The canteen was deserted. James wasn’t in his usual spot. Probably still sleeping. He had offered to take over Daniel’s shift last night and he let him.
He crossed the courtyard and went up the steps. The new guy was on comms. Daniel guessed the others put him there just to fuck with him.
“Hey, boot. How’d it go ?”
The marine stood up, put the headphones in the tables. He was shaking.
“All good. I just started my shift.”
“Anything out of the ordinary ?”
He looked uncertain. He looked behind Daniel.
“N-no, nothing—”
His eyes widened.
The shots whizzed past Daniel’s ear. The first one ricocheted off the wall in front of him. The second exploded the younger marine’s knee. Then the radio was torn apart by the burst of fire.
Daniel grabbed the marine and pulled him to the ground, tucked behind the doorway.
There was more fire.
“Talk shit now, motherfucker ! Talk shit now !” James screamed.
“What the fuck, Davis ?” Daniel yelled back from behind cover.
James stopped shooting and stared at the now completely defunct radio. He still held his rifle, but his finger was off the trigger.
The boot was screaming. The rest of the platoon kept its distance, rifles at the ready. Someone called for the corpsman.
“You thought they were fucking with us, Dan.” He shook his head, crying. “The voices.”
Daniel stood up, slowly.
“You were fucking wrong, man.” He punched Daniel’s shoulder.
“Give me your rifle, James,” Daniel said.
“I called home. They’d been trying to call me. There was an accident.”
“Just give me the rifle.”
“My kid is fucking dead, man. She’s dead.”
James pushed the rifle into Daniel’s arms and pulled his sidearm. Before he had time to put it to his head and pull the trigger, Stafford tackled him like a linebacker, launching him through the doorway and onto the wall, knocking him out cold.
***
Shaw had put a call in back home and asked them to relay information to their unit. If they didn’t hear back, they’d have to get moving and try to get to the closest base, probably get court martialed for abandoning their posts.
He looked out over the desert, up on the palace roof. He thought he could see Espera, standing in the open, waiting for them.
Maybe James’s wife and child were out there, too.
The car was a piece of shit, but it would get him home and that was enough. Adam didn’t have a lot of money left, but nothing was gonna stop him from getting back to Karen. He’d made a mistake, but there was no more running from it. She would never blame him. No matter what had happened.
The old man looked as bad as the car did, faded jeans and mustard stains. He kept quiet the whole time Adam looked at the car, started it up, checked under the hood. He probably could have taken off with it then and there. The creep wouldn’t have done nothing, but Adam wasn’t that kind of man. Not anymore.
“How much ?” he finally demanded, and the old man’s eyes snapped up at him, startled out of a half-doze.
He chewed his lip, stared with sunken eyes at the car. “I can let her go for 500 bucks ?”
“I’m just using it as scrap. Piece of shit will probably break down before I get it halfway across town. I’m doing you a favor. 200.”
He shook his head, slowly. “Can’t let it go for that low. Need to make my rent this month.” He nodded back at the shack where the car was parked. Didn’t even own the shithole. At that age and still paying out his ass, lining someone else’s pockets. Revulsion crept into Adam’s stomach.
He could have paid the 500, but he saw the weakness in the man’s eyes. It wouldn’t take much to break him. Adam stood tall, squared his shoulders back. His eyes were steel. He reached slowly into his wallet, counted out four 50 dollar bills and handed them to the man. “Get the paperwork.” There was no arguing with him.
With the paperwork was signed, the old man handed him the keys and Adam threw his bag in the backseat. He could be home in two days if he kept on cruising. Karen would be happy to see him. They could deal with the rest of it later. The man kept watching as he put the keys in the ignition and at the last moment, tapped on the glass. Something was in his eyes that Adam couldn’t interpret. He was sick of this weak old man, but he rolled down the window.
“I wouldn’t bother with the radio if I was you. Broke. Just leave it.”
Whatever.
***
The second day on the road, the silence began to bother him. It was slow going, but he was in the home stretch now. He spent the night at a motel and grabbed some snacks, nearly exhausting his supply of cash. Didn’t matter. Karen would have kept working. She had to, for the baby. He’d find work and they’d settle back down into how things used to be. He just needed to make it home.
But now he was out of the rush of the cities with even the occasional small town far behind him. The car had started to smell. There was no air conditioning in the old heap, and the desert roads were hot and ripe. Even with the windows wound all the way down, there wasn’t so much as a goddamn breeze. He hadn’t slept well last night, never did. Downed a couple beers in the shitty bar next to the motel. Maybe a couple too many, because now he found the heat and the monotony of the road tiresome. His eyes kept drooping closed.
The last store he stopped at had a batch of used tapes and CDs for sale, but this car was so old that all it had was the radio. The radio that didn’t work. Fuck. Nothing ever went right, huh ? At least if he could blast some tunes, maybe it would keep him awake. So close to home, but with the sun boiling down and the stuffy air, he was liable to pass out and go off the road and get impaled by a fucking cactus. It was the old man’s fault. Shoulda got the thing fixed up before trying to make a couple bucks off it.
The road ahead of him was straight as an arrow, miles of sand tapering off into the horizon. Eyes so heavy they felt like they were fulla sand, but when he rolled up the window, the stuffiness made it impossible to breathe. Adam grunted and pounded his fist against the dash. A hiss of static shrieked, startling him awake.
“Jesus fuckin Christ.” He yanked the volume down until the static turned to a dull hum. Didn’t work his ass. Fucker just wanted to make sure his trip was as miserable as possible. He adjusted the knobs, searching for a station. Futile. There was nothing out here in the middle of nowhere. Might have done him some good when he was back in the city, but he had trusted the old creep and fucked himself over once again.
“Asshole,” he muttered, and silenced the radio. The static continued to mumble. He stabbed the knob again but the crackling continued to fill the car. He spun the knob and the irritating sound whined louder. He turned it the other way with no effect.
“Fuck off.” He yanked at knobs and spun through channels, swerving over the empty road. The sound didn’t change.
“Of course. Of course he’s gotta make this whole trip fucking miserable. A guy tries to do a good thing, go back to his fucking fat loaf of a wife and idiot child but ya can’t cut him a break. Always gotta have shit like this happen.” Adam’s face flushed hot and red. He pushed the little car faster. “Get me outta this fucking desert.” His map lay useless on the seat next to him. Straight fucking line the whole way in this hunk of junk car, and now this fucking maddening static as his accompaniment. Could it get any worse ?
He kept driving. There was nothing else to do. The visions he had had of his homecoming were tainted now. He had figured he would get home, Karen would be thrilled to see him, get a little poke in before she made dinner. Have a couple beers. Back at it again. But now after this shit drive, he knew he would have a fucker of a headache. He might be better off stopping at the next motel and cabbing it the rest of the way home. There was no sense going home in a sour mood—he had some serious sucking up to do to get back in Kar
en’s good graces again. Hell, it shouldn’t take too much. She needed him. She better.
He had been doing fine for a few weeks, burning through his money, drinking, meeting girls. But then one of them had noticed the tan line on his wedding finger and asked what happened. He gave her the abbreviated version, but that got him to thinking. If he was doing this, what would Karen be up to ? He pictured her and that horny neighbor talking about him and it sent that red hot anger through him. The dude had just been waiting for his chance to get Karen in the sack. The real sensitive type. Always asking to hold the baby as if it weren’t a whining crying sack of shit. That made him real mad and he realized that meant it was time to go home and collect what was his.
Karen wouldn’t have done anything yet. She was the faithful type. Real forgiving. She knew how a woman was supposed to behave. He would be safe, he was sure of it. He never shoulda run off in the first place.
While he was lost in thought, the static changed. There was something beneath it, getting louder. Something breathing.
“The fuck ?”
After all this driving, he had to be getting close to the city, or at least some signal somewhere was strong enough for this hunk of junk to pick up. Fucking weird though. Sounded like some greasy mouth-breather just leaning over the mic and jerking off or something. He fiddled with the radio again, but it was the same on every channel.
“Fucking weird-ass stations out here.” He glanced at the map. Reading all those fucking lines and numbers were a headache.
The breathing grew heavier and faster, the static more discordant. Annoying motherfucker. He still had the old man’s number circled in the paper, he’d call him up when he got home. He deserved some of his cash back.
“OH GOD, OH GOD, WHAT DID YOU DO ?” a woman’s voice boomed through the car, and Adam screamed, swerving to the right, dangerously close to going off the road.
“What the fuck was that ?”
The radio buzzed and he stared at the dead dumb thing, tense, waiting for it to yell again. His heart rattled in his chest, but the radio remained silent.
He levelled the car back out and drove on. His mouth tasted sour. He stabbed at the radio buttons. He had just picked up on some Christian station or something, one of those weird ones they have out here in the middle of nowhere. People going slowly insane, thinking they have a direct line to God or something. Dumb sonsofbitches. It hadn’t really scared him, not that much. Fucker.
The radio buzzed on in a shrill whine. So fucking annoying. He didn’t want to listen anymore, but what the hell else was he supposed to do ? He was stuck out here. The desert was fucking endless. There was no way to distract himself from the sounds that crept in beneath the static. As much as he hated to admit it, he should have listened to the old man and not turned the fucker on. Not only was it annoying, but it was dangerous. Loud sounds outta nowhere would startle anyone. If he weren’t so far away, he’d be tempted to turn back and confront him, demand his money back. But there was only going forward now. Back to Karen. Back to the baby.
On the bright side, maybe those choking sounds meant he was getting closer to civilization. Closer at least to wherever this station was, or wherever this weirdo was holed up in their basement transmitting. A voice murmured, but it was impossible to make out beneath the other sounds. A woman. Sounded like a woman. Singing. Hey, maybe that was a good sign. Maybe there was some normal programming after all. Or maybe she was screaming.
A thin sheen of sweat covered Adam’s face, and he rolled the window down. The wind had intensified outside, but it didn’t bring any fresh air. More like hot breath on the back of his neck, spattering sand into the sweat. He tried to roll the window back up, but it stuck. This car really should have been used for parts. Piece of shit. He heard a honk and glanced back, but there was nothing for miles. Just the empty road. He was rewarded with another hot gust of sand, irritating against his skin, biting like glass.
He turned back to wipe his face on his sleeve and there was someone in the car next to him. A woman. She stared at him. Her eyes were too dark. Endless. He lifted his head, heart thudding, and she was gone.
The mumbling on the radio turned to soft words. Adam’s throat constricted. Something . . . He could only make out a few words, but it was a woman. Saying something in a singsong voice. Uselessly, he spun the knob. The voice rang out clear as bells. A lullaby, one he didn’t recognize. The music accompanying her didn’t sound like normal instruments at all. The plucking sounded more like the creaking of a bed than guitar strings. Something dripping. She chuckled.
“Shut up, you creepy bitch.” His voice cracked as he spun the knobs. Jesus Christ, would he ever be out of this fucking desert ? It shouldn’t have taken more than an hour or so to get through this stretch of road, but it was creeping up upon supper time now. His guts cramped, but he wasn’t hungry. He should have been home by now, talking his way back into Karen’s bed.
“Do you think she forgives you ? Everyone knows.” The voice was louder than it had been before, the static shocked into silence. Adam’s heart sank deep into his stomach.
Fuck kinda radio show was this ?
The static droned, wet sounds beneath it, breathing and something else. Something unpleasant. The skin on his arms prickled. The sweat and sand that stuck to his skin, begging for a shower. Fuck getting home tonight. As soon as he got out of this desert he was checking into a motel, getting a hot shower, and ditching this shitty car. He would call Karen and she could pick him up.
The static gave way to a gentle sobbing. Who the hell broadcast this shit ? This bubbling anxiety was an unfamiliar sensation to Adam, and he tried to keep it under control. This wasn’t who he was. He clenched his teeth. The sweat stains beneath his armpits weren’t who he was.
He trained his eyes on the road. Focus. The sobs faded back into the static, and his eyes grew heavy again. In the distance, near the horizon, he spotted a shape. The first landmark for miles. Good. He must be getting closer to . . . something. All this desert could drive a man crazy. He drove faster, eager to see a change of scenery.
He got closer, and the shape gradually turned into something recognizable. His stomach went sour. It was a baby carriage, empty, abandoned among the endless sand. As if triggered by this, the gentle sobs of the woman gave way to a baby crying. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The most irritating sound known to man. The squalls and shrieks were maddening. Adam pounded his fists against the steering wheel. “For God’s sake, how fucking far do I have to go ? Fuck’s sake.”
The screams grew louder, shrieking, begging, needy and suddenly they stopped. Abruptly. Just like . . .
Static.
His foot went heavy against the gas. The desert was too long. Something was wrong. He must have taken the wrong turn. He should be in town by now. He should be driving down city streets instead of this fucking desert. Jesus Christ, he didn’t even give a shit about getting back to Karen now. He wanted a cool glass of water, and then a whisky. And another whisky. He felt like he had been driving for days.
The static grew steadily louder the faster the car went, until it was screeching in his ears, discordant offbeat sounds pounding and pounding until he wanted to scream He slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a stop and he got out. He just needed to stand up for a minute. Take a breath. Get his senses back. Faintly, he heard the familiar sounds of traffic, but the desert was empty. The sun was setting, turning the sky blood-red. This was impossible. Ridiculous.
He could still hear it.
The static surrounded him now. He took shaky, weak steps out into the road. The hiss rained down from the sky, along with all the other sounds beneath it—the honking of horns, the screech of brakes. The voices. The murmurs. The screams.
“Stop it. I’m going home ! I’m going home ! I don’t fucking care what happened to the baby !”
She would forgive him. She always forgave him.
The baby screamed and screamed and he remembered how it felt whe
n he shook it and shook it and its head jolted back and forth until it finally stopped screaming. It was better now. It was quiet. Still breathing, just a trickle of blood from its eyes. It would be fine. He had run but he was done running now. He was going home.
He took a breath.
The static couldn’t hurt him.
He got back behind the wheel. The seatbelt jammed. Fuck it. He was going home. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The static was too loud, deafening, but he didn’t care he was moving. He was driving. Next to him the dark woman turned and stared at him. He didn’t want to look at her but he looked and her eyes bled tears and she opened her mouth and a scream of static poured out and she was screaming and the baby was screaming and Adam was screaming and
The desert sky wavered. Warped. It peeled away. The city was there. Oh God, he was so close to home. Traffic was congested and there were cars and people everywhere and he was not in the desert anymore. He could have laughed, but the colors were too bright to look at and he was going too fast. Metal screeched and rubber burned and the car careened off the street and slammed into a telephone pole. He was propelled from his seat and his head slammed through the windshield and the pain stopped and everything went quiet. It was better now. It was such a relief. Ribbons of glass sliced through his head and stuck in his eyes and he didn’t care.
The car behind him swerved, slammed into the fender of the car ahead. Traffic piled up. Cars slid to a stop around the wreck. People ogled and gasped and dialed the police.
A few cars back, a woman parked neatly at the side of the road and came forward. “I’m a doctor,” she said, and pushed her way through the crowd. It didn’t take a professional to see there was no hope for this man. Glass protruded from his face. His bones were shattered, yanked haphazard through his skin. There was nothing she could do. But she could hear something.
The excited chatter of pedestrians faded away. She moved closer.
His mouth gaped open, blood dripping on the pavement. Static. Must be the radio, something happened to it in the crash.
Lost Signals Page 14
