The Elders (Mind Dimensions #4)(52)

“And we’re trying to get there in time to catch the vans?” I ask.

“Exactly,” she says. “Or else Caleb and the monks might repeat their shenanigans.”

A strange noise catches my attention. It sounds like an alarm going off during a bank robbery. I tense, wondering if the car makes this sound when some part of it is failing, but realize the culprit is a phone attached by a pink mount to the windshield.

“Can you get that? I don’t want to risk reaching for it,” Hillary says.

Deciding not to mention the annoyingness of her ringtone, I steady my hand and press the ‘speak’ button. With a southern drawl, a voice says, “The two Honda Odyssey vehicles are fifteen minutes apart.”

“Thank you, Sheriff Jackson,” Hillary says. “Which blockade are they heading toward?”

“Just program Telogia, Florida, into your GPS,” the voice says, “and it’ll take you there. But you don’t have much time.”

“Thank you,” Hillary says. “We’ll try to make it.”

I take this as my cue to end the call and enter new GPS coordinates into the phone.

“The GPS thinks we’ll get there in half an hour,” I tell her.

“It assumes we’re following the speed limit,” Hillary says. “I hope to be there in fifteen.” She accelerates.

“Have you spoken with Eugene or Bert?” I ask to keep my mind off our speed.

“Hold on,” she says. “And press the voice command button on my phone.”

I press and hold the button. Had she reached for the phone herself, I would’ve mutinied.

“Call George,” Hillary says in a clear voice.

The device rings through the car’s speakers a few times before someone picks up.

“Hello,” George says.

“Put Telogia into your GPS,” Hillary says. “And tell the same to Kate.”

“No problem,” George says, “but we’re falling behind.”

“Whoever gets there, gets there,” Hillary says. “Remind her to only use the tranquilizer guns, okay?”

“Affirmative,” George says. “We all understand Darren’s friends and family are in those Odysseys.”

He sounds annoyed with her implication that he or one of Kate’s people would need such a reminder.

The line goes dead.

“Sorry about that, Darren,” Hillary says. “Yes, I did talk to Eugene and Bertie. They’re a couple of hours behind the vans. They told me not to bother them so they could concentrate on their research, so I haven’t.”

In the distance, I see Kate veer her bike onto an exit ramp.

“Brace yourself,” Hillary says and turns the wheel.

I bet those are some of the most famous last words, right after ‘Oops’ and, if coming from a doctor, ‘This will be uncomfortable.’ As we turn, I feel as if I might throw up. Had I eaten anything today, I definitely would have. As is, the world around me goes silent.

Looking at our car from the side of the road, I realize her turn made me spontaneously phase into the Quiet. While my heartbeat calms down, I note how peculiar it is that I’m actually outside the car rather than in the back seat. I must’ve spontaneously Teleported thanks to George’s recent training.

As I study the car, I discover there isn’t a back seat to speak of. The car is a full-fledged race car, right down to a large Dish sponsor ad on its hood. In hindsight, I should’ve figured out that this was a race car by how crammed it is on the inside, not to mention the helmets and the two-sided seat belts.

My frozen self’s eyes look as if they might pop out and break through the visor. Since I’m already in the Quiet, I walk over to Kate. She’s driving a monster motorcycle that Batman would’ve been proud to own. I don’t dare pull her in; making this turn unscathed must be taking every ounce of her concentration—at least it would be for me. Which reminds me . . . Hillary mentioned clearing the road for us in the Quiet. That means she’s been driving like a maniac while phasing in and out. Having done this myself before, I know I ought to be extra thankful we’re still alive.

Returning to the race car, I fatalistically phase out—and instantly wish I didn’t.

The centrifugal (or is it the G?) forces only begin once I phase in. It feels as if I’m getting squished into my seat.

When I can speak again, I say, “Aunt, if you need to clear more of the road, please let me. I want you focused on driving.”

“Sure,” she says. “But it’s likely unnecessary. I cleared quite a long stretch in one go a few miles back. Plus, I’m working with law enforcement—”

“Then whatever else I can do to help,” I say as a means of self-preservation.

“Sure, if I think of anything,” my aunt says and accelerates some more. “We’re getting closer.”

We’re now on the other side of the highway, leaving the Humvee and the police cavalcade far behind us.

“Where did you get this car?” I ask, more as a way to distract myself from my terror than out of any real curiosity.

“Daytona,” she says. “They have NASCAR. If you don’t mind, I want to focus on the road. I’m about to push this car to its limits.”

The next five minutes are probably the scariest moments of my life, and that includes the last couple of weeks with people trying to kill me.