The Elders (24 page)

“Okay.” She sniffles. “How do you want to do this?”

“Let me Guide the cops and the young monks. Then you bring Caleb in as I walk back
to my body.”

She nods, and in the hour that follows, I enter the mind of every cop on the scene and give them the following instructions:
Do not fight the monks.
Take down Kate’s people, but do not use your guns. Use Tasers and cuff them.

“I think you should have them killed,” Rose says after Reading one of my police targets. “You’re making it that much harder for the officers and without good
reason.”

“Until I know who’s controlling everyone, I want a nonlethal solution,” I say. “Some of them are innocent, and George is actually my relative.”

She looks unconvinced, so I add, a little unkindly, “Unlike for some people, family means something to me.”

Her shoulders sag, and I feel like an ass. Since I can’t say anything to salvage the situation, I proceed to override the young monks.
I order them to attack Kate’s team alongside the cops. Under no circumstances are they to fight their fellow monks.

“Wait until I disappear in the forest before you pull Caleb in,” I tell Rose after I’m done.

 
“Go.” Her voice sounds more confident; she must’ve regained some composure. “If Edward survives—”

“Should I pull you in next time I’m in the Quiet?” I ask and begin walking away.

“Only
if you need me,” she says.

I take it as a no and proceed to walk toward the forest. My walk soon turns into a jog. Though I know no time is passing outside the Quiet, I’m anxious to see what will happen.

The trip back to my body happens in a fog. When I get there, I touch my frozen self on the forehead, barely registering the expression of fear on his/my face.

The sounds of the forest instantly
return, and I keep running as fast as I did before I entered the Quiet, ignoring the pain from all the scratches on my body.

As I run, I listen. There are definitely fewer shots sounding in the distance, which is a good start. I don’t hear any explosions either—something else that gives me a modicum of hope.

I run, aware of the fact that, in real time, the situation at the Temple is changing,
and hopefully for the better.

Then something I least expected happens.

My phone rings.

Chapter 20

I
always thought cell phones wouldn’t work in the middle of the woods.

I take out my phone and stare at the incoming call uncomprehendingly. According to Caller ID, it’s Eugene.

I accept the call, mentally thanking the cellular tower deities of the woods, who are, more than likely, my Enlightened grandparents. They must have a booster or something for the Temple. If they don’t,
I’ll have to buy Verizon stock when I get out of this.

“Eugene, where are you?” I bark into the phone. One of the cops looks at me worriedly. He must’ve mistaken the excitement in my voice for danger. Ignoring him, I continue, “Have you made progress?”

“We’re about to enter the woods via the road Hillary suggested,” Eugene says. “Regarding progress, I’m afraid it’s a long and disappointing story—”

I don’t hear the rest because I phase into the Quiet. Whatever the long story is, I’ll have to wait to hear it from Eugene’s lips after I walk over to his car and pull him in—which will be much easier than carrying on a conversation while running through the forest.

Before I talk to Eugene, though, I have to check on the Temple.

* * *

Stunned, I take stock of the frozen battlefield.

I
really
fucked up.

A couple of cops are in pieces in front of Kate, their impotent Tasers clutched in their literal death grips. They were good people—honest cops as far as I could tell. The guilt is overwhelming. Their only fault was being Guided by an idiot—me—who thought Kate could be taken down by a couple of Tasers.

But that isn’t even the worst of it.

No, that perverse pleasure is reserved
for the fate of a much larger majority of the cops, who fell victim to another force altogether.

To my right, a monk is kung-fu kicking an officer in the chest. To my left, a deputy is flying backward from a monk’s punch to his shoulder. And these must be the tougher cops, because their colleagues have long since been thrown to the ground, clearly having been beaten up by the monks.
 

Reading
one of the younger monks confirms what I already suspected. The cops stopped shooting the monks, but the monks didn’t catch on. Instead of joining the officers in attacking Kate’s team, the monks used the opportunity to take out the cops. They didn’t understand that the cops are now their allies.

As a result, only a few cops attacked Kate and her people, and they paid with their lives. And this
is why I know I
really
fucked up.

I was the one who instructed the cops not to use lethal force, making them easy targets. I should’ve listened to Rose. You’d think I would’ve learned my lesson back at the cemetery, but clearly, I didn’t. In my defense, what I truly haven’t adopted is the willingness to Guide someone to kill willy-nilly.

James’s automatic rifle also made matters worse. A number
of cops died from his gunfire. I count at least four. Didn’t the monks see this? Don’t they know the old adage that the enemy of my enemy is my friend?

I feel sick with guilt. To keep myself together, I remind myself that I’m not really responsible for these deaths. Kate and her people are, and they’re acting this way because of the Super Pusher. In the end, this is all on his or her head. At
least I succeeded in reducing the number of massacred monks, and a large portion of the cops are knocked out, not dead.

It’s too bad that due to the monks’ shortsightedness, this reprieve won’t last, not with Kate and her team behaving so murderously.

Well, not all of them, I see when I walk to where Caleb and John were fighting. Given John’s wounds, he’s as good as dead.

Caleb left him to
bleed out and is now locked in a deadly confrontation with a new opponent—Eleanor. At least, given the circumstances, I assume they’re fighting. Strictly speaking, they might also be fornicating. Their sweaty, writhing bodies are tangled up on the ground, with her trying to wrap her legs around him and him trying to lift her back off the ground by her waist.

I pick up a gun, put it in the back
of my pants, and wonder whether I should pull Caleb in. No, I decide, not until I know the full situation and can form a plan. This determined, I make my way to the back of the Temple to find out how Edward has fared.

The good news is that Edward hasn’t blown himself up, which I already suspected given that I never heard an explosion. The bad news is that he’s on the ground. It’s hard to say
whether he’s dead or unconscious, though the Taser cables in his chest indicate the latter.

The proverbial misfortunes never come solo. Instead of being cuffed on the ground, Richard is missing. The cops who tried to tase him are down, but at least they aren’t riddled with bullets. It looks as if Richard somehow resisted the effects of the Taser when they went in to cuff him. My best guess is
that he knocked them out when they got within range.

When I locate Richard, I discover I made a mistake with him as well. I should’ve had the cops shoot him.
Though he seems to have lost his gun in the fight with the cops, he doesn’t need it for what he’s doing.

He’s trying to kill a bunch of old people.

He’s standing over my grandfather Paul, who’s on the ground with a bloody lip. The others
look on in horror. The old man must’ve stood up to Richard. I feel a trace of admiration before dread grips me.

Paul won’t last a second in this fight. He might have already broken a hip, or worse. If he gets up—and he looks as if he’s planning to—he’s as good as dead.

As nasty as he was to me when we met, I don’t want to lose him. As they say, you don’t get to choose your family.

Eugene better
have something useful for me. I don’t see how I can save Paul without entering Level 2. Even then, if Richard is the Super Pusher, Paul is a goner, as are the rest of the Enlightened.

With my mind in turmoil, I make my way to the guesthouse.

When I reach the second floor, my heart freezes in my chest.

I underestimated the blind, pain-ignoring determination of a Guided mind.

Thomas is no longer
standing in the hallway; he won his fight against Mira’s door. He left much of the skin of his fists on the wooden frame, but he got into the room.

And now those bloodied hands are an inch away from Mira’s neck.

Chapter 21

“M
ira!” I scream, though I know it’s futile. Even if she weren’t in a comatose state, knocked out by the drugs Caleb gave her, she wouldn’t be able to hear me from the Quiet.

I take out the gun I picked up from a cop earlier and fight the urge to shoot Thomas in the chest. My finger spasms, itching to pull the trigger. Shooting Thomas would feel wrong, so I shoot the wall instead,
over and over until I’m down to one bullet.
 

My outburst doesn’t make me feel better, so with the butt of the gun, I hit frozen Thomas in the liver, which my weird conscience allows. The strike is as effective as shooting him would’ve been, resulting in a whole lot of nothing in the real world. Not that I’d want to hit Thomas in the liver or shoot him in the real world—not unless, by some fluke,
he’s trying to kill Mira out of his own volition. I’m just venting, something my therapist—and ironically, Thomas’s girlfriend—suggested I do when in stressful situations.

Deciding to vent some more, I throw the pistol at the wall. That isn’t good enough, so I break a chair against the wall.

Still nothing. I’ll have to tell Liz that yet another one of her ideas doesn’t work.

Drawing in a deep,
steadying breath, I look at Mira. Her face is as peaceful as the last time I looked at her, frozen in this strange sleep. With irrational hope, I gently brush my fingers across Mira’s cheek, but of course, nothing happens.

Certain that Mira’s unreachable, I make my way out of the guesthouse, wreaking havoc on furniture as I go.

Once I make it to the woods, I channel my remaining frustration
into a run. After a few miles, I feel calm enough to plan where I’m going.

If Eugene can see the forest from the highway, I have a pretty good idea where he is. That doesn’t, however, make his location any closer. Still, running is easy, and if I need a boost, all I have to do is think about Mira’s current predicament.

I get a déjà-vu-like feeling when I run like this, pumped full of adrenaline.
I flash back to high school, when I would use the Quiet to scope out the much older bullies lurking behind corners. Back then, I would run in the opposite direction. Funny how things change with time. If I ran into any of those assholes now, or even all of them put together, I wouldn’t run. Not today. Not with how I feel right now. Hell, I’d welcome the encounter.

As I run, many regrets circle
through my head. Things like,
I shouldn’t have gone to that fucking Island
, or,
I shouldn’t have gone to that fucking funeral
, and even,
I should’ve treasured our time together more
.

Whenever the thought of losing Mira shows its hideous face, I run faster.

* * *

By the time I reach my destination, I wonder whether I could run a marathon.

The U-Haul truck my friends rented is huge. A
strange guy is behind the wheel, and after a quick Read, I learn he’s some random dude Eugene and Bert hired to drive them.

I make my way to the back of the truck. Peering inside, I’m faced with all the charm of Eugene’s secret laboratory, only this place is impossibly messier than his Brooklyn lair. Oh, and there’s a pile of bananas in the corner.

The three occupants of the back of the truck
look as if they haven’t bathed in weeks, instead of only the twenty hours or so it’s been. And by three, I mean Bert, Eugene, and Kiki the chimp, of course
.

Out of the bunch, Kiki looks most composed. Bert’s frozen eyes are so red I wonder whether he indulged in some drugs; he did say he wanted to get Adderall, something he used to take in Harvard. Then I recall the focus boost my aunt offered
to give him. His current state must be the consequence of it. Eugene looks normal—as in, it’s normal for him to look as if he hasn’t slept all night. He’s currently holding a phone, with my frozen self on the other end of the call.

I touch Eugene’s hand.

A second Eugene joins me and says, with surprise written all over his face, “Darren? What are you doing here?”

“We didn’t have time to speak
in the real world,” I explain. Fighting a new wave of anxiety, I add, “You have no idea how little time.”

“What happened?” he asks, sounding instantly worried.

“It’s bad. Please tell me you can send me to Level 2.”

His worry gives way to a distinct look of regret. “I wish it were that simple.”

“You don’t understand. You
have
to do it.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. We focused specifically
on the part of the brain that I suspect is responsible for Splitting, since we had no time to worry about Depth.” He glances at Bert and Kiki. “We made some very preliminary progress.”

“Eugene, please tell me everything, and quickly,” I say. “I’m not a scientific journal. You can tell me, ‘My results are half-assed’ or whatever.”

“The results are inconclusive,” he says. “Not something I’d publish,
if I were crazy enough to publish this kind of work.”

“Your results were never going to be complete without me,” I remind him. “I’m the only one who can Split into Level 2 to begin with.”

“Right,” he says. “But I mean the stages before that—”

“Just tell me what happened,” I implore.

“Fine.” He exhales audibly. “We tested the device on Kiki. She was trained to touch me under certain circumstances
 . . .”

I don’t know if my loud chuckle is merry or hysterical given the situation, but he gives me a narrowed-eyed stare and says, “If your mind is in the gutter again—”