Morning sunlight spilled across the rooftops of Libby, the air sharp with frost but full of purpose. The whole town was humming again — hammering, laughter, and the low purr of generators. For once, it wasn’t just survival. It was progress.
Inside City Hall, Marta was already poring over maps when Thane stepped through the door with a small toolbox under his arm and a spark in his eye.
“Morning,” she said, looking up. “You’re up early. Don’t tell me you’re already working on the phone project.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Thane said, though the grin on his muzzle gave him away. “Just wanted to check something in your utility closet.”
“That’s what you said before you rewired half the grid.”
“Yeah,” Thane replied. “Worked, didn’t it?”
Marta sighed but smiled, motioning toward the hallway. “Go. But if something explodes, I’m blaming you.”
“Fair,” Thane said, and disappeared down the hall.
The utility closet still smelled like dust and old carpet glue. Rows of metal cabinets lined the wall, each filled with neatly labeled cables and blinking indicator lights. One rack in particular caught Thane’s attention — a gray metal chassis with AT&T embossed on the side and a small brass label that read: DEFINITY 25.
He crouched, running a claw along the edge of the cabinet. “Well I’ll be damned,” he murmured. “You’re still here.”
It was like finding an old friend.
The Definity 25 was a hardy little system — a private branch exchange used by office complexes and city halls all over the country. It was built for uptime, not convenience. It didn’t need much power, and it could survive just about anything short of a meteor strike.
He cracked the cover open and whistled softly. The cards were all in place, the wiring blocks still intact. “You old beast,” he said fondly. “You just needed a nap.”
With careful precision, he ran a pair of leads from one of Libby’s solar-fed power banks through the wall conduit and into the backplane. The system clicked softly — once, twice — then a low hum filled the air as LEDs blinked in perfect, steady rhythm.
In the offices beyond, every desk phone suddenly sprang to life — 35 of them, across City Hall, the police department, and the fire station. Lights blinked, handsets came alive with dial tones that hadn’t been heard since the fall.
Marta’s voice echoed from her office. “What did you do?!”
Thane grinned. “Just woke up your phone system.”
He could hear her laugh, half disbelieving, half amazed. “Every light in this place just came on!”
Thane closed the panel, his tail flicking. “Told you — still here, waiting for someone to care.”
From City Hall, he made his way down Main Street to the old central office — the brick building with a faded Northwest Telecommunications plaque over the door. Inside, the air was cool and dry, carrying the faint metallic scent of copper.
He walked through the aisles of ancient switching racks until he found the distribution frame — the towering grid of wires where every line in town once converged. Each row was labeled in faded ink: “Hospital,” “Sheriff,” “City Hall,” “Library.”
He found the block marked C.Hall – P.D. – F.D. and traced the twelve-pair cable leading out of it. “Twelve lines,” he said aloud. “Twelve possible links.”
Thane crouched beside the row, his claws delicately parting the bundles of color-coded wire until he found what he needed: the white-blue pair — line one. He smiled to himself, a low, satisfied rumble. “Line one’s about to get a long-distance upgrade.”
He pulled out his punch tool and tapped the wire neatly into place on the outgoing trunk labeled TRUNK–SPOKANE. The old insulation crackled faintly as it seated, like it approved of being useful again.
Standing, he brushed the dust off his hands and grinned. “Line One… Spokane.”
By midmorning, the plan was in motion. Mark and Rime waited by the truck as Thane loaded up a small bag of tools — splicers, wire strippers, a tone generator, and a multimeter so old it still had a Bell logo.
Mark leaned against the fender, arms folded. “So, we’re really gonna make a landline call in 2040?”
Thane chuckled. “Let’s just say I’m done relying on luck and short-range radios.”
Rime tilted his head. “Phones carry words in wire?”
Thane nodded. “They always did. It’s like a song made of electricity.”
Rime considered this. “Then you… wire singer.”
Thane laughed. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
The drive to Spokane felt lighter this time. The roads were clear, the sky a soft pale blue that promised spring. Word of Libby’s growing legend had spread fast; people waved from porches and crossroads as the truck passed.
When they pulled into Spokane, the response was immediate. The crowd that gathered near the gate wasn’t fearful this time — they were cheering. Someone actually had a banner that read WELCOME BACK WOLVES! in hand-painted letters.
Mayor Mason met them in the square, flanked by his son Eli and the city engineer, a wiry man named Dennis with thick glasses and a grin to match his curiosity. “Thane!” the mayor called. “I was hoping you’d come back soon. Word got around fast about your plans.”
“Couldn’t wait,” Thane said, shaking his hand. “You still have your phone system in City Hall?”
Mason laughed. “We’ve been using the phones as paperweights since the Fall. Dennis knows where everything is.”
Dennis adjusted his glasses. “Nortel Meridian. Twenty-four lines. Old-school solid.”
Thane’s grin widened. “Perfect. Let’s make some history.”
Inside Spokane City Hall, the lights were dim, but the air felt alive with potential. The Meridian system sat tucked in a corner of the records room, cables draped neatly to the ceiling conduit. Thane crouched down and popped the cover open, inspecting the cards.
“Not bad,” he said approvingly. “These things were built to run forever. They’d outlive us if we let them.”
Rime hovered nearby, tail twitching. “All this metal… talk?”
Thane chuckled. “Yeah. All of this used to connect voices across miles.”
“Like radio,” Rime said.
“Sort of,” Thane said. “But quieter. More private.”
Mark squatted beside him, handing over a bundle of power cables. “I’ve got juice coming in from the solar inverter outside.”
Thane nodded. “Good. Let’s wake her up.”
He clipped the leads, flipped a switch, and the system gave a low hum — steady, smooth. LEDs came alive one by one, green and solid.
Dennis’ eyes widened. “She’s live! I never thought I’d see this again.”
“Let’s see what she remembers,” Thane said, pressing the line test button.
Every phone in the building beeped in chorus. Light after light blinked alive. Dennis laughed in disbelief. “She’s routing internally!”
“Good girl,” Thane murmured, patting the side panel. “Now let’s give her something to talk to.”
They crossed the street to Spokane’s own central office — an older but sturdier building. Inside, it looked like Libby’s twin, right down to the rows of aging switch racks and the faint smell of ozone.
Thane found the trunk labeled LIBBY – TRUNK 4 and tested it with the tone generator. A faint, steady hum answered back. His grin widened. “Beautiful. Signal’s clean.”
He pulled the white-blue pair from the conduit and patched it neatly into Line 1 on the City Hall trunk.
Dennis leaned close, eyes wide. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Thane said. “Simple is good.”
Mark smirked. “So theoretically, someone could pick up a phone right now and—”
Thane held up a claw. “Not yet. Let’s make it official.”
They returned to the mayor’s office, where Mayor Mason and Eli were waiting by a polished desk with a single beige office phone sitting like a relic from another time.
Thane gestured toward it. “Alright, Mayor. Pick up the receiver and hit Line One.”
Mason hesitated, smiling nervously. “Feels strange, doesn’t it? Like waking up a ghost.”
Thane grinned. “A friendly one.”
The mayor pressed the Line 1 button.
The phone clicked, then emitted a soft, pure tone — followed by ringing.
Not static, not noise — ringing.
Everyone froze.
Over a hundred miles away in Libby City Hall, Marta was working through ledgers when a sound stopped her cold. A phone was ringing. On her desk. Line One.
Her eyes went wide. She lifted the handset slowly. “Hello?”
From hundreds of miles away came the ecstatic shout:
“THIS IS SPOKANE!”
Laughter exploded in both towns at once. Cheers went up outside the mayor’s office; in Libby, people poured into the hallways as the news spread. “It’s them! We’re talking to Spokane!”
Marta pressed a hand to her chest, still laughing. “You magnificent wolf, you did it!”
Thane took the handset from the mayor, smiling as his deep voice carried across the line. “We told you the lines still worked.”
Marta’s laughter softened into something that almost sounded like tears. “You just changed everything, Thane. You just gave the world its voice back.”
The celebration in Spokane was instant. People cheered in the streets; others ran to old offices, dusting off long-dead phones just to see if they’d ring too. The sound of laughter and hope mingled in a strange, beautiful harmony that hadn’t existed since before the Fall.
Outside, Thane and his pack prepared to head home. The crowd followed them to the gate, clapping, shouting, waving.
As Thane tightened the straps on the truck bed, he noticed a cluster of children approaching. They were hesitant at first — until one small girl darted forward and hugged Rime’s leg.
Rime froze, eyes wide, his muscles tensing.
Another child hugged him. Then another.
Rime’s lips twitched upward instinctively, teeth glinting in surprise — halfway to a snarl before Thane stepped forward and laid a paw on his shoulder.
“They love you,” Thane said softly. “You are a hero to them. No harm, Rime. Just hearts.”
Rime’s breathing slowed. He looked down at the cluster of small arms wrapped around him, then let out a slow, rumbling sigh. One clawed hand rose awkwardly — and gently patted a child’s shoulder.
The crowd melted with warmth.
As they climbed into the truck, a cheer rose behind them — hundreds of voices shouting, “THANK YOU, LIBBY!” and “THANK YOU, WOLVES!”
About an hour away from Spokane, Gabriel’s voice crackled over the radio from home. “I can hear the cheering from the cabin,” he said, laughing. “You really did it.”
Thane smiled, watching the city recede in the mirror. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We did.”
Mark glanced over. “How’s it feel?”
Thane looked out across the snow-covered highway stretching between the mountains — the invisible line that now carried voices, laughter, and hope.
“It feels,” he said, “like the world just got smaller… and a lot more alive.”
As they disappeared into the woods on the drive back to Libby, Rime looked toward the horizon where the radio towers gleamed faintly in the setting sun.
He spoke softly, almost to himself. “World talk again.”
Thane smiled. “Yeah, Rime. The world talks again.”
And this time, everyone could hear it.