Mike was lying on the bed of the truck, holding, snuggling, the boy, who continued his fight. He was not letting up. "Hey, it's okay," Mike said, trying to sound calm. "It's gonna be alright? You're gonna be okay. I'm a good guy. I'm here to help you; we're all here to help you."
"They tried to get me!" The boy cried. Mike let go, and the boy cowered to the front of the cab. His face was flooded with tears. His eyes blood shot. What happened to him? Who was following him? What did they have to do with the boy's fright? Why was he running? Well, Mike supposed it had something to do with those objects that were -- Mike looked back. He saw nothing unusual -- chasing us; chasing the boy.
What do they want? Why do they want with the boy? What did they want with Sarah? Or, did they purposely let her go? Sometimes Mike wondered if they purposely let her go so she would come to him, and then they'd know where Mike was. If that were the case, if this theory were true, then they'd have a chip in Sarah too. Maybe that's what they were doing when they grabbed her? Maybe that's why she was bleeding? But, if that were the case, then were in her is the chip?
Of course, if that were the case, then what was it about Mike they wanted. Well, Mike had his theories about that too. The boy was looking at Mike, and he heeded the moment. "My name is Mike Rove. I'm fifteen years old. I was taken by aliens when I was a little older than you. I know what it's like. You did the right thing by running."
He didn't know why he said all that, it's just what came out. Given the strangeness of the day, he figured he might as well just spill everything to the boy. Maybe it would help make a connection with him. And, as the boy slid over to Mike, lying down again, Mike figured he must have made such a connection. Mike put his arms around the boy when his phone started ringing.
"Can I answer the phone," Mike asked.
"Yes," the boy answered quickly.
Mike sat up, and he felt uncomfortable as he did. For some reason, with the truck moving as fast as it was, sitting didn't feel right. He felt he was being pulled out. He felt he had to hold on in order to stay in. How fast was Jim going? Was it 60? 70? 80? Probably faster than that the way the trees were buzzing by. Trying to focus on the trees made him feel light headed. It made his head hurt. Jim must have the truck going at least 100 miles per hour.
Concentrating, trying to stay calm, Mike reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. He held it so he could see the front. The message was from Lance. It said, "Mike, this is Lance. Are you there?"
Mike quickly one-finger type a response, "Lance, I’m here."
He looked at the boy, and saw he had his eyes shut. "Oh, man, you must be just completely exhausted. Sleep well, my firend."
His phone chimed. The text read, "Mike, I need your help. I have a mission for you. I don’t have much time."
"Anything." The truck bumped over something, and Mike nearly lost the phone. He looked back, but the truck was moving so fast he could barely focus on it before it was well ain the distance and gone. Although, he surmised, it was a possum or raccoon.
"If you by any chance hear from Tsatso, and I think you will, I need you to tell him I'm alive and I can help. But I only have twelve hours left." Another bump, and this time he heard a scream from the cab, and he dropped the phone. He looked in the cab, and didn't see anything unusual. He tried to peer through the front window, and couldn't see anything.
The truck hit another bump, and swerved. Mike fell on to his butt, just missing the head of the sleeping boy. He brace himself as the truck took a series of swerves: to the right, to the left. He lies down next to the boy, who's waking up. He snuggles with the boy, rolls so he's paralell with the tailgate of the truck, as the truck swerves again. He rolls slighty onto the boy, and then presses his feet against one side of the truck, anything to gain support.
The truck rolls right, and the force pulls him to that side of the truck, is feet feeling the pressure. The the truck turns left, and his head hits the other side. He works hard to keep the kid from hitting anyting. No matter what happens, he has to keep the kid safe.
Finally the swerving stops, but now he feels the urge to wretch. How the hell does Jim keep this on the road? He has the urge to scream, to shout obsenities, but he can't. He can't for the kid. He has to stay calm for the kid.
He looks back and sees a variety of objects in the road, and this time he realize they weren't animals but objects.
His phone chimes. "12 hours, Mike. We have 12 hoiurs to get this thing done."
"What do you mean? What happens in twelve hours?
"The Sassa guard has taken over Alton One, and they are using Tsatso's the E35 Fether Landers (think coffins) to travel to earth. They bring some people back here, and I would guess to be used as slaves. Some people they let go. I don't know why. But it's not good. We have 12 hours to stop them."
Mike types in "How can I help," then he deleted it and typed "How can we help?"
"I need you to remember your discussion with Tsatso when you were with him in 2008. I need you to think hard. There was a theory he had, and you must remember what it was. Think. I have to go now. I have something I have to do. I did update my blog. It will be the last time, I think."
"Lance, what happens to you in 12 hours."
"I die. If we succeed, they die with me. I only have a couple of these. Now duck."
Mike did not duck. Instead he continued to crouch, with a forceful wind blowing his hair. An explosion -- BOOOOM! -- knocked him back, rocking the truck ever so slightly. Sitting with his back to the cab, he saw a second explosion -- BOOOOM! -- which again rocked the truck ever so slightly. Mike watched as pieces of incinerated E35 Fether Landers fell to the ground.