The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions #2)(70)

“Run, I said!” Mira screams, but I can’t bring myself to move. Does she really expect me to leave her to fight Sam on her own? No f*cking way.

And then it hits me. Maybe I do have to do what Mira says. If I get out in time, get back to my frozen self in the car, and phase us all out of the Quiet, I can at least save Hillary. No matter what damage Hillary received here in the Quiet, once she’s pulled out of it, she’ll be whole again. But what about Mira? If I leave her behind, she might be dead before I can get us all out.

“You run!” I yell at Mira. “I’ll follow you.”

Not waiting to see if she will follow my command, I frantically glance back at Sam. He’s holding a knife now.

I know what I have to do. I have to attack him, to slow him down. As I think about this, I again experience that feeling. Like I’m about to phase into the Quiet. This time, though, it does something.

Time seems to slow down for me.

In this slow motion, I begin running toward him. As I run, I watch Sam’s left hand grip the knife by the blade. His arm swings back, and then he lets the deadly projectile fly. In this same slow motion, I see the knife rotating in the air as it flies toward us. I try to brace myself—but then I see that the knife is not flying at me.

It’s flying at Mira.

With an explosion of despair, I see the knife make the last deadly rotation as it strikes Mira’s chest. It penetrates deeply, almost to the hilt, and I hear a scream of agony escape Mira’s mouth.

Some irrational part of me wonders if I can run, phase us out before the knife does its deadly work, but then I remember the distance to the car and abandon that option. It’s too far.

Mira’s hands clutch the hilt of the knife, and a look of utter dread crosses her face. For the first time, I see her as the young and fragile woman that she is. Our eyes meet as she begins to cough up blood. Slowly, almost gracefully, she falls down. By the time she hits the ground, those deep blue eyes that are still staring into mine lose their focus.

She’s dead.

No. I can’t accept that—because if I do, I’ll fall on the ground in grief. And I can’t fall. Not now. Not after everything.

I feel my grief and terror transform into something else. A violent and uncontrollable fury.

I become wrath. I become rage.

A part of me registers Sam approaching, but instead of fear, I feel elation at what I’m about to do. The world becomes focused on a single point. On a single target.

A person. No, not a person—a thing, a piece of meat that I must destroy. A cancer that I must cut out.

A roar, like that of a wounded animal, leaves my throat.

I run at Sam.

He runs at me.

In a mixture of Haim’s and Caleb’s moves, I land blows to his stomach and face before he registers my intent. I kick his shin next, and Sam blocks it, but he misses the kick that goes for his balls. As my foot makes contact, he gasps and turns pale, but doesn’t stop blocking and manages to deflect my jab at his solar plexus.

Recovering from my surprise attack, Sam attempts a punch of his own. I block his punch with my left forearm and slam my right fist into Sam’s jaw with all my strength.

Excruciating pain explodes in my forearm and right fist, but it doesn’t matter. All I can think about is the satisfying crunch his jaw just made. It’s like music to my ears, and I want to hear more of his bones break. I want to hear it even if I need to break what’s left of my own fingers in the process.

I feint with my right fist, and when Sam reacts to it, I try to hit his nose with my left elbow.

The pain in my arm is unbearable, but I ignore it, the elation of hearing the bone-crunching sound overriding everything else. His nose is bleeding now, likely broken.

He doesn’t pause, though, and my moment of triumph is followed by an eruption of agony in my side. Air leaves my lungs with a whoosh, and I desperately try to regain my balance. Sam’s knee connects with my ribs somehow, and I don’t get a chance to stabilize myself. Not when Sam kicks my knee next, and I begin falling. As I fall, he manages to kick my flying body several times. I’m only able to block a few of the blows before I fall face down on the ground.

My body feels broken, and the metallic taste of blood is in my mouth. I try to spit it out, but I can’t. My body doesn’t obey me as kicks continue to rain down on me. I lose count of them, the pain blending together into an avalanche of suffering.

I don’t know how I’m still conscious, but I suddenly become cognizant that he stopped. And before I have a chance to wonder why, I feel his hands grab my head, holding it in a viselike grip.

No, I scream in my mind as my head turns to the side with an impossibly loud crunch. There is an explosion of pain in my neck, followed by an awful numbness.

A numbness that engulfs my entire body.

In the horrifying absence of pain, I realize that I’m looking at Sam from a strange angle. This shouldn’t be possible. I shouldn’t be able to see him at all, since I’m lying on my stomach. And then I begin to understand.

I understand the numbness and the crunching noise.

I understand why I now feel like I’m choking.

My neck is broken. The spinal cord has snapped, and my head is twisted backwards. This is why the guillotine was considered a merciful death. When your head is separated from the body, there is no pain. You simply die. In seconds.

As my consciousness begins to slip, I stare at the sky, knowing it’s the last thing I’ll ever see.