Ryan Westfield - Pushing On

Cynthia stepped out from behind a tree where she’d been hiding. She was holding her handgun, ready to shoot.

“I couldn’t tell what was happening,” she said. “I heard gunshots, and didn’t know who’d been shot.”

“You did the right thing by staying hidden. I could have been dead. It wouldn’t have done any good to come running,” said John.

“You don’t need to tell me that. Why do you think I stayed hidden?”

“She’s a fiery one,” chuckled Dale. “Come on, before we miss the broadcast.”

They followed Dale inside, and Kiki followed them.

“Now first Kiki needs a little treat,” said Dale, taking one of the sausages from last night and tossing it to Kiki, who caught it in mid-air. “And now, for the moment we’ve all been waiting for.”

John and Cynthia sat back in their wooden chairs, the same ones they’d slept in, and watched anxiously as Dale opened a big wooden trunk that was tucked away in one of the corners of the small cabin.

“Now it may not look fancy, this Faraday cage of mine, but trust me, it does the trick.”

It was homemade, and looked like pieces of chicken-wire had been smushed together.

Dale struggled briefly with the mesh, but he got the radio out.

“Standard shortwave radio,” he said. “Nothing fancy. But it works, which is more than you can say about most of these radios. Now, let’s see, we’ve got one minute. Good timing.”

“Why does your watch still work?” said Cynthia, apparently noticing for the first time that Dale wore a working watch.

“No batteries,” said Dale, grinning. “It’s a mechanical watch. Not a drop of electricity in the whole thing. Old Russian military watch. Won it during a card game twenty years ago, and it’s been going strong ever since. Tough as nails, too.”

Dale was fiddling with the radio and glancing at his watch, watching the red second hand ticking across the blue dial, on which, inexplicably, was a picture of a scuba diver.

“OK, here goes nothing. Quiet, everyone.”

John and Cynthia didn’t need to be told. They didn’t know what they’d hear. But really, anything would be something. Anything would be a spark of hope. Hope that there were others out there, working on rebuilding something, even if it was something as simple as a rudimentary communication network.

The radio hissed and crackled.

Someone’s voice came through. It was a woman’s voice. She sounded young, around college age, but it was hard to tell with all the static.

“Zoe coming at you today. Hope you’re all ready for the exciting updates of this beautiful Tuesday here in upstate New York… undisclosed location, of course…”

A brief hiss of static obscured the announcer’s words momentarily.

“Hope you’re all hunkering down and surviving as best you can. I know we’ve all been working on our canning here. Lots of berries to preserve for the coming winter. Make sure you’ve all got your gear ready and don’t forget to air it out. Just because we don’t have traditional showers, and just because no one’s using deodorant, doesn’t mean we all have to stink any more than we have to. And yes, I’m referring to you, Ted. Now… OK, they’re telling me I have to get onto the—” another hiss of static “—and that wraps it up for that little sad announcement, but as I’ve said over and over, there’s not much good news these days. But we’ll take what we can get when we can get it.”

Dale was chuckling, muttering, “That girl’s really something.”

John and Cynthia glanced at each other. They didn’t know what to make of the announcement so far. It was silly and kind of goofy, in an offbeat kind of tone that belied the experiences they’d had so far.

John and Cynthia had struggled. They’d almost been killed who knew how many times. And they’d had to shoot to kill. They were dirty and mud streaked and blood stained. But this young woman on the radio was cracking jokes and talking about preserving berries.

“And now we’re going to get to the list… so far we haven’t learned of connecting anyone together. But if you’re out there listening, maybe you’ll hear of a family member or friend who’s still alive. An unnamed community in an unknown location in Pennsylvania recently had the following visitors, who apparently refused to give their full names. Now that’s not much good for most, but maybe you’ll know the whole group, and be able to identify them by their first names. I really have no idea.”

More static hissed through the radio.

“So to repeat that list, we have: Max, Mandy, Georgia, Chad, Sadie, and James. OK, folks, that about wraps it up. We’ll be on the air again Thursday. Same time, same channel. Keep a cool head, and keep those guns within arm’s reach. Over and out.”

“Hell of a program, right?” said Dale.

Max and Chad…

John couldn’t believe it.

Max and Chad. In Pennsylvania. There was no way it wasn’t his brother and his childhood friend.

“Cat got your tongue or something?” said Dale.

Cynthia was staring at him. “You think that’s your brother? Wasn’t he named Max?”

“It’s definitely my brother,” said John. “I know Chad, too. No idea what he’s doing with Max… but… he’s alive.”

“That’s your brother?” said Dale.

John nodded.

He felt, for the first time in a while, that there was some hope for himself and Cynthia. He didn’t know why the news of Max gave him hope, but it did.

“Too bad we don’t know where he is,” said Cynthia.

“You don’t know where the other community is, do you?” said John, looking at Dale.

Dale shook his head. “Nope, nobody does. But I could hazard a guess.”

“A guess?”

“Well, there aren’t too many spots where I’d make one if I was the type to start up a community. If I wasn’t such a solitary guy, you know. And there were rumors for a few years of one… people were setting something up, some group… I forget off the top of my head.”

“Do you have it written down or anything? Or on a map?”

Dale laughed. “Nope. I’ve never been one to keep things on paper. Everything’s up here.” He tapped his head with his knuckles. “Except for when I forget it.”

John didn’t know what to say. For a brief moment, it had seemed like he might be able to find Max. Now that hope was dashed.

“How’d you hear those rumors?” said Cynthia.

“Oh, a friend in town,” said Dale. “Haven’t seen him since the EMP. But he’d probably still know, if he’s still alive.”

Cynthia and John looked at each other.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I think so.”

“You really want to find your brother?” said Dale.

John nodded.

“From what John tells me,” said Cynthia, “he’d be a big help to our survival.”

“Yeah,” muttered John. “But that was back when we thought he was at the farmhouse… Now, I don’t know…”

“I think we should try to find him,” said Cynthia.

“You think so?”

“Hell,” said Dale. “If I had a brother, and knew he was alive, I’d try to find him, even if he knew shit about surviving.”

John made the decision in an instant. “All right,” he said. “We’ll do it. At the very least, if we can find this community, maybe it’s a place we could fit into. Even if Max isn’t still there. You in, Cynthia?”

Cynthia nodded.

“OK,” said John. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a plan. For now, at least.”

“Stay for another day,” said Dale. “I’ll get you two well fed, and get some extra food ready for you to take.”

“You’ve done enough already,” said Cynthia.

Dale smiled. “I’ve got plenty,” he said. “And I want to help. So the wise thing to do would be to take what I give you.”