Ch 01: 151.820 – Ranger Base (Quiet after 8pm) Ch 02: 151.880 – Fire & Rescue (Pray you never hear this one active) Ch 03: 154.600 – Highway Maintenance (Plow trucks. Coffee talk.) Ch 04: 158.400 – Park Security (Gate codes. Lost kids. Bears.)
He never heard the screaming his father wrote about. Only the thumping.
The next page had only three entries, written in a shaky hand, the ink a different shade of blue.
But his father’s handwriting screamed from the page: DO NOT USE. motorola cp1300 frequency list
He clicked the knob back to Channel 1. The static returned to its innocent hum. He closed the notebook and set the Motorola CP1300 back on the workbench.
Ch 19: 146.520 – Ham Radio Call (Local old men. Morning nets. Dad, WB2XRP.)
Leo smiled. Bears. Classic Dad.
He scrolled further down. The list became stranger.
That was odd. A restaurant on a business radio frequency? Leo made a mental note.
Then, the last entry. It was underlined twice, hard enough to tear the paper. Ch 01: 151
Ch 11: 162.550 – NOAA Weather (Boring until it isn’t) Ch 12: 155.340 – Hospital Link (Ambulance to ER. Never happy news.) Ch 13: 159.900 – State Police Tac-3 (Don’t transmit. Just listen. They don’t like listeners.)
For a long moment, there was only the soft hiss of an unused frequency. Then, a crackle. A distant, rhythmic thumping—like a heavy door slamming in a windstorm. Or something else. Something with a heavy foot.
Leo’s thumb hovered over the transmit button. He wanted to push it, to say “Hello? This is Leo. WB2XRP’s son.” But his father’s handwriting screamed from the page:
Ch 20: 151.925 – The Heron’s Nest (Bar & Grill. Order the chili. Ask for Jimmy.)
His rational mind fought back. It’s a joke. Dad had a dark sense of humor. A prank for me to find after he was gone.