Post by News Reporter on May 31, 2007 17:33:36 GMT
As reported on our News Page here.
Transformers.com was updated with the following Press Realease.
TRANSFORMERS NOVEL ON SALE NOWThe official TRANSFORMERS Movie novel is on sale wherever books are sold! Read an excerpt below.
“911 Emergency.”“My car’s being stolen,” he yelled toward the phone. “Like now, like I’m on my bike chasing him right now. I’m behind him and I can still see him. Get the cops!”“Yessir. Appropriate steps are being taken even as we speak, sir. Sir, do not approach the stolen vehicle,” the operator warned him. “The driver could be dangerous.”
Sam gaped at the phone. “Ya think?
Get me some help!” He looked up to get his bearings—just in time to see
that the Camaro had braked at a stop sign, almost immediately in front
of him. He didn’t slam into
the rear bumper, but he did hit it hard enough to end up on the ground,
the bike lying on its side and spinning its front wheel. The car took
off again. Only slightly bruised, determined and undaunted despite the
911 operator’s warning, he picked up the bike, climbed on, ascertained
that it was still functional, and resumed pedaling madly. Throughout it
all he had never let go of the cell phone.
As
if to remind him of the fact, and of his resolve, the emergency
operator’s voice sang reassuringly out to him from the tiny speaker.
“Sir, sir—we’re trying to trace your call. Are you all right? Sir?”
At
the speed he was going he needed both hands to steer. “Cops. Now,” he
barked at the phone before sliding it, still on, back into his jacket
pocket. He didn’t need to make small talk in order for the police to be
able to trace him. He needed all the wind he could spare to keep
pedaling.
In smaller communities, industrial and commercial
centers are not as far from residential areas as they are in a great
metropolis. Still, the chase had covered enough ground so that by the
time the Camaro busted the lock on the gates to the old cement factory
and materials storage yard, Sam was pretty well winded. It was a relief
when the Camaro entered the yard and finally slowed down. Hopping off
the bike, he stowed it carefully out of sight and followed the car on
foot. Disappearing briefly behind a slow-moving train, the Camaro
emerged a few moments later. For the first time since it had awakened
him and pulled out of the family driveway Sam had a good look at the
front of the vehicle.
There was no one in the driver’s seat.
As
he tried to digest this impossibility, arguing that surely he had not
seen correctly, that it had been a trick of the darkness, the car
cruised slowly around the corner of the abandoned factory. He followed
with care, making sure to keep out of sight while bearing in mind the
emergency operator’s warning. The driver could be dangerous—except
there was no driver. That, he reflected a little unsteadily, could also
be dangerous. To his state of mind.
It got worse when the car, its outline muddled by distance and darkness, appeared to change its shape and stand up.
Transformers.com was updated with the following Press Realease.
TRANSFORMERS NOVEL ON SALE NOWThe official TRANSFORMERS Movie novel is on sale wherever books are sold! Read an excerpt below.
“911 Emergency.”“My car’s being stolen,” he yelled toward the phone. “Like now, like I’m on my bike chasing him right now. I’m behind him and I can still see him. Get the cops!”“Yessir. Appropriate steps are being taken even as we speak, sir. Sir, do not approach the stolen vehicle,” the operator warned him. “The driver could be dangerous.”
Sam gaped at the phone. “Ya think?
Get me some help!” He looked up to get his bearings—just in time to see
that the Camaro had braked at a stop sign, almost immediately in front
of him. He didn’t slam into
the rear bumper, but he did hit it hard enough to end up on the ground,
the bike lying on its side and spinning its front wheel. The car took
off again. Only slightly bruised, determined and undaunted despite the
911 operator’s warning, he picked up the bike, climbed on, ascertained
that it was still functional, and resumed pedaling madly. Throughout it
all he had never let go of the cell phone.
As
if to remind him of the fact, and of his resolve, the emergency
operator’s voice sang reassuringly out to him from the tiny speaker.
“Sir, sir—we’re trying to trace your call. Are you all right? Sir?”
At
the speed he was going he needed both hands to steer. “Cops. Now,” he
barked at the phone before sliding it, still on, back into his jacket
pocket. He didn’t need to make small talk in order for the police to be
able to trace him. He needed all the wind he could spare to keep
pedaling.
In smaller communities, industrial and commercial
centers are not as far from residential areas as they are in a great
metropolis. Still, the chase had covered enough ground so that by the
time the Camaro busted the lock on the gates to the old cement factory
and materials storage yard, Sam was pretty well winded. It was a relief
when the Camaro entered the yard and finally slowed down. Hopping off
the bike, he stowed it carefully out of sight and followed the car on
foot. Disappearing briefly behind a slow-moving train, the Camaro
emerged a few moments later. For the first time since it had awakened
him and pulled out of the family driveway Sam had a good look at the
front of the vehicle.
There was no one in the driver’s seat.
As
he tried to digest this impossibility, arguing that surely he had not
seen correctly, that it had been a trick of the darkness, the car
cruised slowly around the corner of the abandoned factory. He followed
with care, making sure to keep out of sight while bearing in mind the
emergency operator’s warning. The driver could be dangerous—except
there was no driver. That, he reflected a little unsteadily, could also
be dangerous. To his state of mind.
It got worse when the car, its outline muddled by distance and darkness, appeared to change its shape and stand up.
