CHAPTER 30
“Three adult Caucasians. Approximately seventy-five feet from your position and climbing.”
“That sounded like a radio,” Blake said, straining to see through the darkness draping the desert hillside.
Undaunted by the radio chatter, Desmond acknowledged, “Someone’s waiting for us up ahead.” Not bothering to look, he focused on his footsteps and led the group up the first hill, a quick jaunt, ten minutes from where they parked the Suburban. A quartz light affixed to a cinder block building on an adjacent hill increased the ambient light. “That’s the guard station. Notice there aren’t any vehicles parked at the building. That’s because they’re tracking us.” He let his words sink in with the novice base watchers. “Can you guys see the orange posts marking the perimeter?”
No response.
“They’re tough to see in the dark. That’s why you need to stick close to me. We’ll be skirting the perimeter. Every quarter mile, cameras encased in silver balls sit on ten-foot poles, tough to see at night. But if we hike into a ravine and lose the guys on foot, don’t think they aren’t monitoring us.”
“Speaking of the guards,” Blake said, “where’s our friend with the radio?”
“He won’t show himself. From time to time he’ll remind us he’s around. Let’s move on. Freedom Ridge awaits.”
For almost forty years land around the secret air base sat undisturbed. When private citizens began investigating the UFO reports in the area they tested the limits of their public domain, scouring the base’s perimeter like pesky ants searching for a route leading inside a house. In the early nineties, base watchers discovered a small vantage point on public land with an elevation high enough to see into Groom Valley, a plateau with a clear view of the airbase that did not exist. The Air Force never realized the public land had a vantage point or they would have consumed it in earlier land acquisitions. Base watchers coined the name Freedom Ridge for the location.
As the group continued their quest, occasional headlights flashed and engines revved as guards repositioned their Cherokees.
The small footpath carved in the desert from repeated journeys to Freedom Ridge became steeper and rocky as they neared their destination.
“Catch your breath,” Desmond said after they had hiked nearly an hour. “This is the final stretch. And be careful where you put your paws; I don’t like using my snake bite kit.”
With Desmond leading the way, Trevor followed, and Blake took the rear as they ascended single-file over rocks and ankle-twisting crevices.
A softball-sized rock ricocheted off a boulder near Trevor and almost hit his shin. “Careful up there.”
“That rock came from the ridge,” Desmond said. “They’re waiting again.”
“You’re positive that’s public land up there?” Trevor asked.
“I’ve been there dozens of times.”
“What do you say I try introducing myself again?”
“Be my guest.”
Trevor climbed fast up the slope, kicking rocks lose in his wake. As he neared the peak, automatic gunfire destroyed the desert’s silence. Trevor ducked for cover amid the rocks. Back down the hill, Blake took a defensive stance by hunkering down, but Desmond stood tall.
The shots ended as quickly as they started.
Despite the cloaking abilities of Val Vaden’s Bio Suit, the additional security forces patrolling Area 51’s eastern perimeter made him nervous. Trudging his way north, he searched for a suitable position where he could see across the runway and take clear photographs of the happenings at the base. He had ventured from his usual terrain in Papoose Valley hoping to find evidence of a tunnel that connected the two valleys as his gravity anomaly images seemed to indicate.
Hearing the faint sound of what sounded like automatic weapon fire echoing through Groom Valley made him hesitate his advancement. Throughout his nights and days conducting surveillance at Area 51, he had never heard gunfire. He proceeded slowly, delicately placing each step on the earth, stopping often to scan for sensors.
Desmond found Trevor face down in the rocks. “You okay?”
Panicked, “Why are they shooting?”
“To scare you.”
“It worked.”
After helping him to his feet, Desmond walked the final few steps up the hill, reaching the ridge first. “It’s all clear.” He shined his Mag light on the ground. “They picked up the shells. Would’ve been a sweet souvenir.”
Reaching the ridge, Trevor’s eyes widened, “Holey crap!”
Blake leaped over the last hurdle of rocks onto the ridge and landed in a bent-knee crouch. As he stood, a distant light caught his attention. Then two. Several. Then he saw hundreds of lights glimmering on the valley floor like a distant mirage, an oasis tucked in what should have been an uninhabited desert basin. The base looked like a city, but lacked any lighted roads connecting it with the rest of the world.
“Somewhere among those lights,” Desmond narrated, “or possibly below them, exist the answers to the greatest lore of the modern era. If mankind possesses any knowledge about extraterrestrial life, it’s down there.”
Noise from the base didn’t reach the ridge. Instead a suspenseful calm filled the air, like in horror movies the moment before a killer struck.
Blake had seen pictures of the base, secretly taken by base watchers and plastered on the internet, but they didn’t capture the drama of the classified community: a town — population 2000 — not on any maps, not home to families with grass yards and picket fences, and lacking a roadside sign welcoming visitors. Barracks and dorms replaced houses. Barbed wire and chain replaced picket fences. Roadside signs warned that use of deadly force was authorized.
Desmond spread out a blanket, then studied the public land behind the ridge through night vision. “I see two parked Cherokees.” He walked to the edge facing the base. Across the perimeter, he saw two guards looking at him through night vision of their own. “There’s our tormentors.”
“Are they going to just sit there?” Trevor asked.
“Usually that’s what they do.”
The unwanted visitors sat in silence on Freedom Ridge, watching the base and keeping an eye out for more antics by the guards. Even with binoculars, they were too far from the base — ten miles — to see any significant activity. They needed something to take to the sky.
“You’re not saying much, Blake,” Desmond said.
“That means he’s thinking,” Trevor answered. “Sometimes his methodical brain works so fast he’s in another world. You should’ve seen him growing up. Never stopped asking questions. Why? How come? What for? He drove teachers crazy.”
“You haven’t been as persistent with me,” Desmond said.
“I’m still figuring you out,” Blake replied. “You have a lot of facts in that head of yours. Facts most people, even persistent researchers, would have a tough time uncovering.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“I have no reason not to. But at the same time, you haven’t explained your ultimate reasons for doing what you do.”
Desmond laughed, “I could make the same argument about you, my friend. But let’s discuss that elsewhere. The bushes have ears out here.”