The truck died for good a hundred yards from the base of the tower. The air here was so thick with energy that my hair stood on end, and every breath tasted like a mouthful of pennies. The old radio tower loomed over us, a jagged skeleton of steel pulsing with a violent, rhythmic violet light.
"We have to move fast," Arthur coughed, leaning heavily on the truck door. The grey pallor of the 'Echoes' was starting to creep into his own skin. The signal was winning. "The transmitter is at the very top. You have to plug the jammer into the main feed."
"We?" I looked at him, seeing how his hands shook. "Arthur, you can barely stand."
"I'll stay at the base," he whispered, pulling a flare gun from his bag. "I'll try to keep them back. They're coming, Leo. All of them."
I looked back. Emerging from the treeline were the townspeople. They moved with a jerky, unnatural gait, their mouths still open, their eyes fixed on the tower like iron filings drawn to a magnet. They weren't running; they were drifting, a silent tide of grey flesh driven by the Dead Air.
I grabbed the jammer and ran for the service ladder.
As I climbed, the world below began to disappear into a sea of purple mist. Every time I looked up, the tower seemed to stretch higher into the bruised sky. The wind wasn't just blowing; it was screaming. It was a hurricane of voices—crying babies, laughing children, and the sobbing of a thousand strangers.
Halfway up, the ladder vibrated. I looked down and froze.
It was my father. He was climbing after me.
His face was a flickering mask of static, his eyes darting back and forth like a broken television screen. He didn't look like a man anymore; he looked like a memory being torn apart.
"Leo," he called out, and his voice was so clear, so warm, it almost made me let go of the rungs. "It's okay. Stop climbing. The signal... it's beautiful. I can see everything now. I can see you."
"You're not him!" I screamed, my voice cracking. "You're just noise!"
I kicked out, my boot catching the thing's shoulder. It didn't fall. It didn't even flinch. It just stared at me with that empty, flickering expression. Below it, the rest of the townspeople had reached the base. They were piling on top of each other, a mountain of bodies trying to reach the ladder.
I scrambled the last twenty feet, my lungs burning, until I reached the small metal platform at the very top. There, the main transmitter sat—a humming black box that felt like the heart of a cold sun.
I fumbled with the jammer, trying to find the input port. My fingers were numb. The air was so charged that blue sparks danced between my fingertips and the metal.
"Turn it up, Leo," the voice whispered, right in my ear.
I turned. My father's head was level with the platform. But his mouth wasn't moving. The sound was coming from the air around him. He reached out a hand made of jagged grey lines.
"One more broadcast," he said. "And we can all be together in the static."