Mindbenders by Ted Krever

quickly—”
     “Shut up!” Beardman shouted. “I need a diagnosis, I’ll call a doctor!” He turned to his companion. “What are you waiting for?”
    “Are you going to hold his arms?” the kid asked, nervous, looking at me.
    “I‘m busy pointing a gun at the dangerous one, okay? That one should be easy.” I guess it was kind of an insult at me, but I’d lost all interest by that point in anything anybody was saying.
    Because I could see, all at once, what Renn was up to.
    Behind Beardman and G stood the pile of stone—twelve or thirteen feet high, held in place by a web of steel cable. While they were talking, the threads of the cable were unraveling themselves. I could hear Renn humming next to me, his body radiating a tone so powerful, I couldn’t believe the Glock boys didn’t hear it. The steel threads were separating faster and faster, until all at once, as G grabbed the second plastic tie off the ground, the netting right behind him groaned and split fifty little fissures and then tore open in five or six places, sending twelve or thirteen feet of stone rushing suddenly down the incline at him—at all of us.
    Because I saw it coming, I gained a few precious steps head start and that’s what saved us. At my first step, I felt Max slump, helpless, behind me—his eyes were open but he was lost in some kind of trance, pumping out his bass note. I grabbed him under the arms and dragged him up the slope in front of us. G was hit by the first couple stones that flew out of the pile—they knocked him down and he was buried in seconds. Beardman yelled after me, pointing his gun at my head but he was two seconds worth of indecisive pulling the trigger and that was one second more than he had. He was hit several times around the legs and feet and then a huge shard hit him full on the side of the head and he went down under the deluge. By the time we reached the rim, the entire trench was a dust-billowing pile of rock. I can’t account in any way for how we got out. I heard Max’s voice in my head saying Head for the house on the left and I dragged him in that direction.
    “Are you okay?” I asked.
    “Not this one—to the left,” he muttered. “I’ll be okay.” He was starting to use his own legs, still wobbly but beginning to support himself a bit while I steered.
    I heard shouting down the hill—some of the stone had improvised its way down the roadbed to where it apparently met some of our other pursuers. As I headed for the house on the left, more blue jumpsuits appeared between the other houses on the block, staring down on the avalanche and calling into their earpieces for instructions. How the hell many people were after us?
    We scrambled through the back yard, past a shed, several thick trees, lounge chairs and a portable bar. “Around the house,” Max ordered and I obeyed. He was limping and stumbling but at least he was talking normally now—I was ticking off milestones. I needed him full-strength—surely, we had a big fight just ahead. I could see a street just beyond the house but if they had that many guys, how far could we get before they caught us? If this was a movie, we’d hotwire a car but I had no clue how to do that and Max wasn’t in shape to do much of anything. Shouts from down below were being answered by others close by—they’d be on us in a minute. What if he needed a doctor?
    “You’ll drive,” he told me. “Not fast, normal speed, don’t attract attention.”
     “Drive what ?” I asked. Shit, now he’s delirious . His car was sitting across the woods, in front of Miriam Fine’s house, unless it was magical and could find us on its own.
    As we reached the front of the house, I felt him lean into my shoulder, pushing me toward the driveway. Where a retirement-aged man stood favoring his paunch, holding open the door of a very pretty Audi coupe. “You drive,” Max repeated and detached himself from me. He stumbled to the passenger door and collapsed onto