Thomas had noticed the change, the moment he'd boarded the rescue helicopter. Despite the headset the helicopter crew had given him to wear, he could hear voices as if he could hear the crew's thoughts. For the first day, he thought it was just residual ringing in his ears from the deafening roar of the impact, though it was unsettling that he could hear the voices though wearing headsets that deafened the sound of the chopper.
At park headquarters it was worse. Not only was he being asked questions, but he imagined he could hear others forming their own unasked questions and statements, "Ask him if he has any burns," "Does he know how long it took from the meteor to hit until it exploded?" "Damn, she's hot," "Make sure you get his contact information." "Geez, I've been on duty since last night, when will this goddamn shift end?"
So, when he was finally freed to leave, it was a relief to get away from all the voices. As he rode further away from the park headquarters, they began to dwindle, though a light hum of voices remained coursing through his head, to his great annoyance. Once on Hwy 50, they finally stopped. He could ride miles at a time without passing another vehicle or town. Anxious to get down the road, he opened up his bike and saw its speed increase... 70, 75, 80, 85, 90 miles per hour. Soon he was topping 110. With nothing ahead for miles on end, he finally felt at peace, the hum of the motor was a sound he enjoyed.
Then, just as suddenly, he sensed danger overhead. Miles away, a state trooper helicopter was patrolling and somehow, he knew it. Thomas slowed down, despite the patrol chopper not being visible and the road being empty as far as the eye could see. Moments later, a yellow Ferrari came roaring up from behind and passed with a roar. "You'd better slow down, pal," Thomas thought and just as he did the tail lights on the Ferrari glowed red and the car slowed to his pace. Five minutes later, the helicopter passed over the Ferrari and Thomas, its pilot wondering to himself whether some CB operator had warned them about his approach.
Once in the clear, Thomas cranked back on the throttle and rocketed past the Ferrari, its driver still compelled to hold the speed limit. Thomas grinned as he passed and communicated, "You're good to go, fella," then goosed his bike ahead of the sportcar, which also accellerated.
It was late afternoon when Thomas pulled into Austin, Nevada. A few seconds later, the Ferrari sped past toward what would be a sure ticket at Mount Airy Summit. Thomas noticed the voices almost immediately. Though there was no one at the pumps, he could read thoughts coming from points all around the small town of Austin. An older woman was watching her favorite soap opera, a mechanic was having trouble rebuilding an engine, a waitress was emptying old coffee from the maker, a couple were having a noisy affair in room five at the Austin Motor Court, and the 19-year-old girl inside the mini market at which Thomas had stopped was thinking about the disgusting things her boyfriend liked to do.
"Fucking blow him when he's driving? He thinks I'm gonna do that!? Fuckin' loser. The first chance I get, I'm getting' out of this town. Now, who's this dweeb walking in? Another fuckin' loser. Geez, why couldn't the driver of that Ferrari have stopped, instead. I'd have ridden his rocket for a ride to LA, fer sure," she seemed to be thinking. As, Thomas found that if he concentrated on one stream of thought, what else was being thought could be filtered.
The girl turned to him and said, disinterestingly and without meaning it, "Can I help you?" She was chewing gum and leaning against a rack of cigarette packs, her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back into a pony tail by a purple scrunchy. The points of her nipples pushed the white t-shirt she wore out, distorting the craft beer ad on the shirt so it could not be read. The shirt's tail was pulled together below her medium-sized, firm breasts and tied into a knot, revealing her flat stomach that was accented by a pierced innie with a blue gemstone in it. She wore cut off jeans that were ragged around the edges. From their frayed cuffs, her tanned, slim and long legs were crossed casually. The many colors of some type of parrot were tattooed on one of her calves above an ankle that was circled by a gold chain. She wore flip flops and her toes and fingernails were painted sparkly green.
Thomas turned toward her as he entered the store. She was unsmiling, despite her stated welcome. He heard her think, "loser."
"Geez, could you at least smile?" Thomas thought to himself, then saw her full lips break into a smile, though the rest of her body language was still indifferent and hostile. It was that projected thought that made Thomas realize he had the ability to both read minds and move them. "Relax" he directed to her, and she responded. "You're feeling better, actually warming up to this biker. He's good looking. Swallow your gum and straighten yourself up."
The girl gulped, the double stick of Bubble Yum slid down her throat painfully. She stood up and leaned forward and smiled naturally.
"You think he's hot. You're getting wet. You want him," Thomas sent to her.
She licked her lips and said, "Hi, I'm Holly." She arranged herself, pushing up her breasts and pressing her groin against the edge of the counter.
"You got Slim Jims?" Thomas asked matter of factly.
"Mmmm, of course," she cooed, "let me show you." Turning sideways, she sat on the counter, lifted her legs so that her knees pressed against her boobs and she spun over the plexiglass counter, spinning her tight ass over cancelled lottery tickets exhibited beneath the plexi and dropping down onto her feet, her flip flops making a flapping sound. She stood close to Thomas, her breath smelled sweetly of the watermelon bubble gum she'd just swallowed. Holly leaned back arching the tips of her breasts so that they pressed against his arm and looked up at him adoringly, her big green eyes imploring his attention as she said, "The jerky treats are over here."
Thomas decided to try something more forceful, extreme, in ways he'd never spoken to a girl, before. "You want him, you want this biker like you've never wanted a man before. You ache for him. You're getting hot, dripping hot. Your cunnie is growing wet, sooo wet. You want his dick inside you. You want to hold it and lick it and suck his balls until his prick gets hot and hard, filled with his blood, then massage it with hand cream until he spews his spunk all over your face... and you'll love it, when he does, because from now to any man you're with you're a cum dump. Austin's easy lay. The girl who'll do anything to please a man and this biker who just walked into the store is the man you want to please most of all. When he is near, he is everything. No one else exists but him. You are his love slave," Thomas projected to Holly.
The girl groaned and leaned into him, a hand moving to her cunnie and massaging it as her panties grew wet. "Unh, wha, what are you, what are you doing to me?" she struggled to say. "Ppplease, take me here. I'm yours. You can have me." Holly unsnapped the button at the fly on her cut offs, then reached for Thomas' groin and fumbled with his belt and zipper.
