Chapter 6
The Radio Host
I sat with the rest of my family as we settled in to listen to the evening show tonight. I settled down on the floor binding together some new fishing lures while everyone else concentrated on their own individual projects. Spring was coming close and there was a good deal of planning and preparing we had to get ready for. We used evening to accomplish these things and it gave us the time to tune in to the only radio network that probably still ran in the country and maybe even the whole world.
Bianca Swan was a radio host that we had been listening to for the better part of six years. The first time we heard about her was a bit after the Battle for Alexandria. I somehow remember the day perfectly, probably because everyone recounted it so often.
The majority of people were cleaning up the mess of the walkers when everyone heard a hum off in the distance. We looked up to see a bright red plane coming straight for us. Panic flaring hot, everyone sprinted for the armory, but it was coming in fast and even if we had guns it wouldn't have proven much use against a gunship. Thankfully it wasn't diving to attack though. It circled the town trailing behind it a long banner that read
Tune in to 96.2 AM radio network
It circled three times and then left. The sight of the first plane anyone had seen in years had left a stir all around town that left mixed emotions of panic and excitement. Some people worried about it being a spy plane, figuring it would come back with an army to kill us whenever we saw it next. It had seen the whole of our town, our defenses the people, the broken fence, everything. Surely they were going to use that to their advantage at the first opportunity they had.
Others countered that we should listen to the banner it had. Its purpose hadn't been to attack but to inform. There was little any of us could do other than listen to it, so we all sat around an old boom box and waited, listening to static.
It was hours before anything happened, and then at five promptly there was a voice that echoed out of the machine.
"Goooooooood evening, ladies and gentlemen! This is K96.2 coming to you live from East to West in the United States today. I'm your host Bianca Swan here with you this fine November 15th 2015 and it is a pleasure to be with you today. For brand new listeners tuning in for the first time welcome to the show, and for frequent listeners, welcome back."
Dad didn't know what to make of it. No one did. It was the voice of a stranger and strangers could rarely be trusted. Yet it still never stopped us from tuning in every day promptly at five.
Her show centered on life hacks, worst-case scenario situations, survival tips, and what to do in emergencies. There were also the guest speakers that frequently came on with her. A psychologist named Jordan Templeton occasionally came on to discuss what to expect when welcoming any survivors that groups took in, PTSD challenges, and other mental issues concerning people who have been through the ringer of horrendous conditions brought on by the outbreak. A farmer named Orville Forseth came on to share different tricks and techniques for growing more productive crops and livestock. Nancy Adams was a doctor and survival expert that frequently discussed methods to treat wounds and discuss walker escape tricks.
I loved listening to her show. There was music, and sometimes an audio book that she played, stories that guest speakers shared…
It felt like we weren't alone.
She gave no hints about where she might be located, but people assumed she had to be near an airport or military base at the least. At first her airplanes—or birds as we liked to call them—were only seen about once a year but as time progressed it looked like they gradually worked up to biannual checkups on us. It was a huge deal whenever we saw them in the sky. Everyone would drop whatever they were doing to shield their eyes and look to the heavens, like looking upon angels as they watched over us.
I remember being so little and jumping up and down to wave up at them eagerly, hoping and dreaming for them to land and talk to us.
But they never did.
No one knew why that was. Dad was afraid they were for spying on defenses and in time they would probably use those planes against us, but eventually years passed and they never so much as did a barrel-roll in greeting or acknowledgement.
So we continued to tune in, listening to the voice speaking out over miles and miles from wherever her base was located. For all anyone knew she could have been as near or far as thirty to a thousand miles away.
I grew up listening to those comforting unseen voices, drinking in everything that they told me and taking every show to heart. I still remember the most exciting show she ever hosted; Eugene had even had the foresight to copy it on an old recorder and allowed me to borrow it every once in a while. It was one of the most heartwarming things I had ever listened to in my whole life.
Around a year after we'd all been listening to the broadcasts Bianca was interrupted by an unexpected radio guest.
She'd just been in the process of listing the occasional importance of the day with memories of past when static began to interrupt the frequency just then.
Carl smacked the boom box impatiently, figuring it was coming from our end. But the voice of Bianca contradicted that assumption a moment later.
"Ladies and gentlemen there appears—shhh—some—shhh—terferance with—shh—I'm going to try to—shhh—,"
And then an unfamiliar male voice, offset with static echoed from out of it.
"Huston… Huston is that you?"
There was a moment of silence that ran through the entire mess hall.
"Hello?" Bianca called over the radio waves hesitantly. "Who is this?"
"Who is this?" The stranger asked back curiously.
"You're on air with Bianca Swan on K96.2. Who is this?"
There was more static and a long momentary pause. "This is Sergeant Lee Miles of the US Military calling from the International Space Station."
There were echoing words of shock and confusion all throughout the mess hall. Every single person in the entire building was listening attentively now.
"The International Space Station?" Bianca repeated in shock. "You're transmitting from the International Space Station right now?"
"That is correct, Ma'am."
"How did you survive for so long?"
"It's a long story."
"The collapse of DC and NASA headquarters went down over four—,"
"Over four years ago," The man said wearily. "Or if you want to be really specific, four years, ten months, three weeks, two days, eight hours and fourteen minutes since our last and final transmission with Houston."
"Sergeant, I'm… I'm…"
"Listen… Brianna was it?"
"Bianca."
"Bianca, what I'd really like to know is, and pardon my French but we've been orbiting around the same goddamned blue sphere for five and a half years so try and bear with me, but what the fuck is going on down there?"
I could feel the weight in the air get tense as everyone listened in on the broadcasted conversation.
"Language please, this is a family station. Sergeant, have you not had any contact with Earth this entire time?"
"We had a brief conversation with a Japanese computer network about four years ago, but since then… nothing. Absolutely nothing."
"Who's there with you now?"
"A Pilot Engineer from Russia, Alek Popov, and a young Military Medic from China named Kimiku Zula."
They talked for hours it seemed. Most of their lingo I couldn't quite keep up with, but the gist of it was the astronauts were beginning to run out of food and oxygen. Their supplies on the ISS was said to last for years and years but it seemed as though the station had recently undergone some serious damage from a meteor shower and a good percent of the facility had been entirely destroyed. They'd been broadcasting a frequency to all radio frequencies, hoping and praying for months that someone would hear them.
Finally, finally they heard Bianca.
They swapped their stories over the frequency, Bianca doing her duty to fill in what had happened since communications between the astronauts and Houston was severed. It was a heavy blow for all of them, but once they were able to move passed the shock, a plan was formed to figure out a way for the astronauts to land safely.
It was a difficult thing to decide. The state of the world at the moment guaranteed that wherever they landed would most likely be swarming with the dead or devoid of all life for miles and miles around.
Even despite that the three were out of time. Another meteor shower was on the way and they needed to move now.
Everyone leaned closer towards the radio, trying to hear over the static as chaos ensued.
"We're boarding into the pod now—shhhhh—meteor shower has hit! We've lost engines—shhhhhh—in jeopardy—shhhh—MAYDAY, MAYDAY! WE ARE GOING DOWN!"
There was silence just then and the shaky desperate voice of Bianca cried out after them.
"Sergeant?" Bianca repeated back in terror. "Sergeant, are you still there?"
More static followed, before the voice of Sergeant Miles resonated back, offset and shaky with the loud string of static and system interference. "Mrs. Swan, is this being broadcasted on all frequencies on Earth?"
"As many as we can reach." She confirmed.
"Do you record?"
"We're recording right now."
"We… we have some messages we would like to say."
"Sergeant..?"
"Mrs. Swan," A new voice came through, and judging by the tone and the accent it was assumed that it was the other man, Alek Popkov. "I have message… for my daughter. She is from Samara Russia, her name is Tanya. Tanya Popkov. If she is still alive, please give her message."
"Alright, we're recording it whenever you're ready."
He began to talk just then in a language I couldn't understand, quickly and shakily. From the tone in his voice I could only assume it was heartfelt and meaningful. My heart went out for him and as much as I wished I could understand those words I knew they weren't for me.
The same went for Kimiko. When it was her turn, she was certain to disclose who the message was for just as Alek had.
"This will go to my grandmamma in Lanzhou China. Her name is Yang Lei Zula. She is seventy-five."
"Alright we're recording Kimiku."
Like Alek she too recorded her message in her native language and like the first it was heartfelt yet brief.
When it came to Lee's turn there was an uncomfortable banging that interrupted him.
"Sergeant?"
"I'm here." He said, in a clearly shaken voice. "We're… we're all still here."
"Did you need to say something?"
"Y-yes. This is for Ophelia, Teller, Draco, and Penny Miles in Winchester, Virginia USA."
"Go ahead."
"P-Penny… if you're listening now… well it looks like I owe you that thing we were talking about. I know I said I wouldn't do it, but after careful consideration… I'm pretty sure it's not the worst thing I could do in this world—or out of this world. Teller, please don't hate me. I know you were mad that I left and I can't blame you. I kind of hate me, too. You're the man of things while I'm gone, alright? Draco, you're going to do something incredible. I know you will. Ophelia… I never got to meet you, but if you're with your brothers and mother right now… I hope you know that I look forward to seeing you at last, in whatever life comes next. I love you all and—"
There was a deafening bang just then and there was a short resonating scream from all the astronauts…
And then everything was quiet.
"Sergeant Miles? Zula? Popkov? Hello? Sergeant!" There was only static that answered her. "Come in! Come in!" After a moment she seemed to remember she was still being broadcasted on air and snapped back to her audience fretfully. "Um… ladies and gentlemen it seems we're experiencing some technical difficulties. Please enjoy this poem read by the famous Anthony Hopkins while we continue to try and reestablish communication with the astronauts."
The feed was cut as a somber tune drifted out from the speakers.
Do not go gentle into that goodnight
Old age should burn and rave a close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light
Though wise men at their end know dark is right
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight
And learned, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray,
Do not go gentle into that good night
Rage, rage against the dying of the light"
We listened to the voice and the dark poem, our hopes dwindling as it read on with the sad music playing behind it, ringing the tune of the astronauts' doom. And even as the last verse was said Bianca's voice did not return and so more music was played to fill the gap of silence. A low steady tune of a violin and a choir came on and we waited, listening to the song.
You taught me the courage of stars before you left
How light carries on endlessly, even after death
With shortness of breath, you explain the infinite
How rare and beautiful it is to even exist
I couldn't help but ask f
or you to say it all again
I tried to write it down
But I could never find a pen
I'd give anything to hear
you say it one more time,
that the universe was made
just to be seen by my eyes
I couldn't help but ask
for you to say it all again
I tried to write it down
But I could never find a pen
I'd give anything to hear
you say it one more time,
that the universe was made
just to be seen by my eyes
With shortness of breath I'll explain the infinite
How rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist
I felt the sting of terrified tears as the somber voice of Bianca came back on, choked with her own tears after the poem. "Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that I can give you no news on the condition of the astronauts … because someone else would like to do it for me."
There was static and we all held our breaths, then the voice of Sergeant Miles broke through all sound. "Hello beautiful."
There was a simultaneous cheer through the whole room. People laughed and cried through sobs of happiness, relieved and joyous to hear this tremendous spark of hope. I had never seen them so happy and relieved by anything in my life. I myself felt touched on a near spiritual level to hear the miracle of the astronaut's voices.
"Is anyone hurt?"
"We've sustained a few injuries, but I think we'll be walking away from this with some minor bumps and bruises at best, and one hell of a story."
"That's an enormous relief, Sergeant. Can you tell us where you are right now?"
"We're triangulating our position as we speak, but I did recognize the Grand Canyon we were passing during the landing. And I think we've just found out what you were talking about with those dead bodies. Those things are fucking scary—pardon my French."
Bianca stifled a chuckle as her tone grew immediately serious. "If you're anywhere near shelter I suggest you move now. They're much more active at night and it'll be dark in a few hours. They tend to gather in hordes so watch out. Thankfully they're very clumsy so if you get the opportunity to trip one up don't waste it. They're attracted to sound, light and movement. There are several tactics you can use to divert them. You can use their own blood or fluids as camouflage, if you smell like them they won't attack you just as long as you don't draw attention to yourself. When disarming them be sure to puncture the brain. It's the only way to kill them. And if you're bitten... if it's on a limb the only known treatment is amputation anywhere else... and you have a day at the most."
"We'll keep that in mind. This could be the last time you hear from us, Mrs. Swan." He said heavily.
"I understand. I'll pray for you all, Sergeant. Good Luck."
"Thank you."
Bianca turned her attention back to her audience. "I am broadcasting to all available radio frequencies. Anyone who happens to meet these people I implore you, please help them. If not out of decency then do so for your own gain. They are doctors, engineers, scientists, and pilots. Their skills are invaluable and they will contribute greatly to your people." With those final words the show closed and we were left to wonder what was in store for the astronauts.
I begged my father to let us go and find them, but after crunching some numbers we realized they were three thousand miles away. Even so, having no real concept of distance I begged and begged till I finally understood that they were just too far.
We had heard little news regarding the astronauts since that day, so it was anyone's guess whether they were still alive or not.
That broadcast had been over six years ago, but I remember it vaguely. No other evening show had been as exciting as that one. Occasionally Bianca would have a new guest speaker, sometimes she would dedicate an evening broadcast to a fallen friend or ally, but other than that they'd been relatively the same since.
First she started off by greeting the audience, inspiring them with whatever pep-talk or words of wisdom she had prepared that day, and then she went on to list of the importance of the day's date, whether it was a special holiday, a famous person's birthday, if a certain movie had been released in theaters on the day or if it merely bore some kind of significance to someone out there just in general.
Next she went on by honoring those that were no longer with us, should there have been a tragedy anywhere around the world recently, she was certain to extend her condolences as well as a moment of silence in respect towards their memory.
Next depending on what sort of day it was she would play music for a bit. She was conscious that not everyone was a fan of every variety of music so depending on what sort of day it was she would designate it towards a specific genre, pausing between songs to speak with guest speakers and so-called "experts" or "professionals".
I enjoyed a bit of everything though I definitely had my preferences just as everyone else did.
Occasionally she would dedicate the evening to a writer and would play an audio book in honor of their work.
Today was such an occasion and we were all greeted with the intro to the Death of a Salesman.
I groaned inwardly, annoyed by the boring classic and settled in for a dull program tonight. It was going to be hard to stay awake tonight, especially since I had intentions to meet with Vanessa later once everyone was asleep.
Actually this might've worked in my favor as I was able to excuse myself with no suspicion, claiming I had no interest in the particular story and would just read what I wanted to in my room till bedtime. It worked like a charm, and I kept myself active until the sun went down and the rest of my family were tucked away into their own rooms.