Chapter Text
"I still think it's just some kids who think they're being funny," Langly groused, for at least the third time since they had left the van and started their hike.
"My money's on air traffic," Frohike replied. He was the least breathless of the three of them, despite the fact that he was weighed down by damp clothes and a sodden backpack. On any other occasion Langly would have been over the moon about Frohike falling into a stream, but since he was the one who did the falling and dragged Frohike down with him, Frohike and Byers had made a silent agreement to just pretend it hadn't happened.
"Byers?" Frohike glanced back over his shoulder. "Thoughts?"
As far as mysterious radio broadcasts went, the one they were going off the beaten path to hunt down didn't seem like it would be the exciting kind. No speaking in tongues, not even a language that wasn't English—just a pair of voices reading lists of mundane objects back and forth. They had to get a recording to analyze, just in case there was some kind of code hidden under the boring surface, but for all they knew it was someone coordinating a shopping list.
"A numbers station, maybe?" The slope they were on had flattened out into a neat little plateau, peppered in shade by an uneven crescent of scraggly trees. Byers paused to unfold the map he was carrying and his pace eased to a stop. Frohike turned around and crossed his arms and Langly doubled over with his hands on his knees, wheezing. "This looks like the spot."
Langly dropped his backpack and collapsed with his arms and legs spread out across the soft grass, eyes closed against the glare of the clear sky. "Never again."
"Get up and help with the tent," Frohike scolded, helping Byers ease his bag off his shoulders.
Langly took his sweet time standing up again. By the time he wandered over to join them the tent was lying flat on the ground and Byers was showing Frohike how to snap the supporting poles together.
"The wire running through them is elastic, just unfold it and line up the ends..." Byers twisted one of the bundle of short plastic sticks upwards and it leapt into the socket of the one next to it. "Once they're all together they slot into little pockets at the corners of the tent. They bend pretty far, so don't worry about being rough with them."
"Man, I can't believe you actually like this stuff," Langly said, kneeling next to the bag that the tent was in and examining the remaining contents. He picked up the satchel of metal pegs and eyed them suspiciously.
Frohike shook his head. "You've been a rugged outdoorsman this whole time," he sighed, his voice heavy with fake seriousness. "You should have told us, Byers."
"I should have guessed it." Langly dropped the pegs with a clatter and wandered over towards the flat tent, presumably to find the corner pockets. He bumped into Byers' shoulder as he went, smirking. "You always get my tent pole up."
Frohike took a swing at Langly's butt with his actual tent pole. It connected, and Langly yelped with more alarm than pain as several of the parts popped out of place with a loud plasticky snap.
"You can be horny later, for god's sake, stop trying to get out of setting this thing up." Langly rolled his eyes but set to fixing the parts that had been knocked apart. Frohike turned to Byers with a serious expression, eyebrows downturned just slightly and his lips drawn tight. "He's not wrong, though. The beard and flannel combo is pretty hot."
"Thank you," Langly said, vindicated.
Byers laughed, spluttering, and shook his head, but his face was starting to redden. He let the silence drag on for a few moments before he spoke.
"Do you think we'll hear the transmission tonight?"
It was Langly's turn to spit out a laugh. "Hell no."
"I hate to agree with him twice in a row, but he's right," Frohike said, then quirked an eyebrow at Byers. "The tape recorder's definitely gonna have to field this one."