family."
"Can't we just do that in the parking lot?"
"No, no. I want to find a dilapidated house. No running water; that kind of shit."
"It's Alabama, Ali, but I'm pretty sure it's not 1936."
"You know what I mean. Let's go. You got the keys?"
"We're good. I don't know how you think we're going to drive through this mess."
Alicia and Brady walked toward the exit. Alicia stopped at the cold remedy aisle. "Wait a minute." She found a box of generic Sudafed, ripped it open, popped four red pills from the blister pack and swallowed them down. She put the rest in her pocket and made her way to the door. They took two coffees from the hospitality table on the way out.
Outside, the music was deafening. Alicia led the way and shoved past the revelers to the back of the building and the rented SUVs. They got in, Brady fired up the truck, and they began the slow trek out of the parking lot. A sea of people eventually parted to let them through the city streets.
"What do you know about this Milan guy?" Alicia asked.
"The scientist?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know. This is the first time I've met him. Seems like a good guy. Why? You crushin' on the geek?"
"Whatever. I'm not that kind of horny. I think he slighted me in the last break."
"He's smarter than you, Ali. Get over it. He's not the only one."
Brady glanced over to Alicia in the passenger seat and noticed that she looked a bit sad. This was rare. In the year that they had been partnered together, he had only known her to be a brash, hard drinking, pill popping, redheaded, wonderful nightmare. He was somewhat surprised to see her ego, which was epic, deflated.
"Hey," he said, gently punching her in the arm. "You can't be the prettiest girl in the room and the smartest chick. Leave a little something for the rest of us, huh?"
"Fuck you, Brady" she said, punching him harder. "I'm smart."
"Never said you weren't."
"Maybe not doctor-of-fucking-physics smart but smart enough to win a Murrow."
"Oh yeah? When did that happen?"
"It's going to happen. It might just be this story."
"Fuck yeah," Brady smiled. "Let's get it."
They were a solid pair, albeit a mismatched one. Brady was an overweight, balding 37 year old industry veteran. He had shot film in both Gulf Wars and on 9/11. His wife hated his job and worried that he put himself in harm’s way far too often. After all, he had two young kids at home in Colorado. Truth be known Brady would rather have been playing golf but as he often told his wife, "golf won't pay the bills." He ate too much junk food and was probably one cheeseburger away from his first heart attack.
Alicia, on the other hand, was 10 years his junior, stunning and an upstart in the business. She landed at the network a year prior after cutting her teeth in Portland and Seattle, first as a beat reporter and then an anchor. Brady often thought that she was meant for another time. He was a fan of old movies, and she reminded him of Bette Davis or Katharine Hepburn. She had a dignity about her. She could be competitive to a fault though, which alienated much of the staff. Alicia was driven, and Brady sometimes worried that the work consumed her. He didn't dare tell her to slow down. It was like working with a woman possessed, and she would have ripped his head off. Still, he knew a side of her that most missed. She was genuinely charming when she wanted to be and she made the work exciting.
"Jesus Christ, this place is weird. Everyone here is drunk and packing a gun," Alicia said.
"Then there's that whole alien thing," Brady shot back as he navigated through the crowd, periodically honking the horn.
"Yeah, there's that." Alicia paused. "Is that what you think this is? Aliens?"
"Who the hell knows? What? Are you worried you're going to get probed?"
"It might be the best part of the trip."
Milan made his way through the streets. The radio station was only a few blocks away from the dollar store. A month prior, he suspected that he could have made
"Can't we just do that in the parking lot?"
"No, no. I want to find a dilapidated house. No running water; that kind of shit."
"It's Alabama, Ali, but I'm pretty sure it's not 1936."
"You know what I mean. Let's go. You got the keys?"
"We're good. I don't know how you think we're going to drive through this mess."
Alicia and Brady walked toward the exit. Alicia stopped at the cold remedy aisle. "Wait a minute." She found a box of generic Sudafed, ripped it open, popped four red pills from the blister pack and swallowed them down. She put the rest in her pocket and made her way to the door. They took two coffees from the hospitality table on the way out.
Outside, the music was deafening. Alicia led the way and shoved past the revelers to the back of the building and the rented SUVs. They got in, Brady fired up the truck, and they began the slow trek out of the parking lot. A sea of people eventually parted to let them through the city streets.
"What do you know about this Milan guy?" Alicia asked.
"The scientist?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know. This is the first time I've met him. Seems like a good guy. Why? You crushin' on the geek?"
"Whatever. I'm not that kind of horny. I think he slighted me in the last break."
"He's smarter than you, Ali. Get over it. He's not the only one."
Brady glanced over to Alicia in the passenger seat and noticed that she looked a bit sad. This was rare. In the year that they had been partnered together, he had only known her to be a brash, hard drinking, pill popping, redheaded, wonderful nightmare. He was somewhat surprised to see her ego, which was epic, deflated.
"Hey," he said, gently punching her in the arm. "You can't be the prettiest girl in the room and the smartest chick. Leave a little something for the rest of us, huh?"
"Fuck you, Brady" she said, punching him harder. "I'm smart."
"Never said you weren't."
"Maybe not doctor-of-fucking-physics smart but smart enough to win a Murrow."
"Oh yeah? When did that happen?"
"It's going to happen. It might just be this story."
"Fuck yeah," Brady smiled. "Let's get it."
They were a solid pair, albeit a mismatched one. Brady was an overweight, balding 37 year old industry veteran. He had shot film in both Gulf Wars and on 9/11. His wife hated his job and worried that he put himself in harm’s way far too often. After all, he had two young kids at home in Colorado. Truth be known Brady would rather have been playing golf but as he often told his wife, "golf won't pay the bills." He ate too much junk food and was probably one cheeseburger away from his first heart attack.
Alicia, on the other hand, was 10 years his junior, stunning and an upstart in the business. She landed at the network a year prior after cutting her teeth in Portland and Seattle, first as a beat reporter and then an anchor. Brady often thought that she was meant for another time. He was a fan of old movies, and she reminded him of Bette Davis or Katharine Hepburn. She had a dignity about her. She could be competitive to a fault though, which alienated much of the staff. Alicia was driven, and Brady sometimes worried that the work consumed her. He didn't dare tell her to slow down. It was like working with a woman possessed, and she would have ripped his head off. Still, he knew a side of her that most missed. She was genuinely charming when she wanted to be and she made the work exciting.
"Jesus Christ, this place is weird. Everyone here is drunk and packing a gun," Alicia said.
"Then there's that whole alien thing," Brady shot back as he navigated through the crowd, periodically honking the horn.
"Yeah, there's that." Alicia paused. "Is that what you think this is? Aliens?"
"Who the hell knows? What? Are you worried you're going to get probed?"
"It might be the best part of the trip."
Milan made his way through the streets. The radio station was only a few blocks away from the dollar store. A month prior, he suspected that he could have made
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