Build the radio

Samuel knew that he would never last long on this island, so his best course of action was to try to call for help. How long can anyone really live on vacuum-sealed packets of cookies? He was able to get a signal fire going, but considering the size of the Pacific Ocean, he had his doubts that anyone would see him. Throughout his hunt for supplies, he'd come across some electronics. Maybe he could fashion himself a radio.

The sky was a peerless blue and the heat was radiating off the sands as Samuel began arranging what pieces of electronics he could gather from the wreckage. "Amazing, I've got the beach all to myself and all I want to do is leave," he muttered to himself as he tried to unscrew a plastic panel with a whittled stick. With a start, he dropped the stick, realizing that he'd begun to talk to himself. Gazing out through the haze of radiating heat from the sand, he saw the endless waves and was reminded again of how isolated he was. Turning back to the console panel, he redoubled his effort to disengage the components stored inside.

It took Samuel all of one day and the morning of the next, along with several fingernails, to break down all the electronics he could save from the corrosion of the surf. Laid out in stacks under the shaded cover of his makeshift camp, Samuel began to hook pieces together to try to create a battery-powered radio that could tap into plane and boat transmissions. It had been two decades since he'd slept through his shop class on electronics, but fear and boredom can be powerful motivators.

After two failed attempts and nearly frying the nerves in his hand, Samuel looked at what could be his best chance for rescue. He couldn't find a usable microphone, but he'd rigged a contraption that would be able to send signals on a radio bandwidth. Not that he knew Morris Code, but enough chatter might draw the attention of a rescue ship or plane. More importantly, he'd found all the necessary parts to at least receive transmissions. Flipping the power switch, the radio began to hum and the steady crackle of dead radio waves filled the camp. Tentatively, fearing that he might break his creation, Samuel turned the dial, rolling through the frequency range.

Through the maddening crackle of unused airwaves, Samuel thought he could hear something just on the edge of hearing. Slowing his steady turn of the knob, he pressed his ear to the speaker. Above the crackle was a hair-raising whine that dipped and warbled into the auditory ranged. As he tweaked the dial further, the crackle dissipated, and the frequency of the whine began to drop into something that sounded like a woman's ululating cry or some exotic song. Desperately, Samuel began to press at his makeshift code sender to that frequency, a litany of beeps that broke through the waves of the female voice. As he strained to listen for any sound of response, he could almost hear the sound turn into words. If only he could hear it just a little clearer.

The voice, if he could call it that, seemed to shift where on the radio bandwidth it was playing, so Samuel had to steadily adjust to hear her call. All the while, he pounded out an unintelligible barrage of beeps, hoping that whoever was broadcasting would hear. All through the day, he followed the modulating call of the now clearly female singer as it shifted up and down the radio frequency range. One moment, he'd hear her clearly and the next, it would plunge into static. His other hand grew still as he focused purely on keeping track of this song. If he listened closely enough, he could almost pick out words.

Through the aria of noise, he could the first recognizable statement, "listen to my song," broke through speaker Samuel had pressed to his ear. "Hear my voice," rose up through the waves of shrill wails. Suddenly, Samuel felt a heavy lethargy descend on him like a led blanket. It pressed on him and he settled into the sand, nestled against the speaker. Samuel licked his lips and found them to be dry, yet it was difficult to move his hand even enough to grasp at the water bottle within arm's reach. "Yes," he murmured, lips forming into a strange smile as he sought out her voice once more. "Let my voice," the woman sang before rising up once more into a shrill wail, "carry you away," ending in a breathy sigh that left Samuel's heart fluttering.

His body felt sapped of strength, but so grateful to have this voice to listen to. Yet why was Samuel so tired when mere moments before, he was full of excited energy to be rescued? It was becoming harder to remember that there was any other reason for having this radio, and with each rolling wave of song, it seemed to drive the need to be rescued further from his mind. There was something unnatural about this woman's voice. And yet, that thought, while frightening seemed also to be enticing. Maybe he should listen just a bit longer to find out for sure.