Two light rays soon beamed across the ridge and dissipated into the sky. An engine downshifted, powering a vehicle up the ridge along a shabby four-wheel drive trail.
Desmond stood, “It’s time you all meet Deputy Doolittle.”
A Blazer crested the ridge and stopped in front of their blanket, close enough that they could feel the engine heat. Strobes atop the roof splashed red and blue light about the ridge. The driver’s door opened and a large star emblem shimmered under the lights. A man wearing plain clothes with a badge and gun fastened to his big-buckle belt, stepped out.
“Desmond Wyatt,” the homegrown deputy sheriff whined. “They got me out of bed to come deal with your annoying ass.”
“Don’t get pissy with me, Deputy. I didn’t ask you to come out here and violate my constitutional rights.”
Annoyed, “Don’t pull that constitutional crap with me tonight. I’m leaving here in five minutes. Cooperate with me and I’ll leave alone. Otherwise, we can discuss the constitutionality of this matter in the morning over some jailhouse coffee.”
“Do what you must and we’ll see if we can oblige.”
Pulling a notepad from his pocket, “Let’s start with your purpose for being out here tonight.” He glanced at the others. “Judging by the age of your followers, I’d say tonight you’re holding a high school astronomy club meeting.”
“That’s it,” Desmond answered. “Don’t be jealous because they’ve gone further in school than you.”
Ignoring the insult, “I can think of better places to stargaze than this mountaintop, and it doesn’t cost the taxpayers money.”
“Yes, but this is the only place in the world to see that constellation that streaks across the sky at mach ten. You know the one I’m talking about. What’s the name they use?” Desmond always toyed with the deputy, trying to force answers about his base contacts and what took place at Area 51. Desmond knew most of the answers, but enjoyed razzing the deputy who was so reluctant to say anything that once he would not even admit to seeing lights from the base.
Perturbed, the deputy said, “I call it a meteor shower.”
“I’ve never heard of a meteor landing on a runway.”
With a discriminating stare, the deputy said. “Let me see some identification.”
Calmly, Blake responded, “Why do you need our ID?”
“Because the government likes to know who’s spying on them. Ya’ll just made the list.”
Blake’s jaw dropped. He never thought there would be such a succinct record of his trip as long as they kept to themselves.
“Have you got something to hide, kid?” the deputy queried.
“I’m not hiding anything. I’m an aerospace buff. I thought I was coming out here to be on public land and not bother anyone. Now you want to put my name in a file. That’s not right. Especially since I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“Leave now and it won’t get any worse. You’ve seen the base. They aren’t going to test anything while you’re up here.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Desmond said. “They won’t shut the base down for us. Once the deputy tells them we don’t have any photographic equipment, they’ll proceed.”
“It’s pretty cool to think we could be forcing a delay,” Trevor said, gladly handing the deputy his driver’s license. “Power to the people,” he chanted, feeling a simpleminded sense of accomplishment by having his name recorded in a government database.
Blake reluctantly obliged with his driver’s license.
After taking their names, the deputy checked Desmond’s pack for camera equipment.
“You owe me one, Deputy,” Desmond said. “I let you search my bag without a warrant.” He turned to the guys, “The deputy here has a tough time getting a search warrant issued to check our possessions on public land when all he is looking for is camera equipment.”
“All I owe you, Desmond, is a swift kick in the ass. Maybe the next time you’re out here alone I’ll see that you get it. Now why don’t you all hop in my Blazer and I’ll drive you back to your vehicle.”
“It’s not happening, Deputy. We’re here for the long haul.”
“Judging by their attitudes tonight, I don’t think it’s going to be a very long haul.”
“Whose attitude?” Desmond asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe the men in black. You’d just better tell these kids what’s in store for them.”
The deputy didn’t say goodbye. He hopped in his Blazer and drove off Freedom Ridge. A few minutes later they saw him on the base, speeding along a dirt road leading back to the guard station.
The nerve-racking peacefulness that served as an intermission between encounters returned. This time with greater trepidation brought on by the deputy’s statements.
Sick to his stomach over the thought of them having his name, Blake asked, “What’s next, Desmond?”
“Nothing. The deputy was trying to scare you. Legally that’s all they can do.”
“I don’t think gun shots are a legal scare tactic.”
“I told you they aren’t concerned about violating your rights, as long as their actions are nothing more than your word against theirs.”
Trevor had been studying the base through binoculars, and noticed a new light in the sky. “Hey! Something just took off vertically from the base.”
Desmond spied the distant light through a pair of standard binoculars. At first glance the white orb appeared to hover, but Desmond knew that was an optical illusion caused by the distance separating him and the light. “It’s coming our way.” He didn’t sound thrilled.
Blake’s excitement dissipated, “From the tone of your voice, I assume it’s not a craft we’re hoping to see.”
Desmond said nothing, concentrating on the light that was still about five miles away. “Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed, showing concern for the first time that evening.
Blake knew if Desmond was worried, they could be in trouble. “What’s wrong?”
“I hoped that once they knew we didn’t have cameras they would leave us alone.” Desmond pulled a gas mask from his backpack, then shooed them off the blanket. “Make sure you have everything and move to the back of the ridge. Get ready to take cover.”
Blake grabbed Desmond’s arm, “What’s happening?”
“They’re determined to get rid of us. That’s a Black Hawk helicopter.”
Whomp. Whomp. Whomp. Noise from the engine’s chopping beat increased. Soon the helicopter’s searchlight reached the ridge, blinding their view of the valley.
“That’s one of those big ass missile carrying mothers,” Trevor screamed. “They’re gonna blast us!”
“They aren’t going to blast us,” Desmond yelled, his voice barely audible over the Black Hawk.
Desmond wrapped the blanket around his body and slid the gas mask over his head. He walked to the ridge’s edge, facing the steel beast head on. Flailing his arms in the air, he yelled under the roar for no one to hear but himself, “Bring it on you rat bastards. Violate my civil rights.”
The Black Hawk reared its nose. The rotor wash blew a cloud of dust and debris onto Freedom Ridge, engulfing Desmond and advancing toward the others like smoke from an explosion. Pebbles, sand and dry dead cactus pieces flew through the air like a hail of bullets.
“Cover your face,” Blake yelled. He and Trevor huddled low to the ground, gagging and choking on the dust.
The Black Hawk advanced on the ridge, hovering overhead, increasing the tormenting winds.
Blake recalled the professor’s warning about the government that he was failing to heed: Don’t bow to the feds by going to Area 51. Now he was literally disobeying the professor as he cowered on his hands and knees hoping and praying for mercy against the government’s menacing messenger in the sky. And he was led there by the government’s anti-Christ who was now silhouetted by the light, legs spread, arms outstretched, welcoming the ferocious wind attack.