by Dima Zales
She places her hand on the shiny, bald head of the aging TSA agent and concentrates.
“How stereotypical,” she says when she’s done. Turning determinedly, she walks to the stairs and down a level. We all follow her.
As we walk, I notice Hillary is looking around thoughtfully. I wonder what she’s planning. Whatever it is, it requires her to learn her surroundings.
“There,” Mira says, pointing at the Dunkin Donuts.
I see two other men in uniforms. These two turn out to have ‘Miami-Dade’ written on their badges.
They’re cops.
“MDPD,” Mira says and takes the gun from the shorter of the two officers.
“Oh, I get it now,” Eugene says. “Cops in a doughnut shop.”
Mira slowly shakes her head but doesn’t say anything snide. I wonder if that means her mood has improved.
“You should take his gun,” Hillary says to Eugene, pointing at the taller cop.
“Shouldn’t Darren take it?” Eugene asks. “He learned to shoot very recently, and ironically from Caleb, who—”
“You should take it,” Hillary says again. “And here’s why.”
She tells us her plan.
“That’s a good start,” Mira says when Hillary is done. “But it won’t be enough once we’re out of the Mind Dimension.”
“That’s why I’m not coming with you,” Hillary says. “I’ll walk around, doing my part. Darren, can you describe the younger monk to me?”
I tell her what the younger monk looks like and where he is in reference to our departure gate.
“Do you think I could Guide him?” she asks. “Since you were able to Read him?”
“Probably,” I say.
“I’ll throw in an emergency plan, in case he doesn’t cooperate,” Hillary says. “You three go do your parts.”
“Will you have enough time to do what you have to do?” Mira asks.
“It’s not important,” Hillary says. “I can Split and take as long as I need if I have to. I have more than enough Reach on my own.”
“You’re right,” Mira says. “My nerves are making me stupid.”
Hillary doesn’t say anything and walks away, touching the first person near us.
It takes Eugene, Mira, and me only a few minutes to locate our target, Caleb.
“Here comes the weird part,” I say.
“Everything that follows this will be weird,” Eugene says. “Let’s go get you, Darren.”
Leaving Caleb’s body behind, we walk through the airport, back to our gate, and back to where my body is on its perilous way to the bathroom.
“Alrighty then,” Eugene says. ”Do you want me to take the legs?”
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll take the arms.”
“Hold on a second,” Mira says and walks away.
She comes back with one of the luggage carts that travelers can rent for five bucks. Yes, five bucks for a glorified shopping cart with no electrical components (verified by the fact that this thing works in the Quiet). That’s airport prices for you.
“That’s genius,” I say.
“Not really. You guys are idiots for planning to drag him—you—by arms and legs across half the airport,” she says wryly.
I don’t say anything, partly because she has a point. I should’ve thought of using a cart, but I’m also too wired about the next part of the plan to think straight.
Without much aplomb, I push my rigid body over and he falls onto the cart. It’s really odd seeing my limp body lying there like that.
“I’ll push it,” I say. “It’s my body, after all.”
No one objects, and we make our way to where we found Caleb. I feel silly dragging myself out of the cart. I imagine this is how a celebrity would feel if they came across themselves in Madame Tussaud’s wax museum and started messing around with their statue.
“Let’s put him here,” I say. “Behind this column.”
And to the sound of Mira’s disrespectful chuckling, Eugene and I unload the immobile version of me and prop him, as best as we can, behind the shiny metal column.
“Now for the fun part,” I say.
“Listen, Darren. It’s not too late to think of something else,” Eugene says. “Something not so reckless.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just do your thing, both of you.”
Without another word, Eugene and Mira walk away, and a minute later, I have no idea where they went. This is part of the plan. Now for the insane part—the part Hillary might’ve thought up as payback for the way I told Bert about her nature.
I walk over to Caleb and punch him in his immobile face. I know this will pull him in, just like any other physical contact would. This too, unfortunately, is part of the plan.
“You shouldn’t have done that, kid,” Caleb says as soon as he materializes.
In a whirlwind of motion, he’s next to me, and pain erupts in my jaw.
Chapter 13
“Stop,” I manage to say, proving my jaw isn’t broken. “I just want to talk.”
As I speak, I block a full-fledged roundhouse kick with my elbow. Caleb aimed the kick at my head. Had it landed, it would’ve knocked me out. Instead, as my arm meets his foot, I hear a cracking-like thud. The pain from my jaw suddenly feels like child’s play. My jaw might be fine, but my elbow is definitively broken.
“No offense, kid, but this time, I will kill you,” he says, and I’m forced to block a hit to my chest with that same broken elbow. The pain makes me see stars. Still, I get a good punch in, my right hand connecting with his ear.
“Nice one,” he says. “So you did learn something.” He goes to strike me with his right elbow, but I duck under the attack. “Like I was trying to say, it’s not personal,” he continues. “It’s just that when you’re Inert, you’ll be much easier to catch.” He follows those words up with a double-feint move—or I hope it was something that clever, because he lands a punch to my midsection, and while I’m distracted by the lack of air in my lungs, pushes me back, tripping me as I stumble.
I fall to the ground, and on my way down, I think how this is probably the way my frozen self felt when I pushed him into the cart. I must look just as ridiculous. Then I land and can’t reflect on how I look or anything else. The impact manages to squeeze even more air out of me. My body feels cold. I must be going into shock. From about a foot away, Caleb approaches me. Why is this taking so fucking long? I wonder.
Caleb raises his foot, and my mind does that thing again, the thing it did when I was fighting Sam in the Quiet on the bridge. It feels a lot like when I’m about to phase into the Quiet. The ‘I’m dying so my life is about to flash before my eyes’ kind of feeling. Only I’m already in the Quiet. Through the pain, a still-rational part of my brain tries to encourage the feeling, to channel it. My hope is to phase in—to reach what I dubbed Level 2 of the Quiet. I remember how horrible the pain was when Caleb kicked me earlier today. I even try breathing faster, inspired by the technique Hillary taught me.
The kick connects with my ribs, and all I get is debilitating pain that becomes my only point of focus. I open my eyes and see Caleb’s leg raised for another kick, this one aimed for my head. At least the pain will be over when I die, even though I’ll wake up Inert. Instead of feeling the pain of impact, I hear a gunshot.
I open my eyes again. I didn’t realize I closed them. Caleb’s face is the epitome of surprise. He’s holding his chest, blood seeping from between his fingers.
Then a second shot fires.
Caleb’s head explodes. His lifeless body falls to the ground, not far from mine.
Some bits and pieces of him splatter onto my clothes. I even feel something on my face. I’m in too much pain and shock to feel disgust, or to even gloat. I just lie there, willing myself to get up but failing miserably.
“Come on, honey,” Mira says as she grabs me gently under the armpits. I’m in too much pain to wonder whether my ears are deceiving me. Surely Mira didn’t just use a term of
endearment with me? “Grab his feet,” she says more gruffly. Must be talking to Eugene. “Careful, you graceless dimwit.”
They drag me somewhere, and in a haze, I recall where.
“Why the fuck did you wait?” Mira says to Eugene. “Why didn’t you shoot him immediately?”
“He was too close to Darren,” Eugene says. “I didn’t have a clean shot. Why didn’t you shoot?
“Same fucking reason, but unlike you, my angle really was shitty,” she says. “This is the last time I listen to that stupid little Pusher bitch. How many of her plans need to end in fucking disaster before I learn?”
“Darren is alive, and Caleb is dead. Hillary’s plan wasn’t so bad,” Eugene objects.
“If we hadn’t hid, we could’ve killed Caleb quicker,” she says.
“Using Darren as a distraction was smart. If Caleb had seen us, with guns, he would’ve been rolling about like a maniac, the way Sam did, remember? And that didn’t go so well.”
“Whatever,” she says and stops. “Roll up his jeans and help me put Darren’s hand on his leg.”
We brought my frozen self here so I could phase out quickly. I’m grateful to Hillary for thinking of this precaution. If they’d had to carry me through the whole airport, I think I might’ve died on the way. As my hand touches the hairy leg of my other self, we phase out.
Oh, the bliss of not having broken ribs, elbows, and other parts. As the noise of the airport returns, I relish not being in pain. Even the discomfort of my full bladder is a welcome contrast to the debilitating agony I experienced in the Quiet.
So the first part of the plan worked. Caleb is Inert. He’s still very dangerous, but he can’t see the next part coming by using the Quiet. The next part of the plan is where my friends and my aunt slow him down, the corollary to which being that it will slow the monks down, too.
My part is next, and it’ll be tricky. I have to deal with the monks approaching me, starting with the Master, who’s closest. I also need to do this as quickly as I can.
I watch as the Master closes the distance between us. The monk behind him is on his burner phone. Crap. Everyone will know where I am. I need to deal with the Master even more quickly if I’m to have a chance at getting out of this.
“Come with me, my son,” the Master says once he’s standing within striking distance of me. Is this some kind of kung-fu, violence-avoiding mumbo jumbo? He wants me to go peacefully so he won’t have to fight? Not happening.
I assess the situation and formulate a makeshift plan. Since this isn’t the Olympics, where sportsmanship matters, I kick the Master in the balls—no disagreeing to go with him, no warning, nothing. As I do, I recognize that the move is a standard Krav Maga groin kick.
To my utter amazement, the Master doesn’t fall to the ground screaming, as any regular man would. He performs what looks like a tai-chi move with his hands, takes a deep breath, and settles into a defensive stance. Getting over my initial marvel at his lack of a reaction, I kick him in the shin. He moves out of my reach and then lunges forward and punches my exposed shoulder.
The shoulder hurts like hell, and what makes it worse is knowing I can’t undo the damage by phasing out. This is the real world, and these are real injuries. Thinking of phasing gives me an idea, and I slip into the Quiet.
I’m standing beside the Master and myself. He’s about to kick me behind my knee. I have an advantage here. I can phase in and out to observe his next move. This is the strategy that Caleb mentioned to me once.
A very promising strategy.
Phasing out, I move my foot out of the way, turning to face my opponent from a more opportune position. As soon as I do, I phase into the Quiet.
I examine my attacker. His shoulder and arm muscles are tensing in a way that suggests he’s about to punch me with his right hand. With some confidence, I suspect the punch will be aimed at my shoulder that he already damaged.
I phase out and walk under the punch, placing one of my own into his midsection. His abs are like steel, and I doubt I hurt him at all.
I freeze everything again.
Aha! He wants to bring down his elbow on my arm. And his leg is getting ready for a kick.
I phase out and avoid both attacks, and then do an aikido-inspired throw, something that should be foreign to his style of fighting. The Master falls to the ground, and I give him the Caleb special—a kick to the ribs. Then, just in case, I phase into the Quiet—and I’m glad I did.
The other monk is almost on me. Shit. Even with the advantage of the Quiet, I’m not sure I can deal with two people at once. I need to knock the Master out so I can deal with this new guy.
I phase out and kick the Master in the jaw. He moves his head, and my kick’s impact is drastically diminished.
I spare a glance at the other attacker and see the younger monk behind him; he’s almost caught up to his companion.
I’m done. I can’t deal with three of them at once.
I look at the younger monk, who’s trying frantically to close the distance, and consider my rapidly dwindling options.
Then the younger monk grabs his brother monk by the shoulder.
“Darren,” the young monk says, “run for the gate.”
I get it. This is the monk we thought might be Guidable by Hillary. Looks like our theory was right.
“Last call for JFK-bound flight 2447,” I hear over the intercom.
Oh no. I decide to follow Hillary’s suggestion. I turn to run, but the Master’s hand grabs my leg.
I phase in, and the noises around me fall silent.
I run through the frozen people, in the direction of the gate. I need to buy myself a little extra time. As I move, I notice Eugene in the distance. In the real world, he’s running away from the gate. I contemplate pulling him in but decide against it. Let him focus on whatever he’s doing.
It takes me a few seconds to locate the girl who made the announcement. I Read her and learn what I already know. There are only moments left before departure. I also learn who her boss is.
No one is flying anywhere without me, I say to the frozen girl and look for her boss. In her mind, he’s in charge of ending the boarding process.
It takes me a few minutes to locate the guy—a thin, mousy individual. I Guide him to wait for me. Then I Read him and learn that despite what his subordinate thought, when it comes to boarding, not everything is up to him.
Armed with this new knowledge, I enter the jet bridge leading to the plane and locate the pilot. Reading him, I learn I can’t stall things for too long, not without making a journey to Flight Control and visiting a bunch of other airport bureaucrats. I do the best I can and Guide the pilot not to take off for the next five minutes. He has that much leeway.
As I walk back to my body, I Guide any person I meet to make sure they get out of my way. I also instruct them to get in the way of any Buddhist monk they see following me. I wonder whether the monks will hurt these civilians. For some reason, I doubt it.
Regaining some of my hope, I look around. The young monk is keeping his brother busy, but it’s clear he won’t last long. The Master is bleeding, yet he’s stubbornly holding on to my frozen self’s foot. I see what I need to do. It won’t be pretty, but it should free me.
I phase out.
I swing my leg back, giving it all my strength. As expected, the Master’s wrist makes an unhealthy tearing sound. I’m glad when he lets go of me. I phase in again to see whether he’s planning to pull some other stunt, but it doesn’t look likely. I feel terrible when I see his wrist hanging at a weird angle. Whatever damage I inflicted, I remind myself, is on my grandparents’ conscience, not mine.
He’ll heal, I tell myself and phase out. As soon as the sounds of the airport are back, I run.
The young monk yelps in pain, meaning I probably have the older one on my tail.
The people I Guided behave as they should. Without knowing why, they step aside for me.
As I run, I phase in to see if the monk
is pursuing me, and I find that he is. And it’s not just him. A few other monks are right behind me too. The new ones must’ve arrived as I was dealing with the Master. Fortunately for me, the regular airport travelers have formed an impenetrable wall in their path.
I’m halfway to the gate when the people around me start speaking in unison. “Run faster, Darren. Caleb is right behind you.” This cacophony of voices is eerie, and I instantly know it’s Hillary warning me.
I phase out and look for Caleb to see how bad the situation is.
Eugene is holding on to Caleb’s leg, not unlike the way the Master grabbed me. There’s a black and blue shiner under my friend’s eye where Caleb must have punched him.
I touch Eugene to bring him in.
“Buddy,” I say as soon as he shows up. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m stalling him,” he says, “to give you a chance.”
“Look at that.” I point to the people surrounding him and Caleb. They look like zombies zeroing in on yummy brains. “Hillary has these people under control, so Caleb isn’t going anywhere. No reason to get yourself killed.”
“Oh,” he says. “I’ll let go then.”
We get back to our bodies, and as I phase out, I continue my desperate dash for the gates. I was never much of a sprinter, but I am today. My heart is pounding in my chest, and my breathing is shallow. As I run, I hope what I told Eugene is true.
After a few more feet, I unconsciously phase into the Quiet. My body must be confusing the effects of this run with a near-death experience.
In the Quiet, I make my way back to where I left Caleb. Eugene’s released him. The zombie people have moved in on Caleb. But Caleb has managed something I’ve never seen before. He’s basically climbing on top of the crowd surrounding him. He looks like a rock star doing a strange, upright stage dive. The crowd is trying to grab him, but he’s dodging their arms. I Read a man who has a nice vantage and see Caleb moving surprisingly fast despite this strange mode of locomotion. I have to hurry.
I get back to my body, phase out, and sprint harder.
I’m approaching the door when I notice Caleb standing on someone’s head and shoulders. He’s planning to jump at me.