Officer of the Dead

Chapter Four

Hi :)

Thank you so much for being patient with this update!
I really hope you're enjoying this little fic so far, let me know in the comments what you think!

t//w; mention of suicide (non-graphic)

The twenty-minute drive back to the factory was silent. Ronnie had been quiet since you set off; you couldn't work out if he was lost in his thoughts or just uncomfortable with your driving and opting to be nice and say nothing at all, rather than critique you. Luckily after spending the week together, bouts of silence had become normal, comfortable even, a sign of the growing friendship, you hoped. Hearing Ronnie shift in his seat, you glance towards him, taking your eyes off the road momentarily. You notice him reaching out towards the car's audio system.

"Will that work?" you ask, returning your eyes to the road.

"I'm not sure," he says, turning the radio on. The sound of static filling the car. You glance down, watching him fumble with the dials trying to pick up a signal. You sigh quietly to yourself - you knew it wouldn't work. He carries on fiddling with the dial as you roll your eyes, starting to tune it out, until suddenly you hear something echoing, a small grainy voice comes across the radio.

"Hello? Hello? Testing, 1...2, 1...2, is this on?..."

Your eyes widen. A broadcast? You pull the car over, wanting to give your full attention to the voice talking. You watch Ronnie turn the volume up - he stays silent with his eyes glued on the radio. His hand reaching into his top breast pocket pulling out a small notebook, complete with a pencil. If you weren't so shocked about the broadcast, you would laugh. He was always so resourceful, in the most awkwardly adorable way.

"Hello to the land of the living. If you can hear this, no, you are not dreaming, your radio really is picking up a broadcast. This isn't a government signal, there is no government, no military, there is no zombie-free paradise and the worst, sadly, probably isn't over. That's the bad news. The good news is: you are not alone"

You frown, still in disbelief you were hearing this.

"The world might have gone to hell but small pockets of humanity have survived and we're still out here. The purpose of this broadcast is to give hope to whoever might hear it and to let you know you are absolutely not alone. No matter how bad it's gotten or how many horrors you've seen, you are not alone, so don't give up. Not for a minute, not for a second. The only thing that separates us from them is hope...... Alright, for those of you hearing this, we can provide for all, a community for survivors. We are located at the Rosarito Hotel outside of New York City, I repeat, OUTSIDE of New York City - avoid the city at all costs."

You glance at Ronnie, watching him as he hastily scribbles down the name of the hotel, his scratchy writing barely legible. The broadcast ends suddenly, filling the car with a loud static. You groan, closing your eyes as your hands instinctively cover your ears, protecting them from the loud noise before it slowly begins to subside. Your eyes pry open and you look towards Ronnie, removing your hands from your ears. He moves his large hand from the small volume dial of the radio, placing it back on his thigh, clutching at the notepad with his other hand. He doesn't meet your gaze. He stays facing forward, as calm as always.

"What the fuck was that?" you shriek suddenly, almost shaking, "What do they mean there's no government, no military?!" you ask with urgency, now glaring at Ronnie, desperate for answers. He doesn't give you any, still gazing forward, like he's lost in a daydream. In your panicked state you reach out, grabbing his free hand, grasping it tightly with the slightest nudge to break him from his thoughts. "Ronnie?" you ask softly, looking at him desperately. He breaks from his trance and looks directly at you, taking a moment before responding.