Radio Silence

“That’s great to hear, Rye!” Matt Folger said as he paced his room at 3:36 in the morning in his host family’s home in Cameroon. He was on the phone catching up with his longtime neighbor and childhood best friend Ryan Hunter. It was 7:36 PM in Oregon. “What else is new? Do you have any more news? How are my sisters and my cousin Gwen? What about Abigail? Are you checking up on her to make sure she’s not depressed while I’m gone?”

“Why should I?” Ryan joked. “Am I your girlfriend’s keeper?”

“It’s part of your best friend duties,” Matt said. “I mean, yeah, we’ve talked—in fact, we talked just the other day. But you know I can’t help but worry about her sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Ryan asked with skepticism and a teasing smile in his voice. “Really, Matt? Really?”

“Well, fine,” Matt said with a sigh. “Most of the time. So you can understand why I w—” Click.

That’s weird, Matt thought to himself. Did I say something wrong? Did he get offended by my request? Was I out of line? That wasn’t too much to ask, was it? Or maybe he didn’t like my best friend duties joke. All these thoughts ran through Matt’s head at ninety miles per hour as he paced his room like a caged tiger at the zoo. He pressed 8 on his phone’s keypad and called Ryan again using speed dial.

“The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service,” the familiar yet dreaded male automated voice said. “Please check the number and try again.”

Matt drew a deep breath before deciding to panic and then tried Ryan’s number one more time. There it was again! That blasted message. It was the same! Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel. He swore under his breath and threw his phone on the bed before resuming pacing. He let out a frustrated breath and tried again. This time, he tried his parents’ numbers—first his dad and then his mom. No luck.

“The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service,” the automated voice said. Again, really? He tried four more times. Still nothing.

The next person he tried to call was his cousin. Come on, Gwen, pick up! He mumbled under his breath then tipped his head back to stare at the tin roof in his room. There was no ceiling, only a roof and wooden beams for support.

“The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service,” came the familiar warning. Great. Just great. But Matthew Levi Folger wasn’t the type to give up that easily. Next, he called his baby sister, Tarrah, or as he fondly called her, El (or jokingly, Millie Bobby Brown). He wanted to catch her before she went to bed. Mr. and Mrs. Folger set her bedtime at 8:15. It was now 8:00 in the US and 4 AM in Cameroon. He had fifteen minutes and hoped the connection would finally work. He tried her number and was frustrated to hear the same old automated message.

“The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service,” the infuriating voice said. “Please check the number and try again.”

He tried to reach Tarrah five more times before trying Libby’s number. Maybe he would finally have some luck with Libby. But that wasn’t the case, apparently. Libby’s phone didn’t work either. Or was it his phone that didn’t work? Then he tried calling his other best friend Andrew. Maybe he’d pick up. If Andrew doesn’t answer and he hears the same old message, he’d have to call Andrew’s fiancée Erin.

“Come on, man!” Matt said through gritted teeth. “Pick up! Pick up!”

“The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service,” the message said. “Please check the number and try again.”

He called Erin. Still the same message. He called another friend named Jared. Still nothing. It was the same old message. What was that Albert Einstein quote about insanity? Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. And true enough, he felt like he was going insane. What in the world was going on? He hadn’t had this big of a problem before. Sure, he’d lost signal once or twice, especially on trips to remote villages, but nothing this bad. There was usually a signal no matter how choppy. And sometimes, if you were lucky enough, the signal would be strong and communication lines would be clear. It was like there was a signal jammer in the area or something. Everyone in his phonebook that he called didn’t answer and it was the same old annoying message. “The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again.”

Finally, in a last ditch effort, he called one last person. Abigail. His Abigail. His beautiful Swedish angel.

“Pick up, Angel,” Matt said, whispering a soft prayer. “Please, pick up.”

“The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service,” the message said once again. “Please check the number and try again.”

With an exasperated sigh, Matt sat at his desk and turned his laptop on to check the news and to maybe try Skype or Zoom. He screamed in frustration when he saw that even the Internet was gone. There was no wi-fi signal. He knew that the Internet connection was spotty in Cameroon at times, but this was getting ridiculous. It wasn’t usually this bad. There would be one or two crappy bars, which would suffice, but this time, it was zero. There were no bars at all. He pressed the refresh button on his laptop repeatedly hoping it would work its ancient magic, but alas, his repeated attempts failed to lift the seeming curse that had been placed on this faraway kingdom and its people. He also tried switching the Airplane Mode on and off to see if that would work. Even that failed miserably. He clicked the wi-fi switch off and then turned it back on again. That didn’t work either. Unable to contain himself, he let his frustrations bubble up and stared up at the house’s tin roof to scream to the highest Heaven. A second later, a knock came on his door and his host brother, Patrice, poked his head through.

“Is everything alright?” he asked in his French accent. “I heard a scream from your room so I ran to see if you were okay.”

“Oh, mon Dieu!” Matt said apologetically. “Mes excuses! J'espère que je ne t'ai pas réveillé.”

“Non, non, mon ami,” Patrice assured him. “I was drinking a glass of water from zhe kitchen when I heard you.”

“And your parents?” Matt asked. “I hope I didn’t wake them up.”

“Oh, do not worry about zhem,” Patrice answered. “Zhey are…what do you Americans call it? Sound sleepers? Zhey sleep like rocks.”

“Oh, thank God,” Matt said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“You look troubled,” Patrice observed. “What seems to be zhe problem, my friend?”

“It’s my phone,” Matt said, showing it to Patrice. “I was talking to one of my best friends when the signal got cut. And now I can’t talk to him. Or to any of my family and friends back home.”

“Sang Dieu!” Patrice said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Il semble qu'ils aient déjà frappé.”

“Who?” Matt asked, suddenly grabbing Patrice by the collar of his shirt, catching him in surprise. “Who has struck? Mes excuses. I did not mean…”

“It is okay,” Patrice said, smoothing his shirt. “I heard about zhem on zhe news zhe other day. Zhey call themselves Sons of zhe Seven Bowls.”

“I haven’t heard about these guys before,” Matt admitted. “I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t had the chance to catch up on the news lately.”

“Zhey claim to be a terrorist organization with spy networks spanning zhe seven continents,” Patrice explained but Matt raised an eyebrow in skepticism. “Even having a secret base somewhere in Antarctica.”

“Oh, come on! Now, that’s just ridiculous,” Matt said, not buying any of it. “Nobody would be crazy enough to establish a spy network in subzero temperatures unless they were a comic book or movie villain mastermind. Like an evil scientist or something.”

“Everyone else in zhe world apparently thought so,” Patrice said. “Until zhe other day when zhey revealed themselves to zhe world.”

“What exactly are their goals?” Matt asked. “What did they want?”

“Zhey said zhey wanted to cut off l’Internet, la télévision, la radio, et le téléphone,” Patrice said. “Zhey said zhey will attack all four, one by one. Come! Let me show you.”

Patrice led Matt out of his bedroom to the small living room in the center of the house and turn the antique boxy TV on. There were no moving pictures, only static, beeping, and a message from the station in both English and French.

“We are currently experiencing technical difficulties,” the message said in English. “Please stand by.”

“Nous rencontrons actuellement des difficultés techniques. Veuillez patienter.”

“But why?” Matt asked, still confused and highly annoyed. “What’s the purpose of all this? Did they release a statement?”

“Zhey said zhe world is getting more and more violent,” Patrice said. “Zhey said zhis was a judgment on humanity. Zhat zhe media in all its forms have contributed to zhe decay of human society and to evil. It has made us more angry and violent, and as zhey said in their video, more sinful. Zhey also said zhat des médias sociaux has contributed to division and fighting—and infighting at times.”

“Is that all?” Matt asked. “Did they say anything else, Patrice?”

“Zhey said zhat zhey will turn zhe power back on after several days,” Patrice said. “Zhat zhey only wanted zhe world to be quieter for a few days. Zhey said zhat by zhen, humanity has hopefully learned its lesson.”

“Oh, great,” Matt said with a sigh. “Isn’t there a way to trace them? Make them answer for their crimes? This is plain old terrorism!”

“Not wizhout technology, unfortunately,” Patrice said, shaking his head. “In zhe meantime, sleep as well as you can, as long as you can. You have work in a couple of hours, non?”

“I will try,” Matt said.

“Try not, mon ami,” Patrice joked. “Do. Or do not. Zhere is no try.”

Matt laughed.

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Matt said with a chuckle. “Well, Patrice, my friend! I say bonne nuit. Or should I say bonjour?”

And with that, Matt returned to his room and turned off the light. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t fall asleep. He decided to pick up his phone, put it to his ear, and start an imaginary conversation with Ryan, Andrew, his cousin Gwen, and his two sisters, pretending to call them each in turn. Maybe that would help him fall asleep. The thought felt like a comforting blanket over him.