Montag moved without thinking. Leaping to his feet, he began running as fast as he can, practically yelling over his shoulder, "Philsy, keep it up 'ere! Squirrelly... get Phillips!"
Griss...
Grissom shook his head a bit, almost as if he were having a cold chill or a mild spasm. It was the sort of reaction he had anytime Phil Smith deigned to speak with him telepathically.
"Wot is it, Phil?" Montag said, using his momentum to leap over the first fence.
I sent out a telepathic probe, Phil's thoughts said. I can sense Brianna... and her attackers.
"Plural?"
'Fraid so, Phil said, maintaining a healthy level of professionalism for a drastic situation. But then, it was a necessity in this situation... seeing as how Grissom was about to fly off the handle. There's at least five... but there's something about their thoughts...
"No time for guessing games here, Smith..." Grissom said, somersaulting over the chainlink fence.
I can't put my finger on it, Phil thought. They're metas, no doubt... but it's almost like there's some sort of mental dampener.
"Look, I'm almost there..." Grissom said, beginning to climb the lumber pile overlooking a construction site for a new restaurant or somesuch. "You and Squirrel keep scanning the area. Look for mental residue or anything that the robot's scans pick up. Hell, call in Tiberius. Surely he's got something that can help us out here.
"As for me," he said, reaching the top of the lumber pile, his gun materializing in his hand, "I've got a few fish to fry..."
