Lost Signals (47 page)

“They told us you weren’t contagious.”

“CDC regs speak louder than words. The bacteria I came in contact with turned out to be a complete unknown. They used that as an excuse to hold me hostage. Over a year of constant tests and they never found anything wrong with me.”

Brian took a swig of phantom beer from his empty bottle.

“So why didn’t you come back to town sooner
 
?” He tried to make the question as innocuous as possible.

Dylan hesitated.

“I . . . laid low for a while. Worked through some personal stuff. As you can imagine, I had problems trusting people after that.”

“Sure.”

“But things got better. I found this group. Like-minded people, who understood what I’d been through.”

“Like a twelve-step thing.”

“Sort of. They helped me come to terms with who I am.”

“An electrosensitive
 
?”

“An antenna.”

A thousand responses went through Brian’s head.

“I’m sorry, what
 
?”

“I’m an antenna. I send and receive electromagnetic information.”

“Oh.” Brian kept his voice neutral. “That’s what I thought you said.”

“All lifeforms emit electromagnetic waves. Some of those waves contain biological information. They’re like seeds—when they find suitable ground, they flourish. That information interacts with the DNA of the recipient, changing it in subtle ways. The DNA acts as an antenna and sends the modified signal back out, to look for a new recipient with which to repeat the process. Combine a whole bunch of these small antennae and you wind up with an even bigger one. Hence—me.”

“I can see how coming to terms with something like that might be difficult.”

“You’re making fun.”

Brian threw up his hands. “I’m just trying to understand. Basically, what you’re telling me is the radio got you pregnant and you’re incubating alien life.”

“I’m participating in evolution.” Dylan delivered the words with emphatic force.

“I just—wow. That’s why you came back
 
?”

“I always planned on coming back, eventually. When I heard about your father, I figured the time was right.”

“Somehow I sense there’s more to it than that.”

“You’re right, there is. I need to boost the signal.”

Brian looked over at the HAM radio.

“Have you . . . ”

“No. I wanted to wait for you.”

“And you don’t expect me to try and stop you
 
?”

“I don’t even expect you to believe me.”

Brian nodded, putting down the empty bottle.

“Good point. I also don’t want you to bash my head in like that security guard.”

Dylan looked down at his shoes.

“You know about that, huh
 
?”

“Google. I know about a lot of things. I know you’ve been in and out of institutions for the last ten years. I know the police are looking for you.”

Dylan looked back up, eyes glassy. “I would never do anything to hurt you. We’re friends.”

Brian went quiet. He mentally calculated the distance between himself and the door, weighing his odds of escape. He got to his feet. Dylan watched him expectantly.

“I guess that settles it,” Brian said.

He flipped the radio’s ON switch. There was a click and a hum as the ancient tubes started to warm. Dylan backed up as far as he could within the tiny tree house. “It still works.” He said it with reverence.

“It’s these old tubes,” Brian said. “They were made to survive the end of the world.” He fiddled with the tuning dial. Snippets of different conversations faded in and out.

. . . Taiyyātunā lil-’adiqā’ fil-nujūm. Yā laytā yajma`unā al-zamān. Paz e felicidade a todos . . . that’s a negatory, good buddy. Traffic’s jacked up for at least a good . . . it’s not pseudo science, these phenomena are naturally occurring and require further investigation from
. . .
KDK 12 calling KDK 1 . . . the only station in the Four County area playing the rarest 78s . . .

Dylan jumped out of his seat, almost out of his skin.

“Holy shit
 
! Go back.”

Brian fine-tuned the dial. They listened.

. . . This is KDK 12 calling KDK 1. Come in
. . .

It was a kid, garbled and faint.

“That’s your voice,” Dylan said.

“Come on, man, it’s just a coincidence. Hammers have been using that line since my dad’s day.”

“You’re telling me that doesn’t sound like you
 
?”

. . . This is KDK 12 calling KDK 1 . . .

“It could be an old broadcast bouncing around the atmosphere,” Brian said.

“What are the odds
 
?”

“It’s not
im
possible.”

Dylan motioned to the radio. “Only one way to find out.”

Brian picked up the hand mic and brought it to his mouth. He felt the familiar touch of the grill against the hair on his lip. The sea of static inside his head.

“This is KDK 1. We’re receiving you. Over.” He looked at Dylan as he said it.

No response.

After a few moments of silence Brian held up his hands as if to say,
You see
 
?

“Try again,” Dylan said.

“KDK 1 to KDK 12, how are you getting on over there
 
? Over.”

Still nothing. The seconds stretched thin. Minutes to hours, hours to years. Both men leaned closer. And then . . .

. . . Doing just fine—

—But our cell reception’s for shit
 
!

A second voice interrupted the first, calling from across the room, from across the years.

“Holy shit
 
!” Dylan jumped back up.

Brian stared at the radio, dumbfounded.

“How can that be
 
?”

Dylan stuck his hand out, greedy with excitement.

“Let me talk.”

“It’s not possible.”

“Gimme the mic.”

But Brian couldn’t hear him, his mind somewhere else. So Dylan grabbed the hand mic and pressed the talk button.

The tree house filled with sound like a balloon about to pop. The shriek of it wrenched Brian from his stupor. Dylan dropped the mic and fell to his knees, hands over his ears. He cowered, incapacitated by the immensity of it. In that moment it was neverending.

Then, with a tremendous squelch, the feedback ceased.

It took a minute of silence before they realized they could move again. They unfurled from their fetal positions in slow motion, testing newborn limbs. Dylan held his palms out in front of himself, grinning. He turned to his friend.

“I think it worked.”

Brian saw Dylan’s mouth move, but didn’t hear the words.

“Huh
 
?”

“I SAID I THINK IT WORKED.”

Brian nodded his head. “That’s great. I think I’m deaf.”

“WHAT
 
?”

“Never mind.”

Dylan opened the door of the tree house and stepped out into the night.

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GOING
 
?” Brian yelled to make sure his friend heard him. Dylan looked back.

“To celebrate.”

“HUH
 
?”

“I did what I came to do. I’m going to turn myself in.”

Brian wasn’t sure if he’d heard right and he didn’t care. His skin tingled and his head ached. He gave his friend a confused smile and laid down on the floor. Dylan climbed down the ladder and ran off through the trees.

***

“This is KDK 12 calling KDK 1.”

Brian took his thumb off the talk button and waited. Somewhere out there a response rode the waves, like the resolution to a hanging chord. He could feel it.

“Can’t we just go back in the house and go online
 
?” Dylan asked.

“The computer’s in my dad’s room.”

“Yeah, I know. You say that every time I ask.”

“This is KDK 12 calling KDK 1.” Brian used the words to block out his friend. He basked in ten seconds of precious silence before the radio crackled to life.

This is KDK 1. We’re receiving you. Over.

It was a man’s voice, garbled and faint. Brian lit up.

“Sounds like your dad,” Dylan said.

KDK 1 to KDK 12, how are you getting on over there
 
? Over.

Brian jabbed the talk button with his thumb. “Doing just fine—”

“But our cell reception’s for shit
 
!” Dylan yelled across the tree house.

Brian shot Dylan a death stare. He knew numbnuts was going to say something stupid like that. He continued to eyeball his friend as he brought the mic back to his mouth, rubbing it against his upper lip. He felt confident Dylan wouldn’t try to embarrass him further, so he pressed the talk button.

An enormous squawk of feedback tore through the tree house. Brian recoiled, falling backward in his chair. Dylan writhed like a salted slug. As the concentrated burst of sound reached its shrill peak, the overhead light bulb popped and the screen on Dylan’s iPhone cracked.

“Jesus
 
!” Dylan dropped his phone in his lap, the touchscreen now their sole source of light. Brian opened and closed his mouth, finger pressed against his ear.

“You all right, man
 
?” Brian got up and brushed himself off. He turned to see his friend transfixed by the phone’s pale glow. “Sorry about your phone. I don’t know what happened.”

Dylan continued to stare. An energy saving feature kicked in and the screen began to dim. Darkness filled the tree house.

Brian walked over to his friend, tiny glass shards crunching underneath his feet. A thin trickle of blood dripped from Dylan’s ear.

“Dylan
 
?”

“I think we should go inside,” Dylan said, his voice flecked with distortion.

“Do you feel okay
 
? You sound weird.”

“Please.”

. . . Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease . . .

The word ghosted from the radio, awash in static, despite the lack of power. It gave Brian the chills.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

He’d made it halfway to the house before he realized Dylan hadn’t followed. He looked back towards the tree house. Part of him was reluctant to retrace his steps. Another part worried that if he didn’t go back for his friend, there’d be no friend to go back to.
Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing,
he thought, then immediately felt bad.

He suppressed the idea and jogged back through the trees. He climbed the ladder and paused. The door hung slightly ajar. Brian pictured Dylan still hunched over his phone, eyes fixated on the dark screen. He exhaled slowly, put his hand against the door, and pushed.

Dylan wasn’t hunched over his phone. He sat on the chair in front of the radio.

“Jesus, dude. What are you doing
 
?” Brian couldn’t bring himself to cross the threshold.

“I think we should go inside,” Dylan said in an almost whisper.

. . . goinsidegoinsidegoinsidegoinside . . .

“Yeah, you said that already.” Brian’s voice was weak. “Let’s go.”

But Dylan refused to move. Brian willed his own legs into motion and stepped inside the tree house. It took three more deliberate steps for him to come within arms reach of his friend. The blood from Dylan’s ear dripped down his neck in a thin, red line. Brian reached out to touch Dylan’s shoulder.

Brian cried out as a tiny spark lit up the tree house, sending him stumbling backward. Dylan still hadn’t moved. The radio crackled and hissed.

. . . idon’tfeelsogoodfeelsogoodfeelsogoodfeelsogood . . .

The words hadn’t come out of Dylan’s mouth. They came straight from the radio. Brian started to cry.

“What’s happening
 
?”

The only response he got came from the radio. A conversation across time on an infinite loop, growing louder and stronger with each completion of the circuit.

. . . this isKDK 12 calling KDK 1 calling KDK 12 calling KDK 1 calling KDK 12 calling KDK 1 calling KDK 12 calling KDK 1 calling KDK 12 calling KDK 1 calling KDK 12 calling KDK 1 calling KDK 12 calling KDK 1 calling KDK 12 calling KDK 1 calling KDK 12 . . .

The echo of the words bled into one another, overlapping and morphing into a seamless, percussive rhythm. Brian felt their vibration in his bones. His skin resonated with invisible friction. He opened his mouth to speak and then the words were coming out of him.

Everything went black.

He awoke to the same rhythm, strapped to a gurney ensconced in clear plastic. He could only move his eyes, his peripheral vision confined to a narrow strip. A man in a spacesuit sat to his right, belted to the wall. To his left, a mirror image. His twin, a doppelganger, strapped to his own gurney in his own plastic tent.

Dylan.

The helicopter blades whirred hypnotic. He felt their vibration down to his cells, lulling him back into unconsciousness. The last thing he saw before he woke up in the hospital was the spaceman, giving him the thumbs up. The gesture offered little comfort.

Jackson hears Brianna
crying before he even opens the front door. The baby may only be three weeks old, but the cry isn’t anything he’s heard before and panic oil-slicks his tongue. It takes him three tries to fit the key in the lock and two hard yanks to get it back out again once the door opens. He drops the packages of diapers and wipes, takes the stairs two at a time, and runs into the nursery, heart thumping a painful tattoo. Tess is holding Brianna close, whispering, “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”