Alastor Radio Tower Novels & Stories

Alessia said as she walked down the steps with her sleeves rolled up and a heavy iron rod in her hand, and her eyes were completely dark after what we found on the loading dock this morning. "Wait, Alessia, because he was carrying a secondary radio that was tuned directly to the Butcher's private frequency, so he was reporting back to the main headquarters before we jammed his signal," I told her as I held up the black device and tossed it onto the wooden table beside her map.

She looked barely conscious, her head lolling against her chest. A massive clock tower overlooking the plaza began to chime. BONG. BONG. Eleven forty-five. Fifteen minutes to noon. "Vane," Tristan whispered into the tiny comms bud hidden in his ear. "Status." "I’m at the broadcast tower," Vane’s voice crackled back, breathless. "Had to strangle a technician. Nasty business. I’m slicing the feed now. Give me ten minutes." "Zephyr?" "Fog banks are primed," the Storm-Caller reported from her position on the rooftops. "I’m holding them back with a pressure seal. When you give the word, the whole plaza goes white."

"If we die here, there won't be a south left to argue with. Anna, can your sync-pad interface with the old southern frequencies?" "Not from here," she said, her fingers dancing over the keys as she pulled up a structural schematic of an old transmission tower located on the highest peak of the Blackwood ridge. "The mountain interferes with the high frequency bands. I need to get to the High Spire station. It’s been abandoned since the First Frost but the physical copper lines are still connected to the southern grid. If I can get inside the terminal, I can force a synchronization."

His face was pale, his eyes bloodshot, but a terrifying, triumphant smile broke across his face as he looked at her. "You're late, Anaya," Alistair said, his voice echoing with a strange, multi-tonal resonance that filled the glass structure. He held a massive, glowing master controller device linked directly to the subterranean foundations. "The calibration is at ninety-one percent. The Eastern Node is mine. Hand over the cylinder, or watch me erase the country you fought so hard to return to."