Wilson Harp - EMP

“I’ll be over tomorrow night for dinner,” Anne added. “Let your folks know.”

I said my goodbyes and made my way over to my dad.

“How are you?” I asked. He looked very pale and seemed short of breath.

“I’m fine. Would just like to get out of this suit and sit in a cool bath tub.”

“When we get home, I’ll go get you water,” I said.

He smiled and patted me on the shoulder. “Sounds good, David. Let step outside and see if we can’t find a cool breeze.”

We left the library and stepped out into the night. I almost shivered as we crossed the threshold of the front doors, the change in temperature was that drastic. Dad needed to hold onto my arm as we walked down the steps. I had never seen him this weak and I just wanted to get him home and cooled down.

Clint was already in the truck and waiting for us. There would be no collection of kids and dogs with darkness already covering the town. Clint turned the lights on as we approached the vehicle. The dim headlights blazed like the noon-day sun as they cut through the darkness of the tree shaded square.

I helped Dad into the cab and scrambled into the back as Clint started the engine. A running vehicle was still enough of an oddity that we attracted a fair crowd who waved and smiled as we pulled away from the square.

A few seconds later, the truck was running down Granger road. I raised my head above the roof of the truck cab, fully prepared to take an insect or two in my face, just to feel the cold rush of the wind.

The night was still moonless, and a thin wispy layer of clouds blocked all but the brightest stars from shining down into the darkness. I knew why the dark scared us. I knew why primitive man was drawn to the light of the fire. Twin beams of pure white light ran before me, driving the darkness back. That light meant safety, it meant no fear of the unknown.

We arrived at the house and I hopped out of the back of the truck. What was a risk just a few hours before seemed like the most natural thing to do as the ride energized me. Kenny was safe, the darkness was vanquished, and I was home.

The final drop of solder was in place. I blew on it, more out of habit than to cool it, as I took it back inside. I had a small steel fire pit out back that I burned charcoal in and heated up an old wood-burning blade. I found that was a perfect setup to melt solder as I tried to piece together parts of the short-wave radio I had spent the last two months working on.

“Good luck,” Dad said. He was reading a magazine while sitting at the table. I didn’t believe there is a single magazine in town that he hadn’t read. Maybe not the ones in Luke’s collection, but then again, maybe he liked them for the articles.

“Eighty-fifth time’s the charm,” I said as I headed back to my room. Every time I would think I had it figured out, I would find another spot on a board that had burned out, or a component that had cracked.

I slid the small green chip into the back of the radio. I attached the copper lead that would connect the receiver to the power regulator, and then I clipped on the power supply. I made sure the connections to the battery were solid and I pushed the switch to the on position.

The dials moved, the lights popped on, and then miraculously, stayed on.

I couldn’t believe it. It looked live and wasn’t making a hiss or sputtering.

I reached out with great care and moved the frequency dial. Healthy static came from the speakers as I moved the dial.

Then I heard it. The broken pattern of a received signal. Far too faint to clearly hear, it was a signal being broadcast from another radio.

I turned off the radio and paced around the room. I shook from excitement and fear. Then I turned the radio back on. The broken signal was still there. I had fixed the radio.

I turned the short-wave off again and carefully packed it in my gym bag. It was no longer in the compact form that would fit snugly in the case it was bought in. I knew how each component fit together, though, so I packed it so it would be safe as I carried it out to Ted’s place and the cell tower.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Mom asked as I emerged from the hallway.

“I got it,” I said. As much as I was trying to remain calm I could tell the excitement was building.

“The radio?” Dad asked. He stood up from the table and looked at me with wide eyes. A smiled crept across his face.

“The radio,” I said as I smiled back. “I have to get to Ted’s so we can set it up.”

“You did it, David,” he said. “You may have saved us all. I’m so proud of you, son.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I might be gone for a while, but I’ll fill you in on all the details when I get back.”

I left the house and shut the front door behind me. I wanted to run all the way through town and up the north road to Ted’s house, but I made myself walk. The last thing I wanted to do was trip and damage the cargo I had packed so carefully.

The sun was drifting toward noon. Tendrils of smoke in the distance showed signs some of the raiders to the west were still active. As I passed the wheat fields, I saw several of the older farmers with long handled scythes showing some of the younger men how to swing the hand tools in the most efficient manner. The wheat was just a few days from being ready to harvest, as long as the rains held off.

There were certain landmarks the town had unconsciously established, and a major one was the first wheat harvest. With enough wheat to turn into flour, we could have bread again. While the meat and vegetable diet was starting to feel right, having a slice of bread with dinner or a biscuit with breakfast would be marvelous.

I made my way past Miller Street. A crowd of women and children were gathered outside Millie Marsh’s house. One of the kids would bring my parents their evening meal when I didn’t show up. I wanted to go over there and share my good news, but I thought I should make sure the radio worked at the tower before I talked about it. The early July sun was hot and the air was humid as I made my way past the town square and headed for the highway out of town. The armed men at the north barricade waved at me. I just waved back and kept my pace. They must have sensed I was in a hurry, as they didn’t try to stop me to talk.

It was just three miles from the north edge of town to the gate of Ted’s compound. The blacktop turn off was a mile away, and then there were two high hills in the next two miles. A few months ago I would have been winded by the four relatively flat miles from my folk’s house to the library, but now my legs were still loose and responsive as I passed the barricade with the armed guards. I didn’t go to the compound often, but they knew I had been there a couple of times. They yelled to me to say hello to Kenny when I saw him. Kenny had made some very vocal allies among several of the men who saw themselves as protectors of Kenton.

The hills proved no problem as I scurried my way along the blacktop. My feet wanted to run, but I had to make sure the radio arrived in good condition. Finally, I turned into the long drive heading to the gates. Kenny was clearing some brush along the side of the road.

“David,” he called. “What are you doing up here this morning?”

“I got it,” I said.

Kenny slipped his machete in its sheath. His eyes widened and he let out a loud whoop.

“Let’s get you inside,” he said. “Tom! Tom! Come here!”

I followed Kenny into the compound with my precious cargo. Tom came running up to meet Kenny, who danced around me like a dog happy to see his owner back from the grocery store.

“What is it?” Tom asked. “The radio?” He was staring at the gym bag I held carefully in front of me.