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THE LAST BROADCAST

radio

The signal came from nowhere.

I was scanning the shortwave bands late one night — something I do when sleep evades me — when I picked up a clear transmission on a frequency that should have been dead air.

At first it was just a tone. A low, steady hum that made the fillings in my teeth ache. Then a voice cut through, calm and professional, like an old emergency broadcast.

"This is the Emergency Alert System. All normal programming has been discontinued."

The voice listed coordinates. Dates. Names of cities I'd never heard of. It spoke of evacuation routes that didn't exist on any map I knew.

I checked online — nothing. No alerts, no news, no mention of any emergency. Just the usual noise of the internet.

The broadcast repeated every hour on the hour, exactly the same script. I recorded it, compared the files — identical down to the millisecond.

On the third night it changed.

The voice addressed me directly.

"Listener on frequency 7.845 MHz. You are receiving this message because you are still within range. Please acknowledge."

I hadn't transmitted anything. I didn't even have a microphone connected.

The fourth night it gave instructions.

"Do not look directly at the sky between 02:14 and 02:37 local time. Do not open doors for anyone claiming to be from maintenance. The water is safe to drink but do not bathe in it."

I followed them anyway.

The fifth night it sounded tired.

"This is our final broadcast. The window is closing. If you can still hear this, you are one of the last. We are sorry."

Static followed. Complete silence on the frequency for the first time in days.

I haven't heard anything since.

But sometimes, when the house is very quiet, I catch fragments. Not on the radio — in the air itself. The same voice, fainter now, like it's speaking from very far away.

"...still receiving... please respond..."

I don't know who "we" were.

I don't know what happened to them.

I just know that every night at 02:14, I make sure all the doors are locked and the curtains are drawn.

And I don't look at the sky.