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We had two houses... well, the top halves of two different houses... so I guess one whole house.
The Stepp’s house didn’t get eaten by the mud storm like ours did. Or at least, not as much. A sane person might have just moved next door... or far far way. Or left right then for Atlanta to find Howie’s dad.
But Brooks and I split our time between the two houses, days in the Stepp house and nights in Mom and Dad’s bed.
I don’t know how long we had been at the Stepp’s house before I risked turning on my PodMate. The first few days and nights passed in a blur of boarding up windows and scrounging for edible scraps in our new kitchen. We often slept where we fell, whether it was dark or darker outside.
One night, after Brooks and I fought to drag the generator to the side yard between our houses and run cords long enough to reach, I dared to sync the Pod. Holding my breath, I waited for the faint red light on top of the egg-shaped dome to grow stronger, then turn green. The thing took its sweet time, long enough for every emotion between anxiety and hopeless rage to pass through me.
I’d already beaten myself up for days since the storm, wondering why we were still there to get pounded in the first place. Mom’s words taunted me. Two years I’d wasted, stubbornly trying to put life back the way it was. Two years I’d put between us and Howie’s dad.
And there it was. My last precious moments with him played on repeat, until I was sure I was about to glitch, too. I knew he was the reason I couldn’t leave. I never knew how much he dominated my life before then. Gone was the faint scent of musk that always swirled around him, unnoticed until its absence.
In the months since his arrest I hadn’t dared try to chip him. Still, every night I talked to him, out loud, in my room. When Brooks and I started sharing our parents’ room I hid in their bathroom or closet, just to get a moment alone with my thoughts of Howie.
I told him everything. Rehearsed the talk we’d never get to have about his dad, my mom’s instructions... and on rare nights... even about the electricity that surged through my body the day we embraced. The day he was taken from me.
When the PodMate’s brilliant green light clicked on, I nearly cried. It hadn’t occurred to me how much I needed to hear Fox’s voice until those long minutes when it felt like I never would again. After losing everything else, I couldn’t lose Fox too.
The display told me I had seven new episodes to catch up on, the most recent of which had aired just that morning. Snatching the Pod off its charging pad, I yelled something to Brooks about him going to bed early to get on a ‘normal’ sleep routine again, and locked myself in the Stepp’s garage.
For hours, well into the night, I listened to Fox describe the horrors of the world I refused to go back into. The dust storm had knocked out the last communication towers. Our Sister Nations fell silent. Floodwaters destroyed four of the five remaining BDU locations across the continent. I skipped over the graphic details of bloated bodies floating in the streets.
Fox spent the next two shows discussing the Wall of the Lost that Rebels had constructed on the outskirts of all the launch station towns. People who could, flooded the Walls with dedications to their loved ones. Those who couldn’t, transmitted their farewells to Fox instead.
Although I tried over the years to find Pettine’s voice on these dedication shows, I had given up hope long before then. After the first thirty minutes of desperate wailing cries for lost parents, spouses, and children, I skipped the rest of those shows, too.
And while I refused to listen to the gut-wrenching sounds of those people mourning their loved ones, there was one sound I couldn’t miss. Maybe it had been there all along, and I had been too wrapped up in my own self-pity to hear it. Like a grandparent marveling at how much you’ve grown since last summer, when you feel the same as you always have.
Fox’s health was deteriorating. His voice, formerly a strong sure buoy in the rough waters of the Glitch, now bobbed and sank deeper with each wave. By the last episode, it was unmistakable.
“Our time has come my friends.” Fox forced air through a hoarse dry throat. “I hope I’ve been a comfort to as many of you as I could. And if I brightened just one day, it was worth it.”
For the next several minutes dead air crackled around me. I hugged the Pod closer, wishing it was Dad’s radio. It only seemed fitting that I should be hearing my last Fox broadcast the same way I heard my first.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen next, not to me, not to you... this world. I wish I could give you listeners one more modicum of peace as my parting gift. But, the truth is... I’m tired. I’m so tired.” Another crack broke his voice and I wished I could tell myself it was the reception.
“I lost my son last year. His mother died shortly after the Glitch. I... I never spoke of them before now. My pain was not your burden. But now, I must use my final hours to honor them. Whoever is still around, still listening, please know that I loved them both dearly.
“Her name was Ellyse. She was a math teacher at our local elementary learning hub. I miss her so much. I miss her long curly hair, the way it never did what she wanted it to, but always looked perfect to me. I miss the tiny flecks of yellow in her dark brown eyes; the way they would flare up when she got excited about something. But most of all I miss what a wonderful wife and mother she was to me and...
“Aston, my dear sweet boy, Aston. He was only seven when the Wasting took him last year. Seven. He wanted to follow in his old man’s footsteps, take over the show. And he would have been great at it.
“My wife and I... I defied orders and implanted him. She didn’t want to. She was scared. But I assured her that it was safe. People had been recycling chips for decades, I told her.
“I thought he made it. He was healthy for a while. That childhood resilience that can make you complacent. It started with fevers. Long-lasting fevers that just took everything out of him. By the time I realized... it was too late. Even with my power, my reach, I couldn’t find anyone... anything to help him. He wasted away in my arms.”
That time the crack in his voice couldn’t be explained away. Fox broke down in full-on sobs. So did I. For a long stretch of minutes, we cried together for our losses. Gone but not forgotten.
Fox sniffed and pounded his fist. “And now it’s my turn. I want to give you listeners some things to watch out for. How you can know it’s coming. It might not be the bit of comfort I was hoping to give, but this is probably more important in these hard times. Preparedness.”
“First, my chip started slipping, the skin around it loosened and oozed this greenish-brown fluid. By that time, I’d been forgetting things, words that should have been on the tip of my tongue. I chalked that up to fatigue, grief. But now... who knows?
“Second, my legs. Some days they just wouldn’t work. They didn’t hurt, no more than the rest of my body after years of malnourishment and long hours. For the past three months, I’ve been bedridden. My dear neighbor, Salmo, cared for me as best he could. He’s gone now, too. Two weeks.
“Then,” Fox stopped, and didn’t start again for a long time. I squeezed the Pod, desperately checking the feed to see if I was at the end of the episode. Twenty minutes left. I sighed and waited, waited for Fox to unburden himself to me the way so many had done to him. Another three minutes later, he continued, “Then my mind. I saw... things. My wife. My son. The devastating things they’ve broadcast through my chip since the Glitch. Things I’d never put on air, things that were too horrible to force onto you listeners. Things I’ll take to my death. Those, those visions haunt me to this day. My respite is near.
“Finally, thankfully last, my voice. As you can tell, I’m struggling here. The last two shows were dedications because I had vainly hoped that resting my voice would do... something. I know better, now.
“I want everyone left to know that I’ve loved all of you dearly. And I hope that you heed my warnings. Get out. Go. We’re not wanted here anymore. We’ve hurt each other, this planet, everything. We’ve destroyed it all, and we must go now.” Fox wept the words into my ears.
“I... I must go now. Please stay with me. Don’t leave me alone.”
Tears poured down my own face. “I won’t. I won’t.” I whispered into my Pod as if he could hear me.
Twelve more minutes passed in silence. I watched the episode clock tick backwards, just the static crackling back at me.
Then, with one minute left, I heard a faint rush of air. I maxed the volume and pressed the PodMate to my ear. “I want you to know my name. I’m Arbitan. Arbi.”
For the next hour the only sound in the the garage was my own sobs.