TYBEE ISLAND
By By Paul Paul Cales Cales & Becca
Continued from the April 2019 Beachcomber.
Catch up @ http://tybeebeachcomber.com/magazine
CHAPTER 22 – HELLO THERE CONCH REPUBLIC!
DAY 6.5
CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!
“What the hell is that?” Joey says, and looks around the tank.
Tony looks up. “Someone’s pounding on the outside of the tank.”
He scans the periscopes on the tank commander’s hatch. “I don’t see
anyone on the top of the tank.”
“That’s a good thing, right?” Joey asks.
Tony looks over at him. “I’m going to go see who’s out there.” He
racks the slide on his 9mm and slides the safety to the off position. He
pops the hatch open. “Who the hell’s out there?” he shouts.
“It’s Sarge. Where’s the rest of the damn Army?” The man responds
before mumbling under his breath, “Pfft. Army. We wouldn’t still be in
this mess if they had sent the Marines.”
“It’s me Tony,” he says, and looks over the side of the tank. “I’ve got
Doug and Joey in here with me.”
“What? Couldn’t survive the apocalypse without having TWO
bartenders with you?”
Joey speaks up from inside the tank, “Even in the apocalypse you’re
an angry old curmudgeon.”
Doug nudges Joey. “Don’t piss him off. That old ass Marine is
probably still a bit useful.”
“Damn right I am,” Sarge says, looking in their direction and
projecting his voice. “I’ve been kicking zombie ass for the past six
days.” Then to Tony, “Permission to come aboard?”
“You’re always welcome on my tank, Sarge.”
With that Sarge climbs on top of the tank with the agility of a twentyyear
old. “So, this is what an Abrams tank looks like up close. Hell,
when I was in the Marines all we had were M60’s.”
“Vietnam was a long time ago,” Tony responds. “Technology has
improved quite a bit since then, brother.”
“You know how to operate this thing?” Sarge asks with a concerned
expression on his face.
“Sure do. Spent ten years on these bad boys when I was in the
Army,” Tony confidently answers.
“Shit. You were in the Army? I thought you were just a damned dope
smoking hippie.”
“Just because I’m a beach bum doesn’t mean I’m a hippie, Sarge,”
Tony responds and then cracks a smile. “It’s good to see your
cantankerous ass.”
Doug pops his head around Joey so he can get a good look at
Sarge. “What the hell are you doing down here at Alley 3?”
28 TYBEE BEACHCOMBER | MAY 2019
ISLAN
“Looking for a sailboat,” Sarge answers. “There used to be one
moored right here in the Back River. I was going to swim out, hop on a
boat, and sail off into the sunset.”
“Huh,” Joey interjects. “I didn’t realize it was gone. Someone must
have had the same idea.”
“You need to improve your situational awareness if you want to stay
alive son. Noticing everything is important. Especially these days,”
Sarge says, and gives Joey a concerned and annoyed look before
turning his attention back to Tony. “You getting anything on that fancy
radio?”
“I haven’t heard a peep come across it so far.”
“I was going to use my shortwave radio, but the power is out
everywhere. I was hoping the sailboat had a generator. I tried to get the
generator from the Sand Bar, but much like any weekend night there
were too many zombies hanging around that joint.”
“That’s the whole south end of the island, Sarge,” Doug chimes in.
“Do you have the shortwave with you?” Tony asks.
“Of course I do. I wasn’t going to sail the boat back to my house to
get it. It’s in my duffle bag leaning against your tank.”
Tony turns around and looks at Joey. “Jump down and get Sarge’s
bag, dude. We’re going to see if we can get in touch with someone…
anyone… out there.”
When Sarge has the bag back in his possession he says, “We’re
going to talk to MARS specifically.”
Joey giggles. “We’ve got people on Mars?”
“No dumb ass,” Sarge says, exasperated with Joey again. “Military
Auxiliary Radio System. M.A.R.S. It’s a Department of Defense
sponsored program that allows civilians to talk with all the branches of
the military, including NOAA and the Coast Guard.”
“Told ya he’d be useful,” Doug says, and smirks at Joey.
“Anyone going to remember how to laugh anytime soon?” Joey sighs
in response.
Tony takes the shortwave radio from Sarge and plugs it into the aux
cable behind the tank’s radio rack. “That should do it,” he says.
“24 volts?” Sarge asks without looking away from the radio set up.
“Yup,” Tony replies with the same attention to the machines in front
of them. “And with any luck we’re about to find out just how isolated
we are.”
The radio crackles and wheezes to life. Static screams back from
every station Sarge tries. “I can’t believe there’s nothing on MARS… or
anywhere else.”
“Try kHz1040,” Tony says.
“What’s that?” Sarge asks, looking away from the radio for the first
time since they plugged it into the tank.
“My brother used to play around with one of these. He would talk to
some folks in the Keys. CRIR. Conch Republic International Radio. He
used to clamber on about it all the time.”
“Let’s give her a shot then,” Sarge says, and turns the dials to the
new settings. Once in place he leans into the radio. “This is Tybee
Island. Anyone read? Over.”
A few seconds pass without a response. “Damn,” Joey sighs. “Is the
whole world dead?”
Sarge clears his throat and in a louder voice begins again, “This is
Tybee Island. Anyone read? Over.”
The radio silence breaks and a voice booms out, “This is the Conch
Republic. We copy loud and clear. Over.”
“HOT DAMN!!!” Joey exclaims.
Sarge shoots a look over his shoulder to silence him and turns back
to the radio. “You don’t know how happy we are to hear a voice coming
from this box. We almost lost hope that anyone would respond. Over.”
“You guys must be behind enemy lines,” the radio says. “Just like
we are. The chatter has decreased to a trickle in the past couple of
days. Over.”
“Damn,” Doug says. “I guess this thing has spread everywhere.”
Tony leans in closer to Sarge. “Ask them if there is anywhere that’s
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