The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions #1)(43)

“And on the off chance they don’t?” I ask, though I can guess the answer.

“In that case, they’ll let us resolve our differences with the people following us.”

“Great. And we’re supposed to just sit and wait?”

“I know I will. The Readers don’t usually issue empty threats. If you were told not to move, don’t move.”

Annoyed with Eugene’s ironclad logic, I phase out.

I sit without moving for about five seconds, until I realize that waiting next to Eugene’s building earlier was child’s play compared to this. I count twenty Mississippis before I phase in. The Mercedes is halfway between the corner where Sergey rammed that car and our current location. The fancy car is barely dented, but Reading Sergey’s mind, it seems he doesn’t agree with my assessment. He’s furious about the damage to his car and determined to make us regret this chase, if he gets the chance. Reading the mind of his friend Big Boris, I get the feeling they’ll have to get in line when it comes to doing evil things to us.

I walk back and phase out. I’m now back in the car, waiting for whatever it is that’s about to happen.

After what seems like a couple of hours, I think I hear a car motor. As soon as I do, I also hear a gunshot.

I automatically phase in this time. My brain must’ve thought that shot was directed at me, and this is a near-death experience.

I get out of the car and look at my frozen self. No gunshot wounds. That’s good. The only abnormalities about my frozen self are the humongous size of my pupils and the overly white shade of my face. The whole thing makes my frozen self look ghoulish. Eugene is even paler and is holding his head defensively. Like his hands can somehow protect him from a bullet.

I look around. The front end of the Mercedes is visible at the head of the street. I walk closer and realize its tires are in the process of blowing out. They must have been shot.

In a daze, I walk back and phase out.

The sound from the tires exploding reaches my ears now, followed by the screech of steel on pavement as the car continues to careen forward on the exposed rims. Another burst of shots are fired, and I phase into the Quiet again.

This time, just like the last, I didn’t intend to phase in. It just happened under stress.

I get out of the car. My frozen self doesn’t seem to have any blue in his eyes anymore, his irises swallowed up by the black of his pupils.

I walk to the Mercedes. When I look inside, I wish I hadn’t.

I’ve never seen anything like this before. I mean, I’ve seen dead bodies in the Quiet, but not of people who were actually dead—or about to be dead—outside the Quiet. This is very different. Very real. These five people have bloody wounds in their chests, and their brains are blown out all over the car.

I feel my gag reflex kick in like I’m about to throw up, but nothing comes out. I’m not sure if it’s even possible to puke in the Quiet; it’s never happened to me before.

I feel bad about these men getting killed, which is a paradox, given that they were just shooting at me a few minutes ago. I think it has something to do with having Read their minds, like it bound us in some way. There’s nothing I can do about it, though; they’re gone now.

“Rest in peace,” I mutter, walking back to my car. I morbidly wonder what I would experience if I Read one of them right now. Or more specifically, I wonder what I would feel if I catch someone at the right—or wrong—moment, and end up experiencing death firsthand?

I shake my head. I’m not doing that. Besides, I might experience that for myself when I get out of the Quiet; Eugene and I might be the next two targets Caleb shoots.

On the plus side, the Mercedes has no more tires at all. The added resistance should counteract inertia to prevent them from ramming into us—in theory. I’m no expert on blown-out tires.

I walk back to the car and phase out.

A few more shots fire in a blur, and the Mercedes moves a few more feet before it screeches to a stop on its rims. It didn’t reach us by at least a hundred feet, but I still feel the need to swallow my heart back into my chest.

Things get suspiciously quiet for a few nerve-wracking seconds, and then the gate shutting us out of the community starts to open.

The guy I met before, Caleb, steps out, with a couple of other dudes who look pretty badass. One of them is toting a sniper rifle. I’m guessing that means he’s Sam. He and this Caleb guy look like twins, with their stony, square-jawed faces and hard eyes. Sam is a bit taller, which makes him just short of enormous.

“Darren, Eugene, come with me,” Caleb says curtly, and I see Sam shoot Eugene an unfriendly look.

“What about that?” Eugene says, gesturing at the car riddled with bullet holes. He’s pointedly avoiding looking at Sam, which I find interesting.

“Both it and your ride will be taken care of. No one will ever find them, or those bodies, again,” Caleb assures us.

I manage to feel grateful for having the foresight to say yes to the optional rental car insurance, which seems a bit shallow under the circumstances, even for me.

“Wait,” I say, remembering the rental receipt. “I need to get the address where Mira’s being kept. It’s in the glove compartment.”

Caleb walks to the rental and gets the paper I need.

“Here,” he says, handing it over to me. “Now, no more delays. We need to have a chat.”