Day 7.
It started with a crackle.
Not lightning, not Nana's knees—though those had their own soundtrack—but the slow, drawn-out purr of something breaking through the silence of the apocalypse.
Carl was in the pantry, halfway through organizing cans into categories ("Acceptable," "Suspicious," and "Definitely Gremlin Food"), when the static from the old radio on the kitchen counter broke its usual quiet stutter.
Then a voice came through.
"…repeat… survivors… frequency… if you can hear this… you are not alone…"
Carl froze, hand hovering over a dusty can of creamed spinach. "Ellie!"
In response, a loud crash came from upstairs.
Ellie skidded down the stairs seconds later, holding what looked like a broken walkie-talkie and a garden gnome she'd named "Mr. President."
"Was that a real transmission or another one of Toby's prank frequencies?"
Toby appeared from behind the couch, munching a granola bar and wearing night-vision goggles despite it being 10 AM. "I only jammed the airwaves once. And that was for educational purposes."
Carl didn't reply. He was already fiddling with the dials.
"…seek elevated terrain… repeat… this is Station Ember… broadcasting from—"
Static swallowed the rest.
Ellie sat on the counter. "That's the first real signal we've heard in like a week."
Carl murmured, still turning knobs. "Station Ember. Sounds like a late-night DJ or a doomsday prepper podcast."
Nana entered the kitchen, spotted the radio, and poured herself tea like nothing was unusual. "That old thing still works?"
"Apparently."
"Great. Use it to order more flour."
Toby leaned over Carl's shoulder. "The signal's bouncing. Probably shortwave. Weak source, maybe solar-powered. There's a gap in the transmission… like someone's broadcasting between static holes."
Ellie raised a brow. "Did you just say 'static holes' like a real phrase?"
"It is now."
---
Plan: Go High, Hear Better
Ellie tapped the kitchen whiteboard with a dry-erase marker.
> OBJECTIVE: FIND RADIO PEOPLE STRATEGY: GO UP = HEAR MORE
Below that, she drew a cartoon mountain labeled "Nana's Hill" with stick figures: one labeled us, another labeled maybe cool survivors, and one that just said zombie possum???
Carl squinted. "I don't like how close the zombie possum is to us."
"We'll be fine." Ellie handed him a granola bar. "Emergency rations."
Nana looked up from her knitting. "Take the red wagon. It's got off-road wheels."
Carl blinked. "You have an off-road wagon?"
"I prepared for grandkids and chaos. Don't mix them."
---
Packing Essentials:
Radio (duct taped)
Notebook
Water bottles
Three granola bars
Binoculars
Pie (Nana insisted)
Carl pulled the wagon while Ellie and Toby argued over terrain navigation. The sun was out, birds chirped warily, and the path up Nana's hill was mostly gravel, grass, and snark.
The plan was simple: get to the top, raise the antenna, and maybe catch a full sentence from whoever was out there.
Toby held up a printout of the area map he'd made from Google Earth screenshots and crayon. "There might be interference from Tree Cluster Omega."
"You mean the oak trees," Carl said.
Toby squinted. "They remember everything."
Ellie whispered, "He's been eating the canned fruit again."
---
Halfway Up
Carl stopped to catch his breath. "I'm in decent shape for a dad. This hill disagrees."
Ellie handed him a juice box.
Toby pointed toward a ridge. "Best signal's probably up there. Less canopy. Better line of sight."
Carl nodded and started hauling the wagon again.
It creaked. Something inside sloshed.
"You didn't pack the pie under the water, did you?"
Ellie's silence said everything.
---
Summit Achieved
The view was surprisingly majestic—rolling green, smoke from distant fires, and the eerie quiet of a world paused.
Carl set up the radio and extended the antenna using an old curtain rod. Toby added foil.
Ellie adjusted the dials.
"…can hear this… we have food, shelter, comms… Station Ember, out."
They all froze.
Carl whispered, "It's real."
Ellie smiled. "We're not alone."
Then the pie exploded.
---
Pie Crisis
Turns out, setting a warm pie next to a metal thermos and then hauling it up a hill in the sun creates pressure.
One loud blorp, and now Carl's jeans were cherry-flavored.
"Oh no!" Ellie gasped.
Toby immediately documented the moment in his apocalypse log: Cherry Blast Incident – casualties: dignity and dessert.
Carl just sighed. "Why is the universe like this?"
Ellie offered him a wet wipe. "Rule #18: Expect chaos. Bring napkins."
---
Signal Boost
They stayed on the hill for another hour, logging each phrase from Station Ember. Most were fragmented, but one stood out:
"…coordinates incoming… safe zone expanding… gather at Node Point…"
"Node Point?" Ellie asked. "Sounds like a sci-fi conference."
Carl looked at the map. "It could be military, or a survivor code name."
Toby scribbled, then flipped his notebook around. It now read:
> MISSION: FIND NODE POINT
Carl nodded. "Tomorrow, we start triangulating."
"Is that math?" Ellie asked, horrified.
"Unfortunately."
Toby groaned. "Can we barter with canned peaches for answers instead?"
---
Back Down the Hill
They returned home sunburnt, pie-splattered, and buzzing with the thrill of maybe-not-being-alone. Nana met them with lemonade and a hose.
"You smell like sweat and disappointment," she noted.
Carl dumped the ruined pie tin. "I brought the radio."
"Good. Because the chickens refuse to learn Morse code."
---
Back at Nana's kitchen table, the trio spread out their findings like ancient scholars with a sacred map—and also half a melted granola bar stuck to the radio.
Ellie drew circles on a paper map with neon markers, each one labeled with highlighter and creative flair:
"Weird tree noises?"
"Signal bump?"
"Possibly haunted bush."
Toby labeled a shaded area as "The Crackle Zone" in red crayon.
Carl rubbed his temples. "This looks less like a radio map and more like a coloring book gone rogue."
"Creative survival," Ellie said, tossing another sticker onto the map—a rainbow unicorn. "Coordinates + Sparkles = Success."
Toby tapped the antenna with a screwdriver. "Based on the intervals, we're picking up a repeating loop. That means someone's either pre-recorded a message or they've automated the signal. Either way, they want survivors to find it."
Carl nodded. "Which means they're expecting someone to be listening."
"Or it's a trap," Nana said flatly, walking past them with a jar of pickles. "Rule #27: If it sounds too hopeful, double-check your exits."
Ellie looked up. "So… we go tomorrow?"
Carl glanced out the window. The light was fading. Shadows crept longer across the yard. A breeze carried the distant echo of moaning—distant, but not forgotten.
He sighed. "Tomorrow. First light. Node Point or bust."
---
That Night
Carl couldn't sleep.
Not because of fear, or even anxiety. But because Toby insisted on testing a "signal-reflective blanket fort" in the living room.
It apparently required the use of every reflective surface in the house, including a disco ball and Nana's emergency foil-wrapped fruitcake from 1998.
Ellie dozed off under her towel-cape, hugging her dino plush.
Carl watched the radio. Still static. Still occasional flickers of voice. But no clarity.
He adjusted the volume, stared at the stars out the window, and whispered, "Let this be real."
---
DAY 8 – MORNING
Nana made oatmeal that tasted suspiciously like vengeance and cinnamon.
Carl packed light: flashlight, water, protein bars, multitool, radio, binoculars.
Ellie packed stickers, snacks, a drawing pad, and Mr. President the garden gnome.
Toby brought a map, a slingshot, and a shoebox labeled "anti-zombie prototypes."
Nana stood at the porch as they loaded up the red wagon again.
"Don't trust anything with teeth or a sales pitch," she warned.
Carl nodded. "No multi-level marketers. Got it."
"And remember," Nana added, "no matter what happens—don't let Carl make decisions without snacks."
Ellie saluted. "Roger that."
---
Into the Suburbs
They passed three abandoned mail trucks, one burnt barbecue pit, and a row of mannequins someone had dressed like yoga instructors.
Ellie whispered, "Creepy."
Toby took notes. "Possible camouflage strategy."
Birds chirped. A single car alarm groaned weakly and then died.
Carl led with the map, using Toby's crayon-scrawled notes and old power lines to guess direction.
"We follow the signal strength, get to higher elevation, and hope the signal gets stronger," he said.
"And if it doesn't?" Ellie asked.
"Then we turn back and Nana says 'I told you so.'"
---
The House on Stilts
They found the first strange landmark two hours in: a house perched on stilts, surrounded by solar panels, garden gnomes, and wind chimes shaped like skeletons.
Toby approached cautiously. "Possible Node Point?"
Carl checked the radio.
Static… crackle… "...if you can hear this…" then silence.
"Nope. Too weak."
Ellie peeked inside. "Nobody home. Just a lot of cats."
A dozen pairs of glowing eyes stared from behind curtains.
Carl backed away slowly. "Let's not anger the feline council."
---
Midday Heat
The sun beat down. Sweat soaked their shirts. Carl's coffee-dependence turned into withdrawal.
They passed a lemonade stand manned by a cardboard cutout and a jug of suspicious fluid.
Toby sniffed it. "Fermented pickle juice."
Ellie gagged.
Carl poured it out and left a granola bar as offering.
"May the gods of hydration forgive us."
---
Climbing the Old Radio Tower Hill
An old, rusted radio tower stood half-collapsed on the edge of town. Trees had grown around it. Vines strangled its base.
Carl grunted, "This is it. Higher ground. Better chance at signal clarity."
They climbed. Carefully.
Birds scattered. A deer bolted. And from a distant alley, a moan echoed.
They froze.
Carl whispered, "How far?"
Toby held up binoculars. "Block and a half. Slow ones."
"Good. We're faster. Let's go."
---
Top of the Tower Ridge
Ellie held the antenna high. Toby adjusted the dials.
"…frequency 74.2… Node Point secure… update daily…"
Carl grinned. "We got it."
Toby marked coordinates on the map. "Signal is strongest due west."
Ellie added a big star and wrote: "HOPE?"
Then they heard it.
Not the radio.
Not birds.
Something else.
A groan. Louder. Closer.
Zombies. At least five. Shambling through the trees below.
Carl hissed, "We need to move."
---
Escape Run
They grabbed the wagon and bolted.
Zombies shuffled from between trees. One tripped on a root. Another lunged and faceplanted into a bush.
Carl led the way. "This way—back through the creek!"
Ellie tossed stickers as a distraction.
Toby dropped marbles.
Carl turned, swinging a mop like a sword. "Out of my way, toe-biters!"
They reached the creek bed, splashing through ankle-deep water and mud.
Ellie slipped. Toby caught her.
Carl pulled the wagon up a slope, grunting with effort.
Finally, they reached the fence line. Familiar ground.
Home was close.
---
Back at Nana's
They burst through the gate. Nana stood calmly watering her plants.
"Rough trip?"
Carl nodded, panting. "Zombies. Creek. Coordinates."
Ellie beamed. "We found Node Point!"
Toby waved the notebook. "And we mapped the whole area!"
Nana handed them towels and juice. "Good. Now go hose yourselves down. You smell like bad decisions."
Carl collapsed onto the porch. "Tomorrow… we plan."
Ellie whispered, "We're not alone anymore."
Carl smiled. "Nope. We've got a signal… and a direction."
He looked at the setting sun.
Maybe—just maybe—the world wasn't over. Just paused. Waiting for someone to hit play.
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End of Chapter 7 - Radio Static and Pie
> "The journey to hope is paved with static, sweat, and sometimes cherry pie. But the signal is real. And so are we."
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