When the dead stop hunting and start remembering, terror goes quiet. In this post-apocalyptic small river town, the Rememberers drift along old routines-turning in eerie unison whenever a familiar voice calls. Mason Hart, a late-night host at KZND, and June Reyes, the station's engineer and conscience, discover that survival isn't about louder alarms but smarter sound. With two speakers, a palm's-width delay cable, and a rule sheet taped above the console-one voice, two-minute windows, no overlaps-they carve "corridors" through danger, turning radio into infrastructure. The result is a slow-burn horror that feels unsettlingly plausible: a radio station drama where ethics and physics are the only weapons.
Opposite them stands the Echo Harvesters, a black-market crew who weaponize nostalgia-splicing ad jingles, choir slices, and even the stolen voice of Mason's late wife, Lila-into counterfeit rescues. Crowds pivot like fields of sunflowers. A bridge becomes a pressure valve. Horns strike the human chest like drums. As a zombie thriller for readers who think they've seen every apocalypse, this novel replaces gore with choreography-timing, spacing, and the refusal to layer familiar upon familiar.
What follows is part survival horror, part dystopian thriller: market stampedes dissolved by "inventory voice"; a frequency war against a drone and a truck-mounted horn; a town-wide evacuation executed by schedule rather than heroics. The question isn't simply who lives, but how: Will they spend the dead to save the living, or keep memory in trust? By the end, the community chooses policy over panic-wiping digital fragments, sealing analog masters under quorum, and ritualizing a silent minute each hour on Dead Air with Lila & Mason. "Go slow. Be kind. Make room." becomes both broadcast and civic creed.
Anchored in intimate stakes and tactile detail, this is small-town suspense with a moral spine: a story where restraint is the action scene, silence is a tool with edges, and the scariest word in the world is "together" in the wrong mouth. If you listen closely, you'll hear why some rules-dull on purpose-are the sharpest blades we have.
