Kaywily

With a trembling finger, KayWily tapped out a reply. Not words. Just a rhythm. Three short, three long, three short.

KayWily’s hand hovered over the transmitter key. Hope was a dangerous thing; it had a shelf life of about three seconds after you last ate. But the voice kept coming, naming coordinates that were only two blocks away. KayWily

KayWily pressed the headphones tighter, ignoring the dust that puffed from the worn leather. Outside, the city was a graveyard of glass and concrete. Inside, a single green light pulsed on the transceiver. With a trembling finger, KayWily tapped out a reply

The voice was young, terrified, and impossibly clear. With a trembling finger

S.O.S.