Tinker

The man sat at his workbench, a dim light bulb buzzed, swinging slightly above his head.

He fidgeted with small mechanical parts, picking up a screwdriver to loosen bolts, his fingers moving with a mixture of care and frustration. His brow furrowed as he glanced at the device in front of him, its purpose obscured by layers of age and neglect.

After a few moments of careful tinkering, his patience snapped. He grabbed a hammer and slammed it down hard, a small cloud of dust rising from the blow. Tossing the hammer aside, he picked up some loose parts, examining them briefly before discarding them. His frustration simmered just below the surface, a quiet rage that threatened to boil over, but never quite did.

He shifted back into focus, pliers now in hand. With a practiced twist, he snapped a small metal ring off the device and held it up to the light. For a moment, he seemed to consider its importance, staring at it as if searching for some hidden meaning. But then, with a sigh, he tossed it aside with the rest of the discarded pieces.

The room around him was a cluttered chaos of scrap wood, metal parts, and shelves lined with jars of nuts, bolts, rice, and dried berries. It was a space both utilitarian and neglected, a place where time had stood still even as the world outside moved on.

He liked it that way.

Returning to his task, the man unscrewed four tiny screws from the corners of the black rectangular device. With the last screw removed, he wedged a knife into the gap and pried it open.

The top came free, still attached by a few thin wires. He cut the shortest wire with a quick flick of his wrist, flipping the top piece over to examine the insides.

Clicking on a small, battered flashlight, he held it between his teeth, its beam illuminating the tangle of wires, circuits, and tiny components inside. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the contents, recognizing some parts while others remained a mystery. A slight jolt of electricity zapped his hand when he reached inside, startling him. Sparks flew, but he shrugged it off, more annoyed than hurt.

He grabbed a small notebook from the edge of the table, flipping through its pages until he found a hand-drawn schematic. The lines were neat, the labels vague, but he studied it with intent, cross-referencing the sketch with the device before him. A lightning bolt symbol caught his eye, an arrow pointing to a circuit that he had to adjust.

Dropping the notebook, he reached for a cylindrical tank that had been waiting patiently on the table. The tank was marked with faint letters.

ECHO

It was wrapped with wires and fitted with buttons and a toggle switch. He set it beside the radio, unraveling the wires with precision.

He attached the black wire clamp to a metal bar inside the radio and the red clamp to the small pin marked by the lightning bolt in the schematic. With a steady hand, he pressed the large button on the tank. A red light blinked to life, signaling a connection. Another button brought forth a green glow, indicating the radio was ready for power.

Taking a deep breath, he flipped the toggle switch. A sharp jolt of electricity surged through the device, followed by a loud pop. A small explosion burst in his face, but he had the foresight to be wearing goggles.

The blast wasn’t devastating, more an inconvenience, but it sent a cloud of black soot into the air, temporarily blinding him.

The man sat there, blinking away the dust and shaking his head in frustration. He rubbed his eyes, smudging the soot further, then pushed the broken device away in anger. The table was a mess, the project a failure, or so he thought.

In the silence that followed, a faint static filled the room. He paused, his irritation giving way to curiosity. He leaned forward, listening. The radio, though taken apart and charred from the small explosion, was emitting sound.

His hand reached out almost instinctively, extending the metal antenna. The static fluttered, then steadied, giving way to a soft jazz tune that filled the space.

It was haunting, the notes floating on the air, fragile yet persistent. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, hesitant at first but growing as the realization set in. Against all odds, the radio was working.

He leaned back, savoring the moment. The smooth, somber jazz filled the dim room, a testament to his perseverance.

Or at least that’s what he told himself.

From his coat pocket, he pulled out a poorly wrapped trail cake and unwrapped it slowly, taking a bite.

Flavorless.

He sat there, chewing methodically, listening to the music, content in his small victory.

The man’s eyes twinkled with a quiet joy as he leaned back in his chair, the haunting melody playing on. The darkness of the room felt less oppressive now, softened by the gentle sounds of the past brought back to life.

He tried to savor the moment, bland trail cakes and all. Soon, he’d have to venture back out into the Wildlands, to pick up more supplies. Through more scraps, searching for something he did not know what yet. But he would know it when he saw it.

But for now he sat.

He listened.

The music his only companion.

And that was just enough.