'aye'.  If you don't, coordinate with PART and evacuate the block, starting with the bar survivors."
    "Verily, I have invented many an explosive weapon in the past few months," Archer volunteered.  "Mayhaps I can be of service?"
    "I'm coming there," Rachel said.  "Just let me get my tools."  I thought I caught some objection by Duane for the moment the line was open, but it was lost when her channel closed.
    "Let Rachel see what she can do, Archer," Ex decided.  "Not that I don't trust your skills, but we need our most mobile people focused on evac.  No matter what, we can't let any innocents get harmed here."
    "Very well, sir," the Crusader relented.  "Your point is most accurate."
    "Yeah, guys, take your time," I said, starting at the unblinking LED timer.  It was an electronic reminder of my looming mortality.  Oh, sure, most likely I would walk away from this moment.  The team would get the bomb disarmed and we'd all have a celebratory cup of coffee back home.  However, all that kept those last three seconds of life from slipping away was my thumb on the button.  One day, sooner as opposed to later, I had the bad feeling my thumb would get tired and it would all slip away.
    I rubbed my eyes with my free hand.  Maybe I was just