“Fuck me!” Robert breathes beside her.
“You aren’t shitting,” she responds.
Gonzalez and Bri join them after checking the side room and finding it empty. Checking the adjacent room, they find that one empty as well. They all step in. Several shell casings are scattered in the debris. By looking at the scene it’s pretty apparent what happened. They were eating dinner when night runners attacked so they quickly folded into this back bedroom, making a last stand.
She can’t imagine the fear they must have felt in those last few minutes. The shrieking outside following by pounding on the door; seeing it burst open and night runners rush inside. Fleeing down the hallway…the screams of terror folding in with the loud screeches of the night runners filling the house. Adrenaline filling their bodies, fear for their loved ones and knowing death is closing in. Grabbing a gun and firing at those charging down the hall. Hearing the terrified screams or sobbing of your wife and daughter huddled in terror on the bed…hearing their cries of pain as the night runners tore into the room. The heart-break of knowing all is lost. This same story told in millions of homes across the world. Yeah, she’s glad to be alive but hopes she doesn’t have to come across any more scenes like this one. It’s just too wrenching to imagine the last moments of those that were here.
Looking on, McCafferty feels like she’s intruding at the final moments of the ones who were here. In a semblance of shock and pity, they all stare at the carnage for several minutes; each lost in their own thoughts.
“Let’s get out of here,” Gonzalez finally says, breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” Bri says, continuing to stare into the room.
They gather Henderson and Denton and exit the house feeling sad and a little depressed. McCafferty feels bad for the soldier as his eager anticipation is going to be met with sad news. She knows the loss of a loved one and the heartbreak. That’s something that never leaves. They meet with Jack and Greg and relay what they saw. Their heads drop with Jack shaking his head slowly side-to-side.
“Thanks,” he says after a moment. “If you wouldn’t mind going inside and finding something to wrap them in, I’d appreciate it. We owe them a decent burial at the very least.”
“Will do, sir,” Gonzalez responds.
“Sir, I’d like to stay when you talk to him,” McCafferty says, to which Jack nods. He then calls the soldier to him.
The soldier arrives and immediately knows the answer from the look in their eyes and from the fact that there isn’t any of his family there. He drops to his knees and buries his face in his hands, sobbing.
Jack lays a hand on his shoulder and says, “I’m sorry, son.”
McCafferty kneels down beside the soldier and puts her arm around him. After a while, he rises and wants to go inside to see what’s left of his family.
“That’s not a very good idea,” she says.
“I just… I just need to see for myself,” he says, sniffling.
“No. Just remember them as they were.”
“Were they… did night runners get them?” he asks.
They lock eyes. Looking into his wet, red eyes, she nods. He begins crying again and she holds him against her.
Red Team recovers the bodies of the family, folding them into the drapery removed from the windows. They take the rest of the afternoon to bury them in the cemetery. There isn’t a person there that isn’t affected. Some have lost loved ones; others wait to find out about theirs.
With the sun wending its way across the late afternoon sky that is becoming increasingly cloudy, we shovel the last bit of dirt over the soldier’s family and, with heavy hearts, load up. We haven’t heard another sound except for our own, making the town seem like a very lonely place. It could be that the energy that was exuded by those that lived here, and in the way that energy was lost, the area could be leaving an energy hole as it were and that’s what we are feeling. That coupled with the loss of the family of one of our own. We don’t seem to have a very high success rate and it’s my fear that we may have waited too long.
We reverse our route and leave the dead town of Sturgis behind. As we climb the hill to the east of the city, the town slowly vanishes behind the hills. It won’t be too long before nature claims this place that was once a Harley mecca.
Lord of the Flies
Back at the aircraft, we stow our gear and grab a bite. The ramp is quiet as we consume our meals in silence, taking in the last moments of fresh air and daylight before having to seal up for the night. Just because I don’t sense any night runners in the area in no way means that they aren’t around. The ability to sense the night runners seems hit or miss at times. I remember the time in Albuquerque when I didn’t sense any and the building ended up being full of them. There were also the times overhead in the AC-130 when I could see them massed below, but only had a faint impression. I will admit that it seems to be more reliable these days, but I’m not taking it as gospel just yet.
Climbing into the cockpit, I try the satellite phone once again without any response. I’m concerned about our inability to communicate with the base or Leonard. It could be that the satellite’s orbit merely decayed or their power systems failed. I tune up the NDB in order to try a different form of communication. It’s a longshot, but the signal actually follows the curvature of the earth, so it’s possible to transmit and receive over longer distances. It can also skip across the upper atmosphere giving it the ability to broadcast over a tremendous distance in some circumstances. I know we are monitoring the frequencies at the compound so I dial through the frequencies trying to get into contact.
I transmit on a few of the lower frequencies and dial upward with each new attempt. As I continue, I hear a burst of sound. Dialing backward, I find an AM radio station that is broadcasting loud and clear. Music plays across the overhead speakers. A transmitting station means power and, after this long, power means that someone is around to fill the generator. Assuming that is what source of the power. I can’t imagine what else it could be.
Noting the frequency, I scan through others without hearing anything else. I dial back to the transmitting station. It continues to come in clearly without any of the static or skip that AM stations traveling long distances usually have. I call Greg up to the cockpit and have him listen.
“That sounds close,” he states.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” I reply.
“Do you have any idea where it’s coming from?” he asks. I look at the ADF (Automatic Direction Finder) which will point directly to a transmitting station.
“It looks to be coming from somewhere west of us,” I answer.
“Is there any way that we can pinpoint where?” He points at the instrument.
“The only way really is to fly directly to the station and see where the needle flips around. That will give us a good indication of where the station is.”
“Okay. What do you think?”
“I’m not sure. We could go look when we take off but, to me, I’m thinking there is someone there who is keeping it going. It will mean taking another day to investigate if we find it’s within driving distance, but if there are survivors out there, we should take a look,” I say.
“And if they aren’t friendly?” Greg asks.
“Now, that’s the real question. Should we risk ourselves so far away from home looking for survivors? Honestly, I’m kind of split on that,” I answer. “Do we take the risk and, if so, under what conditions do we do so?”