Rebel Radio Read online

  Rebel Radio

  A World Burns Story

  Boyd Craven III

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2015 Boyd Craven III

  Rebel Radio, The World Burns

  By Boyd Craven

  Edited by Katy Light

  Many thanks to friends and family for keeping me writing!

  All rights reserved.

  Chapter One

  Z-

  I’ve been walking for two days now, scavenging and looking for supplies. The only thing that bugs me more than my search for water and food is the daily grind trying to survive. I’d stayed alive and out of harm’s way for almost two months by layering up and binding my chest flat. A pair of kitchen shears took off most of my brown hair and, for the most part, I could pass as a young boy from a distance.

  I’d seen the horrors of this land without rule of law; I’d seen what men did when they had no fear of consequences to hold them in check. I was with a couple who had taken me in, and they had gotten raided. I survived by hiding under the front porch and going into the crawlspace under the house. Through the vent, I could hear Stephen begging for mercy, but two gunshots took care of him and the screams began. Miss Sarah screamed for a good long while before two more gunshots rang out, silencing everything.

  The house was ransacked, and I really, really tried to bury them, but I wasn’t strong enough. Like my namesake, I had been a gamer and had pretty much been a loner when the power went out for good. My diet, Redbull and nothing else, had kept me thin, but I was in no shape for this world. Moments like now, where I was struggling because I couldn’t find clean water, were ones that reminded me that maybe I should have listened to my teachers more instead of playing another round of Sailor Moon or Call of Duty.

  The thirst was almost a real, living thing; all-consuming and making me sloppy. That’s why I had decided to come into Charlotte proper, despite knowing that more people meant more chances for ugly situations to arise. The sound of a motor made me look up sharply and I headed towards the bushes by a nearby house and ducked behind them, praying nobody was in the house behind me, watching me.

  My skin crawled and, for the thousandth time that day, I wondered if I’d made a horrible mistake. A military hummer was driving down the street, soldiers visible from the cracked windows. It really stood out to me, because it wasn’t American made and it wasn’t anything I recognized from GTA or any of my video games. Sneaking into the house behind me was now out, so I focused on getting as low to the ground under the hedge as I could. The hummer drove past my position and was stopped at the intersection when the first shots rang out.

  Sparks flew off the side of the hummer and somebody inside it let out a high-pitched scream. A round must have found a way in or there had been a lucky ricochet. I could only see out of the corner of one eye because I was pressed in so tight. Getting up slowly and standing at a crouch, I could see two soldiers jump from the passenger side and start returning fire. More sounds of motors made me wince. They were the un-muffled sounds of big bikes.

  I crawled to the side of the house, letting the porch hide me, and I pulled frantically at the latticework. A section popped free, cutting the side of my hand. I wiped the streak of blood on my pant leg and crawled under, praying no one saw me. The section of lattice wouldn’t go back in easily, so I leaned it in place, hoping it looked natural.

  Gunshots rang out, and a man screamed, but the wooden frame of the stairs blocked my view. I crawled on my stomach to the other side and peered out of the latticework, only able to see the back quarter of the hummer and the one soldier crouched there. He was firing behind the back of the hummer like I’d done in numerous games, but he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head. A man in black leather pants and vest had risen from his hiding position behind the passenger side and raised a shotgun.

  I didn’t want to look, I closed my eyes. Not again, this can’t be happening, not again! Nothing happened, so after a moment I peeked. My timing sucks in real life. In a video game, I’m one of those gamer girls all the boys hate having on their teams, whether it’s a raid in WoW, or playing Call of Duty; I’m pretty good and it pisses them off. Reality is much much worse. My eyes opened just as the man holding the shotgun pulled the trigger. Chunks sprayed across the side of the hummer and the biker pulled the pin on a rounded object and threw it inside the cracked window.

  Doors flew open and gunfire hit the first man trying to escape, causing a fresh set of screams that were cut off seconds later by a loud thump. Coughing and trying not to dry heave, I buried my face in my arms and made myself as small as possible under the stairs going up to the porch. Muted voices carried my way, but no decipherable words.

  Hot tears ran down my face. Horror, a sick feeling, and anger were all warring within me and I hated myself for a moment for being so weak. I was dehydrated and half dead from exhaustion and hunger. I kept myself from sobbing, but as my breathing slowed, I realized I was going to fall asleep. No more self-preservation left in me, I let sleep take me.

  * * *

  I woke up some time later. The light was different, softer. It looked like it was afternoon or just before the sun went down. I crawled to the edge and peeked out of the latticework again. Bodies littered the street and the half burned out shell of the Hummer was visible. I waited, and after what I judged to be an hour, I left the sanctuary of the small space. I hadn’t heard anything in that time I was waiting, and I had been listening for noises above me in the house as well. It had remained silent.

  My heart was racing and my clothes were soaked with sweat when I got out from under the porch and slowly looked around. Spent casings littered the street around the bodies of the soldiers. Should I go loot them like in the video games? A gun would be nice, but I’d kill for a bottle of water and something for the cramping that was coming on. Deciding the house to be the safer first stop, I let myself in the back door, which had been left unlocked. Who does that anymore, I wondered.

  “Hello?” I called out softly, not wanting to get shot by a nervous homeowner who was even more scared than I was.

  Nobody called back so I took that as an invitation to ransack the house. The first month, I stayed in place, my apartment sweltering in the heat as the rest of the population went crazy. It was worse than the stories I heard about the LA riots. People shooting others, settling old scores. Looting, rioting and after a while… the cops quit showing up for work. A month ago, I never would have done this, but times are desperate and one way or another, most of the people are dead or gone.

  “What do we have here?” I asked myself, an annoying habit I’d developed since being alone for so long.

  The kitchen had been gone through, but not thoroughly. There was a foil packet of a noodle side dish and a can of tuna wedged in the back corner of a cupboard. I would have drooled at the find, but I didn’t have enough moisture left in my body.

  “Wait…” I fumbled with the can of Tuna and smiled. “Packed in water.” It read.

  I sat down and pulled a can opener out of my pocket and made quick work of the can. I half thought about it but, in the end, I tilted the can back and drank all the water inside the can. I almost gagged at the rich flavor, but my stomach loved it. I resisted the urge to scoop the can clean with my fingers, and got out a camping silverware set I kept in the other pocket.

&nb
sp; My stomach rumbled when I finished off the can and, out of habit, I went to the sink to try to rinse off my fork. Nothing. If I hadn’t been running on automatic pilot, I would have drunk that water first if any had come out. Putting the noodles in my pack, I decided to check out the rest of the house. There were two bedrooms downstairs and a den. All of them had been gone through by looters and graffiti was painted across the inside of a room that looked like it belonged to a girl a little younger than me. “Cunt” was rudely sprayed. With one word, whoever wrote that word put me on edge. I checked the bedroom thoroughly but no birth control and no Pamprin. Damn! I looked in what looked like the boy’s room a little closer, hoping for some sort of weapon. Nothing.

  The den had a useless computer and a rack of file folders that had been half emptied all over the desk, overlooking a beautiful view of the ocean. The tug of the surf was mesmerizing. It made me think that no matter what, things would be ok. They had to be. I moved out of the den and into the hallway leading up the stairs.

  Pausing to look at the family portraits, I felt a pang of sadness. A red-faced man was holding a fishing pole while smiling teenage kids hugged either side of his body and a beautiful brunette held onto his arm. The setting looked to be the dock out back I had seen from the den. Their happiness left me feeling gut punched as I missed my own parents. Geeks and gamers, just like me. They’d been gone for a while now, almost a lifetime ago.

  The upstairs was stifling hot and dust motes floated through the air. There was a bathroom and large bedroom up there and I checked the bathroom out first. I opened the linen closet and was rewarded with two boxes of Maxi Pads. I stuffed those into my backpack and resisted the urge to pump my fists into the air and scream in victory. An unopened tube of toothpaste and toothbrush followed closely and I moved into the bedroom. Everything about the bed looked like it had been made up neatly and the family had gone on vacation.

  The drawers of the dresser and the closet spoke a different story. The looters had been up here too, and, judging by what was missing, I could figured it was a group of guys. Ladies’ clothing had only been gone through in a cursory manner, but the side of the drawers that held men’s clothing had been ransacked. A jewelry cabinet by the night stand had been emptied, and an empty brass casing was on the floor in front of it. I picked it up, knowing it had some trading value, and looked around harder.

  There wasn’t a hole in the wall or furniture that I could see and I puzzled over the reasons the casing might be there, as I methodically went through the rest of the room. I found a pink sports bottle in the closet, along with a pair of hiking boots. Trying them on, I was pleasantly surprised to find they fit rather well and I left my worn out shoes that had been giving me blisters right there on the floor. I pulled out my small flashlight and flipped it on in the darkest corner of the closet. I didn’t expect to find a gun, but I always looked. The glint I saw made my breath catch in my throat and I knelt down.

  I pulled at the checkered grip in reverence and almost spat in disgust when I saw the orange tip on the barrel. I’d just found some kids paintball gun. Shit! I backed out to check through the nightstands, the last place to look here. I smiled immediately. The left side of the bed obviously belonged to a man, and whoever trashed this house didn’t go through the drawers thoroughly. I found a foam trap holding twenty rounds of 9mm shells and a pocket knife. I put those in the pack, the knife in my pocket. The woman’s side was where I hit the jackpot.

  Tylenol; it was definitely a lifesaver for these god-awful cramps. I thought about trying to dry swallow the pills, but knew I would gag. That sucked, but I was dehydrated and I couldn’t even spit when things came right down to it. Smiling at my own luck, I headed downstairs to stare out the window at the dead bodies I could partially make out near the husk of the hummer.

  * * *

  It took me an hour to slowly work my way over there. Nothing was alive within earshot or eyesight. The smell of burnt flesh was overpowering near the hummer, and a half burned arm hung out of the passenger side window. Two men lay dead near the rear door, and it was one of those who was lying face down that I was trying to roll over.

  I saw the canteen right away and I didn’t want to cut the straps if I didn’t have to.

  “Why do these guys have to wear all this heavy gear? This is nothing like Call of Duty where you just walk over the bodies to loot them,” I muttered bitterly. I sat down and put both feet on the man’s arms and shoulder and used the strength of my legs to roll him over.

  “Yuck!” I almost gagged at first, but then I realized this was the man who had taken the shotgun blast to the head. Most of his face was gone, but it had left the rest of his body intact and without a lot of blood spatter.

  No gun. Shit. Working the strap on the web belt, I got the canteen loose and then paused, considering the radio that he had in a pouch hanging off of his vest. I was almost ready to pass it on by when I heard the roar of a motorcycle. With nowhere to hide, I laid between the body and the hummer, my heart hammering a thousand miles an hour.

  “This is so not good, Z,” I told myself, my voice too hoarse.

  I listened for minutes, waiting until the sound faded into the distance. In relief, I drank half the canteen until my stomach cramped in protest. The water tasted clean, cold and slightly metallic. I wiped my lips absently with my hand, and was shocked to see a smear of red. I looked into the canteen and the water looked normal but the edges of the canteen were stained. I touched my lips and nodded. They had split and bled again.

  “Do I take it?” I asked myself, looking at the radio.

  * * *

  I was back at the house from earlier again. I knew it was safe for now and, instead of going through the rest of the houses in the neighborhood, I wanted to be here, in this one. I considered hiding but it made no sense. I figured I’d probably rest and then push on. Absently I considered the web belt and two canteens. Full, they would probably be heavy, but coupled with the water bottle, I would be able to carry enough water to last me a couple days, if I could only find water.

  I played with the knobs of the radios I found on the dead soldiers, and was shocked when the red light of power glowed and a burst of static filled the silent living room.

  “Hello?” I asked, not expecting anything but more static.

  “I can hear you, are you ok?” a voice asked, sounding tinny and far away.

  The fact that it was a woman’s voice immediately put me at ease. In a flash it crossed my mind that the bikers might have a lady to transmit over the air to put people at ease, but I decided to be cautiously optimistic.

  “Yeah, I just found this radio and decided to try it out. Dumb luck huh?” I laughed nervously after taking my finger off the transmit button.

  “Yeah, I guess it is. Is it a big radio?”

  “Oh no, it’s a hand held radio. I found it under a dead soldier. I thought it was a weird thing to hold on to since all the electronics died…” I let my voice die off as I considered the radio, noticing the odd script on it, definitely not in English.

  “From what we can tell, most military radio pieces work fine, but tell me, why was the soldier dead?” she asked.

  “It was from the group that got into a gunfight with the biker’s out here.” I told her reluctantly.

  “Where’s here?”

  “Charlotte. Listen, I have to go find some water somewhere. I’ll be back later on. It’s nice talking to people who aren’t out to hurt me.”

  “Thanks. I’m Patty. I’ll be right here.”

  “Thanks Patty, call me Z.” I told her, wincing with the inevitable follow up question.

  “Z?”

  “I have a weird name.” I told her.

  “Hey Z, real quick, do you know about water heaters?” Patty asked.

  “No, what about them? They quit working when the gas quit.” I was confused, water heaters?

  “This is Blake,” a man’s voice came out of the handset, “the water heater is still a holding tank.
There’s a valve at the bottom for maintenance. I’m willing to bet if you’re around a ton of empty houses you can find one or two that are full. That’s probably more water than you’d need…”

  “I have to go,” I said, startled by the man’s voice.

  I turned off the radio and ran for a closet I had found earlier on the first floor under the staircase. I had two thoughts clanging so loudly in my head, and I half wanted to scream. Maybe Blake was part of the trap. Maybe they knew where the radios came from and the men were going to come here, they were going to find me and they were going to—

  I almost fell into the water heater. It was sitting on an aluminum pan and a short length of hose ran from a spigot near the bottom to a floor drain. No way. This was too easy. I decided to try to use the pink water bottle first. It was mostly clear, so I could see if the water was full of crap. I wouldn’t be able to see if I used the canteens. The flow of water almost startled me, and red flakes floated in the water at first. I dumped the water into the floor drain, but when I turned the spigot back on and into the cup the water flowed out cold and clear, though cold was probably a relative term. Summers in Charlotte were hot and the water was probably seventy degrees, but I tried not to let my hands shake as I filled the containers.

  Maybe it wasn’t a trick. Maybe that Blake fellow was just trying to help; I mean, the voice sounded far off. I turned off the spigot and sat in the dark, wondering if I should figure out how to get the noodles cooked, wondering if I could be so lucky in the surrounding houses. Hoping the bikers didn’t come back. Feeling grateful and reckless, I turned back on the radio.

  “Hey, uh… Blake, this is Z.” I whispered, not sure why I was suddenly feeling shy.

  “Go ahead, I’m still here.”

  “I think you saved me. I haven’t had water for a day and a half now. I’m in somebody’s closet and found it just like you said. Thank you,” I told him, feeling grateful.