On one end was a huge black knob and on the other, a knob of equal size but colored white. The device was topped off with a slender silver antenna, which she pulled up to full extension.
Carter stepped up next to her, holding an old automotive battery with a mess of retrofitting and rigging along the top terminals. A single wire with a female receiving plug head at the end came from the mass of wiring. He plugged this into a three-prong male plug coming from the back of the box, glanced at Shauna and nodded affirmative as the lights and dials on the front of the radio lit up in a faint mix of amber and green.
“You can say what you want about our neighbor, but Poseidon has great taste in music,” Carter said with a grin to the audience, who all laughed in reply as he turned up the volume control.
First there was static. Carter turned the largest dial, and the sound got clearer and less distorted.
Then, there was a rich voice that resonated with loss, pain, hope and redemption all at the same time, a lyrical voice.
The unearthly wail of Roy Orbison came out of both speakers, crying for the lonely ones. And after Roy, there was the rhythmic beat of Buddy Holly telling them all that would be the day, and then the eerie mix of the twin voices of the Everly Brothers proclaiming their eternal innocence. The Big Bopper bopped once more from the grave. James Brown called out and his backing band, the Famous Flames, responded to his every vocal nuance. Four men from Liverpool, England, wanted to hold your hand. The king of rock and roll cried in the chapel, and then told you to lay off of his blue suede shoes.
One after another, the songs of the past played without stop, echoing out over the pocket of humanity clinging to life among the ruins of the dead earth.
Mildred, dwelling on her lost world and her lost friends, shuddered, then sighed, fighting to hold back the tears.
“What’s wrong, Millie?” J.B. asked.
“No chatter. No advertising. Nothing but music,” Mildred said in a mocking voice, echoing the tones of the radio DJs of her own youth. ‘ ‘It took us until the millennium and the end of the world to get rid of Madison Avenue, but by God, it might have been a fair trade. One civilization in exchange for some peace and quiet.”
She paused, and added bitterly, “If only we’d been able to keep from blowing up most of the planet in the process.”
The group of friends sat quietly after that, listening to the music play long into the night.
Chapter Sixteen
Morning brought yet another vibrant sunny day.
Dean awakened alone. Stretching, he got up from the mattress and walked outside. He spotted an older Hispanic woman from the night before and waved. She waved back, then gestured for Dean to approach.
“Morning,” she said. “Did you enjoy the entertainment?”
“Sure did! I even liked the slow songs.”
“Good, good. I have a boy about your age. I’ll introduce you to him later after he has done his chores.”
“Okay. Um, any idea where my dad is?” Dean asked.
“Probably having breakfast,” she replied. “Of course, it is getting late.”
“Thanks, I could use some breakfast myself,” Dean said. “But I think I’ll wash my face first.”
The young man stepped over to the communal well and brought up a bucket of clear cold water, pouring it into a free-standing scavenged sink near the tubs. Dean poured a ladleful over his head and then slicked his hair back with a small black pocket comb. Looking at himself in a broken scrap of mirror hanging on the pole where the sink was mounted, Dean decided he looked presentable enough, and headed for the main tent.
Then he saw the inhuman shadow loom up from behind him.
Turning with a sharp cry of surprise, Dean dropped into a fighter’s stance, ready to do battle.
Standing before him, at seven feet tall and with a quizzical expression, was a Dweller. Dean could tell from the shape of the face and the eyes this wasn’t the same mutie that had assisted the companions yesterday.