“And you believed them?”
“We had no reason not to. They’d been studying us for years. They understood us better than we understood ourselves. They knew our weaknesses,” Agent Truman explained.
“So what happened?” I asked, leaning forward now.
“We realized they were getting more out of the deal than we were. They were supposed to warn us before taking anyone, and then again when they sent them back so we could . . .” He pursed his lips, and I knew this was the part I wouldn’t like. “So we could intercept them.”
“So you could experiment on them, you mean? See what makes the Returned tick?” I criticized.
He shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “Then we realized they were taking people without consent . . . sending back fewer. Either that, or sending them back without notifying us. It became like a scavenger hunt, and we scoured the globe searching for people like your friends.” He said “your friends” like it was a filthy word.
I considered what he was saying, that the aliens were the ones in charge of this so-called relationship. They’d always been the ones with all the power. “So, once you figured it out, why didn’t you say something? Try to stop them?”
“What exactly do you think we should’ve done? Gone to the police? The president? No thank you,” he said, waving the idea away. “I’ve been to those woo-woo conventions. I won’t be lumped in with one of those nut jobs passing out pamphlets about how aliens are plotting to take over the planet, even if it’s true.”
“So you’re saying some of those guys are legitimate?”
“Best minds in the world.” He said it emphatically. “But no one gives a rat’s ass because the second they opened their mouths, they punched their ticket to crazy town. Think about it, what did you think when your old man tried to tell you his theory?” I winced, reinforcing his argument. “Yeah . . . and that was your old man talking. Besides, I realized long ago I could get more accomplished working behind the scenes. The NSA had offered me the perfect hiding place. No one thought to look for a Returned right under their own noses.”
I closed my eyes. “Maybe this is a mistake.” I started toward the door, but Agent Truman blocked me in two long paces.
It was Thom who answered, surprising me. “It probably is, but we don’t have a choice. He’s already here, and we can’t exactly let him go. Besides, maybe he can help.”
I shook my head. “We always have a choice. This is too big. We can’t afford to make mistakes. We’ll figure it out without him.”
Agent Truman leaned forward. “Ah hell, don’t make me say it.” And when I didn’t say anything, his face fell. “Fine, goddammit, I wanna help.”
“Why?” I asked. “What happened to all this ‘they’re not my friends’ crap?”
“Because, if what you said is true, and they’re really coming for us, we could be in a shitload of trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if that message you heard is right, then we’ve done something wrong. We could be facing a war. And if that happens, no one is safe. We could be extinct within a week.”
I glanced at Thom, who looked as sick as I felt. “What do we do?” I asked Agent Truman.
“We need to stop them from coming in the first place.”
We only stayed at the motel long enough to scrub the room of signs we’d ever been there in the first place. On our way out, we slid two more fifties across the front desk to Mabel, hoping the extra hundred would work like that flashy-thing in Men in Black, erase her memory. Then we stopped at the nearest Walmart, where Thom and I ran in and grabbed the first things off the hangers that looked like they might fit. We changed in the car.
Thom now wore a Bob Marley T-shirt and a pair of stiff new Dockers (khakis, of course), and I’d grabbed a Kiss Me I’m Irish tee off the clearance rack, a garden-variety navy hoodie, and a pair of black stretch pants. I kept Blondie’s boots, not just because I didn’t want to waste extra time searching for new shoes, but because they were surprisingly comfortable. I did my best to flashy-thing my own memory so I wouldn’t have to think about Blondie, and the last time I’d seen her.
Agent Truman said he knew a guy, which I assumed meant someone who might be willing to help us. Thom didn’t ask, and neither did I. Mostly because I was so totally focused on that other thing he’d said, back at the motel. You know, the one about a war coming to Earth.
Even if I’d had other questions, which I was sure I did—things like where were my dad and Tyler and the rest of the Returned right now?—our impending doom was enough to shut me up. To consume me. To eat me alive.
War.
Coming to Earth.
And if it did, humans would become extinct.
Was it possible he’d been exaggerating that last part?