Supplemental Frequency 10: "Before"

some little artifacts to share. Shortly and now, after a brief word from the Observable Radio Company store, here's tonight's story.

to do that. For the time being, you should be safe, but for God's sake, show a little discretion. You are now by from observable radio.

off the highway onto a weak, choked gravel path. I've been following a highway thirty seven all morning, the black top scar dividing the glass still wetlands to the south from the fields and hills of wild golden grass to the north. Alone, except for the elegant cranes above the water and the herds of deer grazing in the dry brush, I find long, silent hours to reflect and meditate on the days past and the glorious days ahead. I savor the quiet emptiness of creation beneath my feet. The pavement

is hot and the air shimmers. In the distance, there is a wet earth. The riot of smells like fresh tilled soil and still waters. The wine and drone of insects is a monotone symphony, unbroken save for the short cries of waterfowl. The Vallejo Crater is far behind me, now hidden by a ridge of meek hills and the opalescent summer haze. Ahead, a little farmhouse comes into view. Behind the barn, a leaning, two floored structure, pale yellow paint peeling in the sun. My heart sings at the

charming innocence of the little home. I try to imagine it without the thick wooden boards nailed over the windows and doors, without the furrowed claw marks on the barricades on the wrap around porch. An elderly man in a stained white shirt stands up as I approach, slow and stiff, and wipes his hands on his jeans. With no particular hurry. He hoists and shoulders his rifle, bringing the sights into alignment with our eyes. I pull the corners of my mouth into a smile and wave ho there. He barks

in a voice like tumbling rocks. Would you mind speaking? Please your name? Caleb? I reply no, point in line. I concentrate on holding the grin firm and come to a stop as I swing the pack off my shoulders. I just I saw your flag. That's why we have it up. The rifle comes down at his side and he steps off the porch, the aching of his joints visible like a road sign. What can I do for you, Caleb? I exhale and raise my eyebrows with what I hope

is a convincing look of honest confusion. But to tell you the truth, sir, I'm not sure if I need anything. I just got excited to see the flag. It's it's been a little while, I imagine it has, he says, softly. It's been a while since anyone's seen it. Where are you coming from?

I thank him for his guidance. He takes another step, leaving his rifle behind him, and I struggle for one hot moment to keep still, to wear the mask in a hurry to get to the ocean. Caleb, he asks, with a few dry truckles that could be mistaken for coughs. No, sir, his smile is infectious, and I no longer have to strain to affect the expression. I'd just like to get there sometime before the end of September. The heat makes them sluggish, so it's been easy traveling so far. He

barks once with laughter at this. No need for sir, he says with a wave, as if it embarrasses him. I'm Daniel, pleasure meeting you, Caleb. Likewise, Daniel, I nod, luring my eyes for a moment, a gesture of deference and submission, practiced so often it almost feels natural. Listen, Caleb, I wonder if you'd be interested in a day's work. I've got a beam on the barn that's rotted through. I got sure, use a hand setting up a break. Yes, we can give you as much food as you can

carry fresh off the farm. You interested. I opened my mouth to speak, and he cuts me off with a rapid shake of his head. You don't need to know the first thing about carpentry. I just need you to be able to hold some planks and follow directions. Daniel, I think that would make me very happy, I say, with something approaching sincerity, The thought of good, honest work with my hands to better Daniel's last day as fills

me with warmth. I offer my hand and shake. His hand is calloused and cool, and his grip is still strong, perhaps stronger than mine. And make note of this good good. He nods, his eyes narrowing a little. A nervous twinge of paranoia bolts through me, and I harden my smile, fixing it into place. Well, shall we get started. I lean my backpack against the porch and turn to follow him towards the barn. He glances out towards the highway

and then back over his shoulder at me. You didn't see any sickos on the road or nearby, did you, No, sir, I respond with a little laugh at his vernacular. I haven't seen them all morning. It's been nice and quiet. He gives one last scan at the horizon and turns away with a little nod of satisfaction. We enter the barn and I have my first lesson in carpentry. I devour every word, he says, as we brace and buttress several of the barns rotting timbers. I struggle to absorb

all the information he can offer. Surrounded by a cacophony of clucking and baying farm animals. He shares his advice on woodworking farm labor with an almost guilty pride. Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he is aghast at the fact that I don't carry a gun. With only a little prompting, he tells me some of what he remembers from before. I am a blank page rapidly filling. I fall into the easy rhythm of the simple, repetitive actions, and we

are finished far earlier than I wish. The air grows cool, and the whine of mosquitoes rising off the wetlands is audible. It feels almost perfunctory when he invites me in for dinner with him and his wife and a powerless against the inevitable, except with all my good grace. Caroline is a slow and doughy woman, with thinning hair and rotting teeth, and I take a liking to her at once. She unlocks the thick barricaded door to let us in, and I am met by a bouquet of smells from the

small kitchen. The peppery grease of fried meets the bright, sharp tang of something bitter and green. I am already salivating as I bow politely before her. When Daniel introduces me. Caroline remarks over dinner that she's never met anyone as polite and well mannered as me, that even before I would have been called old fashioned. I am silent for a moment, flaring with panic, and conscious of all my affectations, even the ones I no longer have to think about

to maintain. But it's obvious by her wide grin that she finds me charming. I was raised well, I offer, with a smile, feeling my heart rates slow. My parents were God loving people, and we had a very secure community in winters. She nods heartily at the mention of God and closes her eyes. Daniel looks momentarily embarrassed and shifts in his chair. The tiny flashes of his box

language fill my heart with sadness. I offer up the tin of freeze dried coffee I've found in the lock trunk of a car outside the crater, and we sit and talk late into the evening, trading news and stories. We've heard, much of it baffling and contradictory. It was Caroline who brought up the end times, and I tried to defer to Daniel's visible discomfort by suppressing my own fervor. I just can't see how Dan can still deny it after all these years, She tells me, as he shifts

in his chair. It's just like it says in the Bible. The dead risen. These days are proof that he is coming. Daniel smiles on a lesser man. It would look patronizing, I would argue the opposite. He locks eyes with her, and I can see the weathered and worn smooth love between them, the old argument long set aside. I gently steer the conversation away. When they retire, I excuse myself to sleep outside, refusing the offer of the battered old couch. I unfurl my bedroll beneath the stars and soak in

the chaotic summer night. The constellations are a shimmering riot, and I trace the shapes I know again and again. As the stirring breeze from off the water cools the air, I close my eyes and concentrate on the near silent passage of a coyote as he walks in a slow half circle around me before bounding off into the dark. The night is woven with life. It cradles me like a nest. I sleep long and well. I awake before

dawn and prepare myself. Daniel is up before me. He has packed a box full of fresh cabbage and squash, a dozen grapefruit, as well as a half dozen jars of homemade jambs. He looks at me with a sheepish grin when I discover him filling the box, and I know more than ever that God has not led me astray. There is a contentedness that fills me as I approach. Thank you, Daniel, and she's right, you know, I say,

smiling at him. He opens his mouth to speak, but his eyes are crinkled in confusion about the end I offer, and I see that he understands. Look, Caleb, I see how much this pains him. I wonder if he lost his faith or if he ever had it. I don't really want to have this argument, not with you. The dead aren't rising. This is a disease who says viruses can't be divine or diabolical. The revenants are just one of the signs. I'm already starting to strain with exhilaration

as I somehow manage to keep my words even and slow. Kid, I'm really not interested his brows furrow and frustration, making him look ten years older and tired. And take another step towards him. Daniel, I am sorry for what you've had to go through. You didn't deserve it. I lock eyes with him and continue moving. I want to make it right for you. I put one arm around him and pull him toward me. I can feel him start to panic in my arms, his strength undiminished by the years.

He starts to say my name. The first hard syllable exites his lips and then stops as I slide my thin blade gently between his ribs and into his heart. I hold tight and whisper to him as he slips away, eyes growing dim Afterwards, I lay him on the floor and admire with a twinge of jealousy, the peaceful expression on his pale face. Caroline is still in bed, but awake. I could smell the sickness on her the night before, the demonic taint to the disease flapping in the air

like a chemical flag. But it is stronger now, surging forward as she grows weaker. I sit next to her on the bed, smiling warmly. She is fixated on the blood on my shirt, and I curse myself for the lapse in empathy, for scaring this good woman, Caroline. I know you must have felt sometimes like God has abandoned you, like you've been left behind. But you're not. No one

will be left behind. God is loving. She is shaking and fear, and I want so badly to be able to comfort her, but I know she will understand as soon as I have set her free. Tears well in the corners of her eyes, and I'm so happy for the opportunity to do these good works to save good people like this. I know you're sick, and I know you're scared, but I won't let that stop you from going home. Daniel will be waiting for you, I tell her,

stretching my smile wider. I press the pillow tight against her face, cupping my hand above her nose and mouth. She only struggles for a few moments, and I stroke her hand and sing old hymns as she grows still. After I use the knife to cut and shred the vertebrae just above her shoulders. I have seen the disease take hosts that were already ours dead. But without the spinal column, the beast can never take Caroline's body and thrall.

I do the same for Daniel, even though he seems free of infection, because I take what I do very seriously. I am an instrument of God, and there are any good souls that need to be called home. I bury Daniel and Caroline side by side beneath the noon sun, and say a few happy words over their earthly remains. There is much joy in me, and a little pride as well, but mostly I know how lucky I am to have been chosen. I fill my pack with fresh food from the kitchen before I leave, thanking them both

silently for their gifts. I am on the road, the sun again on my back, and the ocean ahead. This is the end of history, the winter of God's creation. Still there is work to be done. You have been listening to Observable Radio. Tonight's episode before was performed by The Ensemble, written by Cameron Suey, Produced by Cameron Suey, Phil Van hest Purparina and Wendy Hector. Edited by Cameron Suey. Our psychology consultant is doctor Elisa Leal. Art by Carin Fletcher.

Our theme is the back Rooms performed by Mew. Additional music from this episode provided by American Legion, Will Harrison, Tim Koolig, Roots and Recognition, and Wanderer's Trove. Observable Radio is listener supported thanks to all of our patrons and listeners, including Kathleen John Tidd, Russ, Rick Callison, Brianna Zach and Jasper.

Patrons fund the production costs of the show, as well as get access to behind the scenes information, extra production material and a discount at the Observable Radio Company store and an ad free early release feed of this show all at Patreon dot com slash Observable Radio. Thank you for listening and stay tuned.