Deadman

Book 2 Chapter 28: Tuning In

Eventually, as we flew, the landmarks and settlements grew fewer and fewer until the only things breaking up the landscape were forgotten towns, and the ruins of roads long since claimed by swamps. I heard some kind of alarm sound from the cockpit ahead of me, and the Shrike came to an abrupt halt, then lowered gently to the ground. I grabbed my pack, feeling the comforting weight of my supplies, and went to hop out and start my long trek, when Graves surprised me by looking back.

“Good luck,” he said in his staticky voice.

I nodded at him. “You too.” Then I hopped out of the shrike. I waited for a few moments, watching him take back off, then, I started walking. I was less than a mile in when I felt the warmth of radiation wash over me. Graves had taken me as far as was survivable for him before dropping me off.

I walked for several hours and found myself growing bored far more quickly than I usually did. The endless wastes ahead of me not holding my attention as they once had. I’d grown spoiled. I’d ridden on Betty, or in the Shrike, or even been transported around by the Khan’s patrols for the majority of my recent travels. I’d lost a bit of the mental discipline I had before, and daydreams weren’t coming nearly so easily to me as they had in the past. It didn’t help that while the Shrike’s flight had been less and less visually interesting, the walk was even more so. I didn’t see a forest, swamp, ruined town or anything else to break up the monotony. Just a desert as far I could see.

I walked for three or four hours more, feeling the radiation slowly build as I continued on my trek toward the Cut. I’d mentally inventoried all of my weapons multiple times, checked through my notifications to see if anything new had popped up, and nibbled on some dried meat that Kit had had prepped for me in Pott’s. I was dozing while I walked for a bit, then I decided to pull out my radio. I needed something to focus on, even if it was more propaganda from the Remnants. I turned it on, and twisted the dial until I heard Adams’ voice just starting to break through a rendition of the old national anthem.

“Another piece of America has returned. In the early hours of the morning, our brave soldiers stormed the compound of the city state formerly known as, ‘The Republic’. They had stolen advanced weaponry developed by our nation's foremost scientists, and turned them against us! Claiming a divine right as the true inheritors of our great nation. Well, they learned soon enough that there’s nothing to inherit! The United States of Old is here again, and we will do all we can to restore our great nation and its citizens to the greatness and prosperity we once knew! If you worry for the Republic’s citizens, fear not! We understand how easy it is to be led astray, especially outside of the warm embrace of America’s bosom. Those who threw down their arms have been offered amnesty! And, as long as their leaders cooperate, they will be spared as well. America cares for its people, even those who shall return to us as prodigal sons and daughters. We are stronger, together,” The voice faded out from that last line and was replaced by the national anthem again shortly after.josei

I didn’t care for a lot of what that speech had implied. Firstly, that the leadership of The Republic had been spared. My loyalty was to Pott’s, and I’d always save a deadman over a human, but knowing what the Republic did to its children… I could stomach a lot, and had, but that was too far.

I felt that the other implied message in his speech was meant for those settlements that the Remnants had not yet turned their sight toward, and the Iron Horde specifically. They were trying to tell them that if they just laid down their arms, and pledged allegiance to their flag, they would be welcomed with no repercussions. It was a message that I could see working well depending on the audience. In the case of the Iron Horde though, I felt that it may be seen as a weakness. I’d only just recently witnessed how they dealt with betrayal, and negotiation, and it certainly wasn’t welcoming people back with open arms. Besides, I couldn’t see them respecting a foe that tried to avoid conflict like that. Sure, a settlement or two may sway toward the remnants, but they would certainly be made an example of before any true change of power occurred.

I listened for a few more minutes, but when I heard Adam’s voice again it was just the same message repeated, and after that it was some generic speech about restoring the country to its former glory, and on and on until I decided I’d rather deal with the unending flatness of the landscape ahead and the silence then listen to any more.

I moved the turn off the radio, but decided to slide the dial around some more. I remembered the mad man that Bill, my supplier in Jasper, had told me about that liked to listen to the ‘music’, that came through the radio static in high radiation areas. I slowly moved the dial left to right, listening to the variance in the static, and suddenly I felt like I was actually hearing music. I took a second to wonder if some form of wasteland madness had taken hold of me, but then heard someone singing followed by a guitar riff and realized that music really was playing on the radio. I kept walking, my feet starting to move in rhythm with the music, enjoying the novelty of it, when the song ended and I heard a very familiar voice speak.

“That was ‘Holiday in Bogodia,’ by the Living Lincolns. This is your host Deux Du Ponte Du Lac, of Radiation Revolution Radio, the only music station this side of the Cut, and quite possibly anywhere else. So if you don’t want to hear some boring asshole talk about how things were great before everything got blown to hell, tune in to me, and I’ll be playing music to get your feet moving rather than your eyes closing, y’know what I mean? Up next we’ve got the Fuck Guns with their hit, ‘Anarchy in the Extended Colonies’.” Deux’s voice cut off, and another song started up.

I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it. All that effort collecting the radio equipment and hauling it all to Pott’s and it was to start up his own Punk rock radio station. I don’t know why I had expected anything different, but I was very entertained by the idea, particularly when the only other thing that was on the air, at least for now, was a boring man giving long winded speeches. I had a feeling it would gain popularity very quickly. It would also likely antagonize the Remnants, but I couldn’t see how they would retaliate. They had no reason to know who Deux was, and even if they did they couldn’t do much to him in Pott’s. Solomon and the Honored Dead may have something to say about it, but I trusted Deux to win them over in the end. He regularly managed to get in human’s good graces, other deadmen were a breeze.

I walked for a few more hours, my pace set by the hard and fast music that Deux was playing on his station. It was a welcome change from my usual silent walk, and I knew I’d have to take advantage of it as long as I could, as the signal would almost certainly start to wane as I traveled further and further from Pott’s and nearer to the Cut. Not to mention whatever strange effects the wastes may have on the signal in the meantime.

It was nearly early morning by the time I decided to stop for the night. I set the radio to the side, turned it down, and had a dinner or breakfast of dried meat, some strong mint tea that Kit had packed for me. I’d missed traveling alone, having time with my own thoughts, time to breathe. I pulled out a well worn paperback I’d gotten off of Murphy, ‘Mark of the Jester’, a book about a man both blessed and cursed by prophecy, trying to find a way to overcome it. As I settled in, a smell touched my nostrils. I didn’t move, keeping my eyes on the book, and inhaling deeply. Something was close, maybe one hundred yards away. I smelled wet fur, and blood. It didn’t get closer, and I made a show of continuing to read. Whatever it was, it was watching me.