In the cockpit of the helicopter, Vic felt as if he were perched on a ledge looking out over the darkened land. A storm was coming in, and trees swam out of wisps of fog as the chopper’s spotlight swept over the forest. The heavy headset blocked most of the noise from the blades, but Vic had also cut off the mike so he could concentrate. He was listening, but not to the pilot beside him, or Matty or Kendra in the back. He wasn’t using his ears at all.
No, he was listening with his mind. He felt it stretched out like a net before him, draped over the side of the chopper, scraping over the treetops and dipping down to brush the ground below. For the most part, he was catching a lot of random images and emotions, nothing verbal, nothing in words. He’d almost dismissed it as woodland static,
