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

fences, and cars. As I look over the rest of the town, I don’t see any signs that someone is around. It looks like one of the old west ghost towns. The only thing missing are tumbleweeds blowing down the streets and barroom doors swinging in the wind.
    Without seeing an indication that anything has been there in some time, we pile back in the vehicle and make our way down. We drive over the sand-blown roads into the heart of the town. The central area is only four or five blocks long. Along Main Street are several banks, restaurants, gift shops, bars, real estate offices, a laundry, a center for the arts, a casino, and a small building named ‘Sturgis Motorcycle Museum & Hall of Fame’.
    Stopping along the street and disembarking the teams, I see firsthand what I saw from afar. Sand covers the roads and is piled in deep drifts in the storefront doorways. Several parked cars along the street are almost covered with it. I had expected Sturgis to actually be filled with Harleys but nary a one is in sight. I don’t see any tracks in the sand-covered streets or sidewalks. That is both a good and bad sign. Good in that there aren’t likely any night runners inhabiting the buildings and bad in that no one else has been here either.
    I open up to see if I can sense any night runners about. Nothing. Any sense of them is as quiet as the town. I notice Gonzalez looking at me quizzically as if asking if I felt anything. I shake my head negatively. She nods and trots off with the rest of Red Team as they take a position at the corners at one end of the block. With Greg remaining with me, the members of his team heads off in the other direction to establish themselves at the other corners.
    Seeing Robert and Bri heading off with the rest of Red Team, I call them to my side noting the look of disappointment on their faces. I know they want to be with their team and think I’m calling them back because I’m being ‘parental’ and want them close. While I still have that quandary every moment we trek through unknown territory, this time I called them because I want them to watch and learn.
    As they gather with Greg and me, I take a closer look at our surroundings. Most of the shop windows are broken. Overturned tables and chairs lie within and the floors are covered with grit and debris. A skeletal arm sticks out from one of the drifts piled up against a vehicle nearby. Walking over, I kick some of the sand away. The flesh has been picked clean. There’s not a shred of tissue left.
    Keeping my M-4 at the ready, I head over to one of the shops to get a closer look inside. The restaurant has been ransacked and it looks like a tornado swept through. Scattered among the dirt are broken plates and a large overturned coffee urn. Several unopened water bottles lie amongst the wreckage. A few more skeletal remains lie on the floor of the café. There are dark stains where the floor shows through the sand, in spray patterns on the walls and counters, and on the broken windows beneath the grime. The only tracks in the deep dust are those of smaller creatures – I’m guessing the rat population still thrives. The other shops tell the same story; one of being ransacked or of last stands. If anything other than rats is here, it hasn’t been recently – within weeks I’d say at first glance. Sturgis, at least this part of it, is a dead city.
    “What’s your first impression here?” I ask Robert and Bri.
    “There’s no one here. It’s dead,” Bri answers.
    “Why do you say that?”
    “It just feels that way,” she replies.
    “Okay, I’ll take that, but you have to be careful about relying on feelings alone,” I state. “Robert, what about you?”
    He glances around, staring for moments at one place and then another. The gears turn and he tilts his head to the side quizzically. Knowing him as I do, I recognize that he sees something but can’t quite put a finger to it. Then, a light enters his eyes.
    “There aren’t any