Damien and Chuck were out patrolling on their shift when they received a cryptic radio message. The highway patrolmen were a bit far from home when their radio started encountering a lot of static and feedback. Their backup iPhones couldn’t get a signal, and Chuck’s hotspot wouldn’t work. They’d driven for awhile, looking for a turn-around point as the road grew narrower and a deep ditch developed on both sides. The two finally said ‘fuck it’ and sought to maneuver the car around on the road itself, pulling forward and backing up while turning the steering wheel to the extreme, when the radio message came on.
Damien was the larger of the two; a mountain of a man at six-foot-three, and well-fleshed out, with amazing traps and deltoids. They strained against his spit-n-polish uniform. Chuck was the more stout of the two, but was very fit, having been a former wrestler in college. They’d been partnered in the force for three years, and enjoyed the work. They knew the terrain well, which made their getting increasingly lost while on shift all the more disconcerting.
“Weird,” Damien said as the radio crackled. He pulled up the intercom, and pushed the ‘speak button.’ “Sirs, this is highway patrol 271. We have you on our radio. Repeat your message. Over.”
“Officers needed to lend aid up ahead,” the respondent repeated. Through the static, it was a deep masculine voice, with a southern drawl.
“Come right away.”
Damien shook his head. “Identify yourself. What’s your 20?”
“Identify YOURself,” the respondent replied.
“Highway patrol 127, agents Damien Jones and Chuck Smith,” Damien answered, compulsively. He blinked once he’d said it. That wasn’t protocol…
“Officers needed to lend aid up ahead,” the respondent said again. “Come right away.”
“Negative, Sir,” Damien was getting impatient. “Identify yourself. What is the emergency?”
“Officers needed to lend aid up ahead,” the respondent said again. “Come right away, Agent Damien and Agent Chuck. Over.”
Chuck raised his eyebrow. That wasn’t standard terminology for law enforcement. Then he raised his eyebrow again as Damien put their Crown Victoria into drive, and set off in the direction they’d been trying to turn away from. “What the Ef?” Chuck asked, a bit incredulous.
“I don’t know man…” Damien responded. “I just gotta check this out.” Damien felt compelled to move forward. The radio respondent had not identified themselves, had not described the need for aid, hadn’t even described where they were located. It was more likely to be a radio hobbiest or some shithead teen who had stumbled onto this law enforcement channel by mistake, and was now pulling their chain. And yet for whatever reason, Damien couldn’t stop himself from driving forward. He wanted – no, he NEEDED to respond to that voice. Afterall, they’d been invited.
The two highway patrolmen drove forward, into the increasingly rural country plains. The radio continued to crackle.