MELTDOWN, USA — When the long-feared and widely anticipated apocalypse did finally strike earth, the last thing on the survivors' minds was whether or not their cellphones had service. Most people were too busy fighting for their lives or looting anything that wasn't nailed down while dressed in makeshift armor fashioned from old tires and duct tape. It was during these dark times that a group of unlikely saviors emerged: the vintage and antique radio enthusiasts. While the rest of the population was dealing with the chaos, these radio buffs were sitting pretty in their bastions of analog technology. With their meticulously preserved AM radios and broadcast equipment from yesteryear, they were able to keep communication lines open when cellphone towers went down in a blaze of apocalyptic furor. Lester "The Tube Wizard" McHaughton, 62, a card carrying member of the American Antique Radio Collectors Society (AARCS), worked with his fellow enthusiasts to send out SOS signals as the infernos raged around them. "Luckily, not many people own old radios anymore," said McHaughton, "so there was a lot less interference." When asked if they're using morse code or traditional voice communications, McHaughton replied, "Oh, definitely morse code. Voice communication is so imprecise and, really, how do you Instagram an apocalypse?" Their purpose-built back room, which they always jokingly referred to as the "End Days Bunker," is now their sardonic refuge. The radio enthusiasts have taken to lashing out scathing on-the-fly editorials via ancient handheld morse code transmitters, giving their thoughts on the crumbling world outside. "Well, someone has to tell those good-for-nothing survivalists what's going on," noted McHaughton. The surprising success of this network of technophobes has not gone unnoticed. In fact, the hipster contingent of the remaining population has begun to switch over to analog communication methods in a bid to retroactively become apocalypse chic. "These guys are like, the avant garde of doomsday," said Summer Lynn, a 28-year-old barista-turned-warlord. "I knew saving those old rotary dial phones would come in handy someday, you know? And if it's not sustainable, is it even worth having?" Not everyone is enamored with the newly minted warlords of wireless, however. Some have even accused them of being smug about their analog technology. A hoarder of digital beanie baby cryptocurrency claimed that having an old radio was "overrated," adding, "Just grab a megaphone and yell really loudly, it's the same thing!" Dutifully ignoring their detractors, McHaughton and his gang of antique radio enthusiasts continue to communicate and transmit their missives. Constantly updating the rest of humanity on the best strategies to avoid toxic dust storms or the swarms of ravenous post-apocalyptic locusts. When asked if he ever expected his love for antique radios to save the remnants of humanity, McHaughton paused for a moment, smiling with a wisened nod. "Oh, we all knew it was coming. The signs were all there – declining morals, reality TV stars becoming president, people willingly eating kale. This is our time to shine." For now, at least, the airwaves belong to the kings of crackle and pop, the knights of solid-state, and the wizards of the vacuum tube. As for the future? McHaughton believes that with a little luck, and a lot of solder, they'll keep their dying technology alive for generations. "We might even be able to score some dates," he says, "Or at the very least, finally get our hands on that cool vintage radio backpack from Fallout."