“Our signal boosters have the potential to reach most of Ohio, parts of Indiana, Michigan, and Ontario. Within that targeted geographic area, we anticipate there were fourteen survivors of the virus. Of those, we hope that six to eight survived the ensuing chaos. If you are one of those survivors, please meet us here in Sandusky. Drive or walk or ride carefully. Stick to cover when possible. Do not travel after dark, as this will put you at a disadvantage.”

“Holy shit,” Trey repeats. “Six to eight survivors. In that whole area.”

“And we’re three of them,” I point out.

Tanq shushes us as Manny Gomez continues. “Our generator is low on fuel. To save power and for added safety, starting tomorrow, we will no longer broadcast the loop message. But tune in every night at three a.m. for updates. We’ll be on air as long as we can.”

“He keeps saying ‘we’ and ‘us,’” Trey says.

“We can’t give you an exact address,” Gomez goes on. “The wrong entities could be listening. But if you head toward the president’s park, you’ll find something to guide you. Or I guess you could just follow the rail.”

The channel goes messy with static.

“Wait, is that all?” Trey asks.

“Park . . . ,” I muse. “Did he mean Cedar Point, the amusement park?” Ryan and I spent a whole day there once, getting sick on apple fritters and trying in vain to win stuffed animals. No roller coasters, though. Ryan was terrified of them.

“He said ‘the president’s park,’” Trey says. “Not sure what that means. I’ve never been to Sandusky.”

“Me neither,” says Tanq. “I didn’t know it had a railroad.”

“All small Ohio towns have railroads,” I say. “Railroads and meth.”

“That’s bigoted, don’t you think?” Tanq says. “Hashtag not all small towns—”

The broadcast clarifies again, cutting her off: “—no mistake, it will be a perilous journey. But if you can make it here, you’ll find temporary safety and answers to a lot of your questions.”

Through the ensuing static comes the susurrus of someone whispering near the mic.

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell them,” Gomez says in a muffled voice. “Wyatt here wants me to remind you that firearms are too noisy and should be considered a last resort against the Farmers. Keep quiet, stay under cover, move slow and steady, and don’t panic. Wyatt made it here safely, and so can you.”

“The Farmers?” Trey echoes.

“Wyatt?” I say.

“The Farmers will figure out we’re broadcasting from this location soon enough, but we’ll wait here as long as we can. Manny Gomez signing off. God bless, stay healthy, see you in Sandusky.”

The radio goes silent—no looped message, no static, just dead air.

Tanq raises the bottle to her mouth and swigs. Then she says again, “Told you so.”