“What if one of them dies while we’re on this mission of yours?” Sam asks, his voice cracking a little at the thought. “What if they die because we didn’t rescue them when we had the chance?”

Adam pauses, thinking this over. “I know this must be hard for you,” he says, looking between me and Sam. “I admit, it’s a calculated risk.”

“Calculated risk,” I repeat. “Those are our friends you’re talking about.”

“Yeah,” Adam replies. “And I’m trying to help keep them alive.”

Logically, I know Adam really is trying to help. But I’m stressed and I’ve been brought up not to trust his kind. Before I know what I’m doing, I take a step towards him and jab a finger into his chest.

“This better be worth it,” I tell him. “And if something happens in Florida . . .”

“I’ll take responsibility,” he replies. “It’ll be on me. If I’m wrong, John, you can dust me.”

“If you’re wrong, I probably won’t need to,” I say, staring into his eyes. Adam doesn’t look away.

Sarah loudly whistles between her fingers, getting everyone’s attention.

“If we can put the whole macho posturing thing on hold for a second, I think you guys should take a look at this.”

I step around Adam, telling myself to cool down, and look over Sarah’s shoulder at the website she’s pulled up.

“I was looking up news stories about Chicago and this popped up,” she explains.

It’s a pretty slick-looking website, except for the all-caps headlines and sheer amount of flying saucer GIFs cluttering the sidebars. The stories listed under Most Popular, all of the links in a neon green that I guess is supposed to look alien, include: MOGADORIANS UNDERMINING GOVERNMENT and EARTH’S LORIC PROTECTORS DRIVEN INTO HIDING. The page Sarah currently has open features a picture of the burning John Hancock Center along with the headline MOG ATTACK IN CHICAGO: IS THIS THE ZERO HOUR?

The website is called They Walk Among Us.

“Oh jeez,” Sam groans, joining the huddle around Sarah’s computer. “Not these creeps.”

“What is this?” I ask Sarah, squinting at the story on the screen.

“These dudes used to be strictly into the old-school black-and-white zine style,” Sam says. “Now they’re on the internet? I can’t decide if that makes them better or worse.”

“The Mogs killed them,” I point out. “How does this even exist in any form?”

“I guess there’s a new editor,” Sarah says. “Check this out.”

Sarah clicks into the website’s archives, going back to the first story ever posted. The headline reads PARADISE HIGH SCHOOL ATTACK START OF ALIEN INVASION. Below that is a grainy cell-phone picture of the destruction around our high school’s football field. I quickly skim the article. The level of detail is astounding. It’s like whoever wrote this was there with us.

“Who’s JollyRoger182?” I ask, looking at the screen name credited in the post.

Sarah looks up at me with an odd smile, bewilderment mixing with something like pride.