Ironbark Lookout, Watch Tower 12, 2:26 AM

Connor paces agitatedly around the tower, lighting his fifth cigarette of the night, since he stubbed out all the other ones in a fit of apprehension before he even let himself smoke them.

His radio crackles, searching for signal, much like his mind. He’s spent the better part of the night sleepless, distressed, and hoping one of the other watch towers will pick up on his signal before he has to make himself known.

The inside of the cabin is in a disarray, drawers half-open from he’d been looking for melatonin earlier. He’ll ask Billy for some when the sun rises.

For now though, he’ll wait.

…

Screw that.

“Tower 11, do you copy? This is Tower 12. Do you copy?”