- Survivors talk.
- So do lunatics.
- Sometimes, the radio's more alive than the world outside.
---
We were just lounging in the common area, trying not to do anything that could count as "productive," when static came through the Fortress radio that Alex left on always.
Not the usual garbled white noise. Not zombie moans caught in frequency either.
Voices.
Real, live, organized voices.
Alex got to it first, fiddling with the knobs, fingers twitching like she was defusing a bomb. Gail stopped whatever high-protein nonsense he was chewing and walked over. Jules and Harun came next. I was last, still half-asleep, curled in the couch like a sentient hoodie.
Then the voice came through clearly.
---
“This is Lieutenant Mason of the Ohio Safe Zone, broadcasting on all open frequencies. The Cincinnati Safe Zone is operational. We have water, power, medical facilities, and government oversight. Civilians seeking refuge are advised to make contact or approach with hands raised. Repeat…”
---
The whole room held its breath.
Gail’s arms were crossed, eyes narrowed. “Government oversight,” he muttered like a curse.
“Water and power,” Alex countered. “That’s not nothing.”
“Could be real,” Jules said. “Could be a trap.”
“It’s real,” Harun added softly. “Doesn’t mean they’re good.”
Before we could even start arguing about democracy vs dictatorship, the radio cracked again, sharper this time. Like the mic was half-dipped in honey and rot.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
A new voice now. Female. Clear, confident. Calm in that “I’ve definitely murdered someone with a smile” kind of way.
---
“To those still clinging to lies: We offer unity. We offer salvation. Join us. There is a purpose to this world, to the change. Find us. Let us help you ascend.”
---
And then, chanting. Low, like distant thunder. Like a choir had taken over the apocalypse.
Unity Group. These freaks again.
Alex snapped the radio off but Jules stopped her. “Wait.”
Another voice. Another frequency.
This one barely held together by static. Glitchy and soft like someone whispering through a dying cassette player. It's as if they had just enough skill to squeeze in a small broadcast
---
“…we’re still out here. Southern Cleveland, Toledo, the lake coast… we’re connected now. Just a collective of survivors. Not official, not perfect. But we want peace. Trade. Help. If you can hear this… you’re not alone.”
---
Then nothing.
No names. No frequency ID. Just silence.
Gail finally spoke. “Three options.”
“Or four,” I said. “We stay out of all of it.”
“No such thing as neutral ground anymore,” he replied. “They’ll come to us eventually.”
Harun looked around, nervous but determined. “If we can help people… shouldn’t we try?”
Jules gave me a sideways glance. “You’d know what to do.”
I didn’t. Not really. But I looked at the radio, still buzzing faintly like a heartbeat in the quiet, and felt something tighten in my chest.
The world was waking up again.
And that meant we had choices to make.
---
We didn’t move for a while.
The radio still hissed with soft static, like it was waiting to chime in with a fourth option.
We all sat around the table now. Someone had pushed aside the junk, maps, and half a disassembled flashlight to make space. Gail had his arms crossed again, classic defensive posture.
Alex sat beside him, fingers idly tapping a wrench against her knee. Jules leaned back, chewing on a pen. Harun stirred tea like it was the most important mission of the day. And I, well, I was there to derail the conversation with sarcasm, if necessary.
Gail started, of course. “Government base. Cincinnati. Safe, armed, structured. If that broadcast is real, it's the strongest group we've heard about.”
“It’s real,” Alex confirmed. “The signal strength, voice modulation, frequency range, they’ve got tech.”
“And they’ll have rules,” Jules muttered. “Real ones. Probably military. Probably tight.”
Gail didn’t disagree. “Still better than fanatics.”
We all looked at the radio. It’s broadcast had ended, but it hung over the table like a bad smell.
“Unity Group. They’re expanding again,” Alex said, almost to herself. “They have electricity. Organized logistics. They still think they’re the good guys.”
“They’re terrifying,” Harun added quietly. “A cult with power is more dangerous than a starving army.”
“Agreed,” Gail said. “They get desperate, they conscript. Convert. We’ve already killed a squad of theirs.” He glanced at me. “They’ll remember that.”
“They can take a number,” I replied.
Then came the third option. The one nobody could quite categorize.
“That last broadcast,” Jules said. “The collective. Small groups banding together.”
Harun nodded. “It’s… human. That’s what I liked about it. It wasn’t rehearsed. It was honest.”
“It was desperate,” Gail said flatly. “Desperation gets people killed.”
“Desperation built The Fortress,” Alex countered. “We were all desperate once. We still are.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Okay, let’s go full apocalypse fantasy draft. What’s everyone leaning toward?”
Gail: “Cincinnati. Structure. Resources. We figure out the cost later.”
Alex: “Same. But I want a backup plan in case it’s not what it seems.”
Harun: “The collective. I’d rather work with people who want peace, not control.”
Jules: “Cincinnati too. If they’re offering medicine and power, that could mean real future. But I’m keeping my gun loaded.”
Then they looked at me.
I shrugged. “They all suck in different ways. Cincinnati smells like oppression. Unity’s a hard pass. The collective… sounds like what we’d make, if we didn’t hate meetings.”
Harun chuckled. Gail didn’t.
“I’m not voting,” I added. “Not yet.”
“That’s fine,” Gail said, standing up. “We’re not acting on it today. We listen more. Watch. Prepare.”
Alex finally turned off the radio, silence claiming the room.
We didn’t agree, but that was okay. At least we were talking about the world again.
Like it might actually be worth saving.
