Free A New World [7] Takedown by John O'Brien Page B

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