The Fellowship for Alien Detection (19 page)

Sid looked back at Dodger. “That's my little brother. His name's Randall, but I call him R2. Different moms, that's why he's a lard butt.”

“Shut up,” R2 muttered. He knelt and placed the lunch box on the ground beside the battery. He affixed the two clamps at the other end of the cables to the bottom corners of the box. “Okay . . .” he said. The side of the lunch box where the handle would have been located now had two black dials and an orange switch. R2 flicked this. There was a snap, a spark flying free, and then the switch lit up.

“Watch it!” Sid snapped. He dropped to his knees beside R2 and shoved him out of the way. “Let me try.”

“Come on!” R2 whined.

Dodger could hear soft static emitting from the lunch box now. “Do you guys mind if I listen, too?” he asked.

“Sure. If we do tune it in, the more witnesses the better.”

Dodger cautiously knelt beside the radio. His hands felt clammy, his fingers tingling. If he could hear Juliette through this radio, that would prove it was real, or at least that he wasn't going crazy.

“Ah.” Sid pushed the radio back to R2. “You do it.” He turned to Dodger. “So how do you know about Juliette?”

“Well . . .” Dodger wondered what to say. “Just the rumors online.” He considered sharing his story with these two. He was hesitant, but maybe these kids seemed fine. “I'm actually researching it for a fellowsh—”

“Hold up,” said R2. He twisted furiously at the knobs. “I might have something.”

“Dude.” Sid shoved him out of the way again. “Let me see, you malfunctioning droid.”

R2 frowned but didn't protest.

“Have you ever heard it before?” Dodger asked.

“No, just read about it. Our dad is really into radio stuff. But he's more into pulling in radio frequencies from outer space. He thinks the Juliette thing is ridiculous.”

The hissing sound grew into a static. There was a warble of radio music, but it sounded like some kind of old-timey jazz, maybe another language, too, not what Dodger usually heard on KJPR. The static crescendoed but then faded down.

“Ah,” said Sid disappointedly.

Dodger felt certain they had just missed it. Back during that little crescendo, he'd felt a glimpse of that warm, syrupy sensation. “Mind if I try?” he asked.

Sid seemed to size him up for second, then pushed the radio toward him. “Be my guest, but it's my radio, so if you find it, we still get the credit.”

“Oh, sure,” said Dodger. Such a thought hadn't even crossed his mind.

He moved his fingers toward the knobs. He'd try tracking back toward that little swell in the frequencies. . . .

But the moment Dodger's fingers touched the knobs a surge of energy flooded through him, and all at once his brain ignited and the radio voice returned.

“Now, friends, I've got an important message for all you folks out there who just aren't getting enough get-up out of your old car. Our good friend Hank White, owner of High Country Auto, wants to invite you all down to his showroom to see his Spring Melt Specials, including a huge sale on all 1993 model-year clearance items. Hank's got the guaranteed lowest prices on the pickups with the pickup you need. You'll be glad you visited High Country Auto, out on Juniper Canyon Road in North Juliette. Now, back to the hits!”

Music cut in, a country shuffle that ripped at Dodger's ears. The radio was so much louder than normal, seeming to echo around inside his skull. His vision blurred static white.

It felt like his entire body was humming, his molecules unsticking. Tears slid from his squinted eyes.

He looked up to see Sid and R2 staring at him, mouths open. Dodger wondered why, but then he noticed that the station sounded different. This time, he seemed to be hearing it through his ears, not just in his head, like it was outside, blaring into the sunny evening, but not from the radio. Dodger felt a strange humming around his jaw and eyes, and understood even more.

Oh no.

The radio was broadcasting out of him, out of his entire body, as if he were a speaker.

Near Bend, OR, July 4, 6:45 p.m.

Dodger couldn't close his mouth. His teeth were vibrating like his mouth had been invaded by an army of tiny dentist drills. He tore his hands from the radio.

The broadcast ceased. Dodger toppled back on the dirt, banging his head on the stone square. He gasped for breath, his eyes watering.

“Dude . . .” Without turning his head, Sid reached out and punched R2 in the shoulder.

“Ow! What?”

“What do you
think
, you Spice Mine reject?” Sid pointed at Dodger. “He's one of
them
.”

“O-one of who?” R2 stammered.

“What do you think? He's an . . . he's an alien. Or a hybrid, or something.”

Dodger fought to get to his elbows. “Sorry, I—” he stammered because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Sid was peering at him. R2 looked like he might run away screaming. “What are you?” Sid asked.

Dodger just stared back at him. “I'm not anything. I just . . .” Dodger thought he might as well admit it. “I get this radio station in my head sometimes.”

Sid glanced at the lunch box radio. When he looked back at Dodger, his eyes had narrowed and he was almost grinning. “Do it again. Can you do it again?”

“I—no,” Dodger said. He started to back away on his elbows. His head was throbbing from banging it, but also inside. It felt like everything had been rattled, like he could barely figure out which way was up and which way was down.

R2 rubbed at his chin. “It was when he touched the radio. Like he connected with it.”

“Yeah . . .” Sid's eyes lit up. He stood and started toward Dodger. “You gotta do it again, kid.” He lunged and grabbed Dodger by the arm. R2 scrambled over and grabbed the other.

“Let go!” Dodger tried to writhe away. He was able to flip onto his stomach. His face hit the earth, dirt filling his mouth. He gagged.

“Oh man, we'll show the whole gathering!” said Sid. He grabbed Dodger's leg and yanked him backward. “You'll show us where Juliette is, and we'll be the ones who found it!”

Dodger thrashed his legs, but Sid's grip held firm. He yanked Dodger back to the radio and slapped his hand onto it.

The broadcast burst back to life out of Dodger's mouth.
“And don't forget those winter storm warnings for tonight.”

“Nice!” Sid shouted over the noise.

“Dan Spirit says the squalls could be rolling in by ten o'clock, so best to be home and off the roads by then—”

Dodger felt like he was going to explode inside. He couldn't breathe, his heart pounding, overcome by the sound. He felt like his head was leaking out of his eyes and ears, pressure everywhere.

But there was light, too. Through the rigid vibrations, Dodger was able to glance down and he saw that the entire lunch box radio was glowing an electric neon orange, from every seam.

It grew brighter the longer his hands stayed connected to it, and now Dodger had a strange sensation. He felt a warmness building inside him, like he had connected to this light, like the light and the radio voice and his body were all weaving themselves together in a kind of warm unity. The feelings of pain became distant, unimportant, and Dodger had a strange sense of being inside his head, but so deep inside, like he'd become detached from the outside world and was now floating in space.

What could he do with this energy? He felt it coursing through him, rushing to and fro, and nearly beating at his toes and fingers to escape. It would move for him, if he wanted, he felt sure of this.

In this calm, he found that he could lift a hand away from the lunch box. And as his hand rose, the glow of light stayed with it, a corona around his fingers and palm. The energy was right there, right at the edge, and if he wanted, he could use it.

He pointed his hand at Sid.

Sid looked up and saw this. His eyes went wide.

Dodger flicked his hand, like he was shaking liquid from it.

A burst of the orange light leaped free and slammed into Sid's chest.

“Gah!” It flashed like a water balloon of light bursting, but then there was smoke and searing and a round black burn appeared in Sid's shirt. Sid lurched backward, his body convulsing, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“Oh my God!” R2 shouted over the blare of the radio. He stumbled to his feet, tripped, landed on his backside, then turned and started scrambling across the dirt.

Dodger got to his feet. He let go of the lunch box, and the radio ceased. His hand, however, still glowed.

“Stop,” he said to R2.

R2 stopped and flipped back around and stared at Dodger, panting. Sid groaned and his eyes fluttered open.

Dodger held his hand out toward them. He pushed just a little of the energy flow out, making it glow in a corona around his fingertips. He could feel that this wouldn't last long, that without being connected to that radio it would run out, but they didn't know that.

“I'm keeping the radio,” Dodger said. His head was calm. There were just thoughts, easy, no doubts attached to them. “And if you tell anyone you ran into me up here . . .” He pushed a little more light out, the glow increasing. “I'll come for you.”

Sid started to nod. R2 was crying.

Dodger couldn't believe he'd actually just said those things, it was so unlike him, and yet, not unlike
this
him.
Who is this me?
he wondered, and then he thought:
the alien me
. That didn't make sense, and yet . . . in a way it felt right, didn't it?

“Okay, okay . . . we're going, we . . .” Sid and R2 got up and took off out of the clearing.

Dodger watched them go. He listened until their footsteps faded. Then he turned and knelt beside the radio again. He placed his hands on it, and the box began to glow in its neon orange and the bubbly DJ voice began to blare out of him, and yet he knew now that he could control that. He had to apply pressure to the power inside him . . . find his own muscles and be in control of them. Mouth shut. Hands . . .

He moved his fingers and flicked open the latch on the lunch box. He pulled up the lid and the light increased.

Inside he saw three things. Against one wall was a small green circuit board, blotchy with soldering. Next to that was a small round speaker. And in the center of the box was a rock. It was a shard of crystal, about six inches long and glowing an incredible orange from its core, as if someone had chipped off a piece of a star. Two wires connected the crystal to the circuit board. Dodger took his hands from the radio. The crystal went dark, becoming a glassy black.

Dodger tore the wires free, then placed his hands over the crystal and lifted it. It exploded in brilliance again, and it was hot to the touch, so hot that Dodger wondered if it would burn his skin, but instead he felt like the skin of his hands had become irrelevant, as if the crystal was part of him.

Dodger sat. He pulled the rock close, pressing it against his chest, the glow warming his torso and spreading through him.

He lay back with the crystal like this and stared at the sky, the rim of his vision glowing in warm orange, and watched the afternoon blue deepen and darken. A flock of birds. No, darker. Bats.

Dodger lay there in the footprint of the ancient ruin, the crystal clutched close against him, until the first stars began to wake in the sky. All the while, the radio voice of KJPR burbled at a low, syrupy boil in the back of his head.

“Checking scoreboards, the Suns beat the Spurs last night, 99–97. They close out the season today in Denver against the Nuggets, and then they'll move on to face the Lakers in the playoffs on Friday.”

And whereas, in the past, the radio had overwhelmed his brain, here it was just another pleasant sound along with the wind in the pine needles, the shrieks of birds and later the sonic whines of bats, the thrumming of Dodger's heart, and the static of the vast universe, above, around, and within him.

“Time for another three in a row!”

Time unspooled in light and space. Dodger saw the stars from among the stars, he saw the Earth from beneath the Earth, and he saw the caverns, rooms, and streets of the place he'd only before known from dreams. Juliette. He was there. He was everywhere. He was something more than himself.

Near Bend, OR, July 4, 8:55 p.m.

“Francis!”

Dodger's eyes opened. There were more stars, only a faint blue on the rim of the sky. He felt deeply relaxed, refreshed.

A flashlight beam fell on his face. Dodger threw a hand over his eyes.

“Francis . . .” Harry's giant face appeared. “Where the heck have you been?!”

Dodger sat up on his elbows. “Fell asleep,” he mumbled.

“Well, get up!” Harry yanked Dodger to his feet. Dodger wobbled, his balance unsteady. “I've been looking for you for hours! I searched that whole freak show back there! If they hadn't mentioned this trail . . . Come on, Francis!”