The Elders

by Dima Zales

  “Exactly,” she says. “Or else Caleb and the monks might repeat their shenanigans.”

  A strange noise catches my attention. It sounds like an alarm going off during a bank robbery. I tense, wondering if the car makes this sound when some part of it is failing, but realize the culprit is a phone attached by a pink mount to the windshield.

  “Can you get that? I don’t want to risk reaching for it,” Hillary says.

  Deciding not to mention the annoyingness of her ringtone, I steady my hand and press the ‘speak’ button. With a southern drawl, a voice says, “The two Honda Odyssey vehicles are fifteen minutes apart.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff Jackson,” Hillary says. “Which blockade are they heading toward?”

  “Just program Telogia, Florida, into your GPS,” the voice says, “and it’ll take you there. But you don’t have much time.”

  “Thank you,” Hillary says. “We’ll try to make it.”

  I take this as my cue to end the call and enter new GPS coordinates into the phone.

  “The GPS thinks we’ll get there in half an hour,” I tell her.

  “It assumes we’re following the speed limit,” Hillary says. “I hope to be there in fifteen.” She accelerates.

  “Have you spoken with Eugene or Bert?” I ask to keep my mind off our speed.

  “Hold on,” she says. “And press the voice command button on my phone.”

  I press and hold the button. Had she reached for the phone herself, I would’ve mutinied.

  “Call George,” Hillary says in a clear voice.

  The device rings through the car’s speakers a few times before someone picks up.

  “Hello,” George says.

  “Put Telogia into your GPS,” Hillary says. “And tell the same to Kate.”

  “No problem,” George says, “but we’re falling behind.”

  “Whoever gets there, gets there,” Hillary says. “Remind her to only use the tranquilizer guns, okay?”

  “Affirmative,” George says. “We all understand Darren’s friends and family are in those Odysseys.”

  He sounds annoyed with her implication that he or one of Kate’s people would need such a reminder.

  The line goes dead.

  “Sorry about that, Darren,” Hillary says. “Yes, I did talk to Eugene and Bertie. They’re a couple of hours behind the vans. They told me not to bother them so they could concentrate on their research, so I haven’t.”

  In the distance, I see Kate veer her bike onto an exit ramp.

  “Brace yourself,” Hillary says and turns the wheel.

  I bet those are some of the most famous last words, right after ‘Oops’ and, if coming from a doctor, ‘This will be uncomfortable.’ As we turn, I feel as if I might throw up. Had I eaten anything today, I definitely would have. As is, the world around me goes silent.

  Looking at our car from the side of the road, I realize her turn made me spontaneously phase into the Quiet. While my heartbeat calms down, I note how peculiar it is that I’m actually outside the car rather than in the back seat. I must’ve spontaneously Teleported thanks to George’s recent training.

  As I study the car, I discover there isn’t a back seat to speak of. The car is a full-fledged race car, right down to a large Dish sponsor ad on its hood. In hindsight, I should’ve figured out that this was a race car by how crammed it is on the inside, not to mention the helmets and the two-sided seat belts.

  My frozen self’s eyes look as if they might pop out and break through the visor. Since I’m already in the Quiet, I walk over to Kate. She’s driving a monster motorcycle that Batman would’ve been proud to own. I don’t dare pull her in; making this turn unscathed must be taking every ounce of her concentration—at least it would be for me. Which reminds me . . . Hillary mentioned clearing the road for us in the Quiet. That means she’s been driving like a maniac while phasing in and out. Having done this myself before, I know I ought to be extra thankful we’re still alive.

  Returning to the race car, I fatalistically phase out—and instantly wish I didn’t.

  The centrifugal (or is it the G?) forces only begin once I phase in. It feels as if I’m getting squished into my seat.

  When I can speak again, I say, “Aunt, if you need to clear more of the road, please let me. I want you focused on driving.”

  “Sure,” she says. “But it’s likely unnecessary. I cleared quite a long stretch in one go a few miles back. Plus, I’m working with law enforcement—”

  “Then whatever else I can do to help,” I say as a means of self-preservation.

  “Sure, if I think of anything,” my aunt says and accelerates some more. “We’re getting closer.”

  We’re now on the other side of the highway, leaving the Humvee and the police cavalcade far behind us.

  “Where did you get this car?” I ask, more as a way to distract myself from my terror than out of any real curiosity.

  “Daytona,” she says. “They have NASCAR. If you don’t mind, I want to focus on the road. I’m about to push this car to its limits.”

  The next five minutes are probably the scariest moments of my life, and that includes the last couple of weeks with people trying to kill me.

  The annoying ringtone is back. I accept the call, and a voice says, “We couldn’t stop them at the merge point.”

  “It’s okay, Sheriff,” Hillary says. “We didn’t think you could. At least we’re now on their tails.”

  Her gloved hands grip the wheel tighter, and the engine sounds as if it’s possessed by a poltergeist.

  You know when I said the previous five minutes of my life were the scariest? I’m changing that. These next five put them to shame.

  Another bank-robbery alarm interrupts my hyperventilation, and I distract myself by accepting the call.

  “Fuck,” a voice says loudly. Screams and shots can be heard in the background. “A Honda minivan just went around our blockade. This driver is a maniac. I have deputies on the dirt road waiting for the second Honda.”

  “Sheriff Wilkin,” Hillary says disapprovingly. “Why did I hear shots? You are not permitted to use deadly force. There are hostages in those cars.”

  “We tried shooting the tires, ma’am,” the guy says, “but missed.”

  “Be ready,” she says. “They’re a few minutes apart.”

  “We are,” he says.

  “Let’s hope we catch them first,” she says and looks at her GPS.

  According to its tracker, we’re already there.

  A few seconds later, Hilary whispers, “Do you see that?”

  I see Kate’s figure in the distance but nothing else. I squint and see she’s nearing a van.

  Hillary squeezes more speed out of our car, the motor revving maniacally. With trepidation, I glance at the speedometer and wish I hadn’t. It reads 210 mph.

  We get closer to Kate, the sides of the road blurring. I suspect we might be going ‘back to the future’ at any moment.

  Kate parallels the van. The van swerves in her direction, apparently trying to force Kate off the road.

  We move closer to Kate and her adversary.

  Kate speeds up, pulls a wheelie, and races ahead of the van. I think the stunt was just her showing off, though I’m not sure.

  We’re nearing the van; our front bumper is almost ready to kiss the circled H logo on the Honda’s rear. In the distance is a police blockade; it’s also where the road ends and the tree line begins.

  “Hillary, you see that, right?” The words come out in a hushed whisper. “Are you sure we’ll have time to slow—”

  I don’t finish that thought, as Hillary tries to pass the van on the right.

  At the same time, Kate lets her bike drift, its tires smoking. The bike is angled so low to the ground that her right handlebar is touching the asphalt.

  Then Kate jumps off the bike, letting the poor machine fly under the van.

  The van swerves into us, the driver clearly not wanting to drive over the motorcycl
e while moving at this speed, then veers in Kate’s direction. We almost collide with its back. Hillary turns the wheel sharply to avoid crashing into the van.

  Our car skids toward the side of the road—and toward a big palm tree. If we don’t slow down, the emergency workers will have a hard time scraping us out of what will be left of this car.

  Hillary slams on the brakes, and I smell burning rubber.

  Though we’re decelerating, we’re still going fast enough that the impact might turn us into burnt toast.

  Hillary turns the wheel, gentler this time.

  Everything goes silent.

  Shit.

  Looks like I scare-phased into the Quiet again.

  I’m standing next to the palm tree we’re about to hit.

  Luckily, Hillary’s last maneuver pointed the car slightly to the side of the tree; we might not hit it head-on, though I’m no expert when it comes to car physics.

  I walk over to where Kate jumped/fell.

  I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

  Kate sliced through the Honda’s front tire. She’s holding the blade steady, ready to give the back tire the same treatment.

  She’s insane. If the car veers her way, it’ll run her over.

  Reluctantly, I make my way back.

  I phase out and instantly learn I was wrong about the car’s trajectory; Hillary’s last maneuver didn’t help us.

  With the sound of worlds colliding, our race car crashes into the tree.

  Chapter 16

  Even with the six-point straps and the neck support of my helmet, the jolt is so violent that I feel as if my whiplash is getting whiplash.

  I’m still conscious, however. Hillary managed to change the angle of our impact to lessen its severity, and we skirted the tree instead of hitting it dead-on. We’ll live.

  My heart, which is currently up my throat, clearly hasn’t gotten the memo.

  “We have to go,” I croak, fumbling to unbuckle my multiple straps.

  Hillary beats me to it, unclipping my lap and my right and left shoulder restraints. I take care of the one by my crotch on my own.

  Fleetingly, I note the lack of any airbags. Race cars must not have them.

  As soon as I’m free, I remove my helmet, stumble out of the car, and look at the road.

  The Honda Odyssey is out of control, but driving away from Kate, who’s plastered against the road. The van’s rims are raining sparks as they scrape against the ground, and the smell of burning rubber mixes with a strange metallic odor.

  Please don’t flip, I think desperately as I run toward the van.

  The vehicle makes it halfway into a ditch and stops, without flipping.

  Kate is near the right side of the car. I didn’t even see her get up.

  The door opens. A monk—who must’ve attempted to exit the van—is on the floor convulsing from Kate’s strike.

  “Kate, the passenger door,” I scream when I see another monk exit.

  In the next moment, Kate is holding two strange, elongated guns.

  She shoots one inside the van and aims the other one at where the driver shows up.

  Panting, I sprint toward the van, with Hillary on my heels.

  The driver monk dodges Kate’s shot. Belatedly, it hits me that she’s using a tranquilizer gun.

  I recognize the monk she missed. He was assisting the Master monk during the attack at the Miami airport.

  Kate switches her attention from the door to the assistant monk, which turns out to be a mistake. Another monk’s foot strikes her through the open door. If Kate were me, she would’ve tripped over the unconscious body of the first monk she neutralized. Kate, however, isn’t me, so instead of falling, she lets the momentum of the kick carry her body into the assistant monk. I watch her with envy, my martial arts knowledge once again drawing a blank when it comes to Kate’s fighting style.

  There’s no time to dwell on her technique, though. Springing into action, I kick the leg of the monk who just kicked Kate. I hit a bone near the guy’s knee, and my big toe feels like it’s on fire. I wonder who’s hurt worse—me or my opponent.

  “Step aside, Darren,” Hillary yells.

  I do, and a dart hits the monk’s shin, right where I just kicked him. Why does Hillary have one of these nifty tranquilizers and I don’t?

  In my peripheral vision, I see Kate execute a number of moves, and the assistant monk joins his brothers on the ground.

  Kate then turns around, aims her gun, and shoots the next monk as he’s exiting the car.

  Strangely, the monk doesn’t fall. He must be more resistant to whatever drug is in the darts.

  The monk faces me, the dart sticking out from his neck. His eyes are slightly glazed over. Without a second’s hesitation, I punch him in the stomach. Though the hit wasn’t all that powerful, the monk doubles over and hits the ground. The lack of oxygen must’ve finished the job the tranquilizer started.

  I look around and see that while I was distracted, Kate took care of a couple more monks.

  I look inside the van. The only two people left are my moms, and they’re both unconscious. I check their pulses, and when I find it, I feel like a man who’s come across a feast after a long fast. At the same time, I’m more than a little angry that they were kept sedated for so long. I hope the monks drugged them when the chase began and they haven’t been kept unconscious for the past twenty hours.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kate shoot darts into the monks she forcefully knocked out.

  “Wait, Kate,” I say, but she shoots the last one anyway. “We might have needed one.”

  “Too late,” she says. “What would we need them for?”

  “I only vaguely recall where the Temple is,” I explain. “We could’ve asked them some pointed questions.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that,” Hillary says. “We have so many police officers helping us that we can scout the woods for the Temple. These monks aren’t Readable, as you found out, and I won’t let them be tortured.”

  “Shouldn’t we go after the other van?” I ask. “The one with Thomas and Mira in it?”

  “They have a big start,” Kate says. “They’ll be halfway to the Temple by now.”

  “So I guess we’ll need your team’s help after all,” I say, frustrated.

  “Yeah, and now our job will be even trickier,” Kate says. “When this van doesn’t show up, the Temple will be put on high alert.”

  “So what do we do?” I ask.

  “Nothing. We’ll manage it,” she says. “I’m just thinking out loud.”

  “Before your team gets here and we start looking for the Temple, I want my moms taken somewhere safe.” I glance at the two unconscious bodies inside the van before turning to my aunt. “Hillary, do you think you can do me a huge favor? Can you take them? You could take a bunch of cops with you and drive someplace where no one would think to look for you.”

  Hillary frowns. “What about the Temple? I want to help rescue the others.”

  “This is the best way for you to help,” I say. What I don’t add is that this way, I can ensure she’s safe too.

  “Are you getting rid of me so you can do something violent at the Temple?” Hillary asks, her eyes narrowing.

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’ll pinky swear to do as little harm as possible. After all, my grandparents are there. What kind of monster do you take me for, Aunt?”

  She sighs. “Take my tranquilizer gun. And make sure the others use theirs.”

  I take the weapon and stick it in the back of my pants as Kate demonstratively waves her guns in the air.

  Hillary rolls her eyes and walks toward the police blockade.

  Ignoring her, Kate walks over to what’s left of Hillary’s race car and looks for something inside. Then she waves for me to join her.

  By the time I get there, Kate has the object spread out on the roof of the crumpled car.

  When I get closer, I see that it’s one of those primitive items people used
in ancient times—the dark ages before GPS apps. The object is made out of a dumb material called paper, which you can’t read in the dark and which lacks a zoom-in feature.

  An atlas-style map.

  “We’re here,” Kate points to a spot on the map. “Can you show me, approximately, where the Temple might be?”

  I examine the area surrounding our current location. Only a handful of roads traverse the whole forest. The one we’re currently on leads to the highway I recall taking after I temporarily kidnapped my grandpa, Paul.

  I also remember that when we walked out of the forest, I was looking at the driver’s side of the car, which means the Temple is on the left side of this road. Furthermore, I remember how long it took me to get onto that highway, so, backtracking, I draw a circle on the map with my finger and say, “Around there.”

  “Great,” Kate says. “This reduces the search radius by a factor of fifty, at least. With extra help, it shouldn’t take more than a few hours.”

  “We can actually do it in no time at all,” I say, “if we’re willing to forgo the police help and do it in the Mind Dimension.”

  “That would be a tedious exercise,” she says. “Plus, we actually need to kill a number of hours.”

  “Why is that?”

  “We’re going to do our extraction when it’s dark, so they’re less likely to detect us,” she explains.

  A car honk prevents me from asking my next question.

  Glancing up, I see that the Humvee and its police escort have finally caught up with us, and Hillary is back too.

  “Be careful, gentlemen,” Hillary says to James and Stephen as they carry Lucy out of the van, their muscles not looking the least bit strained. Carrying my mom is as difficult for them as carrying that map is for Kate.

  “Watch her head,” Hillary says to Eleanor and John, who have Sara.

  They put my moms in the back of a patrol wagon. Hillary makes sure they’re strapped in, and a couple of competent-looking police officers take up the rest of the space. Hillary gets into the front passenger seat and rolls her window down.

  “Call me as soon as it’s all over,” she says.

  “I will,” I promise.

  “I told Bert and Eugene what’s going on,” she says. “They should be passing this way in a little over an hour.”