The Elders (Mind Dimensions #4)(55)

By the time I get there, Kate has the object spread out on the roof of the crumpled car.

When I get closer, I see that it’s one of those primitive items people used in ancient times—the dark ages before GPS apps. The object is made out of a dumb material called paper, which you can’t read in the dark and which lacks a zoom-in feature.

An atlas-style map.

“We’re here,” Kate points to a spot on the map. “Can you show me, approximately, where the Temple might be?”

I examine the area surrounding our current location. Only a handful of roads traverse the whole forest. The one we’re currently on leads to the highway I recall taking after I temporarily kidnapped my grandpa, Paul.

I also remember that when we walked out of the forest, I was looking at the driver’s side of the car, which means the Temple is on the left side of this road. Furthermore, I remember how long it took me to get onto that highway, so, backtracking, I draw a circle on the map with my finger and say, “Around there.”

“Great,” Kate says. “This reduces the search radius by a factor of fifty, at least. With extra help, it shouldn’t take more than a few hours.”

“We can actually do it in no time at all,” I say, “if we’re willing to forgo the police help and do it in the Mind Dimension.”

“That would be a tedious exercise,” she says. “Plus, we actually need to kill a number of hours.”

“Why is that?”

“We’re going to do our extraction when it’s dark, so they’re less likely to detect us,” she explains.

A car honk prevents me from asking my next question.

Glancing up, I see that the Humvee and its police escort have finally caught up with us, and Hillary is back too.

“Be careful, gentlemen,” Hillary says to James and Stephen as they carry Lucy out of the van, their muscles not looking the least bit strained. Carrying my mom is as difficult for them as carrying that map is for Kate.

“Watch her head,” Hillary says to Eleanor and John, who have Sara.

They put my moms in the back of a patrol wagon. Hillary makes sure they’re strapped in, and a couple of competent-looking police officers take up the rest of the space. Hillary gets into the front passenger seat and rolls her window down.

“Call me as soon as it’s all over,” she says.

“I will,” I promise.

“I told Bert and Eugene what’s going on,” she says. “They should be passing this way in a little over an hour.”

“Have they made a breakthrough in their research?”

“Bert was cagey on that,” she says. “So not likely.”

“Then I doubt I’ll need them. Guess you’ll be seeing ‘Bertie’ very soon.”

“What should I tell Lucy and Sara when they wake up?” she asks.

I shrug. “Use your judgment. Just don’t make them believe anything too crazy.”

“Of course,” she says. “You better go. Kate and her crew look anxious.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’m losing track of how much I owe you.”

She smiles and (I’m guessing) Guides the driver cop to start the car. As they drive away, I follow them with my gaze, relieved that my moms are safe.

Two saved, two to go.

I walk over to the little gathering by the sheriff’s car, where Kate is coordinating the effort to locate the Temple.

George suggests that each Guide gets an escort of five or six officers. He also explains how we can work together by spreading out once we’re in the forest.

I’m paired with Sheriff Wilkin and the deputies from his office. If these folks are anything to go by, then the cops in Florida are a hundred times friendlier than their New York counterparts. Then again, given how a civilian on the streets of New York is at least fifty times meaner than a random Floridian, the New York cops’ frostiness is forgivable.

“If the plan is clear, please spread out, everyone,” George says, and one by one, the groups enter the forest.





*





We’ve been walking through the stupid forest for about an hour. That’s an hour too long.

I’m a city person to the core, a fact that becomes abundantly clear to me every time I wander through nature.

The last time I was in these woods, the mosquitoes, ants, and giant spiders were frozen in the Quiet, making the trips to and from the Temple more bearable, but the critters aren’t frozen now. Also, the branches weren’t hitting me in the face as often, though that might’ve been the result of having a competent guide—my grandpa.

If only I could recall where we came from . . .

When I reach a small clearing, I hear footsteps. Must be time for our search party to gather around me again to compare notes.

“How can a drug lord’s mansion not show up on satellite imagery?” one of the deputies asks after our status reports are done.

I chuckle at the explanation George gave them about our target and earn a puzzled look from the deputy.

“Like the chief said, they’re very connected people,” says the sheriff, his southern accent a lot stronger than the deputy’s. He’s struggling not to pant as he wipes the sweat from his forehead. He’s one of those larger people who seem too active for their bulk.