WSKY

A few hours earlier.

Just as he was about to deliver the 2:05 WSKY weather report, DJ Dan the Afternoon Man heard a low rumble pass over the station and everything -- even the 'On-Air' light above the door went dark.

"Woah! Hey! Wooooah .. "

Dan Renar reached out with a finger to calm Bobblehead-Betty who had been sent into all kinds of tremors thanks to what had been (Dan imagined) a rather feisty gust of wind. He flicked a switch on the receiver next to him -- nothing came through his headphones. Dan's chair gave a squeak of protest as he leaned back, and waved to Henry Meye in the next room.

"What's going on?"

Henry didn't have an answer quite yet. He spared Dan a look, just one hurried look before going back to the age-old standby of all board operators -- just pushing random buttons. Or, at least, that's what it looked like to Dan from his position in a dark, unlit studio.

"Nothing but dead air, Dan!" Henry called back, brow furrowed, once his odd ritual was complete "it's gotta be a transmitter problem."

"That thing again? You have got to be kidding me .. "

WSKY-FM was in dire need of a new transmitter. It had served well back in the 70's when there had been twenty miles of clean, open air from here in Ramble down to Cedar Springs and even as far south as Hatwick -- but since those years the land had been developed and buildings rose into the valley interfering with signal. As a senior prank in the early 80's, the graduating class of CSHS had wired enough short-wave radios from Skipper Point to temporarily throw the station off its Sunday night 'Back-To-God' program. Dan grinned. They can't prove anything.

The transmitter buckling completely, though? That hadn't happened in about six years. Oh, sometimes the signal weaved in and out if the wind from Torch Lake got too ambitious; this was, of course, a perpetual hazard of their location. Generally the signal came back, as though apologetic for wandering off lost amidst all the towering cedar.

But the power had never gone out before! Dan stroked his chin thoughtfully. He slid off his headset, placed it carefully on its designated stand, got up, and strolled out of the studio.

Henry was already making calls, looking slightly comical with a different receiver for each ear. He juggled both of them, cradling them between his neck and shoulders while he punched through each corporate and commercial number he could remember off the top of his head.

"No one's picking up .. not downtown, and not at the Keeler building," the man scowled.

"Maybe it's the phone. Did you try calling on your cell?"

"Eh. Dead, anyways. Forgot to charge it last night."

Dan pulled out his Blackberry to lend a hand, but wasn't surprised to find that the signal was too weak. Being tucked up in the mountains like this had its pros and cons -- right now, it was looking as though the latter outweighed the former.

"It wasn't supposed to be terribly windy," Dan mentioned helpfully, remembering the weather report that had been printed off for him, lying abandoned on its stand back in the studio.

Just then, a door slammed from somewhere down the hall. Dan heard her heels clicking before he saw her -- there was Monica, their secretary, with a pencil tucked behind one ear and a pen tucked behind another, ends lost in frizzled brown hair. She chewed her lip, and stood there looking from one man to the other.

"Whole station is down. Can't get reception anywhere else either, and no one's picking up."

Henry hung up one phone, and then the other, "how long d'ya think it'd take to get someone to come up and look at the transmitter?"

"Oh, about an hour at least."

"Damn," Henry shook his head, and for the first time Dan Renar felt the slightest prick that something wasn't right.

"Maybe it's magic!" Monica joked, and both men had to laugh.

Suddenly feeling better and slightly silly for his misgivings, Dan (who was also station manager as well as the afternoon DJ) gave a shrug.

"Might as well go home, you guys."

"Go home?"

"The last time the transmitter went out this completely, it took three days before we were back up and running. And if by some miracle we do get back in the next hour or so, we've got enough songs lined up to last until Shawn shows up."

Henry laughed, took off his glasses, and began to clean them, "alright, alright. I can go for that. Maybe I'll surprise the wife and have dinner ready by the time she gets back from Memphis."

"Sweetheart, the world would end before you figured out your way around a stove," Monica snorted, and it was just Dan to chuckle this time.

"Okay, you two take care!"

"Bye, Dan!"

"See you later, now."

Dan never wore a coat and so he just walked a straight line from the back room, down the hall, and then out the front door. The towering cedars of Ramble waited for him, waving in the strong breeze and all was well in the world.

Sure, driving got a little precarious in the winter -- but for the most part, Dan didn't mind his lengthy commute. Days like today made everything feel worth-while. Maybe he'd take a leaf out of Henry's book, and make supper instead of ordering take-out. He and the kids didn't expect Lisa home from work 'till late.

Dan jangled his keys in his pocket while humming a lesser-known Beatles tune. He approached his car, his baby -- a bright yellow 1969 Cougar Eliminator with black racing stripes with an almost audible sound of undiluted joy.

The car had belonged to Dan's father, and was now in his loving possession. He had decided belatedly to make the car a family heirloom. Jordan would receive it when he turned eighteen. Sylvia had never learned to appreciate the thing, even fostering such hurtful nicknames as the 'canary-car' and refusing to be seen in something of such an 'audacious' and 'horrific' shade. At least Jordan understood a rare, classic care when he saw one ..

And so Dan roared from the WSKY parking lot with the open road under him, turning left and finding (as was per usual) no traffic meeting him south.

He opened the throttle carefully -- Dan had recently overhauled the engine and if he pushed too hard, he could hear the engine making a few coughs or sputters. The windows were open and the wind whipped around in the car's cabin; the radio was on, but Dan wouldn't have heard anything anyways.

Things went along beautifully like that for about twenty minutes before the Cougar's engine gave a choking sound, and downshifted suddenly. Dan jerked his hands tighter around the wheel as the powerful engine slowed mournfully -- he pulled over in a spray of gravel.

Not ready to be brought down from his good mood, Dan swore good-naturedly and was out of the car at once, unlatching the hood to take a look at the damage. A cursory glance and a few squints told him all he needed to know -- a vacuum line to the carburetor had blown. The new engine had come with new, fancy plastic heads to cover the intake lines so prevent air being diverted away from the engine needlessly -- but in the heat, the plastic had expanded and it looked like the cover had flown off a few miles back. This was why the engine had been running rough. Dan patted the hood in what he imagined was a consoling fashion.

For about fifteen minutes Dan tried a few variations of switching covers and starting the engine. This only resulted in a weak, rasping rumble to the vehicle. It was still sucking air where it shouldn't have been -- there was no way around it, he'd have to find another way back home.

Though it pained him to leave the car there it had to be done. Now feeling slightly miffed, Dan reached for the phone at his belt. The last thing he needed was for this dumb thing not to --

-- thankfully, his phone had enough signal to make a call. Dan tried ringing Jordan, then Sylvia, then called home. Dan waited four rings before the answering machine clicked in, and Jordan's dry voice could be heard saying -- "here comes the beep! You know what to do."

Dan grinned, "cute, Jord, but we're gonna change that, right? Okay, anyways -- transmitter at the station's gone down and I was on my way home when the Cougar's engine went out. I'm about twenty miles north on the W5; looks like I'll need a ride back in. It'd be great if you guys picked up your phones once in a while, as often as you both seem to .. "

Dan turned when he heard the low growl of engine brakes rolling up from somewhere up the road. Ah! There was a Hoyle Logging truck coming his way from the north. It had just crested the last hill, and was it pulling over? Huh. You'd think those guys wouldn't want to slow their route, but Dan had known the Hoyle brother's since college, and they were good guys. maybe one of their sons had see the instantly-recognizable canary-colored Cougar, and were stopping to see if he were okay.

"Hmm .. "

The truck was definitely pulling over, and it was definitely carrying a hefty load of cedar. Dan lifted his arm in greeting to the driver; he had recognized the face, "Yeah. Actually, funny thing! Sam Hoyle's son just pulled over, looks like he's going to bring me back in, even if he just drops me off at the corner station. Make sure you kids do the dishes, and Sylvia, I know your mother wants that living room vacuumed. I don't want the house a mess. Love both of you kids -- will talk later when I get home. Buh-bye."

Dan Renar ended the call, and re-clipped the phone to his belt. He took a step towards the truck, trudging back to where it had come to a stop.

Maybe that one step was the step he needed, because even though he couldn't see it -- suddenly, red block letters began to scroll across the screen ..