Farah Rishi - I Hope You Get This Message

Cate was adamant about continuing their search—she was downright buzzing with renewed energy.

Adeem, on the other hand, had reached the point of exhaustion where his blood throbbed with a fever heat, even worse than that time he’d stayed up for a forty-eight-hour game jam. He wasn’t sure if he was fully conscious anymore, or maybe now he was a ghost, or a tiny corneal floater beneath Alma’s watchful eye, destined to be scooped up with an alien Kleenex and tossed into the trash void. But it wasn’t even the exhaustion that was killing him. It was the nervousness. His sister was near. Breathing the same air—theoretically. Anger had powered him through before, the sheer desire to punch Leyla for ditching him, but now he was here . He couldn’t believe they’d actually made it this far. He’d barf if he had anything in his stomach.

To think he’d gotten this close, only for his body to betray him in the last twenty-five hours. How did that poem go again? So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay. He’d actually paid attention that time in English. Poetry reminded him of Leyla, after all.

Adeem rubbed his eyes. Cate’s determination was practically making her glow.

“I don’t want to die ,” Adeem said. “I get that we have a time limit and all, but in case you didn’t notice, for better or worse, we are still human with human bodies and human needs .”

“Why do you have to say it so gross like that?” said Cate, scowling. “What do you think we should do, just snooze our way through the freaking apocalypse?”

It was probably the delirium setting in, but Adeem almost laughed. She sounded like a little kid throwing a temper tantrum. He wished he could meet her mom and shake the woman’s hand; they could swap stories and share a good chuckle.

The thing was, Cate had been able to nod off a bit on the long drive, but Adeem hadn’t had a full eight hours’ rest since three days ago. Cate, being from San Francisco, had never driven a car before and decided their luck had been too bad to take unnecessary risks, so it couldn’t be helped. But Adeem had never been more tired in his life.

Besides, his legs and feet ached; Cate’s had to as well. And his skin felt like it was sizzling.

He and Cate had spent hours in the sun today, asking strangers if there was a government building still open, or a place to go to find missing loved ones. But most people laughed at them and said they had enough problems to deal with. Not to mention a group of kids stole an army tank from the military academy, wreathed it in Christmas lights, and crashed it into the country clerk’s office.

He wanted to find Leyla and Cate’s dad, but it was starting to feel like they were better off finding two guppies in a giant ocean blanketed with an oil slick and set on fire.

A siren blared in the distance; volunteers with megaphones were shouting instructions along with directions to nearby fallout shelters all around them. Somewhere, he was pretty sure the orchestra they’d seen earlier was performing Beethoven’s Fifth.

Midnight tonight would mark the start of the final day.

“Just”—Cate rubbed her temples, exasperated—“stay here for a second, okay?”

“Happily.” Adeem rested his chin in his hands. His head pounded. His eyes struggled to adjust to all the movement and color around him. His ears hurt trying to pick up threads of sound from the cacophony. There was just too much of it. He wasn’t used to any of it. He wanted to be home, in the quiet dark of the library, surrounded by the gentle hum of his computer.

A few feet away, a group of people was huddled around a small portable radio, their ears glued to a staticky news broadcast from the State Department.

Adeem felt a surge of envy. He missed his radio, too; he’d never been this disconnected from the wider world for this long. At least he’d left it behind with Rosie. It was probably safer there than with him.

Down the street, a small white van had somehow managed to maneuver through the crowd; the back of the van was wide-open, and people were distributing hazmat suits throughout the tent city. They barely had enough for twenty, maybe thirty people, from the looks of it. Others had to settle for improvised gas masks made of plastic water bottles. Adeem wasn’t even sure if any of it would protect them from whatever Alma had planned. That was the worst part of Alma’s warning: no one knew what to expect.

Adeem suddenly felt cold. And vulnerable.

It was real. All of this was real, and really happening. Little more than twenty-four hours dividing humanity from destruction. Sixty miles dividing humanity from outer space. He wanted to kick himself for not taking the chance he’d had earlier to call his parents. Like a stupid coward. Now they were probably still huddled in the unfinished basement of the mosque, surrounded by other families less broken than his—and that was the best-case scenario. He wasn’t even sure where they were.

God. He’d been so focused on the journey itself, he hadn’t even taken the time to accept that the world might really end.

Behind him, the radio news broadcast went on: “The White House today has issued guidelines for protective measures, and suggests staying indoors and in basements. Fallout shelters have been designated in all major cities…”

“Hungry?”

He looked up, flooded with sudden joy and relief. Cate was back. It felt like she’d been gone for several rotations of Earth. But she was back. And not only that, but she was holding two water bottles and a couple granola bars wrapped in paper towels.

“They’re homemade,” she said, handing him one of the granola bars, “but the lady who gave them to me assured me they weren’t laced with anything.”

“Oh my God,” he said, snatching a granola bar and tearing into it. “May Allah bless you, you sweet angel.” He swallowed and felt the weight of the food nestled comfortably in the emptiness of his stomach.

After a moment, he realized she was still standing.

“What’s up?”

She sighed. “I just feel like we’re no closer than we were at the start of the day. It doesn’t help that most people here aren’t even from Roswell—no one has any idea who Garrett is. I keep trying to describe him—Mom said he had dark hair and eyes—but, you know.”

“So do thousands of other people.”

“Exactly.” She sat down beside him, finally, and they finished eating in silence.

He didn’t know what to say to give her hope.

He was too tired for hope.

He hated how he’d taken his own parents for granted for so long. Parents who were healthy enough to support him, even with all his idiosyncrasies and indecisions.

“I showed someone my mom’s letter,” Cate said at last. “And they told me to beam it to Alma.” She snorted. “I guess my odds are just as good at this point that he’s actually an alien.”

Adeem scratched his chin. Odds. Odds were something Leyla loved to talk about.

Odds. Hope. Leyla.

Odds. Hope. Leyla.

Finally, it occurred to him. “Maybe we do need to find my sister here.”

Cate stared at him. Then, slowly, a smile bloomed across her face, and she reached out to hug him. He was surprised that he didn’t mind.

“So you’re ready to see her, then? Even after what Priti said?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. But, I’m thinking, if anyone could help us find your dad, it’s her.” His mouth was so dry, he could feel his tongue expand the moment the water bottle touched it. “We need her.”

“But how are we going to find her ?”

“A friend back home told me she got a job at a counseling center. Maybe we could find a clue there.”