The Last Broadcast (Final Part)

The Tennessee Safe Zone wasn't what Sarah had imagined. Not a fortress or military compound, but a university campus converted to a makeshift community. Chain-link fences topped with barbed wire encircled the perimeter, watchtowers constructed from scaffolding and plywood stood at strategic points. Armed guards—some military, most civilian volunteers—patrolled day and night.

Three weeks had passed since their arrival. Three weeks of sleeping in a repurposed dormitory room, standing in ration lines, and avoiding the gazes of other survivors who carried the same haunted look Sarah saw in her own reflection.

"Mommy, look!" Emma tugged at Sarah's sleeve, pointing toward the cafeteria garden where volunteers tended rows of vegetables under the late spring sun. "Miss Chen is teaching the kids again."

Captain Gloria Chen—whose steady voice had guided them here—stood surrounded by a dozen children, demonstrating how to plant tomato seedlings. The former Army communications specialist had become the de facto leader of the safe zone, her military background balanced by a schoolteacher's patience.

"Can I go?" Emma asked, bouncing on her toes, rabbit clutched against her chest.

Sarah hesitated. Old instincts died hard. "Stay where I can see you."

Emma joined the group, immediately accepted by the other children. Sarah watched from the concrete steps of their dormitory building, scanning the perimeter fence out of habit. The infected rarely made it this far into former campus grounds—the outer defenses were too good—but vigilance had kept them alive this long.

"Your daughter's adjusting well."

Sarah turned to find Chen beside her, wiping soil from calloused hands.

"Better than me," Sarah admitted. "Children are resilient."

Chen nodded, her eyes tracking the guards on patrol. "We got another broadcast this morning. Military convoy heading north from Atlanta. Fifty personnel, a dozen civilians. Should arrive by tomorrow evening."

Sarah's heart quickened. "Any word on Cincinnati?"

Chen's expression softened. "Nothing new. I'm sorry."

Sarah nodded, swallowing disappointment. Each new arrival brought the same question, the same answer. Cincinnati was gone, like most major cities. The infection had spread too quickly, the response too slow.

"We're expanding the broadcast range," Chen continued. "Rigged up a better transmitter. Reaching twice as far now."

"Anyone responding?"

"Some. Small pockets. Mostly lone survivors." Chen squinted against the sun. "Your experience with the ham radio has been invaluable. Not many people know how to operate those old systems."

Sarah thought of her mother, of Ellis, of the skills passed down that had saved her and Emma. "I had good teachers."

A commotion at the north gate drew their attention. Guards converged, weapons raised. Through the fence, Sarah glimpsed a solitary figure approaching—limping but upright, hands raised.

"Human," one of the guards called. "Wounded but clean."

Chen was already moving, Sarah close behind. Emma remained with the other children, happily patting soil around a seedling, oblivious to the arrival.

The gate opened just enough to admit the newcomer—a teenage boy, gaunt and exhausted, clothes torn and bloodstained. He collapsed as soon as he crossed the threshold.

Medical volunteers rushed forward. Sarah hung back, watching as they checked for bites or scratches—the telltale signs of infection. Finding none, they lifted him onto a stretcher.

"Where did you come from?" Chen asked as they passed.

The boy's cracked lips moved, voice barely audible. "North. Followed the broadcast."

"How many in your group?"

"Just me now. Was five of us. Cincinnati refugees."

Sarah stepped forward. "Cincinnati? When did you leave?"

The boy's glazed eyes found hers. "Three weeks ago. Holed up in a radio station until the dead broke through. Found your broadcast on the emergency band."

Sarah's breath caught. "Which station?"

"WKRP. Third floor." The boy coughed. "Some guy's last stand. Left supplies like he promised. Saved our lives."

Chen glanced at Sarah, recognition dawning in her eyes. The medical team continued toward the infirmary, the boy's voice fading as they carried him away.

Sarah stood frozen, Ellis's final words echoing in her memory. If anyone finds this recording, remember us.

Chen placed a hand on her shoulder. "Your husband's broadcast reached them. Saved lives."

"He would've liked that," Sarah whispered.

That night, after Emma was asleep, Sarah slipped into the communications center housed in what had once been the university's radio station. The equipment here was a mix of military hardware and civilian systems, cobbled together by Chen's team.

Sarah took a seat at the main console, adjusted the headphones, and switched on the microphone. The familiar static washed over her, a sound that once meant isolation but now represented connection—threads of humanity stretching across the broken landscape.

She cleared her throat and began: "This is Sarah Collins broadcasting from Tennessee Safe Zone Alpha on all emergency frequencies. If anyone can hear this, we have food, shelter, and medicine. We can help."

She paused, thinking of Ellis alone in that radio booth, of his voice reaching out into the darkness. Of the lives he'd saved with his final act.

"I'm continuing a broadcast that began in Cincinnati seventeen days ago. To anyone who heard that voice and followed it here—you're not alone anymore. To anyone still out there—neither are you."

Outside the window, lights burned in the dormitories and along the perimeter fence. Children slept safely for the first time in weeks. Gardens grew. Plans were made. In the distance, the infected still roamed, but here, within these walls, something precious endured.

Sarah leaned into the microphone, her voice steady.

"This is the Tennessee Safe Zone. We're still here. We're still human. And we're not going anywhere."

The broadcast continued through the night, a beacon in the darkness, guiding the lost home.

End