The man's voice crackled over static. Alex struggled to write down the stream of words, numbers, and phrases.
"Book black, page title: Epsilon. You'll see the arrows pointing to the page headings. Repeat top line reads Epsilon. This leads you to a heading mid-page called Ronson. It's highlighted green, then there's Lister on the page opposite. That box is highlighted red. For a very good reason."
Interference made the next words difficult to hear. Alex reajusted himself in his seat.
The voice became clearer. "Under Lister, you'll see the columns. In them are printed the Tomorrow Series. They'll extend past seven..."
Alex put a hand to his bulky headphones. The static came and went.
Looking to the digital red display, he was certain the frequency was correct.
His pen dug hard into the pad of paper. Fine tuning the dial, he could hear sounds in the distance. Thuds were the best way to describe them. Constant and coming in faster, more vibrant.
He frowned. The government's been long dead. Was this all of the recording?
"You know," the man said. The robotic nature of his speech gone. His voice sounding older than time. "Our friends our back. They've taken up residence, I should say. I used to live on the upper floors, but I was lucky. I was here when they broke in. Uhm, I see I'm without my engineer today. Guess, he couldn't make it. Which is fine! Fine by me. Because I still have you. You know I've never been much of a religious man having spent all my years here in New York, but I want to tell you I've been reading the book of Ecclesiastes a lot lately."
The man had stopped, probably reacting to the growing sounds of twisting metal in the background, Alex could now hear, and what sounded like a low moan in the distance.
From what animal could make such a noise? Alex shook his head disbelieving. Whatever that thing was, it desperately wanted to break in.
There was a sound of items on a desk being pushed to the side, then a rustling. The microphone was being moved away.
"I'd like to say," the voice returned. "That is, if there is anyone left out there. I been thinking about this all morning. It seems, there is a revelatory lesson here..."
His voice was rising. "The book of Ecclesiastes says under the sun, the place of judgement. For He shall judge the righteous and the wicked."
The moaning grew louder.
Alex imagined the man, some lone bureaucrat trapped in a booth, locked away, underground, in the sarcophagus of some government building's basement.
Though, there was little Alex could expect in the broadcaster's authenticity. Could the phrases, words be merely an invention of some crazy quack who had managed to stay alive this long? Certainly not from thee spokesperson for what was left of the now defunct U.S.
The man would never know if his last words meant anything. Thinking he'd be talking to no one.
The thought of giving up, left a bitter taste in Alex's mouth. He had his eyes closed, trying to zero out the moaning. It's just a trick, he told himself. A piece of foreign propaganda to scare meant to scare you,
"The revelation is in the Tomorrow Series. They'll match up into words. They'll match a word pressed into the card stapled to the back of the book."
The man cackled ominously. "So it goes. A famous man once—“
A bunch of static came over the radio. Alex struggled to hear anything. He shifted in his seat.
"Consider it a parting gift," the man went on, "for those of you who've managed to hold onto a sense of humor."
Alex grimaced the static blocked out the rest.
Long seconds pass. Then, the signal was clear.
“Concerning the estates of man, that he make manifest in them. That they may see that they themselves," his voice was at a crescendo.
"Are beasts! And by God, he's proven it. First with those things, and now the fire! Check out early if you can—“
Then, Alex heard the pop.
Not a bang but a pop, but the sound was undeniable. He heard a thud, then moments later the moan, and what sounded like water gushing in.
Static mixed in with the gurgling sounds of liquid. Then, the signal went dead.
Damn. The batteries. Alex scrambled under the wood table, reaching into a box. Pushing sundries, discarded items to the side, searching for another two.
"Fuck!" Alex shouted out loud. “So that’s it? Seriously!?”
He ripped off his headphones and pushed out his chair and stood up.
Fuck, fuck!" he yelled.
***
She was standing near the entrance. He had been asleep. His face buried in his arms on the workbench next to the assortment of radio equipment.
Wilma approached with a grin on her face, holding something in her palm.
He rubbed his eyes. "What's that?"
"A gift," Wilma said, "from a mutual friend."
"Oh?"
Wilma put into his hand a nectarine.
"Like the mythical unicorn," he said under his breath.
"Our resident green thumb Leah's been true to her word."
Folding her arms, Wilma walked around to the front of the table. "I gave what you jotted down to Henry."
Alex observed her black skin. She was lithe and moved with grace.
"Does it mean anything?"
She had her back to him. Usually, she'd take the fold up seat and sit in front, opposite him, as he worked the transceiver.
She used to laugh with him, making corny jokes or teasing him about his weight.
Alex looked down at the nectarine. "She have anymore mint leaves for tea?"
"I'll bring you some," she replied.
Alex looked to the grey light of dawn filtering in. The walls of the radio tent were plastic sheets, wrapped around four weighted posts. Wind down the mountainside constantly buffeted them.
Along with the noise outside, the eerie glow of sunlight gave the tent an even more fragile and ephemeral feeling than he was used to.
Wilma had walked in front of the table. She was pressing her fingers into the wood.
He looked up at her. "Are we to say our goodbyes now?"Alex frowned, straining to hear. A raucous chuckle caused reverb. The man's mouth was too close to the microphone.
"But hey, don't blame me" the man said with a wheeze, "I didn't write it..."
His voice was trailing off. Alex shook his head.
"Consider it a parting gift," the man went on, "for those of you who've managed to hold onto a sense of humor."
Alex grimaced. This was the part where he would hear a drawer slide open, then a pop.
There was nothing now. Only light static and silence.
Alex clutched his headphones with both hands. C'mon, old man. What are you trying to say? What does it mean?
"Back," the voice boomed, puncturing the silence, "to the book of life. And in it, it says in Ecclesiastes: Concerning the estates of man, that he make manifest in them. That they may see that they themselves," his voice was at a crescendo.
"Are beasts! And by God, he's proven it. First with those things, and now the fire. We are all his instruments. A part of his plan. For those who have not yet met death, it's time to prepare. The fire's coming. Prepare to be judged, yoo-"
Damn. The batteries. Alex scrambled under the wood table, reaching into a box. Pushing sundries, discarded items to the side, searching for another two.
"Fuck!" he finally said, when he couldn't find any. "Fuck, fuck!"
***
She was standing near the entrance. He had been asleep. His face buried in his arms on the workbench next to the assortment of radio equipment.
Wilma approached with a grin on her face, holding something in her palm.
He rubbed his eyes. "What's that?"
"A gift," Wilma said, "from a mutual friend."
"Oh?"
Wilma put into his hand a nectarine.
"Like the mythical unicorn," he said under his breath.
"Our resident green thumb Leah's been true to her word."
Folding her arms, Wilma walked around to the front of the table. "I gave what you jotted down to Henry."
Alex observed her black skin. She was lithe and moved with grace.
"Does it mean anything?"
She had her back to him. Usually, she'd take the fold up seat and sit in front, opposite him, as he worked the transceiver.
She used to laugh with him, making corny jokes or teasing him about his weight.
Alex looked down at the nectarine. "She have anymore mint leaves for tea?"
"I'll bring you some," she replied.
Alex looked to the grey light of dawn filtering in. The walls of the radio tent were plastic sheets, wrapped around four weighted posts. Wind down the mountainside constantly buffeted them.
Along with the noise outside, the eerie glow of sunlight gave the tent an even more fragile and ephemeral feeling than he was used to.
Wilma had walked in front of the table. She was pressing her fingers into the wood.
He looked up at her. "Are we to say our goodbyes now?"