The Countdown (The Taking #3)(49)

“Because that message said ‘The Returned must die,’ and you’ll do what you always do—save your own ass.”

“And what about you. You’re not one of us. You’re not Returned, you’re Replaced. Why should you get involved?”

I thought about the things Blondie—the dead girl—had said about me not being human. But she was wrong.

If what she’d said was true and these beings were coming, then where did that leave us—and I didn’t mean us the way Natty said it, as in us, the alien race. Or even us as in the Returned. I meant us . . . people. Because that’s who I was. That’s who I would always be.

A human being. A person. A part of this world.

No matter what my DNA said.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I might be different now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t remember who I was. I can’t just throw that part of me away. Simon, Willow, Griffin . . .” I ticked off their names, again waiting for some flicker of acknowledgment. Something that told me he’d heard his daughter’s name. But he remained blank. Dead-faced. So I said the words he’d never be capable of, “They’re my friends.”

Agent Truman settled back now and somehow made it look even less comfortable than before, like he was balancing on razor blades rather than on a bed. “They’re not mine though.” He smirked, and frustration swelled within me.

“But if these aliens really are coming for us—for the Returned—we need to stop it from happening. Don’t you feel a sense of loyalty to your old life? To protect any friends you do have? You’re still half human. You can’t want this to happen.”

He frowned. “Look, you’re not getting it. These things . . . these beings are far more advanced than we are. If they wanted to destroy us, trust me, they would. You think that Chuck guy wanted to blow his brains out? Poor guy had no idea what was going on inside his own brain.” He inhaled, thinking it over. “No, there’s got to be something more to it. They want something.”

“You knew them. You made deals with them way back when. What do you think they want? And why would they want the Returned dead?”

Agent Truman’s expression hardened and his jaw flexed. “We had no idea what they were up to in the beginning. We really thought we were getting the deal of the century—trading a few people for technology beyond our dreams.”

“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.”