The metal walls of the shipping container began to vibrate so violently that the dust on the floor danced in geometric patterns. Arthur grabbed a heavy canvas bag filled with clanking electronics and handed me a handheld device that looked like a modified Geiger counter.
"This is a portable jammer," he shouted over the rising hum. "It only has a range of five feet. Stay close to me, or the signal will tear your mind apart."
He checked a small monitor on his desk. The green line on the screen was a jagged mess of spikes. "The neighbors are circling. They aren't attacking with hands, Leo. They're attacking with the broadcast. On the count of three, we run for my truck."
"One. Two. Three!"
We burst out of the heavy door. The air outside felt like it was made of static. It was thick, dry, and tasted like copper.
The Millers were there, standing just ten feet away. Their skin had turned a translucent, ghostly grey, and their eyes were rolled back in their heads. As we ran past, they didn't chase us—they just turned their heads in perfect synchronization, their mouths widening until I heard the sickening sound of jawbones popping. A blast of white noise hit us, a sound so loud it felt like a physical wall.
Arthur slammed the button on the jammer. A blue spark jumped from the device, and the scream from the neighbors turned into a confused garble. They staggered back, clutching their heads.
"Into the truck! Move!" Arthur yelled.
The truck was an old 1970s model—no computers, no digital screens. It was "dumb" enough to ignore the frequency. Arthur keyed the ignition, and the engine roared to life with a mechanical growl that felt like the most beautiful sound in the world.
As we tore down the main road, I looked out the window. The town was unrecognizable. The purple glow had intensified, and the very air seemed to be flickering like a dying lightbulb. We passed the town square, where dozens of people were gathered around the fountain, swaying in unison to a rhythm I couldn't hear.
"Look," I whispered, pointing toward the hill on the edge of town.
Above the treeline, the massive steel skeleton of the old radio tower was glowing. It wasn't just reflecting the purple light; it was generating it. Arcs of dark electricity jumped between the metal beams, reaching up into the clouds like claws.
"It's using the tower as a megaphone," Arthur said, his face pale in the dashboard light. "If that signal hits its peak, it won't just be Oakhaven. It'll hitch a ride on the satellite uplinks. It'll go global."
Suddenly, the truck's analog radio—which had been silent—burst into life.
"Leo... why didn't you stay in the cellar?"
It was my father's voice, but it was deeper now, layered with the sounds of a thousand other people. The truck began to shake. The steering wheel felt like it was trying to fight Arthur's grip.
"It's in the wires!" Arthur screamed. "Hold on!"
The truck skidded sideways as the road ahead began to ripple like water. The Dead Air was no longer just a sound; it was beginning to overwrite the physical world.