Transmission: A Supernatural Thriller by Ambrose Ibsen Page B

wondering who these coordinates were intended for if not the three of us. It's pretty clear we don't know what the fuck any of this is about. The three of us just stumbled upon this stuff without knowing what we were getting into. That says, to me, that those coordinates in the recordings were intended for someone else, for someone who'd know what they meant. Someone who'd recognize from the very beginning what they represented.”
    Reggie glanced around the space narrowly. It was a very small room, and there were no dark corners for anything to hide in. Gripping at the edge of the desk however, his shoulders stooped forward as he sat, listening, he looked as though he expected to get jumped at any moment. “That friend, who posted the missing person's notice... you think maybe Agnes wanted to reach her friend?”
    Dylan continued, shaking a finger at Reggie. “Look, I thought we covered that. I'm not interested in calling her. What I'm driving at with all of this is that I'm not sure it's any of our business.” He rubbed his hands together. “I'm saying we ought to wash our hands of all of this. Forget about it, completely. It wasn't intended for the three of us, so maybe we should just leave it alone. Know what I'm saying?”
    Kenji was far too drawn in for that, however. He and Dylan had sacrificed a weekend to come out and investigate this curious phenomenon. Another person, Reggie, had been roped in as well. The odds of such a thing happening naturally were pretty damn close to zero. Dylan may have had a point in believing that these coordinates were not intended for the three of them, specifically, but it seemed entirely possible that the message could have been intended for whoever was listening. What if it'd been a cry for help, an SOS of some kind, broadcast widely in the hopes that someone, anyone would hear? Kenji was getting ahead of himself again, but he wasn't ready to go. Not yet.
    “I think we should sleep here for the night,” said Kenji. “There's no way we can make the drive all the way back to campus with how long we've been up. Plus, we came all this way; I'd like to have a look around in the morning. If there's nothing else to be found in this place, then maybe we'll consider getting ahold of this friend, Mara Antall.”
    Dylan rolled his eyes. “Still harping on that, eh? Whatever, man. You can call her if you want. I'm not so interested in dragging another stranger into this mess.” He turned to Reggie. “No offense, of course.”
    Reggie waved one of his hands. “No big deal. I was about to say that I could use some shuteye. That coffee ain't doing much for me tonight, I'm afraid.” Stretching out in his chair, he splayed his legs across the floor, giving his ankles a turn till the joints popped and cracked. “If y'all don't mind, I'll just sleep in this chair.”
    Dylan looked down at the floor, drawing a line in the dust with the tip of his shoe. “Oh, this looks great. Real healthy, laying down and breathing this shit in all night. I might go sleep in the car.”
    Kenji shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Fluffing up his book bag, he set it gently on the floor and laid down, perching his head on it like a pillow. It was stiff and uncomfortable, and the floor was disgustingly dirty. He knew there was no way he'd get to sleep in the folding chair, however. “Take the chair, if you want.”
    Dylan plopped down into the seat, causing it to groan under his weight. Setting his heels on the edge of the desk, he closed his eyes and crossed his arms. “Man, I wish I'd never brought up the idea of going on this trip. My back is going to be killing me in the morning.” He stretched, fighting to get comfortable. His lanky limbs wouldn't cooperate.
    “You guys want me to kill the lights?” asked Kenji, sitting up slightly.
    Neither Reggie nor Dylan replied. They looked to one another, lips set in a frown. Kenji shared their apprehension; sleeping in the shack was bad enough. Turning off the lights