The morning fog clung to the pines like a blanket, heavy and still. The convoy crept north out of Eureka with exhaust puffing small ghosts into the air. The road was clear but soft from meltwater, the sky bruised with early spring color.
Inside the lead truck, Thane drove while Gabriel fiddled with a coiled handset he’d scavenged from one of Eureka’s storage rooms.
“You know,” Gabriel said, holding it up, “these things have personality. Like little voices trapped in plastic.”
“They do,” Thane agreed. “They just needed someone to listen again.”
Gabriel grinned. “And here I thought I was the sentimental one.”
“Give it time,” Thane said. “You’ll see poetry in copper, too.”
From the back seat, Marta chuckled. “He’s not wrong. You two have been talking about wires like they’re living things for three days.”
“They are living,” Thane said without missing a beat. “They hum.”
“Yeah,” Gabriel added. “If you put your ear close enough, you can hear them purr.”
Marta rolled her eyes. “I’m traveling with poets disguised as electricians.”
“Wolves who fix the world,” Gabriel said with a wink. “We’re trendsetters.”
They reached Kalispell by midday. The town was smaller than Marta remembered — quieter, too. But there was life: smoke from chimneys, laughter near the square, and the rhythmic chop of someone splitting wood. A few wary faces turned as the convoy rolled in, curiosity outweighing fear when they saw the Libby banner on the truck.
An older woman stepped forward, bundled in a long wool coat. “Travelers?”
“Friends,” Marta called out. “From Libby.”
That name carried weight now. The tension eased immediately. People stepped closer, smiling hesitantly. A few whispered, “The wolves,” with a mix of awe and disbelief.
The woman introduced herself as Nadine Carver, Kalispell’s de facto mayor. Her handshake was firm, her eyes bright. “I’ve heard stories about you,” she said to Thane. “Didn’t believe most of them.”
Thane grinned. “Most of them are true.”
She laughed. “Then maybe we can add one more. What brings you here?”
“Connection,” Marta said simply. “We’ve re-established landline communication between Libby and Spokane. We’re offering the same to your town.”
For a moment, Nadine just stared — then smiled, slow and genuine. “Phones again,” she whispered. “My mother used to run the switchboard in this town. She’d cry if she could hear one ring.”
“Then let’s make that happen,” Thane said.
The Kalispell town hall had been converted from a church — tall windows, a bell tower half-collapsed, sunlight streaking through dust. Thane walked through the echoing space with reverence, setting down his toolbox near an old steel cabinet that still bore a yellowing sticker: Property of Mountain West Bell.
He opened it, half-expecting dust and rust — and instead found a tidy bundle of preserved wiring, coiled and taped with care. Whoever had run the system here had known what they were doing.
He turned to Mark, who was already setting up the battery inverter. “Hook the negative to the junction plate,” Thane said. “We’ll test continuity first.”
Holt crouched nearby, fascinated by the neat rows of terminals. “All tiny bones,” he said. “Each one talk?”
“Each one could,” Thane said. “You just have to wake them right.”
Gabriel plucked an imaginary chord. “Like strings on a guitar.”
Thane smiled. “Exactly.”
Within an hour, they had the first tone ringing through a single phone. The sound echoed through the old hall, startling a flock of doves from the rafters. The crowd that had gathered outside broke into spontaneous applause.
Marta lifted the handset, grinning. “Libby, this is Kalispell,” she said softly, just for herself. “And we’re alive.”
Nadine’s eyes glimmered. “What do we owe you for this?”
“Nothing,” Marta said. “But if you ever have word from another town… tell us. We’ll come running.”
Nadine nodded. “You’ll have it.”
As the sun dipped low, the crew lingered to test the remaining lines. Thane moved from cabinet to cabinet, tracing cables, listening to faint tones and measuring voltage. Each successful test felt like finding a heartbeat.
Then his tester beeped — a faint, irregular chirp on an unused pair of wires near the back panel.
Thane frowned and leaned in, twisting the probe. The sound steadied — a whisper of current, soft but undeniable. The line should have been dead, but the signal was there. Weak. Old. Still alive.
“Mark,” he called quietly. “Come here.”
Mark crouched beside him. “You’ve got a live one?”
“Yeah. Barely. But it’s carrying something.”
They checked the label beside the terminal block — faded print, still legible beneath a smear of grime:
TROY – TRUNK 2.
Mark blinked. “Troy? That’s south of here.”
“About sixty miles,” Thane said softly. “Never thought there’d be anything left there.”
Marta approached. “What is it?”
Thane handed her the tone probe. “That’s power. Weak, but consistent. Somebody’s still got juice down there.”
Gabriel leaned over his shoulder, eyes wide. “You mean there’s another town still wired up?”
Thane nodded slowly. “Or someone trying to be.”
The group went silent, the faint hum filling the gap. It was more than just sound — it was proof. Proof that beyond the hills, beyond what they could see, someone else had survived and was still fighting to connect.
Thane smiled faintly. “The line’s old, but copper doesn’t forget. If that signal’s there, there’s still hope.”
Marta’s voice was soft. “Then we’ll find them.”
That night, the convoy camped outside Kalispell’s northern edge. The stars burned cold above, and the air smelled like pine and woodsmoke. The wolves’ tent was already in comedic disarray — again.
Gabriel zipped the flap open to chaos. “Why does it look like a wrestling match in here?”
“Because it was,” Holt said, deadpan, sitting triumphantly on Rime’s tail.
“Not fair,” Rime muttered. “He heavy.”
“I champion,” Holt replied proudly.
Mark groaned. “Every time we travel, it’s like camping with toddlers.”
Thane chuckled from outside, stirring a pot over the fire. “Toddlers with claws.”
Marta’s voice came from her neatly arranged tent nearby. “If anyone breaks anything — tent, paw, or bone — you’re explaining it to me at breakfast.”
“Understood,” Thane called.
Rime muttered from inside. “Mayor scarier than Alpha.”
“True,” Holt said solemnly. “She no need teeth.”
Gabriel nearly choked laughing.
Later, as the others settled and the campfire burned low, Thane sat with Marta and Mark by the embers. The copper line coil sat in his lap, his claws brushing the insulation absentmindedly.
Marta sipped her coffee. “Still thinking about that signal?”
Thane nodded. “I can’t stop. That line shouldn’t be live. Not unless someone down there’s still got a working switch or a generator.”
Mark looked thoughtful. “Could be an old hydro site. Troy’s near the river.”
Thane’s ears tipped forward. “If they have power, they might have people.”
“Or a system like yours,” Gabriel added softly. “Someone else who remembered how.”
“Maybe,” Thane said, eyes distant. “I’d like to find out.”
Marta smiled. “Then we will. But one thing at a time. Tomorrow we head for Whitefish. The world doesn’t rebuild in a day.”
Thane nodded. “No,” he said quietly. “But it starts with a hum.”
Sometime after midnight, a soft rustle came from the wolves’ tent, followed by a groggy voice.
“Holt, your paw on my face.”
“Is pillow now.”
“Not pillow. Move.”
“Pillow soft.”
“Pillow bite.”
A pause. Then muffled laughter.
The tent shook as one of them thumped another with a blanket.
Gabriel sighed into his arm from the campfire, whispering to no one in particular. “How the hell did the world end and this still happens?”
Thane smiled faintly, his gaze drifting up to the stars. “Because this,” he murmured, “is the world trying again.”
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The convoy loaded up once more, sunlight glinting off the coils of copper wire piled in the truck bed. Before they left, Thane made one last stop at the Kalispell junction.
He clipped his tester to the Troy pair again — the faint tone still sang through. Weak. Persistent. Alive.
He whispered to it under his breath. “We hear you.”
Then he packed up his tools and climbed into the truck.
Marta leaned from the passenger seat. “Anything?”
Thane smiled. “Someone out there’s still talking. We just have to listen.”
As they rolled out, the rising sun caught the wires stretched between poles, making them flash gold for a moment — like threads of light connecting one heart to another across the valley.
And the hum of the line carried on, whispering the same word between towns and wolves alike.
Hope.