Read Online The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions Book 2) by Anna Zaires, Dima Zales - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anna Zaires, Dima Zales
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me. The green smoothie I had earlier was more of a snack, so a real breakfast sounds like a wonderful idea.
It takes them a few moments to put on shoes. One elevator ride and a flight of stairs later, we’re walking through the lobby.
We approach the door. I feel chivalrous for some reason, so I hold open the glass door that leads outside the building. I’m doing it for Mira, of course, but Eugene benefits too.
“Thank you,” Mira says, exiting after Eugene. “Where are we going to eat?”
“The diner?” Eugene suggests hopefully.
As I follow them, I have a sense of déjà vu. She’s about to bring up the food poisoning story again. They’ll fight. Then she’ll get her way and choose the breakfast place she wants. I guess it’s a thing with siblings; they have the same fights over and over, with the same results. Must be kind of nice.
Suddenly, there is a loud noise—a strange sound that scrapes at the inside of my ears.
I’m caught off-guard. Instinctively, I phase into the Quiet.
The argument between Mira and Eugene stops, their faces frozen. The sound also stops.
I turn around.
It’s the glass door. It’s shattering in a strange pattern. From a spot in the middle, the glass is flying out in small fragments. Farther out, the glass is falling in larger chunks.
Something struck that glass at high speed and with high force.
I feel cold as I rush into the building, fearing what I’ll find there. It takes me less than a minute to discover the culprit.
It’s a bullet.
A bullet is lying on the floor in the hallway.
I run outside and cross the street, frantically looking around. I see nothing, so I go through the park, straining my eyes as I scan the area. Finally, I spot something in the distance. I run toward it. As I get closer, I hope against all hope that it’s just a large fly.
When I’m standing next to it, though, I know my hope is futile. The thing frozen in mid-air is what I feared it would be.
It’s another bullet—flying at one of us.
Chapter 8
I swivel my head from side to side, frantically trying to figure out where the shooter might be.
My brain almost subconsciously provides the solution for me as my legs take me where I need to go.
I run through the little park, almost tripping over frozen parents watching their frozen kids on the silent playground.
The shooter is sitting in a large van, holding a long rifle pointed in our direction.
The anger that I now feel is difficult to describe. I’ve never felt this enraged before.
This fucker just shot at me and my friends—and he’s shooting at us through a park where little kids are playing.
Before this moment, I thought I would never consider Pushing anyone again. The reality of what I inadvertently did to that guy yesterday still horrifies me.
But now I feel ready to Push again—intentionally this time. It’s the only option.
I approach the guy and grab him by the neck with all my strength. For a second, I forget why I’m here. I just relish choking him.
Then I give myself a mental shake. I don’t know if Pushing works with corpses, so it’s best if I don’t continue with this. I loosen my grip and try to start the session.
I find it extremely difficult to get into the right state of mind while overcome with so many turbulent emotions. I must, however, so I concentrate.
I do synchronized breathing for a few moments, and begin to feel the necessary state of Coherence coming on. Suddenly, I’m in the shooter’s vile head . . .
* * *
We’re shooting at the target the second time and mentally cursing the boss in Russian. Why the fuck did he give this order on such a short notice?
The first miss is his fault. He didn’t give us a chance to get our favorite rifle. The one with the scope that has been perfectly calibrated. Instead, we got this piece of shit.
We’re not used to working like this. To not being a hundred-percent sure we’re going to hit the target. It’s unprofessional. The only
It takes them a few moments to put on shoes. One elevator ride and a flight of stairs later, we’re walking through the lobby.
We approach the door. I feel chivalrous for some reason, so I hold open the glass door that leads outside the building. I’m doing it for Mira, of course, but Eugene benefits too.
“Thank you,” Mira says, exiting after Eugene. “Where are we going to eat?”
“The diner?” Eugene suggests hopefully.
As I follow them, I have a sense of déjà vu. She’s about to bring up the food poisoning story again. They’ll fight. Then she’ll get her way and choose the breakfast place she wants. I guess it’s a thing with siblings; they have the same fights over and over, with the same results. Must be kind of nice.
Suddenly, there is a loud noise—a strange sound that scrapes at the inside of my ears.
I’m caught off-guard. Instinctively, I phase into the Quiet.
The argument between Mira and Eugene stops, their faces frozen. The sound also stops.
I turn around.
It’s the glass door. It’s shattering in a strange pattern. From a spot in the middle, the glass is flying out in small fragments. Farther out, the glass is falling in larger chunks.
Something struck that glass at high speed and with high force.
I feel cold as I rush into the building, fearing what I’ll find there. It takes me less than a minute to discover the culprit.
It’s a bullet.
A bullet is lying on the floor in the hallway.
I run outside and cross the street, frantically looking around. I see nothing, so I go through the park, straining my eyes as I scan the area. Finally, I spot something in the distance. I run toward it. As I get closer, I hope against all hope that it’s just a large fly.
When I’m standing next to it, though, I know my hope is futile. The thing frozen in mid-air is what I feared it would be.
It’s another bullet—flying at one of us.
Chapter 8
I swivel my head from side to side, frantically trying to figure out where the shooter might be.
My brain almost subconsciously provides the solution for me as my legs take me where I need to go.
I run through the little park, almost tripping over frozen parents watching their frozen kids on the silent playground.
The shooter is sitting in a large van, holding a long rifle pointed in our direction.
The anger that I now feel is difficult to describe. I’ve never felt this enraged before.
This fucker just shot at me and my friends—and he’s shooting at us through a park where little kids are playing.
Before this moment, I thought I would never consider Pushing anyone again. The reality of what I inadvertently did to that guy yesterday still horrifies me.
But now I feel ready to Push again—intentionally this time. It’s the only option.
I approach the guy and grab him by the neck with all my strength. For a second, I forget why I’m here. I just relish choking him.
Then I give myself a mental shake. I don’t know if Pushing works with corpses, so it’s best if I don’t continue with this. I loosen my grip and try to start the session.
I find it extremely difficult to get into the right state of mind while overcome with so many turbulent emotions. I must, however, so I concentrate.
I do synchronized breathing for a few moments, and begin to feel the necessary state of Coherence coming on. Suddenly, I’m in the shooter’s vile head . . .
* * *
We’re shooting at the target the second time and mentally cursing the boss in Russian. Why the fuck did he give this order on such a short notice?
The first miss is his fault. He didn’t give us a chance to get our favorite rifle. The one with the scope that has been perfectly calibrated. Instead, we got this piece of shit.
We’re not used to working like this. To not being a hundred-percent sure we’re going to hit the target. It’s unprofessional. The only
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