Seventeen
Callan
Ihit the transmit button again, adjusting the gain knob with my thumb as I spoke. The signal had come through weak, disrupted by static, but it was a voice.
“This is the Bay City Aquarium,” I repeated into the mic. “Say again. Identify your vessel.”
Static roared.
KRSHHHHH—
Sloane had moved closer without my noticing. She was leaning over my shoulder now, so close I could feel the warmth of her arm against mine, her breath hitched every time the radio crackled.
I turned the squelch knob, lowering the background hiss.
We waited.
The radio came alive.
“…—copy that station calling—”
More static. But the voice pushed through, clearer.
“This is the SS Mariner, repeat SS Mariner, receiving you weak but readable. What is your location, over?”
Relief hit me so hard it hurt. My hand tightened around the microphone.
A ship.
Out on the water.
Still functioning.
I pressed transmit.
“SS Mariner, this is Bay City Aquarium. We are on the roof of the aquarium, waterfront side. Two survivors. Can you confirm the status of the city? What is happening out there? Over.”
I released the button and started adjusting the antenna tuning dial, trying to clean up the signal. The ocean wind cut across the rooftop. Below us, those low groans kept rising and falling, patient and constant.
Sloane’s hand rested on my shoulder. I don’t think she realized she’d put it there.
The radio hissed.
The captain’s voice came back, stronger this time.
“Bay City Aquarium, this is SS Mariner. Copy your transmission. Be advised… the situation is catastrophic.”
The word hung in the air between us.
I glanced at Sloane. Her eyes were fixed on the radio, her face drained of color.
I pressed transmit.
“Mariner, clarify catastrophic.”
The response came fast.
“As far as we can determine, the entire east coast is down. Repeat—entire east coast.”