Static

The city was a corpse. Concrete veins ran through its body, broken and lifeless, while hollow buildings stared down at her like blind eyes. Jo clutched the radio to her chest as if it were a talisman, her only anchor in a world that had been swallowed by silence. She hadn’t heard a birds song, a cars engine, or even the whisper of wind in what felt like an eternity. But just hours ago, the radio had spoken. 

In the static of the radio, she swore she heard his voice. “Jo, find me”, her brother Jack had whispered through the crackling hum. The words half buried in distortion. It had been faint, fleeting, but unmistakable. “Ill be waiting in the sound,”the radio spoke. Her heart had lurched, half with hope, half with fear. She twisted the dial again now, desperate to hear him once more, but the radio gave nothing back.

“Please,” she begged aloud, her voice trembling, “Say something. Anything.” But the static had returned to its cruel indifference.

Jo’s footsteps echoed unnaturally against the empty streets as she moved through the skeletal remains of the city. The radio was a constant weight in her hands, the knob twisting beneath her trembling fingers. Occasionally the static would falter, replaced by faint pops and hisses that made her pulse quicken. She thought she caught snippets of Jacks voice in the noise— a muffled word, a laugh, maybe even her name— but it was never enough to be certain.

The city started to feel alive, but not in a way she could understand. She’d see movements in the corner of her eye, a shadow darting across a cracked window or the shifting of a pile of rubble. Once she thought she heard footsteps trailing her, their rhythm slightly off from her own. But every time she turned around, she found nothing. Only silence. Only the void.

“Get a grip”, she muttered, pressing the radio closer to her chest. But her own voice sounded foreign, distorted by the absence of any other noise.

She ducked into a shattered convenience store to catch her breath, the air inside thick with ash, dust, and decay. The shelves were long stripped bare, and the sunlight streaming through the broken windows cast jagged patterns across the floor. She set the radio down for a moment, her hands shaking too much to hold it steady.

As she scanned the room, she saw something out of place: a small, folded piece of paper resting on the counter. She unfolded it, her breath catching when she saw Jacks handwriting scrawled across the page.

“Follow the sound. Im close.”

Her legs nearly gave beneath her. “Jack,” she whispered, clutching the note so tightly it crumpled in her hand. Her desperation turned into resolve. She didnt know how the note had gotten there— maybe she didnt want to know— but it didnt matter. He was alive. He had to be.

She left the store and ventured deeper into the city. The buildings around her seemed taller, leaning in as if they were watching her. The shadows danced longer, darker, and the air felt heavy, pressing against her lungs.

The radio sputtered to life again, and this time, she heard it clearly: Jacks voice, broken and faint, but unmistakable.

“…Jo…almost there…”

She froze, the sound sending a jolt through her. “Jack!” she shouted into the static. “Where are you? Tell me where!”

The voice didnt answer, but the static shifted, forming a new pattern, almost like it was leading her somewhere. She followed it, her pulse pounding as she passed derelict cars and crumbling remains of life. Her surroundings blurred as the static grew louder, rising to a deafening crescendo that made her wince. And then, suddenly, it stopped.

Ahead of her stood a massive, rustic barn at the edge of the city. The silence was suffocating now, but she couldnt ignore the pull of the place. The radio buzzed faintly in her hands, almost like it was urging her forward. She hesitated at the entrance, her paranoia now screaming at her to turn back. The shadows here felt alive, shifting unnaturally against the light. But then she thought of Jacks note, his voice, his promise. “Im close.” 

She stepped inside, the air turning cold and stale around her.



Jo pushed open the warped barn door, her breath quick and shallow. The metallic groan echoed through the cavernous space, blending with the faint hum of something inside. Dust swirled in the shafts of gray light that pierced the cracked windows, and the air was thick with mildew and the faint acrid tang of burnt metal.

In the center of the room was a machine.

It was a tangle of salvaged parts: rusted speakers, a car battery leaking onto the floor, and a reel-to-reel tape recorder, its spools turning sluggishly. Wires snaked out in all directions, connecting to shattered radios and broken amplifiers scattered across the floor. The sight of it made her stomach twist.

And then she heard it.

“Jo.”

She froze, her pulse pounding in her ears. It was Jacks voice—faint and warped, but unmistakable.

Her throat tightened as she moved closer, her boots crunching over shards of glass. “Jack?” she whispered, barely able to speak his name.

The machine crackled, and his voice came again. “You came. I knew you would.”

Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, staring at the thing in front of her. It didn’t make sense—none of this made sense—but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“Where are you?” she choked out, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ve been looking for you. I heard you—I heard you on the radio. I followed you.”

“I’m here,” the voice said, calm and steady. “Right here.”

She blinked, her tears spilling over. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, shaking her head. Her gaze darted to the desk beside the machine, cluttered with tools and crumpled papers. Her heart clenched when she saw Jacks handwriting on the notes.

“Keep it running. Keep her safe.”

She picked up one of the papers, her hands trembling. She recognized the diagrams, the messy sketches of circuits and speaker systems. Jack had always been the one to tinker, fixing old radios and building strange contraptions in the barn. But this… this was something else.

Her chest tightened as a memory surfaced: Jack in the barn, working late into the night. The drought had gone on for months by then, the crops withering under the relentless sun. Jack had been so sure he could fix it—he’d rigged a system to pull water from the well, pumping it through filters he’d built from scraps. She’d believed him, believed in him, until the day it all went wrong.

She closed her eyes, the image flashing behind her lids: the fire, the thick smoke, Jack shouting for her to run. She had stumbled out of the barn as the flames roared higher, engulfing everything. The barn, the crops, the valley. Everything was gone.

“Jo,” the machine called again, snapping her back to the present.

Her head whipped toward it. “You’re dead,” she whispered, the words trembling on her lips.

The machine crackled, and Jacks voice answered, softer this time. “Not dead. I stayed. For you.”

Her breath hitched. “What does that mean? Stayed how?”

“To keep you safe,” he said, as though it were obvious. “So you wouldn’t be alone.”

She stared at the machine, her mind racing. This wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be him. But the voice—it was so real.

Her eyes flicked to the radio she’d been carrying, now lying silent on the floor. Had she really heard him on it? Had she really found that note in the store? Or had she imagined it all, desperate to hear his voice again?

The machine hummed, the tape reels spinning faster. “You followed me,” it said. “You heard me.”

She shook her head, gripping the edge of the desk to steady herself. “No,” she whispered. “This isn’t real. None of this is real.”

“Jo,” the voice said, pleading now. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Her breath came in gasps, panic rising in her chest. She wanted to run, to get as far away from this thing as possible. But she couldn’t move. What if it *was* him? What if he’d found a way to stay, to speak to her, to reach her?

Her eyes darted to the wires, the tape reels, the car battery sparking faintly on the floor. It didn’t make sense. It was insane. But so was the silence of the empty fields, the ash covering the valley, the absence of anyone else. Maybe she *was* insane.

“I don’t know what’s real anymore,” she whispered, clutching her head.

“Jo,” the voice said again, softer now, almost tender. “Stay. Please. I love you.”

Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the machine. It had his voice. His words. His love. But it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him.

Or could it?

Her hands clenched into fists as she rose to her feet. She looked down at the machine, the wires humming faintly, the static filling the air. She thought of smashing it, pulling it apart, ending the loop. But her hands wouldn’t move.

“Jo,” the voice called one last time.

She turned and ran, the barn door slamming shut behind her.

Outside, the fields stretched gray and lifeless under the dull sky. She stumbled down the road, her heart pounding in her chest. The silence pressed in on her, thick and suffocating, as her thoughts spiraled out of control.

Had she heard him? Had she imagined it? Was he still in there, waiting for her?

The machine’s voice echoed in her mind as she disappeared into the wasteland.

Back in the barn, the machine whirred softly, its tape reels turning, Jacks voice still calling for her, over and over again.