Signal Drift: Chapter 9

Cronauer took a step closer, then another. He laughed, then choked, then laughed harder—tears forming before he could stop them.

“You kept it,” he said, voice cracking. “Jesus Christ, I thought it got crushed.”

Bill grinned and gave the truck’s fender a smack. “Still runs. Still kicks. She’s been resting, but she’s hungry.”

Across the tailgate, in faded black spray paint, the name still read: THE BEETLE BOMB.

Signal Drift: Chapter 8

Cronauer has been walking for days, sleeping in abandoned sheds and listening to static on the radio — until a clipped, coded broadcast near Richland Center sparks something familiar. The Viroqua repeater is offline, and it sounds like Norm’s voice behind the warning. Now, with the rain returning and Viroqua on the horizon, he pushes forward — hoping he’s not too late.