Achilles Greenburn's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

Achilles set the trowel down and wiped his hands. The slab was half poured. The tarp was tight. Then the dead man's radio crackled on the dirt beside the open pack. A voice came through the copper-wired handset, scratchy but clear. "Scout Two. Check in. Channel open." He knelt by the brown casing. The amber dial glowed faint. The label under the speaker read a bunker channel he did not know. Whoever sent the scavenger had money. The wiring was clean. The tubes were prewar but cared for. This was not a lone digger's tool. This was a unit radio. The shop cat in the blue jumpsuit slipped up beside his boot. Ears forward now. Watching the radio like it might bite. Achilles keyed his own set and called Marcus low and fast. He read the channel number. He read the call sign. He asked what to say. Marcus answered on the first click. "Don't speak. Hold the key down twice. Static burst. Like a bad signal." A pause. "Then kill it. Pull the battery. We don't answer. We listen next time." Marcus was already moving. Achilles heard the old transport truck's engine turn over in the background, the green and brown cab rumbling to life. Achilles did it. Two short bursts of dead air. Then he popped the back panel and lifted the cell out. The voice on the other end said his fake call sign once more, waited, and went quiet. He set the radio in the pack and zipped it shut. His wrist monitor ticked his pulse down from a high number to a working one. The slab still needed finishing. He picked up the trowel. The dish stayed buried. The radio stayed dark. But somewhere out there, a handler had just marked Scout Two as compromised. The bait was set, and the line was now tight in someone else's hand.