The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions Book 2)

by Dima Zales

  The noise of my gun is deafening. It’s like a roar of thunder, made stronger by the fact that my ears had adjusted to the almost absolute silence of the Quiet.

  Thomas instantly turns around—which, of course, was my intent. There’s no way he could’ve missed that terrible noise.

  Everything that follows happens with astonishing speed.

  Thomas turns and sees the man he just tried to Guide standing behind him, holding a gun. I would’ve expected Thomas to be confused, but instead, his reaction is lightning-fast.

  With one swift motion, Thomas kicks the gun out of Jacob’s hand. I wonder if my gunshot disoriented Jacob, causing him to become an easy target for that kick. Some Caleb-and-Haim-forged part of my mind also registers an extra detail about Thomas’s maneuver.

  It was a kickboxing move.

  Almost immediately, Thomas punches the now-disarmed Jacob in the face.

  That’s a traditional boxing uppercut, the same fight-attuned part of my brain informs me.

  Jacob staggers backwards. His movements seem to slow. That hit must’ve really taken his brain for a spin.

  Thomas closes the distance between them in one powerful lunge and executes another punch. Boxing again, but this time mixed with something I can’t even place.

  Jacob staggers back again and falls. He looks drunk, like boxers do when they get that final knockout punch. Only he doesn’t stay down. Instead, he begins crawling on the ground a little to the left of Thomas.

  I see Thomas watching him. It’s hard for me to tell if the expression on Thomas’s face is disgust or pity, but what’s clear is that he’s not hurting Jacob for the moment. Maybe, like me, he wants him alive for questioning. Otherwise, it would be an easy thing for him to end the fight with just a single shot, or even a few well-placed kicks.

  But then I understand what Jacob is trying to do.

  “Kick him!” I try to scream at Thomas, but my voice is hoarse. Seeing that Thomas doesn’t hear me, or doesn’t understand what I’m saying, I raise my gun and point it at Jacob. At the last moment, I hesitate. I still don’t trust my aim, and they’re way too close to each other. So instead of shooting, I clear my throat, preparing to let out the loudest scream of my life. At the same time, Jacob speeds up his crawl, and his hand is by Sam’s pant leg.

  Jacob is about to pull Sam into the Quiet.

  “Fucking shoot him, Thomas!” I scream, this time loudly. “Now!”

  Thomas looks at me instead. I point at Jacob with an exaggerated gesture and slice the edge of my palm across my throat in the universal ‘kill him’ signal. Nodding, Thomas turns toward Jacob and raises his gun.

  Only it’s too late. Jacob rolls up Sam’s jeans and grabs the big man’s ankle.

  “Watch out!” I yell at Thomas again. I also ready my own gun, determined to risk taking that shot if I have to. If Caleb is to be believed, Sam’s a much more dangerous opponent than Jacob. He’s on par with Caleb himself—and I’ve seen what Caleb can do. It’s ironic that the man we almost asked for help is the very one we need help from.

  I try to focus. I can’t miss the moment Sam materializes in the Quiet. When he does, I’m taking my chances with my aim. There’s no other choice.

  Meanwhile, Thomas, after a brief hesitation, shoots Jacob in the chest. I’m startled by the noise, and also shocked by this turn, even though I was the one who suggested it. I hope that Thomas knows what Jacob just did, that he pulled in reinforcements. Is that why Thomas made that shot? Did he make a decision to keep his enemy’s numbers controllable?

  I’m still looking around for Sam, and so is Thomas.

  And then another gunshot threatens to damage my eardrums. I look around and see, in absolute horror, that Thomas is clutching his chest. There is a circle of red spreading there.

  No. This can’t be happening. That’s the only thought in my mind as Thomas makes a whimpering sound and slowly falls to his knees.

  “No!” I hear a high-pitched voice echoing my thought from a foot away from me. It must be Hillary and the others, catching up with us. I have no time to check, however.

  Now that Thomas is on his knees, I see where Sam materialized in the Quiet. He was directly behind Thomas from my vantage point. That’s why I heard the shot, but didn’t see the shooter.

  The shooter who’s now looking in my general direction and carefully aiming his gun.

  I fire. The good news is that I at least don’t shoot Thomas. He’s still clutching his chest, but the fact that he’s still upright, albeit on his knees, fills me with a sliver of hope. Maybe Sam’s bullet went through his body without damaging any vital organs? Maybe it’s just a flesh wound?

  The bad news is that I clearly missed Sam, because he’s standing unharmed.

  Standing unharmed and firing his own gun—which is pointed at me.

  Sam’s gunshot is the scariest sound I have ever heard in my life. It seems to vibrate and fill my very being with dread. But as the feeling that my ears might bleed fades, I realize that I’m intact.

  And then I see why.

  Sam wasn’t aiming at me. He was aiming at Thomas. I’m numb with disbelief as I watch Thomas falling to the ground, a pool of blood forming around his head.

  The enormity of this loss is worsened by the knowledge that Thomas was the only one of us who would’ve stood a chance against Sam. And now Thomas is dead.

  And we’re fucked.

  As I stand there, dazed, I see a gun appear from behind me. I recognize the slender long-fingered hands holding the weapon.

  It’s Mira’s hands.

  As I register this fact, she pulls the trigger.

  At the same time, Sam does some military maneuver, where he rolls on the floor. I’ve seen this in movies, but never in the real life. Mira’s shot must’ve missed him because I see Sam roll up to Thomas’s dead body and turn it sideways, using our dead friend’s body as a makeshift shield.

  Sick with dread, I aim and take another shot. At the same time, two more shots get fired. It must be Eugene and Mira shooting at the same time, I realize vaguely.

  “Darren, run!” Hillary yells, and I hear her acting on her suggestion.

  “We should follow her.” It’s Eugene, sounding frantic.

  I hear the sound of his departing feet, and then Mira yells, “We should cover them!” and fires another shot at Sam.

  I glance back to see Mira backing away. I follow her example, shooting in the general direction of Sam as I begin to back away myself.

  Sam peeks from his hiding place and fires another shot. I brace for the pain, but instead I hear an agonized shriek behind me.

  From where Eugene and Hillary are.

  Forgetting about creating the cover fire, I rush toward my friends. Mira does the same.

  We see Eugene standing over Hillary, who’s on the ground.

  “She’s alive,” Eugene says quickly. “It’s her leg. She’s been shot in the knee.”

  He must be babbling in shock because it’s obvious my aunt is alive. She’s wailing like a banshee and clutching her leg.

  In shock myself, I realize that I’ve kept my eyes off Sam for too long. I turn around—and see Sam standing much closer to us. Having abandoned his makeshift human shield, he’s now in a half-kneeling position, using his knee to stabilize his gun while aiming at us.

  Both Mira and I raise our guns in unison and fire. Sam’s own shot echoes ours.

  I brace for pain, but it doesn’t come. Instead, I hear a thumping sound nearby. I again feel like I’m about to phase into the Quiet, only this time the feeling of frustration at it not happening is even more intense. Filled with terror, I look back. The pavement behind me is covered with blood.

  And then I see its source.

  It’s Eugene. He’s on the ground, convulsing, blood and brain matter seeping out from what’s left of his head.

  I feel sick, but I can’t vomit. My brain feels woolen, my thoughts slow with stunned disbelief. Surely this is just a nightmare that I’ll wake
up screaming from. Eugene can’t be dead. He can’t be. It’s only now that I realize how much I liked him. How I had begun to think of him as a friend. He can’t be gone.

  But I don’t wake up in bed screaming. Instead, I turn and shoot again, over and over, trying to channel my hatred for Sam into every bullet.

  The fucker seems unharmed, however. He’s impossible to hit, with all the stupid rolling maneuvers that he does. I shoot again, but he rolls forward, doing something that looks almost like a somersault.

  When he lands, I squeeze the trigger again, but my gun makes an empty clicking sound.

  “Run, Darren!” Mira yells, taking a step forward. “You need to get out. Before he gets you too.”

  She takes careful aim and shoots. I hear a grunt and see Sam clutching his hand. Mira managed to hit his gun hand. I feel a wave of relief.

  Emboldened by her success, Mira shoots again, but this time she misses. Sam does another one of those cursed rolls.

  “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 fucking 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.

  Chapter 28

  Something smacks me in the face. The pain is a welcome surprise. That I can feel anything at all fills me with a sense of wonder.

  I was never a believer in the afterlife, but I was apparently wrong. Something exists after death, or so it seems.

  I open my eyes to even more confusion.

  Why would there be an airbag in my face in the afterlife?

  I’m suddenly fully alert.

  Somehow, I’m back in Thomas’s car. Next to me, I see Thomas himself. He’s behind the wheel. He also has an airbag in his face, but he’s moving.

  He’s alive.

  “Ouch,” I hear a high-pitched voice from the back.

  Hillary’s voice.

  “You should’ve fucking let me drive.” It’s Mira’s voice now. Sharp and annoyed, but unmistakably alive. The joy and relief that fills me is indescribable.

  “Mira,” I almost yell. “You’re alive!”

  “Why wouldn’t she be?” Eugene’s voice says from the back. “What the fuck happened after I was shot in the Mind Dimension?”

  “Yeah, what happened?” Thomas echoes.

  “You’re alive too, Eugene! You’re all alive. I can’t believe it!” I’m hoping this isn’t some hallucination or a trick of my dying brain. “I saw all three of you die. I died.”

  “Just the three of us?” Thomas asks. “So, Hillary, you didn’t?”

  “No,” she says. “I was injured and bleeding, but when that monster killed Darren, I was still alive.”
/>   “Then we still stand a chance,” Thomas says.

  “Yes. In fact, the plan is almost unchanged,” Hillary says. “Who were those men?”

  “A leader of the Readers and his guard,” I answer on autopilot as I try to process the fact that somehow we are all alive.

  “What? How did one of us end up being one of them?” Hillary sounds almost as confused as I feel. “You know what, there’s no time for that. I saw the mobsters with the marks Darren left on their heads. I can take control of them and then evacuate the rest of the people.”

  I manage to push away the airbag and look behind me.

  Hillary has a look of concentration on her face.

  “Okay, I just tried to take care of it,” she says, her features returning to normal after a moment. “I hope it goes smoothly.”

  “What do you mean?” Mira and I say in unison.

  “And how are we even alive?” I add, barely able to contain the turbulent mixture of emotions swirling inside me. “I thought we died—”

  “Darren, when you get killed in the Mind Dimension, you don’t die in the real world,” Hillary says, looking at me. “We all feel like something bad is going to happen if we die in there, and it does—but it’s not death. It’s more of a major inconvenience.”

  “What? No, wait,” I say, confused. “Yes, you do. You die, I’m sure of it. I—”

  “No, you don’t, as we obviously didn’t,” Mira says. “But we did lose something.”

  “Try to Split, Darren,” Eugene says, looking at me. “Then you’ll understand.”

  I do as he says. Phasing into the Quiet right now should be the easiest thing in the world. I’ve got all this residual fear and adrenaline stored up.

  Only it doesn’t happen. The frustrated feeling is familiar. It’s exactly how I felt in those scary moments in the Quiet. It’s like trying to phase and hitting a mental brick wall.

  “The three of us are Inert now,” Thomas explains as he gets his airbag situation under control. “We can’t Split into the Mind Dimension.”