Silencing Sam by Julie Kramer Page A

relive his football glory days, because she was, literally, back in a minute.
    â€œOh yeah, you wore the funny glasses,” Billy said.
    Those and the braces on my teeth reminded me why my yearbook is buried in a box in the back of some closet or another.
    â€œSo you’re on TV?” Billy asked. “Can you put me on TV?”
    I hate it when people ask me that. So does Malik. But he grabbed the camera so he could at least get a shot of Billy in case he ended up being important.
    â€œI can’t make any promises, Billy. I’m doing a story on the turbine bombings and talking to people in the area. If you’re the one who did the blasting, I can for sure put you on TV.”
    I smiled like I’d be doing him a favor; he wasn’t dumb enough to fall for that one.
    â€œLeast I don’t have to worry about explosions in
my
farm fields,” he laughed.
    â€œSo you’re okay without the wind farm?” I asked.
    â€œNo, I’m good and mad. Just doesn’t seem fair everybody else is getting a wind check but me.”
    â€œI know what you mean; my folks lost out, too.” I played my you-and-me-against-the-world act.
    â€œThen you can understand how I’m not feeling too sorry if that wind farm gets blown to pieces.”
    I nodded like Billy and I were both on the same page, then said my good-byes to him and his missus. I didn’t leave a businesscard because I really didn’t want either of them calling me. And he seemed so eager to appear on the news, I could see that being a continuing problem.
    Just then a young girl came out of the henhouse, carrying a basket of eggs and handing it to her mother. I wondered if they were for eats or ammunition.
    Her father’s final instructions to me: “If you put me on TV, be sure and call me Bill, not Billy.” I guaranteed it with a thumbs-up, and Malik and I climbed into the van.
    â€œWhere to now?” he asked.
    Neither stop had netted a reportable development. “I’m not sure, Malik. While we’re here, let’s shoot a generic standup to plug in a future story.”
    He parked at a spot where three turbines were lined up artistically over my shoulder.
    ((RILEY, STANDUP))
    WIND IS BECOMING
    THE STATE’S FASTEST-
    GROWING CASH CROP AND
    CHANGING THE LANDSCAPE
    OF RURAL MINNESOTA.
    I figured that line should fit in almost any wind farm news story, whether it centered on the ecology or the economy. As we did a couple of takes, a pickup truck with two men stopped to watch. One of them owned the land where we were standing, the other worked at the gas station in town.
    â€œAnything new happening with the bomber?” the farmer said.
    â€œYou tell me,” I answered. “What do you hear?”
    I expected more ranting about Islamic extremists but only got shrugs.
    â€œAny strangers in the area?” I asked.
    They both shook their heads, but then the farmer paused and said, “Just those environmentalists.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked.
    â€œWe’ve started catching them collecting dead bats around the turbines.”
    â€œDead bats?” I asked. “Sure you don’t mean birds?”
    â€œCome take a look.”
    Malik and I climbed in the back of the truck and sat on a pile of rocks covered with fresh dirt, just picked out of a cultivated field. A routine farm chore. The man drove through harvested soybean rows toward a turbine a mile away, then stopped.
    â€œFollow us,” he said.
    The other man kicked at the mangled plants and upturned soil, telling me, “Keep your eyes open.”
    I wasn’t sure what we were looking for, but Malik followed behind, getting video of the casual search, until the man called out, “Here’s one.”
    I looked where he was pointing and saw a furry brown body. I turned it over with my foot. It reminded me of a worn leather glove. Because I grew up on a farm, I’m less queasy around dead animals