The First Small Thing

“Not all of them.” Nia had her shortwave receiver in hand, eyes fixed on a line that wouldn’t stop trembling. “Look.” She shifted the dial left. The static coughed out a broken string of numbers, like old time code. Then the receiver locked on its own and spit out a fragment of voice. “...not an accident. Someone in the tower cut the last thirteen minutes out...” They stared at one another. It sounded like a recording from thirty years ago, all hiss and warped tape edges. That night Ruth Bell met them at the community station office. Ruth was the oldest employee at Bluestone Bay Radio, with hair gone white and fingertips marked by years of repair work. She had the kind of face that made you think she always knew more than she was saying.