Radio Bud (Patreon)

[WP] You've walked this apocalyptic wasteland for months. Your feet are sore, your supplies dwindling, and your only companion has been the chatter of the one radio station that still broadcasts despite it all. Today, you found where that station broadcasts from.

"Gooooood morning apocalypse-ville! I'll be your host today, and the topic is how to get the best out of roasting rat, and what plants to rub into that little guy to give you a tastebud explosion."

I couldn't help but chuckle as the announcer's voice rolled out of the little radio which had somehow made it through the worst times with me. Solemn and serious when I needed to be grounded, wacky and zany when I needed a pick-me-up, I'd kept the radio tuned to his station ever since I first heard his voice.

I didn't like to think about that day.

It was the day I buried my last friend. Bud, my faithful hunting dog and loyal companion. We were jumped by scavengers and his barking woke me up, but by the time I got up and set with a weapon, one of them had already buried a rusty knife in his guts. His yelping sent me kind of berserk, and by the time the red mist cleared, they were all three of them dead.

And Bud ...

I kind of collapsed next to him and tried to convince him and me both that it was just a flesh wound, that he'd pull through, but his eyes told me not to be such an idiot. Slowly his strength ebbed. I stroked his ears as he licked my hand. My tears ran down my face, the first time I'd cried since everyone lost everything.

By the time he stopped breathing, I was bawling like a little baby.

My food was low but I refused to even consider eating Bud. Neither was I gonna let anything else in the goddamn wasteland nom down on the best friend I'd ever had. So I dug a grave and I put Bud in it, and I filled it up again. I had to do it by touch, because my eyes were just so full of tears.

The scavengers I left lie right where I'd left them. After I looted their sorry corpses, that is. I'm not gonna eat my dog, but I'll sure as hell rob a dead guy.

They had some very suspicious-looking jerky, but it tasted more like cow than pork so I kept it. There wasn't much else, so I took stock of my situation.

Bud was gone. I had nobody to watch my back, and nobody to talk to. He'd given his life for me, and I wasn't sure I was worth the cost. I was damn sure I couldn't go on anymore. Slowly I sat down again, and pulled out my most precious possession. An old .38 pistol with one round in the cylinder. I'd bluffed my way out of a dozen fights with that pistol, but once I fired it, that was it. The gun was useless.

Slowly, I ratcheted back the hammer, and placed the barrel in my mouth. See you soon, Bud.

And then I must've jolted or nudged the radio, because right about then, it burst into life. It was an uplifting song, one that took me by surprise. I sat there and listened to it, and then another one and a third. By that time, I'd taken the pistol out of my mouth.

"If you've lost a loved one recently, and yeah, I know, it's the apocalypse, so the chances of that are pretty high, those songs are for you," the guy said chattily. "My name's Bud, and we're gonna be playing more of the same for the rest of the week. So get up off your sorry ass and get to doing what you should've been doing all along. To quote an oldie but a goodie: You can get busy livin', or you can get busy dyin'."

I don't know what shook me more: the guy's name, or the way it seemed he was speaking directly to me. But I wanted to meet him and shake his hand, and thank him for saving my life. So that's what had me walking in his direction. Every day, his voice on the radio was just that little bit louder. If I wandered to the left or the right, I got weird sideband buzzing, but if I was heading straight for him, it was clear as a bell.

And then I found it. A lone radio tower. I stumbled up to it, then hunted around. It took me most of the day, with Bud rattling off inane chatter in my ear, until I found the concrete sill of the hatch, and scrabbled off enough dirt to open it. With one last look around, I pulled it up, and climbed inside. The hatch closed above me, and I reached up to find a locking mechanism. Bud hadn't even locked it! With shaking hands, I pulled the lever across, sealing me in. Now, no damn scavengers could get in to attack either of us.

In the dark, I climbed down the ladder, then pulled out a precious cyalume stick. It was a good thing those were made to last forever; I cracked it and shook it hard, and the corridor I was in lit up with a green glow.

I was a little puzzled as to why the lights were out. "Hello?" I called out. "Bud?" It was the first time I'd spoken that name out loud in weeks, but I was sure 'my' Bud would understand.

Nobody answered, except for echoes.

I explored the complex, getting more and more confused. There was nobody down here with me, but there was a generator, with what looked like years worth of gasoline. A huge store of canned food and other preserved goods. Water on tap, clear and pure. Everything I'd need to live. But ... where was Bud? I didn't want to eat his food, drink his water.

The last room held the greatest mystery. It was a radio studio, but there were cobwebs on the chair, and the microphone had dust on it. I went back to the generator and checked it over. It would run, but it hadn't been started for months or years. Filling it with gasoline, I gave the cord a heave. It puttered to a stop. I tried again. This time it caught with a stuttering roar before settling down to a steady purr. Lights came on in the bunker.

I went back to the radio broadcast studio. The lights were shining there as well. Once I figured out how to make it work, I could pick up the microphone and let myself be heard all over the wasteland.

But I still didn't understand what was going on. I'd been listening to Bud all this time, talking to me over ... the ... radio.

My thoughts jolted to a stop. I hadn't heard his friendly voice since I cracked the hatch. Grabbing my pack, I wrenched the radio out of the pouch it normally rode in. Turning it on, I spun the power dial.

Nothing.

Then I did something I hadn't done for months. I cracked the battery compartment.

Two severely decayed AA batteries lay there, their contents burst and spread throughout the compartment. That radio hadn't been serviceable for longer than I'd been listening to Bud's friendly voice in the wasteland.

It all came together in my mind, then.

I'd been listening to Bud, all right. I'd just been mistaken about exactly which Bud I'd been listening to. He'd done his last duty as my best friend and companion.

He'd led me to safety.

"Thanks, Bud," I murmured, mostly to myself.

"Hey, no problem," I thought I heard the radio say. "Look, gotta go now. Places to be. You take care of yourself, huh?"

Tears formed in my eyes. "Count on it," I whispered.

The little radio was silent then. It always had been.

Carefully, I placed it on the table. Then I brushed the cobwebs away from the chair, blew the dust from the microphone, and sat down. There were several switches on the front of the machine in front of me, and I switched one to BROADCAST TO ALL.

Then I picked up the microphone and pressed the SEND button. "Hello out there in the wasteland," I said. "I'm talking to you for a friend of mine called Bud ..."