Signal Oscar Zulu
I was delivering a package to a settlement in the north when I stumbled upon it. At the top of a hill a little to the west, was an old, scarred radio tower. How the damn thing was still standing I’ll never know: I would have figured a spindly structure like that would have been blasted apart in the War. Perhaps the tall rocks nearby had sheltered it from the blasts. Still, it’d be worth checking out, if the transformers at the base hadn’t already been picked over. I unslung the assault rifle from across my back and put the stock to my shoulder, to have it ready if there was trouble.
After jimmying the lock on the gate with a bobby pin, I stepped inside the fenced off area at the base of the tower, ignoring the pitted KEEP OUT signs. The scraggly weeds pulled at my boots as I walked to the transformer. I was just about to pop the lock off the cover when I saw a panel on the outside, with a cracked yellow lightning bolt painted on the side. On it were 2 lights. One was glowing red. There was power! I threw the switch on the side of the panel up and down several times, but nothing happened. I leaned my rifle against the transformer and started digging through my bag.
Once I had the screws off and the cover set aside, I took a look inside and quickly found the problem: a wire leading from the switch was corroded from moisture and had broken free. I pulled a scrap piece of wire from my bag and jumped the connection. I threw the switch and the red light went out and was replaced by a green one. At the same time, the radio on my belt beeped, announcing it had picked up a new radio signal.
That struck me as odd: the only station still broadcasting anywhere nearby was the old Galaxy News Radio, and that signal was on around the clock, with the DJ shuffling through old jazz records interspersed with news about the goings on in the Wasteland. I grabbed my radio and spun the dial to the bottom of the range, and started scanning through the static.
I hit the signal at about 1100 kHz, near the top of the AM band. “..ily and I have taken refuge in a drainage chamber not too far from a radio relay tower outside of D.C. My boy is very sick, needs medical assistance. Please help if you can. We're listening for your response. 3950 kilohertz. If anyone can hear this, my name is Bob Anderstein. My family and I have ta..”. It continued looping. It had probably been broadcasting endlessly until the transformer had failed, likely not long after the atomic War, two hundred years ago. Still though, that drainage chamber would be a good place to hole up for the night, and the light was fading fast - there looked to be only a half-hour left before the sun dipped below the horizon.
I circled the tower a few times before I found the drainage tunnel; a rusty old pipe jutting out of the hill. I tugged on the grate and it pulled free with a shriek of semi-seized metal. I stepped inside and started down the tunnel, and then decided to pull the grate back on behind me. It wouldn’t do to have a critter come in during the night. I flicked on my flashlight and headed down into the tunnel.
The end of the tunnel opened up a little, from a height where I had to duck to one that allowed me to stand up straight: light filtered through from a grate on the road above. To my right was a metal-clad door, scarred by years of rust. I pushed the door open and was greeted by a pair of skeletons. One of them - a woman, judging by the tattered remains of her clothing - had a bullet hole through her temple. The other, a man, still had a rusty .32 calibre pistol jammed in his mouth, the back of his skull blown out. Centuries old bloodstains still marked the walls. Something seemed off.
I checked the place over for supplies. There wasn’t much; a box of ammo for the pistol, five shells missing. A small first aid kit. Some kid’s toys. That’s what was wrong - the radio message mentioned a child, but there weren’t any other remains in the room. I found that slightly disturbing, but there was nothing to be done about it: It was full dark now, and the wastes became even more dangerous at night. I closed the door and barricaded it with a steel utility shelf. I leaned my rifle against the wall near a cot that must have belonged to the previous inhabitants and hung my jacket from the corner of the shelf. Then I curled up and fell asleep.
