The Last Signal

The Last Signal

The static was growing louder. Jace twisted the dial on the ancient radio, fingers trembling. The sky outside was bruised with the last light of a dying sun, a sickly orange glow casting jagged shadows through the broken windows of the bunker. The world had ended quietly, the way a record needle lifts at the end of a song—no grand explosion, no screaming masses. Just silence, save for the occasional whisper of wind through abandoned buildings.

Then the voice came.

“--you hear me? If anyone is listening, coordinates—”

Jace slammed his hand down on the radio, heart hammering. The voice was warped, broken by interference, but unmistakably human. He hadn’t heard another person in months. He turned the knob slowly, desperate to hold onto the signal.

“Repeat. If anyone is listening, the safe zone is—”

Then, nothing. Just static.

He swore under his breath, running a hand through his unwashed hair. The world had been cruel, but never more than at this moment. He had food, water, enough supplies to last—but the loneliness was what might actually kill him.

Jace grabbed his notebook, scrawling what little he’d caught of the message. Safe zone. A chance. A risk. Was it real? Was it worth it?

His fingers hesitated over his pack. (Self-edit: Initially, I wrote that he immediately threw supplies into his bag, but that felt too easy, too impulsive. Jace has survived alone this long; he wouldn't jump without hesitation. Instead, I let doubt creep in, made him linger over the decision. The risk feels heavier this way.)

The decision made itself. He couldn’t stay, not anymore. The next morning, he walked east toward the static, toward the unknown, toward hope.

Or a trap.

End.