I Hope You Get This Message

by Farah Naz Rishi

  The young man unfolded his hands and placed them on his knees. “Leyla . . . Leyla . . . that name sounds familiar.”

  “You should pray,” one of the others chimed in, an older woman with long black hair that reached the floor. “Send your message out into the universe.”

  “Or perhaps they could use the Hewitt Electronic Communication Center?” added another.

  The bearded man shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s been destroyed.”

  Adeem wondered if that was the alien communication machine Rosie had mentioned.

  “But the name Leyla Khan does sound familiar . . . If she comes around here, we will tell her another soul searches for her.”

  “Sure,” sighed Adeem.

  After checking a few other rooms, they had come up with nothing. They found an office, but the entire thing had been turned upside down, and if there were any files or documents, they were gone, or ripped to shreds. No sign of Leyla anywhere. Besides the eclectic group of meditators, and a couple dead goldfish left behind in a broken fish tank near the lobby, the crisis center was completely empty. It was almost ironic, considering the entire world was in a crisis. The place should have been swamped.

  Adeem dragged his feet toward the exit. He felt numb. Blank. Like nothing but static was left in his head. Why couldn’t anything go their way, just once? Was this the kind of divine punishment Ty thought he deserved?

  Where are you, Leyla?

  Suddenly, footsteps bounded behind them.

  “I just remembered.” It was the young man with the beard again. His baggy orange pants barely fit around his waist. “Leyla Khan, you said, right?”

  “Yeah . . .” said Adeem, hesitatingly.

  The man pointed behind them. “There. That poster.”

  He was pointing to a large purple poster board that hung crookedly on the wall. Metallic, bubbly letters spread across the top of the board spelled out, Working to Care for You! And beneath that were several photos of counselors, smiling back at them.

  Adeem searched frantically. Jessica Shaw: Marriage Counseling. Linden Lucas: Rehabilitation Counseling. Taylor Griffin: Substance Abuse Counseling.

  Leyla Khan: Mental Health Counseling.

  His breath hitched.

  There she was. The picture had been taken midlaugh; her mouth was wide-open, showing rows of straight white teeth Mom had had no problem reminding her had cost a fortune at the orthodontist. She looked darker, and her hair was longer than he remembered, but in the picture, it was tied up in a horribly messy nest. She still wore that crescent moon necklace Priti had given her. There was a handwritten quote beneath the picture, too.

  “Never lose hope, my dear heart,

  miracles dwell in the invisible.”

  —Rumi

  It was her handwriting.

  His sister. She was here. She was right here. Adeem felt his knees buckle with relief, but Cate gently held his hand and squeezed.

  “We’ll find her,” Cate whispered.

  Adeem closed his eyes and squeezed back.

  When they got back to the tent city, Adeem was shocked to find the orchestra still playing, though it looked like some of the musicians had traded off with others who’d brought their own, less traditional instruments for a classical orchestra, like banjos, and homemade drum kits made out of plastic bins and bottles. He also noticed a new, albeit small tent structure that definitely hadn’t been there before, suspended between two lampposts; someone had spray-painted the words TENT CITY LIBRARY in neat, flowy cursive across its canvas side. A woman sat outside the makeshift library’s entrance, a Carl Sagan book in her lap, eating from a tan MRE food ration packet. Among the inevitable fire and brimstone that came with knowing humanity only had a little more than a day left of its existence, Adeem hadn’t exactly expected to find spots of beauty. Or relative calm. With raw music casting a warm filter over the prophetic bleakness of night’s descent, it almost felt . . . hopeful. Though it probably helped that there were soldiers from the nearby military academy with rifles slung over their shoulders, hawk-eyed and silently watching from their posts around the tent city. Adeem shuddered to imagine the state of cities like New York and San Francisco.

  “Now what?” asked Cate.

  Adeem ran his hand through his soot-covered, oily hair. It was a good question, but he had no idea how to answer.

  The radio broadcast was still going. The owner of the radio, a thin, balding man with round glasses, turned at the knob and scrolled through different channels. Adeem rested his gaze on the radio and let his eyes blur at their edges. For a moment, he thought he’d fall asleep, right there, standing.

  Until he heard a voice.

  “Testing, testing . . . This is the UFOs & U channel, your local source for all things alien and, now, all things human. We’re out here with Jesse Hew—I’m sorry, folks, I’m being told he would like to stay anonymous. But I’m here with a special guest, and today, we’ll be on the air with your messages, locally, and soon, internationally. As soon as we find out how. But as soon as we do, prepare your earbuds, because love, my friends, is on the air. Stay tuned.”

  Adeem turned around suddenly.

  His brain buzzed with a thousand thoughts at once. Of course. Radios still worked. Hell, they were the only things that still worked. Maybe he didn’t have his radio on him anymore, but his portable radio wouldn’t have been enough to reach Cate’s dad and Leyla, anyway. He needed a bigger rig, something like Rosie’s. A rig like a radio station. He knew how to make an internet radio station, and though he’d never used a radio station before, he’d figure it out.

  Leyla had reached him through the radio. Radio could help him again.

  “Hey, Cate . . .” said Adeem, slowly. “Any chance your dad would be the type to listen to the radio?”

  “I wouldn’t know, but I imagine everyone would be listening to the radio right now. Why?”

  He grinned, his chest flooding with a much-needed swell of energy.

  “Because I think I have a plan.”

  One Day Until the End of Deliberations

  TRANSCRIPT

  EXCERPT FROM TRIAL

  SCION 12: If we disable the Anathogen virus, Earth itself will be rid of humanity in due time, and rid itself of any chance we have to restore the composition of its atmosphere back to a hospitable state. We are at risk of losing our best chance at a new habitat, all in the name of continuing a project that has long proven to be a failure. Our choice here is clear.

  SCION 4: We have conflated their value for far too long. Humanity arose as an accident of evolution. Who is to suggest such an accident will not happen again?

  SCION 11: Even so, such a mutation is exceedingly unheard-of.

  ARBITER: We are far beyond discussing the value of humanity. We must come to a decision.

  SCION 7: Indeed. The problem we face is not simply finding a solution that helps us sleep at night. The problem we face is deducing a solution to finding a home where we may survive. Project Epoch is but a single factor; our best chance, perhaps, but not our only chance to find a new Alma.

  SCION 3: Alma may be old and weary, but I am proud of our home. It has sustained our people and allowed us to reach levels some on Earth would call godlike. Almaens may boast of no disease, no war, and no corner of the universe left unexplored. We have accomplished far beyond what humans can possibly comprehend. But we must face the fact that now, our people are our home. What gives us the right to storm the home of anyone else?

  SCION 13: And for all their faults, humans are imaginative and creative and capricious and full of possibility. I am curious to see what they do. I believe they deserve the chance to show us.

  SCION 6: At what cost?

  SCION 13: The same cost we all must face one day.

  ARBITER: Are we closing in on a decision? We have but hours left to disable the Anathogen.

  Dear Alma:

  Ms. Khan says sometimes putting thoughts to paper can help sort out your feelings. Laying down ta
ngled strings, she calls it. I call it bullshit. But I figure I’m full of bullshit anyway, so what have I got to lose? Gotta sit here anyway, since Tom won’t let me help with the radio.

  Anyway, I don’t think you exist. I don’t think there are aliens out in the universe, and if there were, I don’t think they’d give a damn about what us humans do out here. I don’t even know if God exists.

  And if you did exist, you probably wouldn’t care about me, anyway.

  But in case you do, or in case you’re watching, or in case you’re mad at me because I made a dumb machine that supposedly talked to you, I just wanted to say thanks.

  Sometimes, it feels like no one’s watching me at all. I guess it was nice to feel like I mattered, if only for a little while.

  So I’m going to make things right. Maybe that’ll matter in its own way.

  J.

  30

  Cate

  Adeem worked fast—relatively speaking, considering the end of the world was coming even faster. Maybe it was the prospect of being able to use a radio again, or maybe it was because they were in the eleventh hour, but before Cate could come up with a better idea, Adeem was already fighting his way toward a group of people around a portable radio, inspecting the radio, and jotting down some numbers.

  It was all Cate could do to follow and keep up.

  A little past midnight, they were standing in front of a seemingly ordinary house: olive-green panels, a flat green roof, peeling white-painted windows. Small—not much bigger than a trailer home. But modest. Cozy, even. Except that the roof was covered in antennae.

  “That radio station broadcasts from here,” Adeem explained.

  “Why does that not surprise me?”

  Jets soared overhead. Apparently, Roswell had an air force base, and Cate was beginning to realize why so many people congregated here, of all places. With a military and air force base, and a history of alien encounters, maybe Roswell was actually a relatively safe place to hunker down.

  “So, what, we go in, and you borrow their radio?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Adeem took a deep breath and knocked on the front door. No one answered.

  A crash followed by a scream resounded in the distance; Cate couldn’t tell whether it was a scream of terror or one of bliss.

  Probably terror.

  “They were just broadcasting, so I know they’ve got to be home.” Adeem chewed the inside of his mouth and began walking to the side of the house.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re going to peek through the window.”

  “I wasn’t, but that’s actually a really good idea.”

  “Adeem!”

  Adeem grinned and sidled through some tall grass to get to the backyard.

  Cate followed.

  The back of the house had an extension that jutted out awkwardly, and the windows were covered in blackout curtains. There was a single door here, too, painted bright red. Adeem raised a fist to knock, but instead, he swiveled around so fast, Cate thought to duck so as not to get punched in the face.

  “What are you—?”

  “Sorry, sorry,” Adeem said. “I just thought of something.”

  “Another plan? We’re not even done pursuing this one, and—”

  He nudged his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “Cate. I was thinking of your . . . your . . .” She noticed, even in the darkness, he seemed to be blushing. “Your bucket list. I know you said you wanted to kiss someone, and there’s only one day left, and in case the world really is ending, I was just wondering . . . since, uh, last time I checked, I have a mouth and all . . . Would you maybe want me to? Because I could, if you want.”

  Now it was Cate’s turn to blush. “I mean, that’s really sweet, Adeem, but here’s the thing. I have been kissed before. But this time, I don’t want it to be just a Hey, the world is ending, so let’s do this kind of kiss. I would rather hold out. You know, for the real thing.”

  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 anyon
e, 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.”