The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions #1)(40)

I walk back to my rental and spot Eugene running back. I have to say, I’m impressed with his speed.

“It’s not good, Darren,” he says when I’m within hearing distance. “They’re in the lobby already, and Sergey’s ready to pursue us.”

“Damn it,” I say, resisting the temptation to kick the car in frustration. “I have bad news, too. We have to actually stop on that light. At least to let this one reckless * through.”

“Okay, but after that, if the path is clear, we need to go,” he says urgently. “I Read them some more. They indeed have orders to kill me—and for running and causing them a headache, Big Boris has decided to make it slow if he gets the chance.”

“Then it sounds like we don’t really have a choice,” I say, trying not to wonder what Big Boris would do with me. I’m not on the hit list, but I bet to him it would be guilt by association with equally dire consequences. “There’s another car after the one that’s the problem, but I think I can make it. Just tell me, should I turn right here or go straight? Do you have any idea where we’re going?”

As I ask the last question, I realize that I should’ve brought it up much sooner.

“There’s one place we can go,” Eugene says. “Mira and I aren’t welcome there. It’s the community where Readers in Brooklyn live. It’s a long shot, but I can’t think of anyone else who could help. They’re located on Sheepshead.”

“And Sheepshead is where, exactly?” I’m forced to ask. My Brooklyn geography isn’t very strong. All I know is the Brooklyn Bridge and, as of recently, Mira and Eugene’s apartment.

“Go straight for a bit, then turn left on Avenue Y. It will be a wider street that we’ll approach after a few more blocks. Once on it, we go straight, then right on Ocean Avenue. Straight from there until you hit the canal, after that you have to turn left . . .”

“All I got is that I’m going straight for now. Give me a heads up a block before we get where I need to turn.”

“Okay,” he says. “We should Split again shortly and see where they are at that point.”

“Good plan,” I say and approach the car.

“Careful,” he reminds me.

I take a few breaths and prepare for getting back into driving. I even get into the car in the back, hoping it reduces the disorientation I might get somehow. I touch the back of my head, and the next moment I’m in the driver’s seat of the car, my foot instinctively moving from the gas to the brake.

The braking is sudden, and my sushi lunch threatens to come back up. As soon as the car with the guy in a rush passes, I slam the gas again and go on red. The car behind the one that we let through is approaching, but we clear the intersection safely.

We get lucky on the next couple of streets—the lights are green. It’s a miracle that we haven’t killed a pedestrian. In Manhattan, we would’ve definitely killed someone by now. People there jaywalk left and right.

“Avenue Y is next,” Eugene reminds me, though I actually saw this one coming—courtesy of alphabetically ordered street names. We just flew by W, and this one is X.

“It’s yellow,” I say, looking ahead. “It’ll be red by the time we get there.”

“Let’s repeat what we did last time,” he suggests, and I immediately agree.

I phase into the Quiet and pull Eugene in with me. We split up the same way we did the last time.

As I reach Avenue Y, I see that we’re about to have a big problem.

There are too many cars here to safely repeat our earlier maneuver.

I Read the minds of the drivers who’ll be closest to the intersection by the time we arrive. It seems like no one is in a rush, or plans to speed. But it doesn’t matter—we still won’t make it.

“They’re already approaching Avenue T,” Eugene says when he gets back.

That means they’re five blocks away.

“How fast are they going?”

“They’re insane—pushing a hundred miles an hour. You saw the Mercedes they’re driving.”

Our luck is just getting worse. My piece-of-shit rental would be pushing its limits if I tried going that fast, even if I was willing to risk it—which I’m not.

“Can we afford to wait for the light to change?” I ask.

“Not according to my calculations. We have to run the red light, and we have to turn right on the next street. We need to get off this main street so they can’t easily catch up with us. It’s my mistake. I should’ve had you turn and zigzag the streets earlier.”

“I guess we’ll need to phase out regularly and time the turn just right,” I say doubtfully. It sounds like we don’t have a choice.

The next minute is probably the most nerve-wracking of my life.

I phase in every second, check the intersection, and come back to the car. Over and over. It’s hard to drive when you come back, and it’s impossible to calculate this whole thing exactly. Still, I think—and Eugene verifies—that I can make the turn if I slow down just a tiny bit to let the Honda closest to us pass by.

The phasing out makes this process play out slowly, like a frame-by-frame sequence in a one-second-long movie stunt.

The Honda gently kisses our back bumper. Brakes screech all around us. I phase into the Quiet to learn what the other drivers will do in reaction to the chaos about to take place. Meanwhile, I also learn what they think of my maneuver, me, and all my ancestors. Out of the Quiet, they express their frustration with a deafening orchestra of honking. That cacophony of car horns and swearing is followed by a loud bang.