The Communicator

“You’re late. If you don’t get here in the next 2 hours, don’t bother showing up at all. We’ll have a new one.”

No way, this is not happening.

“I am on my way John I-”

“You know when we hired you, we took a chance. A Communicator and a woman. I knew this combination would be difficult, but I thought you would at least show up on time.”

This sexist prick. He doesn’t even let me answer; he just continues, “You know it takes a lot to communicate with those filthy wolves, and if you’re scared-”

“I am not.”

“Then you shouldn’t have completed the training and taken it from people who actually can-”

“I can.”

“’—do the job,” he finishes, breathing so loudly into his phone and against my ear that my skin crawls.

“Sweetheart, I will call the CdC when you’re not here at 2 o’clock.”

“Wait, I-” Fuck, he hung up on me. I try to call his number again, but he doesn’t pick up. UH, I punch my steering wheel. Patience, I need more patience, this will be my job, I can do it, I just need to breathe and- My phone rings again- relax. Great.

The display reads “Dr. Miller - CdC”. Perfect timing. I take a deep breath before answering.

“Alara Sezim speaking.”

“Miss Sezim. I’m calling to check on your progress in New Area. Have you made contact with the local coordinator yet?”

“Well, Representative John from the local Control Station just threatened to replace me if I’m not there in two hours, and my car is making some concerning noises. But I am hopeful that I will arrive there on time.”

“Hopeful I see. I should remind you that this assignment is quite significant, Miss Sezim.”

I grip the steering wheel tighter.

“Of course Dr. Miller.”

“The concerns were about your capability. This is a high-risk assignment and this work requires mental and physical strength above all else.” Physical strength has absolutely nothing to do with communication but OK.

“You were selected because your academic scores were exceptional. However, field work is quite different from theoretical knowledge. You must understand that this assignment serves as your practical examination. Failure is not an option.”

“Of course Dr. Miller,” because what else could I answer to his concerns.

“The situation in New Area is particularly delicate. The town council barely approved our involvement. They’re extremely conservative regarding CdC interventions.”

“Yes I noticed Mister John’s concerns about the job.”

“The wolves established territory closer to human settlements than any other pack in the region. The previous communicators failed to establish proper boundaries.”

Or one could say they tried to established boundaries and got their throats ripped out for their trouble. I sigh and sink deeper into my seat.

“Any provocation or transgression, could mean bloodshed for an entire community. I hope you are aware of that Miss Sezim”

“Of course Dr. Miller, I remember: never underestimate the wolfs, especially if you have no back up”

“If you can’t establish a communication with both wolfs and humans, we will lose the cooperation and i don’t have to tell you how that could end” Bloody. It will end very bloody.

“The board is watching this assignment closely. Your performance here will determine your future with the CdC. There are no second chances with this assessment.” Well, this feels more and more like a suicide mission and not a real assignment.

My car makes another ominous sound.

“Well I hope you get there on time. If not consider Mr. John’s request approved.”

“Understood.” Although getting fired seems like the healthiest option here if I am honest.

I end the call and stare at the road ahead. I want this job, and financially speaking I also actually need it. If I mess this up, my whole six years of education and training is for nothing. And the truth is, I know what happens if a communicator doesn’t do his job or simply doesn’t care. I lived through that, I know what catastrophic consequences that could have.

"Krkrkkhh" Oh no, this doesn’t sound healthy. I think my car has finally decided, after years of pushing through the pain, that this mountain isn’t worth it.

The engine is making increasingly distressed noises ”kkgnkgkkhpf“. I have never in my life heard my little car produce that sound. “Come on, just a little further, pleeease.” Maybe patting the dashboard helps. “Come on, we are all friends here,” I pat again, “and if you don’t want me to basically die in the mountains before I even get the chance to die in my new job, you’re not a true friend.” There is a violent shudder before the car surrenders completely, rolling to a stop on the shoulder of the desolate mountain road.

Lovely. Exactly what I needed.

I sit in silence for a moment, forehead pressed against the steering wheel. Perfect timing. I pull my jacket tighter and step out into the crisp air. Steam rises from the engine as I prop the hood open.

The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stand on end. I pause, hands hovering over the hot engine. Something doesn’t feel right. Slowly, I straighten up and glance around at the forest surrounding the lonely mountain road.

I can’t shake the sensation that I’m being watched. I swallow hard and try to focus on the car, but the feeling only intensifies—cold and calculated attention from something or someone.

As Communicators we are trained to listen to our instincts. And my instinct is telling me, if I don’t fix my car in the next 20 seconds I might be dead.

So I do what every person in this situation does.

I close the hood and run back into my car, trying again and again to start the motor, hoping for a miracle.