WEBVTT

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<v Speaker 1>This program is intended for mature audiences only.

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<v Speaker 2>You are now listening to Observable Radio. Hi.

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<v Speaker 1>There, it's Cameron Suey. This month, we wanted to make

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<v Speaker 1>sure we got an episode out for that most important

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<v Speaker 1>of October holidays, the anniversary of the Cuban missile crisis.

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<v Speaker 1>The story originally appeared in the anthology Shadows Over Main Street,

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<v Speaker 1>edited by Doug Morano and d Alexander Ward, and exists

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<v Speaker 1>between the kids on Bike's adventure and something else entirely.

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<v Speaker 1>We hope you enjoy it and be sure to check

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<v Speaker 1>out our Patreon for a look behind the scenes that

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<v Speaker 1>are upcoming second season. And Now, after a brief word

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<v Speaker 1>from the Observable Radio Company store, here's tonight's story. This

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<v Speaker 1>is a test of the Observable Radio Emergency alert system.

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<v Speaker 1>This is only a test. This concludes our tests. If

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<v Speaker 1>this had been an actual emergency, the sounds you heard

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<v Speaker 1>would have been coming from your own mouth. No action

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<v Speaker 1>is required yet you are.

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<v Speaker 2>Now prom Observable Radio the crisis.

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<v Speaker 3>Erica hold onto my hand as we sit on the

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<v Speaker 3>couch and stare into the wide eye of her father's

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<v Speaker 3>color TV. Her sweaty palm pulses in time with her

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<v Speaker 3>galloping heartbeat, and she sucks at the air in noisy hiccups.

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<v Speaker 3>I have to press my lips together to keep from

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<v Speaker 3>screaming at her to be quiet. They're showing the photographs again,

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<v Speaker 3>the new ones. All week in school, we've talked about

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<v Speaker 3>missiles and blast radiuses and blackades, the approach of Halloween

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<v Speaker 3>all but forgotten. Our paper machine masks two grinning witches

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<v Speaker 3>sit half finished in the corner. Casualties of the crisis.

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<v Speaker 3>But it's all changed again and we can't catch up.

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<v Speaker 2>The purpose and function of the structure are still anyone's guests,

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<v Speaker 2>but by now it's clear that the Soviets had another

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<v Speaker 2>purpose on the island of Cuba. Entirely, we still don't

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<v Speaker 2>have a good explanation for how a sinkle of that

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<v Speaker 2>size appeared seemingly overnight. The man on the television repeats

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<v Speaker 2>what he can about the new photographs as sweat beads

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<v Speaker 2>on his upper lip, vivid and crisp on the Doalberg's

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<v Speaker 2>new screen. The man on the television doesn't know how

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<v Speaker 2>to describe them, keeps tripping over his words as he

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<v Speaker 2>tries to make sense of the aerial photographs. No one

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<v Speaker 2>can I can hear mister Dalberg screaming in the kitchen,

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<v Speaker 2>loud and angry. As of an hour ago, there's been

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<v Speaker 2>no more communication with the USSR, and the President's demands

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<v Speaker 2>for an explanation have gone unanswered. The man on the

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<v Speaker 2>television pauses to drag his sleeve across his brow, and

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<v Speaker 2>his hands tremble across a stack of white papers in

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<v Speaker 2>the kitchen. Mister Dahlberg drops his voice, but I can

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<v Speaker 2>hear the hissing of his whisper over the television. Erica

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<v Speaker 2>mumbles something about Jackie Gleeson coming on soon, and I

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<v Speaker 2>squeeze her hand tight, as if to say, please shut up.

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<v Speaker 3>Do you have a shelter? Gloria, comes mister Dalberg's voice.

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<v Speaker 3>Son of a bitch knew the rookies were moving, and

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<v Speaker 3>he didn't warn us.

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<v Speaker 2>Those aren't the sort of folk who deserve to survive.

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<v Speaker 3>Erica turns to look at me, her expression blank. I

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<v Speaker 3>drop her hand and shift on the couch. We both

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<v Speaker 3>know what he's talking about. I want to tell her

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<v Speaker 3>it's okay, that I understand there's nothing she can do,

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<v Speaker 3>but my heart starts to stutter and skip into my throat.

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<v Speaker 3>Missus Dalberg hisses something below the range of hearing, and

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<v Speaker 3>the man on the television continues, we're just hearing now

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<v Speaker 3>that an American bass in Turkey reported the sounds of

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<v Speaker 3>explosions coming from the east. Shortly after we lost all

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<v Speaker 3>communication with Moscow. But in the last ten or so minutes, Washington, indeed,

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<v Speaker 3>anyone on the continent has been unable. There's a flurry

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<v Speaker 3>of motion as glass shatters in the kitchen, a bright

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<v Speaker 3>musical chord, followed by the heavy thudding of footsteps. As

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<v Speaker 3>mister Dalberg strides into the living room. I tense, my

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<v Speaker 3>legs ready to surge into motion as he lifts the

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<v Speaker 3>stereo cabinet and puts the needle down on a record.

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<v Speaker 3>Eddie Fisher lurches out of the speakers, dueting with Perry

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<v Speaker 3>Como over the two loud distortion Rebecca Honey. He begins

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<v Speaker 3>encircles to the front of the couch. He's not looking

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<v Speaker 3>at me. He at least has the decency to look ashamed.

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<v Speaker 3>We have to talk. The man on the television stops speaking,

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<v Speaker 3>his face a mask of shock. He's looking to one side,

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<v Speaker 3>past the camera, as if into the room at us,

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<v Speaker 3>and what's about to happen. Then the lights go off.

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<v Speaker 3>Grab her. Mister Dalberg hisses in the darkness. I can

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<v Speaker 3>hear him lunge for me as I drop to the floor,

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<v Speaker 3>grinding skin against a thick carpet. Erica contracts to a

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<v Speaker 3>ball on the couch and wails. I kick up and

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<v Speaker 3>take two lunging steps toward the front door, and then

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<v Speaker 3>smack the wall loudly with the flat of my hand,

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<v Speaker 3>before reversing direction and bolting for the screen door on

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<v Speaker 3>the back porch as quietly as I can. My brother's

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<v Speaker 3>old blindfold tag trick. I can hear the heavy bulk

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<v Speaker 3>of mister Dalberg's accountant physique follow the sounds away from me,

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<v Speaker 3>growling with feral fresh I slam into the screen door

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<v Speaker 3>with my shoulder, snapping the hook from the frame with

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<v Speaker 3>a tiny plink, and I tumble onto the wooden porch inside.

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<v Speaker 3>Mister Dauberg realizes my deception and roars. Missus Daalberg is

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<v Speaker 3>screaming at him to hurry, to be a man and

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<v Speaker 3>do it already. And I get onto my feet and

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<v Speaker 3>I leap down into the yard behind me.

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<v Speaker 2>In the dark.

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<v Speaker 3>My best friend howls in helpless terror and there's nothing

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<v Speaker 3>more I can do. The autumn air bites at my

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<v Speaker 3>cheeks and the tip of my nose, and I shiver involuntarily.

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<v Speaker 3>My brother's woolen jacket lies somewhere in the Dalberg's hall closet,

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<v Speaker 3>and I try to forget what it feels like, how

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<v Speaker 3>safe and warm it smells. It's dark outside, darker than

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<v Speaker 3>night has any right to be powers out everywhere. I

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<v Speaker 3>try not to follow that thread to its meaning, and

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<v Speaker 3>focus only on the lumbering shape that bursts from the

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<v Speaker 3>dark bulk of the house onto the porch. My eyes

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<v Speaker 3>aren't adjusted yet. When I hit the backyard fence, jumping

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<v Speaker 3>up to wrap my fingers around the unfinished wood, splinters

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<v Speaker 3>bite into my fingertips, but I grit tighter and pull

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<v Speaker 3>myself up and over, Landing hard in a narrow alleyway

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<v Speaker 3>lined with trash cans. To the north, across the platte,

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<v Speaker 3>the glow of Omaha is absent. The sudden lack of

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<v Speaker 3>the familiar light feels like a physical blow, and I

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<v Speaker 3>fight to keep my breath. I hear him coming through

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<v Speaker 3>the backyard, just on the other side of the fence.

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<v Speaker 3>Then I hear another sound, a muffled thud, almost too

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<v Speaker 3>low to be heard. It rattles my skull as it

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<v Speaker 3>rolls across the lightless river valley. There's another thud, a distant,

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<v Speaker 3>massive tremor, then silence. It's begun. I look for the flashes,

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<v Speaker 3>like my father told me, eyes down to the ground

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<v Speaker 3>and shaded by my hand, but there's no illumination beyond

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<v Speaker 3>the watery moonlight.

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<v Speaker 2>There's another rolling.

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<v Speaker 3>Thud, and mister Dalberg unlatches the back gate a few

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<v Speaker 3>feet away from me. He's heard the bombs too, and

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<v Speaker 3>he's cleaning, a thin animal sound of panic and rage.

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<v Speaker 3>But he's too late. My brother's bike is right where

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<v Speaker 3>I left it, one torn red streamer from the Fourth

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<v Speaker 3>of July parade, still clinging from the handlebars, I swing

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<v Speaker 3>onto the phantom's leather saddle and press off chrome flashes

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<v Speaker 3>in the moonlight, and once I have the momentum to

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<v Speaker 3>stay upright, I flick at the light switches. A wide

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<v Speaker 3>pool of yellow splashes across the gravel of the alleyway,

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<v Speaker 3>and I stand up in the pedals, scattering rocks behind me.

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<v Speaker 3>As the shwin accelerates behind mister Dahlberg spits a curse

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<v Speaker 3>that shocks me even now and turns to run back

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<v Speaker 3>into his house. The brief elation of freedom is drowned

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<v Speaker 3>by the understanding that he's heading for his car. The

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<v Speaker 3>phantom is fast, but I know my limits. I hit

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<v Speaker 3>the end of the alley, the Phantom's tires gripping the

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<v Speaker 3>McAdam road and surging forward. As I press my whole

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<v Speaker 3>weight into each pedal and turn east toward home. People

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<v Speaker 3>are trickling outside, clutching flashlights close like childhood blankets. Widow

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<v Speaker 3>van Gundi grips an old rifle and stands on her porch,

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<v Speaker 3>wet eyes fixed out on the horizon for any sign

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<v Speaker 3>of the Russians. Some of the people look at me

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<v Speaker 3>like mister Dalberg. Did they know my father wasn't quiet

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<v Speaker 3>about the shelter or the ones he helped a dozen

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<v Speaker 3>other families dig. I lean over the handlebars, pressed faster

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<v Speaker 3>and avoid eye contact. Mister Dalberg's old ford fair lane

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<v Speaker 3>barks a cough as it rounds the corner onto Seventh Street.

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<v Speaker 3>I can see his wide, wet smile behind the headlight glow,

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<v Speaker 3>and the car cough says he presses it into gear.

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<v Speaker 3>I cut through the alleyway between the Cooper's and the

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<v Speaker 3>Wallace's houses. Both families watch me in mute confusion from

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<v Speaker 3>their front yards, the Phantom's tires hurling a plume of

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<v Speaker 3>loose gravel into the air. I'm halfway through to sixth

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<v Speaker 3>Street when mister Dalberg's fair Lanes screeches to a halt

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<v Speaker 3>with a blast of the horn. The alleyway is too narrow,

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<v Speaker 3>and I look back to see a map of veins

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<v Speaker 3>bursting forward on his sweaty brow. He's screaming now to

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<v Speaker 3>anyone who will listen, wildly pointing at me.

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<v Speaker 2>Someone stop her.

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<v Speaker 3>Her parents are with them. On any other day, this

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<v Speaker 3>might have sparked laughter. My parents have lived in Plattsmuth

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<v Speaker 3>since they were children. My dad has worked across the

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<v Speaker 3>river at off At Base since the end of the war.

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<v Speaker 3>He's the secretary for the odd Fellow's Lodge and volunteers

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<v Speaker 3>with the fire department on weekends. But tonight, in the

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<v Speaker 3>impossible dark, with the rumbling promise of the end on

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<v Speaker 3>the horizon, it doesn't seem so out of place. At

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<v Speaker 3>the mouth of the alley had swiveled toward me, blank

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<v Speaker 3>scared eyes are praising I push faster exit the alley

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<v Speaker 3>onto sixth Street, hook left and then right again, towards

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<v Speaker 3>the looming expanse of Garfield Park. I can hear the

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<v Speaker 3>fair Lane a block behind, an angry song of rubber

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<v Speaker 3>and road. I slow the Phantom as I enter the

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<v Speaker 3>dark hollow of the park without the street lamps, the

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<v Speaker 3>trees become hazy clouds of shadow, and I feel momentary

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<v Speaker 3>solace in the dry whistling of the oak leaves. The

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<v Speaker 3>silver slash of the moon provides just enough light to

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<v Speaker 3>pick out the outlines of the swing sets in the gazebo.

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<v Speaker 3>The whine of mister Dalberg's fair Lane in the distance,

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<v Speaker 3>another drumbeat of distant roars, and I shake off the

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<v Speaker 3>familiar comfort. Only a few more blocks, Mom Dad the

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<v Speaker 3>shelter safety on the far end of the park. I

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<v Speaker 3>stop the Phantom and lean it down in the wet

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<v Speaker 3>grass lying beside it. My skin ripples with goose flesh,

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<v Speaker 3>and I let myself shiver with cold dread. The fair

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<v Speaker 3>Lane rounds the corner onto Fifth Prowling like a lion.

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<v Speaker 3>Mister Dalberg's head and arm hang out the window as

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<v Speaker 3>he scans the dark houses. Halfway up the block. Mister

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<v Speaker 3>and missus Talbot sign frantically to one another as they

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<v Speaker 3>pack a half dozen lumpy double bags into the back

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<v Speaker 3>of their truck. Their fingers dance in a private argument,

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<v Speaker 3>arms swirling as if to approximate shouting. No one else

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<v Speaker 3>is in sight, no one else who might have seen me.

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<v Speaker 3>Mister Dalberg passes my hiding place, screaming to himself, a

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<v Speaker 3>noise like a kicked pig. He drives his foot into

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<v Speaker 3>the accelerator, and the fair lane leaps ahead, circling the

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<v Speaker 3>park again. I stand the Phantom up and run beside

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<v Speaker 3>it toward the road. I jump onto the saddle, slamming

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<v Speaker 3>my bony thigh hard enough to bring tears and pin

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<v Speaker 3>wheel my feet in search of the petals. He still

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<v Speaker 3>hasn't seen me, and I lean forward to accelerate. I'm

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<v Speaker 3>hooking around the corner, so close to the shelter when

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<v Speaker 3>the bells in the county courthouse begin to ring. It's

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<v Speaker 3>a frantic, irregular rhythm, and I turn to look, slowing

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<v Speaker 3>the phantom without thinking, there's a new light on the horizon,

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<v Speaker 3>a bright shining star that for a moment gives me

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<v Speaker 3>hope that the power has returned. But it's rising Beneath

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<v Speaker 3>it rises a column of billowing smoke, lit by the

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<v Speaker 3>crackling glow, an unfurling flower stretching up to touch the

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<v Speaker 3>black sky. Another blossoms beside it, then another to the west.

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<v Speaker 3>I see another cluster of arcing lights on the horizon.

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<v Speaker 3>My heart frosts over and I watch the cearing line

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<v Speaker 3>split the night. I'm not moving any longer. One foot

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<v Speaker 3>in the mat him, I can't stop shaking, and wish

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<v Speaker 3>again for my brother's jacket. He honks the horn just

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<v Speaker 3>before the impact. I turn to the sound and throw

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<v Speaker 3>one hand to block out the headlights, and the fair

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<v Speaker 3>Lanes strikes the back of the Phantom. The bike frame

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<v Speaker 3>bends and shears in two with an almost musical screech.

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<v Speaker 3>My head hits the concrete just in time to watch

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<v Speaker 3>the Phantom's back wheel and gears slide beneath the fat,

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<v Speaker 3>white walled tires. My thigh is crashed between the frame

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<v Speaker 3>of the bike, the pain a bright flare of white.

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<v Speaker 3>But as soon as the car is free of the

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<v Speaker 3>Phantom's wreckage, I drag myself out and kick off the

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<v Speaker 3>ground with my good leg so close the fair Lane

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<v Speaker 3>screeches to a halt. As I begin to hop skip

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<v Speaker 3>away and I hear the car door grind open. My

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<v Speaker 3>hurt thrashes in my chest, fighting with my lungs, and

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<v Speaker 3>I'm sure I'm going to be sick less than a

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<v Speaker 3>block until home, just fifty more yards, and then Dad

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<v Speaker 3>will be there, and then all of this will make sense.

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<v Speaker 3>But I can't run, this will ever make sense. I

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<v Speaker 3>let the tears go now, and they burst forth, as

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<v Speaker 3>if held under pressure. My nose leaks down onto my

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<v Speaker 3>upper lip as I shuffle forward on my bent leg,

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<v Speaker 3>letting the heavy sobs drive my irregular gait. Rebecca, Honey,

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<v Speaker 3>oh god stop, I'm so fucking sorry. I never Mister

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<v Speaker 3>Dahlberg's voice warbles as he begs. The heavy, flat slapping

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<v Speaker 3>of his footsteps are almost behind me. There's a figure

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<v Speaker 3>in the dark coming out of the Geller's house, head

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<v Speaker 3>covered in a cowl of black shape on a black background.

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<v Speaker 3>It glides towards mister Dalberg a silent motion, like the

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<v Speaker 3>release of a spring, and I see the figure pull

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<v Speaker 3>a long object from his coat. The sliver of the

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<v Speaker 3>moon glints off gun metal. Rebecca, sweetheart, you can without

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<v Speaker 3>without you, Erica and her mom and me, his words

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<v Speaker 3>blur together as he starts to cry along with me,

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<v Speaker 3>his hands up in a gesture of peace. See he's

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<v Speaker 3>shaking every bit as terrified as me. His heavy lips

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<v Speaker 3>quiver as he struggles to speak, and then the shotgun

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<v Speaker 3>sparks a plume of fire from a few feet away.

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<v Speaker 3>Mister Dalbert curls inward, does his hips and torso. Wrapped

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<v Speaker 3>into a wet ruin, he collapses in the center of

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<v Speaker 3>the street without uttering another word. The man with the

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<v Speaker 3>shotgun turns to me, and in the hollow of his hood,

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<v Speaker 3>I see the warm wrinkles of our neighbor, mister Myers.

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<v Speaker 3>His smile absent, his face looks wrong without it, and

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<v Speaker 3>my head swims in the uncanny confusion. I turn around

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<v Speaker 3>to see another hooded figure almost beside me, arms reaching

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<v Speaker 3>out for me. I try to shrug away, but I'm falling,

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<v Speaker 3>my leg giving way. At last, my father catches me

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<v Speaker 3>in his arms. His face beneath the hood is grim too,

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<v Speaker 3>but his eyes still twinkle. He nods to mister Myers,

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<v Speaker 3>who slides another shell into the open breach. Yeah, mister

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<v Speaker 3>Meyer says to us, I enjoyed that, and then strides

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<v Speaker 3>away from us. Into the gloom. Dad looks down at me. Hi, Beck,

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<v Speaker 3>I was hoping you'd make it. This might be a

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<v Speaker 3>rough night for you, honey, might be. I want to ask,

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<v Speaker 3>but as he holds my shaking body aloft, I see

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<v Speaker 3>the wild arcing of missiles across the sky and I

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<v Speaker 3>can't speak. He walks, holding me as if I were

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<v Speaker 3>still five years old, toward a house. I can see

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<v Speaker 3>a faint glow from the back, the shelter safety. I

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<v Speaker 3>made it from behind. I hear a brief scream, and

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00:16:38.360 --> 00:16:43.759
<v Speaker 3>then the roar of mister Meyer's shotgun, then silence. Nothing

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<v Speaker 3>makes sense. I whimper into the collar of Dad's strange jacket.

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<v Speaker 3>The cloth is rough and faintly musky, but beneath it

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<v Speaker 3>are his familiar, warm sense. It never did, honey, and

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<v Speaker 3>it never would have. This was for the best. Come on,

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<v Speaker 3>I think I can help you understand. We pass through

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<v Speaker 3>the side yard of the house, back towards the glow

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<v Speaker 3>of the shelter, but there is no shelter, only a

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<v Speaker 3>perfect sinkhole, the sides lined with slick black rock, where

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<v Speaker 3>other channels split away into a twisting network from deep

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<v Speaker 3>within the central shaft, a hazy glow washes out in waves.

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<v Speaker 3>The light seems to have both substance and weight as

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<v Speaker 3>it curls into foggy tendrils of indescribable shades, coiling upward

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<v Speaker 3>toward the yawning sky. The shelter, I murmur, It was

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<v Speaker 3>never going to be a shelter, he says, not once

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<v Speaker 3>mister Myers and I found the old echoes buried. There

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<v Speaker 3>lots of digging these days, lots of people hearing it

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<v Speaker 3>all over the world. We got to talking organizing. You'll see.

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<v Speaker 3>We keep going past our proper, up to the gentle

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<v Speaker 3>rise where we used to eat suppers on a picnic

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<v Speaker 3>blanket on warm evenings. Down the other side, the Missouri

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00:18:08.400 --> 00:18:11.400
<v Speaker 3>flows like oil in the night, only visible in the

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<v Speaker 3>flickering glow of the missiles and moonlight overhead. Dad sits

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<v Speaker 3>me down in the grass, and if I shut my

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<v Speaker 3>eyes and hold perfectly still, I can almost believe everything

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<v Speaker 3>is normal. He ruffles my hair. I love your dad,

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00:18:25.160 --> 00:18:29.880
<v Speaker 3>I mumble, pressing up against him. I know, and I

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00:18:30.160 --> 00:18:33.839
<v Speaker 3>feel like I love you Beck. But that's just the

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00:18:33.880 --> 00:18:37.279
<v Speaker 3>cruelty of chemicals. It's just the lie that keeps the

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00:18:37.319 --> 00:18:42.680
<v Speaker 3>whole thing going. But not anymore. We don't have to

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00:18:42.920 --> 00:18:47.559
<v Speaker 3>lie to each other anymore. Across the broad plain to

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<v Speaker 3>the east, there's a flash, and I instinctively look away.

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<v Speaker 3>Another light flares, and I see the red blood of

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<v Speaker 3>my eyelids. As the spheres of light dim, I open

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<v Speaker 3>my eyes and catch the hint of movement at the

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<v Speaker 3>horizon above, missiles arc downward, American missiles tilting down to

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00:19:04.640 --> 00:19:09.400
<v Speaker 3>strike American soil. It takes a long moment for me

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00:19:09.440 --> 00:19:13.960
<v Speaker 3>to accept what I see. The old ones can set

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00:19:14.039 --> 00:19:17.920
<v Speaker 3>us free, so we cleanse the world for their coming.

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<v Speaker 3>More bright blossoms of fire paint the night, and flashlight strobes,

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<v Speaker 3>and I try to look away, but my eyes still sear.

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00:19:27.200 --> 00:19:29.640
<v Speaker 3>The world heaves and its death throws. As the ground

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00:19:29.720 --> 00:19:38.680
<v Speaker 3>begins to shift. There again, something moving, something vast. I

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00:19:38.759 --> 00:19:41.359
<v Speaker 3>try to put it together in pieces in my mind,

323
00:19:41.480 --> 00:19:45.519
<v Speaker 3>but it keeps leaping apart, impossible to conceive even as

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00:19:45.599 --> 00:19:50.240
<v Speaker 3>it strides across the world. It rises from beyond the

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00:19:50.279 --> 00:19:53.200
<v Speaker 3>curve of the earth. It stretches far above the thin

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00:19:53.319 --> 00:19:57.799
<v Speaker 3>clouds and across half the width of the horizon, numberless legs,

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<v Speaker 3>like iron spikes, the width of city, the rise and

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00:20:01.000 --> 00:20:04.960
<v Speaker 3>fall matching the rumbling rhythms of the night. Somehow they

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00:20:05.079 --> 00:20:08.240
<v Speaker 3>join into a nexus, a central torso. But when I

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00:20:08.279 --> 00:20:10.839
<v Speaker 3>try to look directly at it, my eyes slide away.

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<v Speaker 3>Some were swimming in the night above. There are eyes,

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<v Speaker 3>There are eyes like black stars, and they see me.

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00:20:21.200 --> 00:20:28.279
<v Speaker 3>At last, I understand. Another blast paints the sky white.

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<v Speaker 3>I raise one hand to cover it, and the phantom

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00:20:31.519 --> 00:20:36.680
<v Speaker 3>images of fingerbones shine through the dry autumn grasses. Whisper

336
00:20:36.720 --> 00:20:39.000
<v Speaker 3>as Mom strides up the hill to sit with us,

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00:20:39.400 --> 00:20:43.119
<v Speaker 3>her hooded robe reeking of blood and a seeping wound

338
00:20:43.160 --> 00:20:49.759
<v Speaker 3>in her gut. Duck and cover, she sings beneath the

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00:20:49.880 --> 00:20:54.039
<v Speaker 3>rising roar in her sweet and warbling voice. We sit

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00:20:54.119 --> 00:20:58.640
<v Speaker 3>in silence, letting our eyes burn and fade. As it approaches,

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00:20:59.480 --> 00:21:03.039
<v Speaker 3>one of the unthinkable legs strikes the ground at the horizon,

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<v Speaker 3>and the earth cracks. Fire and liquid stone leap into

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<v Speaker 3>the sky as miles of Iowa farmland vanish beneath each step.

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00:21:12.640 --> 00:21:16.960
<v Speaker 3>Tornadoes scour the planes behind it, conjured into being as

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<v Speaker 3>it tears.

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<v Speaker 2>Through the air.

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<v Speaker 3>We wanted to tell you, Beck, but you were too young.

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<v Speaker 3>My father lays one hand on my shoulder, like a

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<v Speaker 3>cold slab of meat. Your brother made us promise before

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00:21:32.319 --> 00:21:34.920
<v Speaker 3>he left that we'd keep you innocent of all this,

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00:21:35.759 --> 00:21:38.400
<v Speaker 3>even if we knew you'd see our way in the end.

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<v Speaker 3>I want to think about Jacob, the whole of his

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00:21:43.240 --> 00:21:46.559
<v Speaker 3>absence and the fawn warmth of his memory. But what

354
00:21:46.720 --> 00:21:50.799
<v Speaker 3>fills my mind instead is disgusted at the useless hulk

355
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<v Speaker 3>of my clumsy, broken body bathing in nuclear radiation. How

356
00:21:57.240 --> 00:22:00.519
<v Speaker 3>good it will feel to slough it off and be

357
00:22:00.680 --> 00:22:04.759
<v Speaker 3>free of the clanking chains of flesh, to let all

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00:22:04.960 --> 00:22:08.720
<v Speaker 3>thought and being evaporate before the sweeping gaze of the

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00:22:08.759 --> 00:22:12.640
<v Speaker 3>eyes like dead stars. He wanted to be here with

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<v Speaker 3>you at the end, but the stars were right. It

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00:22:17.160 --> 00:22:23.440
<v Speaker 3>had to happen. I understand, of course I do. Mold

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00:22:23.519 --> 00:22:30.279
<v Speaker 3>has no claim on the apple. This was never our world. Yeah,

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00:22:31.039 --> 00:22:33.400
<v Speaker 3>I gasp as I let go of it all, the

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00:22:33.440 --> 00:22:37.880
<v Speaker 3>old word bubbling deep from within, and then we are silent.

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<v Speaker 3>We sit on the hilltop to wait for oblivion and

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<v Speaker 3>watch as the world is reborn.

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<v Speaker 1>You have been listening to Observable Radio. Tonight's episode The

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<v Speaker 1>Crisis was performed by the Ensemble featuring Perporina, written by

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00:23:06.240 --> 00:23:10.079
<v Speaker 1>Cameron Suey, produced by Cameron Suey, Phil van hest Perperina

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<v Speaker 1>and Wendy Heckner. Edited by Cameron Suey. Our psychology consultant

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00:23:14.279 --> 00:23:18.000
<v Speaker 1>is doctor Elisa Liel. Art by Carinn Fletcher. Our theme

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00:23:18.079 --> 00:23:21.519
<v Speaker 1>is the Backrooms performed by Mew. Additional music from this

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<v Speaker 1>episode provided by Almost Here, elm Lake, Enigmatic, Martin Lanstrom, Gutta, Lucina,

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<v Speaker 1>patreon dot com slash Observable Radio. Thank you for listening

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00:23:54.880 --> 00:23:55.720
<v Speaker 1>and stay tuned.

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<v Speaker 4>Yeah yeah, yeah, so sorry.

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<v Speaker 3>It's so it's such a silly fucking lovecraft. I think

385
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<v Speaker 3>it makes me laugh because it feels like I'm saying

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<v Speaker 3>a weird version of.

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<v Speaker 4>Yeehaw yeah yeah yeah yeah, all right.

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<v Speaker 3>I hope you got a good one out of those