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 cafe. 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 tracks. The sand is smooth without any tracks in them. That means there aren’t any night runners in this area. They would leave tracks if they laired or hunted here,” he says.
“What else?”
“Well…” he starts off, looking to the other buildings, “this is where supplies would be. If there were survivors nearby, you’d think they would be looking for provisions here. So, no tracks, no survivors nearby.”
“Good. Does that really mean no survivors, though? What if they already plundered this area and are using other places for their supplies?” I ask.
“They could be, I guess,” he responds. “If they became self-sufficient, they wouldn’t need to scavenge.”
“Dad? But wouldn’t someone grab those water bottles?” Bri asks, pointing to the several unopened ones scattered across the gritty floor.
“That’s the kind of detail to look for. The lack of tracks in the area and supplies that could be readily had but aren’t. Although not a surety, it at least gives a pretty good indication that there isn’t anyone around. At least not nearby anyway. But, I’ll leave you with this. Be careful about relying entirely on guesses and indications like this. There could be a very plausible reason for some other explanation, and our conclusions could be wrong. Look for indications, but be ready for anything. Don’t ever let assumptions allow you to relax your guard,” I reply.
“What do you think happened here?” Bri asks.
“That’s hard to say. I guess there are several ways that it could have gone down. People could have been out looking for supplies at the outset and been caught by others or by an initial wave of night runners. They could have tried holding out in the stores initially, staking claims to supply places, and then been overrun. I’m guessing that those we see here were taken down by night runners,” I answer. “Whatever occurred here happened quickly and a while ago.”
“Why do you say that?” Robert asks.
“Well. For one, the spray patterns inside the buildings indicate being torn apart rather than shot. The large amount of blood is also more than I would expect from gunshots. The remains outside are under the drifts indicating that it happened before it began piling up.”
“What happened to the night runners then?” Bri asks.
“I would say that they moved on or starved when their food supply ran out. These bodies have been eaten to the bone.”
“Wouldn’t the rats do that?” Robert asks.
“Possibly, but look here,” I say, kneeling by one of the bodies. “If it was rats, there would be tiny gnaw marks on the bone.” Pointing at the exposed arm bones, I continue, “Here you can see larger drag marks along the bone which are consistent with a much larger animal.”
“Could it have been dogs?” Bri asks.
“No, wrong pattern. Look how the marks are more flat. A dog’s would dig in and the mark would be more furrowed,” I answer.
“So, essentially you’re saying that there were survivors here that were taken down by night runners. The night runners fed on their remains and whatever else they could find, and then starved,” Roberts states.
“Or moved on somewhere else, but that’s about the gist of it. At least from what I can tell,” I reply.
“That must have been a scary time for whoever was here,” Bri says, staring at the remains on the floor.
“I can’t imagine it was very fun.”
Looking at the scene along Main Street, I can picture the tension and fear that must have been rampant. If night runners were involved, it must have happened at night. The survivors holed up in the stores, trapped and not truly aware of what was going on. The outside perhaps only lit by the occasional street light and emergency lights inside casting faint glows over the doorways. People caught up by the speed of everything happening so quickly… the sicknesses and deaths. Small groups or families huddled together in the darkness listening to the shrieks of night runners outside, the screams of fear from those that were found echoing down the dark streets, their cries changing from terror to agony as they were torn apart.
The sheer horror felt by those hiding, just waiting to be found and knowing that they most likely would be. Some huddled and trembling in fear, trying to be quiet yet the sound of whimpering escaping as the screeches of night runners resound off of the walls as they race down the streets searching for prey. Seeing shadows running by the windows throughout the night and, amidst the screaming, the fear of being found. Pale faces suddenly appearing, shrieking outside…pounding on the windows, the glow from their eyes penetrating inside. The alarm felt at the cracking sound of the pane glass windows fracturing under the night runner onslaught. The tinkling of the glass on the floor as it shatters, the shrieks suddenly escalated as they are directly exposed. Heart beats increasing and the sheer terror as they watch the night runners pour in through the opening, leaping through the broken glass. Then, the absolute horror of watching their loved ones torn apart in front of them. Yeah, that must have been a nightmare. I can’t even imagine the terror that must have prevailed in their final moments.
Waiting for Gonzalez and the rest of Red Team, she glances over at Jack standing with Greg. Jack, shading his eyes from the sun’s glare off the broken windows, stares at the buildings in a trance-like way. She’s seen him do that a lot and knows what it means. He recovers with a shake of his head. Gonzalez is looking at him questioningly. McCafferty knows what that question is — are there any night runners about? Jack gives Gonzalez a
