The voice sounded noticeably different now.
Less formal.
Almost surprised.
Another burst of static crackled across the channel.
"Well..."
A faint chuckle escaped the speaker.
"I'll be damned."
A short pause followed.
"It really is you."
Several people in the garage exchanged hopeful glances.
General Hanson continued.
"I remember that ribbon-cutting."
A dry laugh followed.
"And I remember you nearly giving my chief engineer a heart attack pointing out three mistakes in the steel support calculations before we even finished the tour."
A faint smile tugged at Richard's face.
"I recall he wasn't very happy with me."
"No," Hanson admitted with another quiet laugh.
"But he was grateful after he realized you were right."
The room relaxed ever so slightly.
For just a moment...
It almost sounded like two old acquaintances catching up.
Then Hanson sighed.
"You know..."
His tone carried a hint of playful irritation.
"You could've just called me."
A few people in the garage couldn't help smiling.
The General continued.
"Instead you hijack one of my secure military command frequencies."
He clicked his tongue.
"Do you have any idea how many alarms you just set off inside my communications center?"
A few quiet chuckles escaped the radio operators.
Even Edward smiled faintly.
Hanson wasn't finished.
"I've got half my communications staff convinced somebody's trying to start World War Three."
Another small pause.
"So next time..."
His voice carried obvious amusement.
"...try my office phone first."
Richard's smile faded.
Slowly.
He looked around the room.
At the exhausted faces surrounding him.
The grease-covered electricians.
The frightened families gathered outside the garage.
The children peering through the open doorway.
He pressed the transmit button again.
"General..."
His voice remained calm.
But all traces of humor had disappeared.
"I would've..."
A brief pause.
"...if I could've."
Silence settled over the garage.
Richard continued.
"The situation here..."
He glanced toward the water tower outside the open garage door.
Toward the hundreds of people placing every remaining hope into this transmission.
"...is far more complicated than a simple phone call."
His grip tightened slightly around the microphone.
"Our phones stopped working days ago."
"So did our cellular network."
"Our internet."
"Our emergency communications."
"Our satellite uplinks."
"Everything."
He paused.
"We've spent the better part of a week trying to reach someone."
"Anyone."
"You're the first voice we've heard."
The words hung heavily over the airwaves.
Richard took a slow breath before speaking again.
"And General..."
His voice dropped another notch.
"...I'm afraid what I'm about to tell you..."
Another pause.
"...is going to sound impossible."
Richard kept his thumb on the transmit button.
The room around him remained utterly silent.
Every person waited.
Every person listened.
"...General."
His voice was steady.
"I need you to listen carefully."
"I'm not asking for immediate answers."
"I'm asking you not to interrupt until I'm finished."
Several seconds passed.
Then the speaker crackled.
"...Go ahead."
Richard drew a slow breath.
"FairHaven is gone."
Silence.
"They're all gone."
"We don't know how many people escaped."
"We don't know how many were taken."
"We don't even know if there are other survivors still hiding somewhere."
He slowly turned, looking through the garage doorway.
Outside...
Families still stood watching the water tower.
Children clung tightly to their parents.
Volunteers leaned against vehicles after nearly a full day of work.
They looked exhausted.
But alive.
Richard looked back toward the microphone.
"As far as we know..."
His voice grew heavy.
"...every person still alive in FairHaven is standing inside Crestwood Estates."
The words echoed through the garage.
No one argued.
No one corrected him.
Because no one knew otherwise.
He continued.
"We have just over a hundred survivors."
"We've fortified what we can."
"We ration food."
"We ration medicine."
"We've converted an entire neighborhood into a refuge."
His eyes drifted toward the water tower once more.
"And today..."
"We dismantled half the estate to build the transmitter you're hearing me on now."
A brief silence followed.
"We didn't build it because we wanted to."
His voice became almost weary.
"We built it because we believed..."
He looked down at the microphone.
"...that if we couldn't reach someone today..."
"...there might not be anyone left tomorrow."
Richard released the transmit button.
The room fell completely silent.
Outside...
Even the wind seemed to stop.
Inside the radio speaker...
Only static remained.
Waiting for General Hanson's reply.
Static filled the speaker.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Fifteen.
No one inside the garage moved.
The older operator quietly adjusted the volume.
Then—
KRRRRTT...
General Hanson's voice returned.
Calm.
Measured.
"...Richard."
A pause.
"I've known you for nearly eight years."
Another burst of static rolled through the speaker.
"I've seen you negotiate million-dollar contracts without blinking."
"I've seen you argue engineering specifications with colonels."
A faint sigh escaped him.
"But I have to admit..."
Another pause.
"...I didn't realize you were one for practical jokes."
The words struck the room like a punch.
Several people lowered their heads.
Richard closed his eyes for just a moment.
Not out of anger.
Out of disappointment.
He slowly lifted the microphone once more.
When he spoke...
His voice had changed.
It wasn't defensive.
It wasn't frustrated.
It was tired.
"...General..."
He swallowed.
"I wish..."
A long pause.
"...I wish with every ounce of my being..."
He looked toward the families gathered outside.
The children.
The volunteers.
Edward standing quietly behind him.
"...that this were a joke."
Silence.
Richard continued.
"If it were..."
He gave a sad smile that no one over the radio could see.
"...I'd gladly accept whatever reprimand you wanted to give me for tying up one of your secure frequencies."
A few people nearby quietly looked away.
Richard's voice grew even softer.
"But this isn't a joke."
"It isn't a misunderstanding."
"It isn't a prank."
His grip tightened around the microphone.
"It's my town."
Another pause.
"My people."
"My friends."
"My employees."
"My neighbors."
He looked through the open garage door toward the water tower that now stood against the evening sky.
"I've watched people I've known for decades disappear."
"I've watched families torn apart."
"I've watched good men die trying to protect complete strangers."
His eyes slowly closed again.
"And I've had to stand in front of over a hundred frightened survivors..."
"...pretending I knew everything was going to be alright."
The garage remained perfectly silent.
Richard took another slow breath.
"General..."
When he spoke again...
The confidence was gone.
For the first time since anyone in Crestwood Estates had met him...
Richard Whitmore simply sounded like a man asking for help.
"You're the first person outside FairHaven we've been able to reach."
"The first voice we've heard."
"As far as we're concerned..."
He looked down at the microphone.
"...you're our only hope."
Another long pause.
"We don't have helicopters."
"We don't have soldiers."
"We don't have anywhere left to run."
"We have families trying to survive one more night."
He raised his eyes toward the speaker.
"So whether you believe every word I've told you..."
"...or whether you think I've completely lost my mind..."
His voice remained steady.
"...please."
A single word.
Simple.
Honest.
"...Help us."
Richard released the transmit button.
No one in the garage spoke.
No one even shifted their weight.
Every eye remained fixed on the radio.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Praying that somewhere...
General Nathan Hanson would hear something in Richard's voice...
That no joke could ever fake.
Static filled the room once again.
Long enough that several people began to fear the connection had been lost.
Then—
KRRRRTTT...
General Hanson's voice returned.
Gone was the humor.
Gone was the lighthearted banter.
Only measured professionalism remained.
"...Richard."
A pause.
"I'll be honest with you."
Another burst of static.
"I'm still not convinced."
The words landed heavily.
"I've spent thirty years in uniform."
"I've heard every kind of false alarm imaginable."
"Hoaxes."
"Pranks."
"Conspiracy theories."
"People convinced the world was ending."
He sighed quietly.
"And what you've described..."
A pause.
"...would rank near the top of that list."
Richard didn't interrupt.
Neither did anyone else.
Hanson continued.
"You understand my position."
"I'm responsible for several thousand military personnel."
"I can't mobilize assets based solely on a radio transmission claiming monsters have overrun an American town."
He paused again.
"If I walked into my command center right now and ordered an emergency deployment because the dead were walking..."
A faint, dry chuckle escaped him.
"...I'd probably have my own medical officer evaluating me before sunset."
A few weary smiles appeared around the garage.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was true.
The General drew a slow breath.
"That said..."
His tone shifted.
"I also know you."
"I know your family."
"I know Whitmore Industrial."
"I know the reputation you've built over decades."
Another brief silence followed.
"I've never known Richard Whitmore to waste my time."
He paused.
"So..."
A slow exhale came through the speaker.
"I'm going to do something my executive officer is probably going to yell at me for later."
The room became perfectly still.
"I'm going to go out on a limb..."
"...and believe you."
Several people exchanged hopeful looks.
"But only for now."
His voice became firm.
Professional.
"If this turns out to be exactly what you say..."
"We'll deal with it."
"But if this is some elaborate ruse..."
"If you've somehow managed to fabricate this entire situation..."
His tone hardened considerably.
"Then I hope you enjoy military courtrooms."
Richard blinked.
The General continued without hesitation.
"Because I personally will see to it that you stand before a military tribunal."
"You'll answer for hijacking a restricted command frequency..."
"Triggering emergency response protocols..."
"And diverting military resources under false pretenses."
Another pause.
"So let's be perfectly clear, Richard."
His words came slowly.
Deliberately.
"If you're lying to me..."
"...your problems are only beginning."
Silence settled over the airwaves.
Then Hanson's tone softened just enough.
"But..."
He paused.
"If you're telling me the truth..."
His voice grew quieter.
"...then God help us all."
The garage fell completely silent.
Because for the first time...
Someone outside FairHaven hadn't laughed.
He hadn't believed completely.
But he hadn't dismissed them either.
It was enough.
For now.
General Hanson was silent for several long seconds.
When he finally spoke again...
There was still caution in his voice.
But now...
There was action.
"...Alright."
A deep breath came over the radio.
"I'm not in the habit of ignoring calls for help."
He paused.
"So here's what I'm going to do."
Richard's grip tightened around the microphone.
Hanson continued.
"I'm not sending an entire battalion charging into an unknown situation based on one transmission."
His tone remained measured.
"But I can justify a reconnaissance operation."
Another pause.
"I'll assemble a platoon."
"If airspace remains clear..."
"I may also authorize rotary support."
He glanced away from the microphone, his voice becoming more distant as though consulting someone nearby.
"I'll have a convoy move toward FairHaven to evaluate—"
The transmission suddenly cracked.
KKKRRRRRRAAAAAATTTTTTCHHHHHHHH—
The radio erupted in violent static.
The older operator instinctively ripped one earcup away from his head.
"What the—"
The oscilloscopes began dancing wildly.
Needles slammed against their limits.
The transmitter lights flickered.
Outside...
Several of the synchronized generators briefly surged before stabilizing again.
The room froze.
The static intensified.
Not ordinary radio interference.
It sounded...
Wrong.
Like dozens of voices whispering beneath broken glass.
The speaker howled.
SKKKKKRRRRRRRRRRR—
The younger operator desperately reached for the gain control.
"It isn't us!"
"I didn't touch anything!"
The older operator checked the frequency.
"We're still locked!"
The static suddenly stopped.
Dead.
Absolute silence.
For one heartbeat...
Nothing.
Then—
A voice.
Not General Hanson.
Not anyone human.
It echoed through the speakers in layered whispers.
Male.
Female.
Young.
Old.
All speaking together.
"...No..."
The temperature inside the garage seemed to drop.
Every person stood perfectly still.
The voice came again.
Slower.
More deliberate.
"...No one... can help you..."
Several people instinctively looked toward the open garage door.
The speaker crackled violently.
Dark laughter whispered beneath the words.
"...No one... will save you..."
Richard slowly lowered the microphone.
His face drained of color.
The older operator stared in horror at the equipment.
"We're... we're not transmitting that..."
The voice ignored him.
It continued speaking directly through the radio.
As though it had found them.
As though it knew exactly who was listening.
"...You are surrounded..."
"...You are abandoned..."
"...You belong... to Astagoth..."
A child outside the garage began crying.
The layered voice grew louder.
Each word seemed to come from hundreds of mouths at once.
"...Every beating heart..."
"...Every frightened soul..."
"...Every desperate prayer..."
A burst of static screamed through the speakers.
Then—
"...Will be devoured..."
The lights inside the garage flickered.
Several radios powered off...
Then immediately back on.
The voice became almost reverent.
"...Their souls..."
"...Will feed..."
"...His awakening..."
The whispering beneath the words grew into countless overlapping voices.
Crying.
Laughing.
Begging.
Screaming.
All speaking at once.
"...There is no escape..."
"...There is no hope..."
"...Only the Abyss..."
Then—
Silence.
Instant.
Complete.
The only sound left...
Was the soft hum of the transmitter.
And the terrified breathing of everyone inside the garage.
Several agonizing seconds passed.
No one moved.
No one even dared to breathe.
The older radio operator slowly reached toward the receiver.
"...I think it's—"
BOOOOOOM!
A blinding flash erupted from the communications console.
The room exploded with light.
A deafening crack tore through the maintenance garage as every piece of equipment surged simultaneously.
The older operator was thrown backward onto the concrete floor.
The younger operator instinctively covered his face as sparks erupted from the transmitter.
Glass shattered.
Vacuum tubes burst one after another.
POP!
BANG!
CRACK!
Orange arcs of electricity danced wildly across the control panel.
Heavy cables snapped free from their terminals.
Smoke poured from beneath the workbench.
Outside...
The generators screamed.
For one terrifying moment...
Every synchronized engine raced uncontrollably.
The lights across Crestwood Estates flared brighter than daylight.
Then—
Everything went dark.
The generators coughed.
Stumbled.
Then slowly settled back into an idle as emergency breakers automatically disconnected the transmitter from the power grid.
Inside the garage...
The communications station was dying.
Meters exploded.
Needles snapped clean off their faces.
The oscilloscopes burst into showers of glass.
Relay after relay welded itself shut before melting apart.
One amplifier violently ruptured, throwing glowing fragments across the concrete.
The smell of burned insulation instantly filled the room.
People ducked behind tables.
Others threw themselves over nearby children.
Richard shielded Edward as sparks rained from the ceiling.
The heavy transmitter gave one final tortured groan.
WHUUUUUUUUMMMMM...
Then—
Silence.
Only thin trails of gray smoke drifted upward through the shattered remains of what had once been their greatest hope.
The younger operator slowly lowered his arms.
His face had gone completely pale.
"...No..."
He stared at the ruined equipment.
"...No..."
The older operator climbed painfully to his feet.
His eyes swept across the destruction.
Every radio...
Destroyed.
Every amplifier...
Split open.
Every power supply...
Burned black.
The transmitter...
Reduced to twisted metal and shattered glass.
Richard slowly looked toward the wall.
Only one speaker remained.
It had been ripped completely free from its mounting bracket.
Now it dangled crookedly by a single frayed wire.
Its cracked metal housing swayed gently back and forth.
No one touched it.
No one wanted to.
Then—
Without warning—
...Heh...
The tiny speaker crackled.
Everyone froze.
A faint hiss escaped the broken cone.
Then...
A low...
Deep...
Inhuman chuckle.
"...Heh...heh...heh..."
The laugh grew louder.
Layered.
Twisted.
As though countless voices had merged into one.
"...Hahahahaha..."
The broken speaker vibrated violently.
Its torn cone fluttered with every syllable.
Several people instinctively backed away.
The temperature inside the garage seemed to plummet once again.
The laugh became louder.
Crueler.
Mocking.
It echoed through the shattered room.
Not from the radio...
But as though something on the other side had taken pleasure in what it had done.
"...HAHAHAHAHAHA..."
Then—
The dangling speaker sparked.
A single blue arc leapt from the broken wire.
POP.
The laugh stopped instantly.
The speaker cone collapsed inward.
A thin ribbon of smoke curled upward.
Then...
Nothing.
The only sound remaining...
Was the quiet crackle of dying electronics.
And the crushing realization settling over everyone inside the garage.
Whatever they were fighting...
Hadn't merely heard their call for help.
It had answered.