He never programmed that frequency. But sometimes, late at night, when the house was dark and the wind rattled the shed roof he still hadn’t fixed, Leo would pick up the radio, turn it to Channel 21, and just… listen.
Then, the last entry. It was underlined twice, hard enough to tear the paper.
Ch 21: 158.925 – Summer ’08. Thumping. Screaming. Then nothing. Talked to Hank. Hank said “forget it.” I didn’t forget. motorola cp1300 frequency list
Leo’s father had carried it for twenty years. First as a park ranger, then as a security coordinator, and finally, in the quiet last years before retirement, as a man who just liked to listen.
Leo’s thumb hovered over the transmit button. He wanted to push it, to say “Hello? This is Leo. WB2XRP’s son.” He never programmed that frequency
For a long moment, there was only the soft hiss of an unused frequency. Then, a crackle. A distant, rhythmic thumping—like a heavy door slamming in a windstorm. Or something else. Something with a heavy foot.
Now the old man was gone, and the radio was Leo’s inheritance. He’d plugged it in, charged the dead battery overnight, and clicked the rotary knob. Static. Pure, beautiful, empty static. The radio worked, but without a frequency list, it was just a white-noise machine. It was underlined twice, hard enough to tear the paper
Ch 11: 162.550 – NOAA Weather (Boring until it isn’t) Ch 12: 155.340 – Hospital Link (Ambulance to ER. Never happy news.) Ch 13: 159.900 – State Police Tac-3 (Don’t transmit. Just listen. They don’t like listeners.)
But his father’s handwriting screamed from the page: DO NOT USE.