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

distance on the other side of the mine is a rise of land ascending above the surrounding terrain. The sides have been cut into and climb sharply giving it the appearance of a mesa. From my vantage point, it appears the top has a few scattered, stunted evergreens. Stunted, that is, when compared to what I’m used to in the Northwest. In my magnified view, I catch a hint of movement to one side. Focusing on the spot, I see a couple of deer tentatively emerge from a tree line to the far right across the mine. They warily approach a small pond and dip their heads for a drink. It’s then that I notice a few birds wheeling about the gray-covered skies and a hawk soaring aloft looking for a meal.
    At least there’s life here . That is aside from the people that I suspect are in the area and have yet to show themselves.
    A gust of wind whips against my clothing, moaning across the deep hole before me. The thoughts of why we’re here and the chilled breath of air bring me back from my sight-seeing. I lower the glasses and head with Greg back to the Stryker. There has yet to be a sign of anyone which makes me uneasy. We haven’t been exactly stealthy in our approach wanting whoever may be in the town to know we’re here. Although the sight of an armored vehicle can be a little unsettling, I wanted to park on the outskirts in an attempt to show we aren’t threatening and give them a chance to approach us cautiously. I would have thought the sight of the military would alleviate any fears if someone wanted help but, so far, nothing. Of course, they could think we are roving bandits who stole the thing; which, technically, we did.
    I see the radio tower a short distance away. It’s obvious that whoever is here isn’t coming to us, so, if we’re going to make contact, then it’s up to us to go to them. I’m still not all that comfortable trekking into the small town when it’s apparent that they want to stay hidden, but it could be because they’re frightened. I don’t know how to alleviate that, especially arriving in a Stryker, but we should at least investigate the radio station and make plans based on what we find.
    “Okay, let’s mount up,” I call to the teams. “If we receive any fire, they’ll have made their intentions clear. If that happens, remain onboard and we’ll disengage.”
    I can tell Gonzalez and the rest of Red Team preparing for a “Hooah, sir” but I bring that to a screeching halt with a look. Funny, I swear Robert and Bri were about to join in with them. That’s all I need, my kids giving me a “Hooah”. Instead, Gonzalez and McCafferty give me a mischievous smile. Great, I know I’m due for one at some point today. At least I hope that’s the reason for the smile and I won’t be waking up with mascara.
    The sound of the Stryker starting up and the ramp closing resounds across the desolate parking lot. We edge out onto the main road and make our way slowly into the main part of Lead. Rounding a couple of corners, the central area of town stretches away to the sides of the two-lane, dust-covered highway. A few motels and restaurants line the street along with a church and an opera house. On a tall pole, a flag flutters in the breeze next to a post office. All in all, it looks like most small towns. Except for the opera house that is; you don’t see many with one of those.
    With the whine of the .50 cal as it tracks from side to side, we pass the Black Hills Center of Hope. I wonder if there’s any hope left in this place. If there’s a semblance of humanity left, I suppose there’s always hope. It just depends on the stance that the groups of survivors take. Seeing the place makes me think about the homeless. Surely there must have been a large part of them that didn’t get the flu shot.
    Are they still around in numbers or did they fall prey to the night runners quickly with nowhere to go?
    The radio station is set back from the main road in a dusty lot. I halt the vehicle in front