I Hope You Get This Message Page 5

  Working in the heat, talking to people, scooping until her bicep ached—Cate was just happy for the excuse to do something, to shut down her mind, to keep it from cycling around the same news like a fly headed for a bug zapper.

  Was it possible—even remotely possible—that all human existence could end, just like that? The grocery store lines and the math tests, the basement parties and the beach concerts, summers at Fort Funston and the early morning rush—all of it just gone, evaporated, extinct? What would come next, if anything?

  What could Cate say she had done in her life?

  It was after six p.m. when Bethany told Cate to go home: they’d reached the end of the supply, and still people were coiled around the block. Cate knew they weren’t there for the ice cream. They were there for a slice of summer, a slice of happiness, packed into a cone. A scoop of forgetting.

  Ivy still wasn’t answering any of her texts or calls. Cate’s worry was slowly devolving to panic. Ivy’s parents were always prone to fighting, and the news about Alma was bringing out the worst in everyone. With school canceled, Ivy couldn’t exactly bury herself in schoolwork, or go to a house party veiled as a study session to avoid the fighting. And the last time she’d tried—and failed—to break up an argument between her parents, she’d gotten so frustrated, she stormed out and blasted through her allowance on a giant plum blossom tattoo at some seedy parlor in the Tenderloin. It would have covered her entire back if Cate hadn’t made her reconsider.

  But she told herself that Ivy could take care of herself. She always had.

  Public transportation was down, and a logjam of traffic fleeing the city—as if there was anywhere to go—meant taking a cab would be pointless. She passed a prayer circle right in the middle of the street, cars honking and people shouting as their leader chanted. It all gave her the chills—she didn’t know what to make of it and felt dazed as she floated through the city where she’d lived nearly her whole life, all of it transformed. At least it wasn’t as bad as New York or Chicago, where they’d had to dispatch the National Guard to keep order.

  Cate’s legs ached. All day she’d been fending off the exhaustion of a sleepless night, and she’d been walking and weaving through the thin spaces between car bumpers for miles. She had to fight her way through some sort of spontaneous dance party in the middle of the street—hands trying to pull her into the throng of bodies. Her weariness was enough to make her forget for a second why it was all happening—why people were partying like it was the end of the world. Not metaphorically, either.

  Literally.

  When she got to her own street and saw more flashing lights, she paused for a second, confused, thinking she was back at another party. And then suddenly her mind went clear and panic wormed into her gut. Shit.

  Not again.

  She broke into a sprint. It was uphill, and she was panting by the time she got to her address, where, sure enough, a police car and a white van were parked at the curb. She counted two police officers and another two people in dark green uniforms. One of them was escorting her mother into the back of the white van. She recognized the logo on the van now: Saint Francis Memorial Hospital.

  “No!” Cate cried out. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Not so soon. She could barely bring herself to think about what this meant—two episodes back to back. Were the meds no longer working? “Please! You can’t take her.”

  One of the officers got in her way before she could barrel past him to the door. His name tag said Davis, and she recognized him from the last time.

  “It’s Cate, isn’t it?” He gently put his hand on her arm. She shoved his hand away. “Listen to me, Cate. We’re going to help her, okay?”

  Lies. “Let her go. You have no right.”

  “You’ve got to be strong now,” he said. “Your mom needs help. She’s a danger to herself. She’s a danger to you.”

  “You’re wrong. She wouldn’t hurt me.” She wouldn’t, would she? They might only have seven days left together: it was impossible and true. There was no way her mom would spend it in the hospital. “She’s already seen a doctor. She’s on medication. She’s just confused. It’s all this planetary stuff. Please. You can’t take her.”

  “It’s for her own good. Believe me. And we’ll be sure to notify . . . Dr. Michel, is it?” He briefly consulted his notepad. Cate wondered where he’d gotten the name.

  “She’s just going through a rough patch. It’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before.” Her mind was spinning uselessly, but finally it landed on something Dr. Michel told her during one of their sessions. “B-besides, you can’t hospitalize someone against their will. It’s—it’s the law.” She knew it was probably silly to be lecturing the cops about the law, but still—desperation had forced her hand.

  “She’s agreed to go, sweetheart,” the officer said gently. “She asked us to come here. She called us.”

  Cate froze. “What?” All at once, she understood how the cops had known about Dr. Michel.

  Her mom was smiling weakly. Cate could see her softened eyes, the tears welling in them. She could see clarity returning to her. Mom was fighting back. She brought her hand up to the window. Her breath fogged the glass. Cate placed a hand on the window, too, as if she could press her way inside.

  “It’s okay, Catey. I—I’m sorry. I’m slipping . . .”

  Cate felt tears spring to her eyes. She wrenched open the car door; Officer Davis made a move to stop her, and Cate expected he would yank her back, but he didn’t.

  She wrapped her mom in a hug. “Mom, please . . .”

  “I’ll be okay,” she said, squeezing back. “Dr. Michel will be good to me. We don’t have much time left. I can’t have you holding on to regrets like I do.”

  “Regrets? What are you talking about?”

  Her mom squeezed harder. “Listen to me, Catey. You’ve taken such good care of me, you know that? It’s my fault you’ve had to grow up so fast. I was stupid and young and getting sicker, and when I left your dad, I didn’t realize you’d end up shouldering everything. If I’d known . . .”

  Cate stilled. “You . . . left Dad?” Her forehead began to throb, as though something in her skull was clawing to break free. “What do you mean? What—you told me he left us.”

  “Everything will be clear soon, I promise.” Her mom pulled away. As the flashing red and blue police car lights played across her face, Cate saw her mom and Molly, Molly and her mom, chasing each other like shadows. She clenched her fist, trying to will the thought away. There was Mom, only Mom.

  “Come on now,” said Officer Davis, a hint of soft pity in his voice. He closed the door and Cate stepped back to stand beside him.

  Officer Davis’s team started the van and pulled away from the curb. Just before she was out of sight, her mom mouthed the words: the letter.

  The van turned and vanished from view.

  And then she was gone.

  Cate stood there, empty, shocked, staring down the street. She was suddenly aware of all the lights that had come on at once—the electricity on the block had returned. She imagined the windows like eyes peering down at her.

  “Is there an adult you can call? Someone you can wait with?” Officer Davis glanced uneasily past Cate into the lifeless, empty house. “Your mother mentioned you have grandparents in Connecticut . . .”

  Cate gritted her teeth. “They won’t help me.” She and her grandparents barely spoke except on major holidays: deeply religious, they had cut off Cate’s mother after she got pregnant out of wedlock.

  “All right, then, why don’t you come down to the station with me,” Davis said, “and we can make some phone calls together?” It seemed more like an order than a question. Cate had no idea what to say. She was still a minor—could she argue to stay alone in their apartment? Then again, the world might be ending in a week. Did protocol really matter?

  Did anything matter?

  She wanted to sit down, take a moment to just breathe and think. But she was afra
id that if she sat, she might somehow come apart—her body breaking up into a crumpled pile of limbs. She hadn’t realized she was shaking.

  “Okay,” she said. Her mind was whirling, like a greased-up wheel skidding off its tracks. Time. She needed time. “Can I pack a few things first?”

  Davis nodded. “Sure thing.”

  She had her first lucky break: Officer Davis followed her up the stairs but waited on the stoop when she fumbled open the door and slipped inside. She called Ivy as soon as she was in her bedroom and was hopeful when it didn’t go to voice mail this time. But still, no answer.

  Dammit, Ivy. Where the hell was she? If she were here . . .

  Panic crawled its way from her stomach up into her chest, choking her, making it difficult to breathe. The world was ending. Now, here, this second.

  What was she going to do?

  Think. Think.

  She stuffed a bar of deodorant into her bag. A wad of clean underwear. Some T-shirts. A toothbrush. Her unfinished bucket list, scrawled on some Ghibli-themed notebook paper Ivy had gotten her. She kept her eyes off the books on her shelf, the musical jewelry box her mom had given her when she turned fifteen. The things she’d have to leave behind.

  “Cate? You okay in there?” Office Davis called in through the open front door.

  “Coming!” she called out shakily. She was starting to cry. She was starting to come undone. This was the beginning of the end. She grabbed her keys from the top of her drawer and caught the blackbird key chain staring back at her with mocking eyes. Maybe the stress was making her see things, too. Maybe she’d end up in a ward right alongside her mom, and that’s how they’d spend their last hours on this earth.

  At least they’d be together.

  Why was she bothering to even pack? Fury and exhaustion fought within her, and she swayed, just wanting to lie down on her bed and close her eyes and make it all go away. She nearly tossed her entire backpack into the trash can in her room when she saw the envelope her mom had labeled and handed to her yesterday. The letter to her dad.

  The letter.

  She grabbed the letter out of the trash. Her hands shook as her finger slid under the envelope fold and began to tear. She was almost afraid to read it. Afraid it wouldn’t mean anything.

  Afraid it would.

  She unfolded the letter with trembling hands. She read it over and over, her mind struggling to catch up to her eyes, to process the meaning of the words. But they had meaning; it wasn’t the nonsense she’d expected, not even close. Every part of her body throbbed with painful awareness; she could hardly breathe.

  “Cate? I’m coming back there, okay?” Officer Davis’s footsteps began moving away from the front door.

  Cate shoved the letter, quickly, into her backpack. It was addressed to an apartment in Reno, Nevada. Wasn’t that where her parents had met?

  Just then, her phone buzzed. Cate’s heart flipped when she saw that Ivy had finally written her back. It felt like a sign.

  It felt like an opportunity.

  “Cate?”

  Cate made the decision in an instant. There was no way she could go to the station. Not now. Not with her dad out there. Not now that she finally had a chance—maybe her last chance—to find him.

  Without a second thought, she grabbed her bag and crept out of her room and down the hall—toward the back of the house, where there was a separate entrance into the small yard.

  And then she ran.

  Garrett—

  God, I hope you get this letter. There are so many things I’ve wanted to say to you. But now that I’m writing this, the thoughts aren’t coming to me. So I’ll keep it simple. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I pushed you away with no explanation. Maybe one day, I can give you the explanation I owe you. But for now, I need to tell you that I was pregnant. She was yours. But when I tried to find you again, you already had someone else.

  I want you to know I cherish our memories.

  And I’ll cherish our little girl.

  Forever sorry,

  Molly

  P.S. Her name is Catherine. But she’d tell you she prefers Cate.

  6

  Adeem

  When the doorbell rang, Adeem’s heart leaped into his throat. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Unless some soldiers in green uniforms were at his door for an evacuation order, leaflets falling from the sky like snow behind them. Or men with swastikas tattooed on their shaved heads, gripping AK-47s.

  Adeem shuddered. He wouldn’t even be surprised. Based on what he’d heard on the radio, the world was going nuts: almost a hundred people had gathered in front of the Vatican and threatened a mass suicide, to coincide with the day the decision was to be rendered on Alma. NATO had called an emergency meeting in Brussels. Roads across the country completely backed up by evacuations to rural areas. Several billionaires from Saudi Arabia were preparing to launch their personal spacecraft to Mars—their way of trying to escape judgment day, he guessed.

  At least school was canceled until further notice—a small silver lining in the storm cloud of imminent, planet-wide extermination. Adeem’s father, exhausted after a record forty hours at the hospital, had slept almost until noon, when Adeem’s mom finally got back from an extra-long board meeting at the mosque. Later, with reports of grocery shortages and continued riots, and rumors of blackouts to come, Adeem’s parents had hurriedly left for a grocery store on the other side of Carson City that was supposedly protecting its stock with armed guards.

  While they were gone, Adeem had locked himself in the upstairs library, where Dad had let him set up his radio transceiver station. He’d last been listening to a report of the sudden increase in violence—specifically, violence targeting Muslim communities. Three prominent West Coast mosques had burned down, the target of fanatical arsonists who believed that the end of days was here—and that Muslims had brought it.

  He braced himself.

  “The end is nigh!” a breathless and sweaty Derek blurted when he opened the door. At least, Adeem was 98 percent sure it was him; he was gripping a baseball bat, even though he definitely did not play baseball, and his face was hidden underneath the dark motorcycle helmet Derek had spray-painted gold for their Daft Punk Halloween costume last year. Behind him, his bike lay forgotten on the front yard, as though he had thrown himself off the moment he saw Adeem’s house. His brothers must have taken his car again. “Nigh as hell! And I haven’t even told Mia Jimenez I like her yet!”

  Derek had been crushing on Mia Jimenez—a junior and the current president of the Video Game Club—since day one of their freshman year. She was also why Derek had agreed to help Adeem made the art for their video games in the first place. Babes love video games, he’d reasoned.

  Adeem pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses and let out a long sigh of relief. “Why can’t you text me before you show up, like a normal person?”

  Derek peeled off his Daft Punk helmet. “And the worst part is,” he continued, pushing past Adeem into the house, “she’s already on the road to Houston with the rest of her family, and I don’t even have her number.” He set his baseball bat down and collapsed onto the couch. “What if she gets hurt? I mean, even my dad’s freaking out. He got punched out at Walmart trying to buy one of the last spare tires. Then he tried to make me wear my brother’s Dragon Age warrior cosplay in case someone wanted to mug me for my bike. He almost didn’t let me come at all. It’s bad out there.”

  A sudden chill bit at Adeem’s arms. He was starting to think now was the time to get better about praying. “Wait, what? Is your dad okay?”

  “He’s fine now, but I am worried about Mia. Do you think I should call the fire department in Houston, maybe ask them to find her?”

  “Riiight, because I’m sure the fire department has time for that now.”

  “I could tell them it’s an emergency,” Derek whined. “Tell them my heart’s on fire.”

  “Gross.”

  Derek flung his helmet at him, and Adeem ba
rely dodged in time. It landed with a loud clack on the rug.

  “Not helpful. Can’t you and your fancy-ass radios project a message of love to every town until she hears me?”

  Adeem folded his arms across his chest. “It doesn’t work like that. Besides, even if it did, your message would only get lost in the chatter.”

  Derek suddenly stood. “What do you mean?”

  Adeem led Derek through the upstairs hall, past Leyla’s closed-off room. The library seemed to hum with life, as if with the buzz of electricity. The walls were lined by bookshelves filled with Quranic translations and Urdu poetry—minus Leyla’s favorite book of poetry, which she’d taken with her. His school backpack, covered in anime and NASA-themed pins, was shoved in a corner, forgotten; he’d never been good about doing homework, but he figured he wouldn’t need to worry about that anymore. On the leather-topped office desk that sat at the back of the library, Adeem had left his equipment: a portable Tecsun shortwave radio, one of three he bought over the years on his allowance, still on. A notebook filled with frequencies and locations written in his tiny scrawl. A pair of tangerine-orange headphones—Derek picked these up, admiring them. Adeem’s laptop, covered in game decals. Neatly folded strands of coax cables. And the chipped Philco radio, a sight that always caused a dull ache in Adeem’s chest, but he couldn’t bear to put it away.

  Derek plopped into a chair. “She wouldn’t listen to the radio, anyway. She’s probably listening to the Legend of Zelda soundtrack on repeat. God, I love her.”

  “So you’ve said,” said Adeem, pulling his laptop toward him.

  He’d created an algorithm that cycled through various frequencies and recorded them 24/7 to his laptop. Usually, the recordings were just robotic-voiced numbers and static, sometimes old, tinny music from the ’40s. But in the past few days, dead radio channels were suddenly crackling to life. Since NASA had translated the message from Alma, people were using the dead channels to broadcast prerecorded messages and local news reports to each other. A scattering of stars flickering back to life.