Radio Raleigh

I’m mostly known for my voice.

If this were a different world, a different universe, most people would assume that meant I had a singing career. That I had record that topped the charts and went platinum.

This isn’t a different world.

I was sixteen when they first found me.

I was living in the high school down the street, converted into an emergency shelter when everyone’s money started pooling into the war effort. My mother ran to her family in the West, and my father and brother voluntarily signed up for the draft.

In short, they left me alone.

It was during an air raid that someone had first taken notice of me. I had been pushed into a classroom with six burly men in uniform and a dozen crying children. The few that had any hint of emotion on their faces seemed out of sorts – they didn’t know how to deal children who had never before experienced this kind of fear. The rest looked grim, caught in an expression of twisted sympathy known only by those who had seen battle.

Gently, slowly, I gathered the children together on a carpet patterned with bright colors and letters from the alphabet. I murmured soft nothings to them, empty assurances that things were going to be all right. I spoke as if I were trying to cast a spell.

In response, they quieted and looked up at me with dewy eyes. I cracked a tiny smile, and soon the blaring of sirens seemed to be just background noise. Something that, if you tried hard enough, could be made into nothing.

We remained crouched beneath desks pulled over onto the carpet in silence, waiting for the explosions to stop and the alarms to fade. The men in the corner whispered amongst themselves, each sending me a curious glance every now and then.

After an eternity there was a solid three knocks on the door, the safety signal. I gathered the children and directed them out, whispering more soothing things, though if it was to calm them or me, I was no longer sure. I was nearly out the door when a heavy hand dropped on my shoulder, spinning me around.

I came face to chest with one of the men. Slowly I brought my gaze upwards, my heartbeat echoing in my ears. The fear was palpable on my tongue, creating a sour taste in my mouth. It was irrational, I knew, because we were told that we have nothing to fear from the Eastern Command’s troops.

Even so, it didn’t change the fact that I felt it.

“What is your name?” He demanded in a gruff voice, not unkindly.

I shoved his hand off my shoulder and cleared my throat. “Raleigh Michaels.” I raised my chin fractionally.

Someone whistled. “She’s got a set of pipes on her,” one whispered to the other. The man in front of me paid them no attention.

“How old are you, Raleigh?”

“Sixteen.”

“Where’s your family?”

I swallowed hard. “My father and brother are soldiers. My mother—” I hesitated. No one took kindly to defectors, or anyone related to them, and I knew better than to mention it in the presence of these people. I started again. “My mother is dead.”

The man quirked an eyebrow. “Well, Raleigh, you can call me Colonel Smith. How would you like to come with us?”

I went, because I had nowhere else to go.