Dead Air.

Day One

If you're hearing this, then the upload worked.

My name is Evan Cross. This is a special recording for listeners of Dead Signal Podcast. Normally I'd spend an hour talking about missing hikers, abandoned facilities, government mistakes, all the strange little stories people like to argue about online.

Tonight isn't one of those nights.

It's Tuesday. Just after nine in the evening.

And something weird is happening.

I wasn't planning to record. I was halfway through editing next week's episode when my phone started vibrating with alerts. At first it looked like one of those storms of misinformation that sweeps across social media every few months.

Videos. Arguments. Claims.

A man attacking passengers on a subway train.

A woman biting a paramedic.

Riots outside a hospital.

Most of the clips were low quality and impossible to verify.

Normally I'd ignore it.

Then I heard sirens. Not one or two. Hundreds.

The sound drifted through the open window of my apartment and never really stopped.

I live on the sixth floor above a bookstore and a laundromat. The neighborhood isn't quiet, but it isn't chaotic either. Most nights I can hear traffic, music from passing cars, people laughing outside bars.

Tonight felt different.

The sirens kept moving in every direction.

Every few minutes another helicopter crossed overhead.

The city sounded busy in the wrong way.

I remember standing at the window with my headphones around my neck.

The intersection below was packed with police vehicles. An ambulance sat crooked against the curb.

Nobody seemed to know where to go. A man ran through traffic. Three officers chased him.

The strange thing wasn't the chase. It was the way they moved. The officers looked afraid. Not angry. Not determined.

Afraid.

I've seen police run after suspects before.

I've never seen them look like they were terrified of catching one.

Maybe there's an explanation. Maybe by tomorrow this recording will sound ridiculous.

I hope so.

A few minutes ago I tried calling my sister.

No answer.

I texted my friend Marcus.

He replied with one sentence.

"Stay inside."

No explanation. Just that. Stay inside.

I've got enough food for a week if I ration it. Water. Battery packs.

Camping supplies from a trip I never took.

The apartment is secure. At least I think it is.

The news channels are running special coverage now.

Most of the anchors look exhausted.

Officials are asking residents to avoid large gatherings.

Hospitals are reportedly experiencing staffing shortages.

Nobody is using the word outbreak. Not yet.

But everybody seems terrified of saying what they're actually thinking.

I keep hearing shouting outside.

Not constant. Just bursts of noise. Then silence. Then more sirens.

I think I'll make one of these recordings every day.

Maybe it's the podcaster in me.

Maybe documenting events feels better than sitting here wondering.

Maybe I just need something to do.

Whatever happens, this is Day One.

Nothing has gone completely wrong yet.

But something is definitely wrong.

I'll check in tomorrow.

Day Two

Wednesday.

Ten twenty-three in the morning.

I'm recording earlier than expected because I barely slept.

The helicopters continued all night.

Around three in the morning I heard screaming outside. Not arguing. Not fighting. Screaming.

The kind that freezes you in place.

When I looked through the blinds, the street was almost empty.

The scream stopped before I found where it came from.

This morning the city feels hollow.

The traffic is gone. Most businesses never opened. The bookstore downstairs is closed.

That's never happened.

The owner once opened during a snowstorm that shut down half the city.

I checked the news.

Every station is covering the same story. Violence. Civil unrest. Emergency responses. Containment efforts.

Different words for the same thing.

Nobody wants to say exactly what's happening.

The videos online are harder to dismiss now.

I've downloaded copies in case the internet disappears.

I watched one from a grocery store parking lot.

A man had been hit by a truck. His leg was bent underneath him. People were trying to help.

Then he stood up.

The footage ended seconds later. Maybe it was fake. Maybe not. I don't know anymore.

Marcus finally answered my call.

He sounded terrible.

Out of breath.

He said his hospital was overflowing.

Patients arriving with bites. Patients attacking staff. Patients dying. Then moving again.

I laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because my brain refused to process what he said.

Marcus didn't laugh.

He told me to lock my door.

Then the call disconnected.

I've tried reaching him since.

Nothing.

The emergency alert system activated about an hour ago.

Residents are advised to remain indoors. Travel restrictions are being considered. Avoid contact with aggressive individuals. Report unusual behavior.

That's the exact wording.

Aggressive individuals.

As if the government held a meeting and collectively decided to avoid every obvious question.

The street below is almost empty now.

A city bus sits abandoned in the middle of the intersection.

The doors are open. Nobody has moved it. Nobody has claimed it.

There's blood on one of the windows.

Not much. Just enough to notice.

I don't like looking at it.

I keep expecting someone to arrive and explain everything.

The longer that doesn't happen, the worse this feels.

I'll record again tonight if anything changes.

Honestly, I think something already has.