Radio Nowhere Read online

  Radio Nowhere

  “Is there anyone alive out there?”

  Radio Nowhere

  Lee Beard

  Copyright © 2017 by Lee Beard

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, Lee Beard, or publisher, Apollo-Nyx Publishing, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  Cover by: Deranged Doctor Design

  ISBN: 978-0-692-87613-8

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  http://lee-beard.com/

  Dedication

  To the Kid; thanks for being my kick-butt motivator and late-night deadline enforcer.

  To Mom; thank you for dutifully prescribing snack breaks and being my eternal cheerleader even when I was a butthead.

  To Dad; thanks for letting me bounce ideas off you until your ears fell off, and for pushing me to keep going when I wanted to burn everything and call it quits.

  To my collective family and friends; I appreciate your love and support more than I can say.

  To George R. Stewart, Stephen King, and Terry Nation, whose visions of the apocalypse haunted my childhood and inspired this novel. Thank you.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Newark, NJ

  Wednesday, Week One

  The man swung his camera bag lightly over his shoulder and yawned broadly, bumping his way through the crowded airport. He’d been running on very little sleep since the photoshoot for National Geographic had ended; the week-long excursion to one of the most remote communities in Zambia allowed his four-person team to document some of the most intimate facets of life in the tiny village. He’d even gotten to witness a burial ritual when one of the members passed away suddenly toward the end of their visit. The fact that the villager died while in the prime of life with hardly any prior symptoms didn’t even register as the man moved through the crowds, dooming everyone he breathed on.

  “Luggage can be picked up at stations 13 and 14. Have a safe journey, and thank you for flying Air International. Welcome home.”

  Three connecting flights later, he was finally back in New Jersey and what he assumed were the effects of sleep deprivation were beginning to wear on him. If he could just make it home, he could recoup the lost sleep and then some. After picking up his luggage, the man made his way to the airport’s parking garage where he loaded up his Jeep, paid the parking stub, and began the two-hour drive home. About an hour into the trek, he began to seriously regret the decision to not stay at a nearby hotel. He turned on the radio to try and fight the exhaustion, settling back in his seat as a Creedence Clearwater Revival song crooned.

  Suddenly, the Jeep swerved off the interstate and slammed into a lamppost. The three cars that were on the road pulled over immediately, the passengers running to the totaled Jeep. The man opened his eyes for just a second to see a blurry figure at his window before losing consciousness.

  Chapter Two

  Watertown, NY

  Saturday, Week Two

  Only two of the four lights on this row of mobile homes worked, giving the shadows and shapes an eerie glow in the hours before the sun rose. Zach adjusted the backpack on his shoulder as he made his way down the narrow roadway, avoiding the puddles left by last night’s storm. Suddenly, headlights illuminated his shadow in front of him, and he quickly spun around just in time to jump back and off the asphalt as a silver pickup barreled past him. His string of curses was returned by a middle finger out the driver’s window; with that, the near-daily ritual was complete. Zach gritted his teeth, green eyes narrowing, and made a mental note to “accidentally” drop nails on that guy’s driveway later. It was only a matter of time before the truck’s owner wrecked or mowed down somebody important, and Zach would be there with popcorn to watch the fallout.

  “Heya, Bub!” An elderly man with a short white beard stuck his head out of a nearby white tin trailer and grinned at Zach.

  “Hey, Oleson.” Zach waved, anger dissipating. Oleson had lived in the same trailer longer than Zach had been alive, greeting him the same way every morning.

  “Pretty strange weather we’re having, isn’t it?” Oleson adjusted his round glasses slightly, glancing to the dark sky.

  “Sure enough.” Zach stopped walking to talk to him.

  “The weather man says there’s talk that there might be sunshine next week, but I learnt way back that you can’t trust a man in a suit, ‘specially –” Oleson stopped, a coughing fit cutting off the last of his sentence. “Beg your pardon, Bub. I guess these old lungs is finally starting to go on me,” he shook his head and cackled. “Oh, by the way,” Oleson snapped his fingers in remembrance, “I found a new antenna for my radio! We can talk to them Canucks again!”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  A retired engineer, Oleson had been collecting parts for his Ham Radio station in the front of his trailer for years, drafting anything from bits of tin foil to discarded speakers to join his radio army. It wasn’t unusual for Oleson to ride his “Olesmobile” – a custom-made three-wheeled bicycle with a large basket attached to the back – out the chain-link fence early one morning and return at midnight with a wagonload of metal bits.

  The old man grinned again. “Got to rewire things, but it’ll do! Make sense?”

  “Makes total sense,” Zach smiled.

  “Good! I like makin’ sense. Should have it fixed when you get back!”

  “I can’t wait to see it,” Zach said truthfully, “Here’s hoping it’ll be a short work day, though they’re really trying to get to most out of us before school’s back in.”

  “Good!” The old man nodded happily, his head bobbing like a bird. “Tell that foreman that Oleson says to let you slip out early today and see what happens.”

  Zach chuckled. “Will do. See you later, Oleson. You take care of that cough, okay?”

  “Will do, Bub!” Oleson turned and shuffled back into his trailer. Zach continued to the fence and began the slow walk to work.

  ***

  Isherwood, PA

  Saturday, Week Two

  Millie lightly thudded down the hallway, drawn in by the smell of bacon wafting from the kitchen. She padded across the dining room floor in her fuzzy bunny slippers and thump! stubbed her big toe on the kitchen doorjamb for the thirtieth time since her family had moved in at the start of the summer.

  “Gah!” Millie’s face contorted as she clutched her foot.

  “Millie?” Nana called, “Is that you?” Millie hobbled the rest of the way into the kitchen and forced a smile onto her face. Nana chuckled from behind the stove. “Ai, you have
got to be more wary of that doorjamb. It’s a sneaky little thing!” Millie put her foot down and wiggled her toes to make sure they were still working. Nana skillfully slid the bacon from the pan directly onto the awaiting plate. Millie scanned the kitchen table. Bacon, eggs, and French toast were nicely arranged on blue china, which were centered beside a full glass of orange juice on the frilly placemats in front of three of the chairs that surrounded the table.

  “What’s the special occasion?” Millie nicked a piece of bacon from one of the plates.

  “It’s your father’s birthday, remember?” Steam hissed angrily as Nana washed out the hot pan.

  Oh, shoot. Millie swallowed hard.

  “You didn’t forget, did you Amelia?” Nana’s face was stern as she dried the pan with a dishtowel, but her dark eyes danced with amusement.

  “Who, me?” Millie pouted innocently and dodged the dishtowel Nana flicked at her. “Why would I do such a terrible thing?”

  “I assume it was not on purpose, but you must be more careful of such things,” Nana waggled a plump finger at Millie, suppressing a smile.

  Millie smiled at her great-aunt’s odd manner of speaking, a direct result of living next to a bookstore that specialized in out-of-print books when she was growing up.

  “I thought it would be a kind gesture to send your father off to the clinic with a good breakfast,” Nana continued, “He needs to keep up his strength if he’s going to be fixing broken people all day! Now, help your dear Nana. Get two brooms and the dustpan out of the storage room. If we hurry, we can clean the floor before breakfast!”

  Millie studied Nana fondly as they swept. Her short black hair had silver streaks woven throughout. “I got this one,” Nana told her years earlier, pointing out a gray strip, “When you stood on the back of the couch and decided to fly; and this one came when you tried to cheer up that scary bald man in the park!”

  Nana dumped the dustpan into the trash, tapping it against the side to loosen any stubborn particles. “All done!” She turned back to Millie and caught her staring. “What is it?”

  “I was just thinking.” Millie leaned her broom against the wall. “It’s going to be really different around here when you leave.”

  “No, no.” Nana placed her broom and dustpan next to the other broom before taking Millie’s face in her hands. “It will be just like this, only I won’t be here.” Millie laughed and Nana patted her face gently. “It will only be for two months. Just enough time to visit and get reacquainted with old friends. California is not a world away.”

  Millie raised a hand to cover Nana’s, closing her dark eyes. “I’m just going to miss you.”

  “I know you will, beloved,” Nana said softly. “And I’ll miss you both as well. But you’ll see me again.” The old woman pulled the younger into a hug. They stayed like that until they heard a familiar whistling from the hallway. “Now,” Nana pulled back, “Be happy! It’s time to celebrate!”

  “Something smells amaz-”-Thump!-“Gah!” The two turned toward the door as Dr. Tim Macaraeg’s grimacing face appeared in the doorway. “We’ve got to do something about that doorway.”

  “Like daughter, like father!” Nana chortled.

  “Maybe we should hang a sign in the entryway,” he drew a box in the air, “‘Caution: This doorjamb is malicious and will take your toes off.’” Millie grinned as he limped over.

  “Or perhaps you should have listened to me as a child and learned to pick your feet up when you walk,” Nana tsk-tsked, a gleam in her eye. “Happy birthday, Timothy,” she stood on tiptoe to receive a hug.

  “Thanks Auntie,” Tim smiled, turning to Millie. “Morning, Mil!”

  “Happy birthday, Father Dear,” Millie said, kissing his cheek. She looked at Nana before leaning in to whisper loudly. “Regardless of what she tells you, I did NOT forget.”

  Tim glanced at Nana, made an “ok” with his fingers, and gave an overdramatic wink before turning back to Millie. “Of course you didn’t. I’d have to disown you for such an unforgivable sin!”

  Millie laughed and Nana clucked her tongue. She grabbed their wrists and pulled them toward the kitchen table. “Enough of your tomfoolery. The food is getting cold!”

  ***

  Treaten, TX

  Saturday, Week Two

  “Mike, stop it. Get off me!” Gina pushed the boy away and sat up. She scooted back over in the passenger’s seat of the old pickup and turned off the radio, cutting Elvis off mid-croon. The parking lot was deserted, the only light coming from a lone lamppost in the middle of the asphalt.

  “What’s the matter, Baby?” Mike gave her a quick look-over.

  “Don’t ‘baby’ me. I want to go home.” Gina tugged her t-shirt back into place and leaned against the door.

  “Works for me.”

  “No, I mean I want you to drop me off.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Babe.” Mike tried to slide an arm around her. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  She pulled away from his arm. “I said no. Not tonight. Please, take me home now.”

  “In a bit. There’s no rush,” he said, leaning in to kiss her neck.

  “Back off!” Gina shoved him away.

  “Damnit, Gina!” he banged his fists on the wheel exasperatedly. “One minute you’re all over me and the next you’re Miss Prude. Can you just make up your fool mind already?” They sat in silence for a moment before Mike slid his hand to above her knee, just below the hem of her cutoff jean skirt. “Do you love me or not?”

  Gina’s mouth opened to form a response, but nothing came out. Mike suddenly moved his hand higher and she grabbed his wrist.

  “‘Love’ isn’t a free pass,” she snapped, pushing his hand off her leg. She threw open the car door and jumped out, slamming it angrily behind her. She folded her arms and headed toward the deserted parking lot’s edge.

  “Gina! Where do you think you’re going? Come back here!” Mike yelled out the open passenger door’s window. “Fine, who needs you! We are through, hear me? Through!”

  “Good riddance!” Gina yelled over her shoulder as the truck squealed off into the night. She straightened her skirt and attempted to wipe the remainder of free-sample lipstick from around her mouth with the back of her hand. Her well-worn, brown boots crunched angrily on the sand that blended the parking lot’s edge with the ten-acre field next to it. The Piggly Wiggly store’s owner tried to keep the lot clean, but the arid West Texas wind wouldn’t hear of it. Gina brushed her short ginger hair back with the headband that sat askew on her head, frowning as her bangs fell defiantly back into her eyes.

  As the patches of sand gave way to dry grass, she became suddenly aware of the dark that surrounded her. A dog pack barked in the distance, making the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She looked up at the full moon, thankful for some sort of light, no matter how small. This was the fastest way home, but Gina began to regret not following the road to the highway. Though with my luck, I’d probably get run over or something, she thought. Gina hummed quietly to herself to drown out the sounds in the dark as she approached the barbed-wire fence that connected the field to the Wilsons’ pasture. She’d passed through here many times on weekly grocery trips or the occasional run to the Piggly Wiggly for odds and ends. Sliding under the lowest wire, she resumed the trek home, not even taking the time to brush the hay off. She slunk through the pasture on a hill, hunkering low so that if for some reason Mr. or Mrs. Wilson were to look out their bedroom window, she wouldn’t be spotted trespassing. She crept past a few sleeping cows, hopped over cow patties, and sweet-talked the resident old bull, who didn’t even stop chewing his cud long enough to consider her a threat.

  Finally, she made it across and slipped under the fence. Gina smiled at the expanse of field in front of her, sloped downward as if it was carved especially for her convenience. She took off running, the hot August air blowing through her short mane and billowing her loose blue tank top. Treaten’s high school had shut down the track pro
gram in the middle of last semester when the team was reduced to three people, and Gina had forgotten just how much she missed running. As the landscape leveled out, she slowed to a trot, and finally to a quick walk. When her feet hit the asphalt of the road that ran past her driveway, she gave a sigh of relief. Almost there!

  The gravel crunched as she marched up her driveway. Suddenly, a large furry mass flew at her from the darkness, eliciting a stunned yell from the terrified girl. It barked and wagged its rear end. “Hank! What are you doing out here?” Gina scolded the panting dog after recovering from the initial shock. Hank stood on his hind legs to try and lick her chin. She pushed him down, patted the mutt’s black-and-blue-speckled head, and continued up the drive. “How did you get out of the house?” The dog trotted on ahead toward the white farmhouse, and Gina stopped cold. The eighteen-wheeler shone menacingly in the light of the lamppost, its entire lower half spattered with mud. Oh, no. Gina took a deep breath and quickly crept the rest of the way to the house, sneaking around to the back porch. She plucked the spare key from its hiding place in the gutter spout, snuck up the porch steps, and unlocked the green door. Mercifully, the hinges didn’t squeak as it swung open into the kitchen. Gina cautiously peered around the door into the darkness, listening intently for any sounds of movement. She held her breath as she quickly entered and shut the door behind her. She slipped her boots off and carried them across the wood floor toward the hallway. If she could just get up the stairs-

  “Where the hell’ve you been?”

  Gina jumped as the light turned on. She squinted toward the sound of the growling voice, trying to think of a viable excuse. “Dirk! You’re, uh, home early. I... I thought your route wouldn’t be done ‘til Thursday.”

  The man stepped into the light, glaring. He was slumped slightly, but built like a bulldozer. “I drove fast. Seems like a good thing I did, too.” Dirk scowled angrily down at Gina’s smeared makeup, short skirt, and hay-covered exterior. “Looks like my dear stepdaughter hasn’t been the good girl she’s supposed to be.” He took a few menacing steps forward past the fridge, stumbling on the last step. Gina swallowed hard, eying the nearly-empty bottle in the man’s beefy hand. “You wanna tell me why you’re out running around after midnight?” Dirk slurred slightly, taking another step forward. “’Cause that’s one thing I’d really like to know. Now.”