The Elders (22 page)

Then, with the sound of an explosion, the world is muted.

In the Quiet, running is easier due to the lack of any wind. I’m also emboldened by the fact that whatever damage the branches inflict on me here will be undone when I phase out.

It takes me a few minutes at this pace to reach the clearing surrounding
the Temple. I’ve acquired half a dozen scrapes and splinters, but I forget about these minor injuries as soon as I look out toward the Temple.

People—lots of people—are doing something they shouldn’t be doing.

I have to get closer before I can let myself believe what’s happening. In my frenzied state, I don’t even register my sprint across the clearing.

The closer I get, the more my fears turn
into stark reality.

A full-fledged battle is underway, with violence and death permeating the most serene of places.

At first, I don’t even recognize the area. Gorgeous arbors and intricate giant shrubs used to mark the entrance to the Temple’s grounds. Most of them are now in shambles, and one gazebo has been blown to smithereens—possibly in the explosion I heard earlier. Bits of what’s left
of the gazebo crunch under my feet as I look around.

To my left, five cops are frozen in the process of shooting at the orange-clad monks. Some monks have serene, determined expressions on their faces, though most look uncharacteristically frightened. One monk looks absolutely terrified, as anyone in his situation would. A bullet is frozen in the process of entering his forehead.

To my right,
an older monk is choking a deputy in a strange, kung-fu-inspired grip. Another monk is holding another deputy’s arm in an unnatural position, leading me to believe that the limb has been broken.
 

I check the guns on the ground. As I thought, the monks took advantage of the moment when the cops ran out of bullets.

Farther in, a young monk is fighting an older one. Not ready to think about it,
I file this away as a mystery. This monk-on-monk violence and the shootouts aren’t what give my surroundings a particularly hellish feel.

That honor belongs to Kate.

She’s standing there with blood covering her black outfit and soaking into the ground around her. Her sword is embedded in a monk’s chest. Heads and limbs of other monks surround Kate in a gory mess, like a scene from a slasher
movie.

I look away. Though I’ve never thrown up in the Quiet, right now, while looking at the disemboweled and dismembered bodies of the monks, I feel like I just might. As a kid, after watching
The Three Musketeers
and
Star Wars
, I had a glamorized view of sword fighting. I thought it was cool. Now, and for the rest of my life, I will think of getting killed by a sword as one of the most barbaric
and gruesome ways to die.

Unfortunately, looking away doesn’t make the horrors go away—not when my gaze falls on George, who’s frozen in the process of reloading a shotgun. In front of him are piles of shot-up monks. Their wounds have turned their orange robes crimson.

I run again, for no other reason than to get away from the carnage.

But the carnage follows me. Slightly farther in, near the
incongruently peaceful rock garden, I find Eleanor holding a bloodied monk above her head, and I do mean
above
her head, with her arms almost straight. She looks like a wrestler who’s about to break someone’s back.

I can’t take any more of this, but short of closing my eyes, I can’t escape it.

When I do close my eyes and find a second to think, a terrible anxiety hits me. Somewhere in this Temple
are Thomas and Mira. After seeing so much death, it’s all too easy to picture the worst.

I open my eyes, my heart beating frantically.
 

I have to get to the Temple.

As I run toward the building, I see more cops and monks locked in deadly embraces near the bonsai trees.

Passing them, I see frozen James raining death on the monks with an automatic rifle, right next to the serene cherry blossom
trees. He looks like a grizzly bear standing in a river during salmon mating season.

The fighting gets sparser as I get closer to the giant Temple doors. I see a bunch of bullet-riddled cops on the ground, as well as some cops with knife wounds, and the reason quickly becomes clear.

Two large men are frozen in the midst of an epic fight. Or more accurately, at this point in the fight, one is
murdering the other.

It only takes me a moment to recognize the victim as John, the ‘sick lion’ part of Kate’s deadly circus troop. His features are twisted in fury and fear, and I know all too well the person doing the killing. He’s probably the cause behind the shot-up and cut-up cops as well. That he’s fighting against John and not under the Super Pusher’s influence is actually surprising,
but not something I’m ready to think about.

Looking at his stern face, I feel a sense of camaraderie. For what feels like the first time, I’m happy to see Caleb, and I’m cheering for him.

Of course, Caleb doesn’t need my moral support. His hands are around John’s throat, and his frozen knuckles are marble white from exertion. Caleb’s grip must be devastatingly strong. The result is something
I didn’t even think was possible. The tips of Caleb’s fingers are
inside
his opponent’s neck. I’m not a doctor, but I think Caleb is in the process of ripping out John’s Adam’s apple.

John also has a knife wound in his belly. Caleb’s signature knife is lying a foot away, covered in blood.

Out of all of Kate’s people, Richard
—
the scorpion—is the only one missing.

Is he missing because he’s the
puppeteer of this madness?

I push the Temple doors open and walk inside.

The halls are almost empty, but in the far corner, I see a lone monk, barely out of his teens. He looks to be heading toward the big doors at the back.

Deciding to try Reading him for any useful information, I reach out and touch his bald head. Nothing happens, though. The raging emotions brought on by what’s happening
outside make the focused state of Coherence extremely difficult for me to achieve. I focus on my breath and push the horror I witnessed out of my head. In, out . . . In, out . . . Though not calm, I achieve a robotic sense of relaxation, but only after what feels like an hour. It’s enough, though, and I get inside the young monk’s head.

* * *

We see our brothers carrying the two strangers
into the guesthouse, and we follow them curiously. The sight of a young, pretty, long-haired female is a rare one at the Temple. True, we have sisters, but they don’t count. This one is even prettier than the younger of the two women staying in the guesthouse.

I, Darren, disassociate from the young monk’s thoughts. If I weren’t in a state of utter despair, I’d find it curious how the monk tried
to fight against his hormone-inspired thoughts. Instead, I focus on the facts. To my huge relief, the two people he saw were Mira and Thomas. They were alive, and the monks were dragging them to where Julia and her mother are staying, and I know exactly where that is. Before I exit the monk’s head, I fast-forward through his memories a little more in search of anything useful, and I’m instantly
glad I went through the trouble.

“Take me with you,” we say to the Master. “Let me protect the Enlightened ones.”

“I want you to hide in the forest,” the Master says. “I want all the younglings to do so.”

“But where are you taking them?” we ask, our heart heavy. “What will happen to us?”

“We’re going to sneak them out. There’s a path we can use at the back of the Temple,” the Master says.
“Then we’ll hide in the forest, just as you must.”

“But the others will fight—”

“They are old enough to make that choice,” the Master says, “and wise enough for me to accept it.”

“But I must—”

“Please do as I tell you,” the Master says wearily. “Do not make this old man beg.”

“Okay, Master,” we say, lying for the first time this month. “I will run to the forest.”

We watch the Master and
a few of the older monks leave.

We watch as our brothers walk out to do battle in front of the Temple’s entrance.

We have no intention of running into the woods.

We’re going to help our brothers.

We’re going to join the fight.

But when the gunfire begins, we find it hard to summon the courage to go.

We take a step toward the entrance, then take two steps back.

I, Darren, can’t take any
more of the fear and doubt inside my host’s head, and get out.

* * *

Looking the young monk over,
I recognize the resolve and determination on his face. In this moment, he looks as if he won the fight against his fear. He’s going to join the massacre.

I re-enter his head and Guide him to follow the Master’s advice to run and hide in the forest.

When I’m done with this task, I realize
something—an answer to a puzzle I noticed earlier. I couldn’t understand why the younger monks were fighting the older monks outside. Now, however, it occurs to me that the young monks, just like the one I Read, haven’t mastered the skill of resisting Reading and Guiding. So the Super Pusher, or for that matter, any member of Kate’s team, could—and did—turn the novice monks against their brothers.

I find the idea of Pushing monks to fight each other particularly ghastly. Then again, this, at least, I can undo, but it’ll have to wait until I take care of something else—well, until I take care of two things actually.
 

Which do I focus on first? I’m torn between going to the guesthouse to see whether Mira and Thomas are okay, and heading to the back of the Temple to find my grandparents.

I decide to head for the guesthouse.

I go through the outside dojo, which is now empty, and enter the mansion-sized building. No one is there, at least not on the first floor. As soon as I get to the second floor, however, I find an obvious sign of activity.

The door to the nearest room has been ripped open and is lying on the floor, hinges bent. Before it was forcefully opened, it had been held
in place by a latch with a big lock on it. By the looks of it, the door was padlocked from the outside.

I walk down the corridor and spot the back of a figure standing in a combative pose, fists raised, next to another padlocked door. I think I know who it is, even from this vantage point, but I get closer to make sure.

My suspicion was right.
 

It’s Thomas.

When I get a better look at him,
my insides turn cold.

Thomas’s hands are covered in blood.

Chapter 18

I
stare at his bloodied hands in a stupefied daze until I realize the blood is coming from his damaged knuckles.

Was he fighting for his life?

No. As I examine the door he’s standing next to, I note the bloody prints on it—prints that match Thomas’s knuckles.

He hurt his hands trying to enter this locked room.

I check the door that was torn off its hinges. Thomas’s blood
is smeared across the back, and there are also boot prints. Thomas was likely locked inside this room and broke out, and now he’s trying to get into the other room.

I think I know what’s happening, but I want to be sure.

I make my way back to the battlefield, this time running as if a rabid tiger is chasing me.

I use a stick to pry the shotgun out of George’s arms; I don’t want to accidentally
pull him into the Quiet with me. Then I return to the upstairs of the guesthouse and use the butt of the shotgun to push Thomas’s frozen body out of my way. I don’t want to bring him in either.

I fire the shotgun at the door over and over. My ears beg for mercy, but I ignore them. On the fifth shot, the shotgun makes a clicking noise, indicating it’s empty. The door is in shambles, and I kick
away what remains of it.

As I suspected, Mira is inside. She’s lying on the bed, unconscious.

Given Thomas’s crazed approach to opening the doors, I have to assume he’s trying to break in so he can hurt her. The ferocity on his face and the deep cuts on his knuckles offer no other alternative.

There’s only one probable explanation.

The Super Pusher is also controlling Thomas, the way he was
controlling him at the funeral.

Thomas is determined to get to Mira, and her door won’t last much longer.

Shit.

I look her over.

Mira’s face looks almost angelic. The full intensity of how much I missed her hits me. I can’t bear to think there’s even a chance she’ll get hurt.

No. I refuse to contemplate that possibility. I touch her forehead, determined to pull her in and warn her.

Nothing
happens.

I touch her again.

Still no effect.

I shake her as though I could wake her up from the Quiet, and even try kissing her as if she were Sleeping Beauty and I her prince.

Nothing.

She must be Inert on top of being drugged up. Knowing Mira, I suspect she fought them as soon as she woke up from the van ride.

Crap. I’ll have to continue facing this war zone alone.

I consider pulling
Thomas in, but that wouldn’t improve the situation. At best, I could make him Inert, but in the real world, he would still be quite capable of breaking down the door and hurting Mira.

Pulling him into the Quiet to make him Inert would be too dangerous, anyway. If I failed to kill him and he killed me instead, I would be made Inert and left with no chance of untangling this mess—not that I can,
at present, see any way to do so.

Actually, there is one way.

If I could reach Level 2, I could reverse whatever the Super Pusher did to Thomas. For that matter, I could reverse what I assume he did to George, Kate, and her crew.

Of course, I can’t get to Level 2, so it’s pointless to dwell on it. For now, I need to get a better grasp on this fucked-up situation.

With purpose adding stamina
to my aching legs, I run out of the guesthouse. I have to find a way to get to the back of the Temple.

I sprint, Reading young monks as I go, and I’m glad that I do. The exit is actually a hidden passageway. I have to go down into the Temple’s basement and take a bunch of winding corridors, and I do just that.