Farah Rishi - I Hope You Get This Message

Adeem actually looked relieved, and Cate was glad. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. In just a short time, she’d come to care for him, maybe even love him in a weird way. But in a friend way.

“Okay, good call. Just thought, you know, that I should offer. A kind gesture, really.”

Cate burst out laughing, all of a sudden. She couldn’t help it. “Save those kind gestures for the next chick.”

Then he was laughing, too. “I’ll add it to my extensive repertoire.”

After they’d calmed down, he looked at her and reached for her hand in the darkness. “Let’s do this, yeah?”

“Yup,” she said. “And get on with it—my feet kill.”

Adeem turned back around, and banged on the red door. “Hello?” he called. “Anyone in there?”

A few minutes passed, and she was beginning to think it was a dead end, when the door opened, only just, revealing a gray, beady, sleep-deprived eyeball.

“You’re not her. Who are you?” said a gruff voice.

Adeem fell back, startled, and nearly tripped over Cate.

“I’m Cate, and this is Adeem.” She took a step forward, around him. “Is this where you broadcast the UFOs & U radio show?”

Another voice called out from inside the radio station. “Is she back? She should’ve been back by now.”

“Nope, just some kids,” the voice belonging to the eyeball replied. It stared down at Cate now. “So? Who are ya? Are you fans?”

“Um. Yes,” Cate lied. “Yes. I’m a huge fan. Such a big fan, in fact, I was actually hoping to see how you run it all. It’s on my bucket list.”

The source of the eyeball grunted. The door swung open.

Cate went inside, followed closely by Adeem.

The eyeball belonged to a tall, thin man, with graying hair half-covered by a safari hat. He wore a black button-down shirt decorated with small red-and-orange flames on the hem.

“This is where the magic happens,” the man said, gesturing behind him.

The first thing she noticed was the electricity. No wonder they’d put up the blackout curtains. To avoid looters.

It was a radio station, all right. The air in here felt different, both stagnant and buzzing with life, like staying here too long would make her hair staticky. And the back wall was covered floor to ceiling in radio equipment and computers; what little room was left had been claimed by red and white and black wires. A three-foot-tall generator sat purring in the corner of the room like a fat white cat.

There was no one else here, save for a boy, sitting in front of the equipment with his back facing them, a large leather jacket hanging off his chair. He didn’t turn to greet them. Instead, the table space in front of him was covered with sheets of perforated paper, and he was speaking into a microphone.

“‘Seymour, my one and only. They say it’ll all end soon. All I can do now is wish you were here with me. Aliens, Almaens, whoever—give my Seymour a sign that I love him. Love, Cora from Roswell, New Mexico.’ Seymour, wherever you are, we hope you catch this. Call in anytime, and we’ll do what we can on our end to connect you to Cora.”

The boy clicked something off—the microphone, maybe—and stretched his arms above his head. His shoulder popped. Then he picked up another slip of paper.

But before he read its contents, he said, “Tom, I really hope you’re not letting some random strangers in here. We’ve got way too much work on our plates to be entertaining.” His voice was soft and deep, the kind that vibrated against your skull.

Tom grumbled. “I’m helping you out of the goodness of my heart after what you pulled.”

The boy stopped moving but didn’t respond. Cate thought she saw his head fall a little.

Tom cleared his throat.

“So you’re taking classifieds and reading them on the radio?” Adeem asked.

“It’s a new feature of UFOs & U. Figured we would do our part to help any way we could.”

“So let me get this straight,” Cate interjected. “You can use the radios to reach anyone, anywhere?” With hours left until Alma killed them all, the frantic need to hear her mom again was so overwhelming, she was sure it would sprout arms and drag her back to San Fran, Alma’s plans be damned. Knowing Ivy and her parents were looking after her mom was the only thing keeping her need in check. There was no one else Cate would ever trust more with her mom than the Huangs.

Tom grinned, revealing yellowing teeth. “Basically, you just need to broadcast on a particular frequency and someone tunes into that same frequency. That’s how they can hear you.

“The problem is getting a broadcast across the country. You need power for that. Tons of it. Antennae, too, of course. But you also need other special antennae around the country for your waves to bounce off. That’s how you get the reach. And that’s where we’re struggling right now.” Tom took off his hat.

“So you said you two are fans…?”

Cate flinched. “Oh, yes. Right. But, to be honest, we were also hoping we could send a message on your station. And we figured this would be the best place to go.”

“We’re trying to find some people,” Adeem added. “We think they’re right here in Roswell, but we’re having trouble finding them.”

The boy at the table spun his chair to face them.

He had a dark, hard stare, and thick black hair in desperate need of a good brushing. A cut on his lip hadn’t quite healed yet, and a green bruise graced his pale upper cheek. Cate wondered what had happened.

“We’re not offering that kind of service,” the boy said, adjusting the leather cuff on his wrist. “The messages we’ve been sending out are priority. People paid for those.”

“Then we’ll pay you,” said Cate.

“No, no, that’s not…” The boy ran a hand down his face. “That’s not what I mean. We don’t take payments anymore. All I’m saying is, we have hundreds of messages we need to send out. From people who came before you. I can’t have you cut in line. It wouldn’t be fair. And what happens when you leave and run your mouth? This place’ll get torched, and then everyone loses. I can’t have that.”

“You said you’re having trouble with getting your broadcast to have a wider reach, right?” asked Adeem, adjusting his glasses. “What if I help give your radio signal a little more reach, and you give me a little, I don’t know, quid pro quo?”

The boy hesitated. “We do need help. There are a lot of messages here from people out of Roswell. For people out of Roswell. And I’d really like to get them out there.”

Adeem beamed. But Cate sensed something pained behind the boy’s emotionless eyes.

“So it’s a deal?” Adeem confirmed. He reached out a hand.

The boy took it. “Fine.” They shook on it.

“Name’s Jesse, by the way.” He stood. “Not that it matters, seeing as how we’re all going to die tomorrow.”

Tom made a face. “I thought you said you didn’t believe in Alma.”

“Starting to believe in a lot of crazy things these days.

“You two stay here,” the boy, Jesse, commanded. “Tom, I’m heading out.” He stood and swung the leather jacket over his shoulder. “I might not be back for a bit, so you just keep it up with the messages, all right?”

“Don’t boss me around like it’s your radio.” Tom was standing over Adeem, who had already made himself comfortable in Jesse’s spot at the radio rig, starry-eyed. “I’ve got a thousand things I need to do, too, for your inform—”

“Thanks, Tom.”

“Wait,” said Cate. “Where are you going?” She didn’t want to let this kid out of her sight. He was the closest thing they had to a lead.

“Out,” he said flatly.