With each progressive footstep on the streambed’s compact sand, the sheltering sidewalls diminished until Blake was no longer hidden, but at the next waypoint, a dirt road, which served as an artery for security vehicles to travel around the lakebed to Groom Valley’s southern end. He stopped, crouched, stretched and paused for a breather. He sipped water for the first time and was confident he had the physical wherewithal to reach his destination and return with water to spare.
Blake studied the base as he rested, knowing he could use his zoom lens to snap detailed photos of the base from his present position, but the money shot required him to push further. Soon he would be in position to use his zoom lens and see inside the large fabled hangar.
The next jaunt required Blake to cross the road and be exposed for several hundred yards before reaching the cover of another gulch that would guide him the rest of the way. He had been reassured that as long as the coast was clear, he should not worry about detection as he crossed the road.
Every horror film Trevor had ever seen replayed in his mind while he tried to pass time in the stranded Jeep. The slightest wisp of wind or creak from a critter spun his head in near panic as he strained to see if someone lurked amongst the chaparral scrub and Joshua trees. The rumors about aliens at the base started playing in his head; he eased forward in his seat, craning his head over the steering wheel and glanced upward through the windshield at the night sky. The stars were plentiful, and all appeared steadfast in their positioning on the galactic canvas, meaning there was nothing more than stars in the sky above, he hoped. But that wasn’t reassuring enough for Trevor as the anxiety of the situation strangled his patience with claustrophobia. The sideboards and dash of the Jeep’s interior suddenly seemed confining. He eased the door open and slid out into the airy desert, ready to begin his hike to meet Blake, figuring he would just sit and wait when he got there early.
Blake dashed across the dirt access road in solid strides, feeling as exposed as a streaker, and continued at a feverish pace into a shallow gulch that led him to the final waypoint. Situated atop a rocky knoll near the east side of Groom Lake, Blake found himself elevated sixty feet above the dry alkalescent lakebed. The base was still two miles away, across the runway. Contoured details of the buildings, hangers, control tower, satellite dishes and radar towers were now perceptible through the unmagnified enhancement of his night-vision goggles.
The airbase that had taken on mythological proportions in underground circles, and did not exist for many years, was proving itself a factual entity. Years of government denial, sidestepping and misinformation had compelled civilians to ask more questions. The powers-that-be wanted to keep the remote assemblage of buildings a secret, but instead altered mere brick and mortar structures into an alluring dragon’s lair.
Blake removed his night-vision goggles and began attaching a nine-inch lens and camera that were stowed in his fanny pack. He had rented the most powerful lens he could find, designed to photograph far-off images using a thousand-millimeter reflex lens. With the lens attached, he fell to his stomach, using his elbows for a camera stand, and took his first close-up view of the base.
He wasted no time launching a photographic assault, sweeping left to right, searching for his primary objective. He saw no signs of activity, no signs of life other than building lights. After scanning a third of the base, he spotted his first person, then a second: two guards stationed in front of the large hangar.
The hangar doors were cracked open, but only about ten feet. He adjusted the focus, trying to see inside, but his angle was bad, all he saw was a corner wall. He had about twenty minutes before it was time to head back in order to reach public land by dawn, and knew that if the doors didn’t open further in that time, his pictures and the journey would have been in vain. Setting the camera down, he put his night-vision goggles back on and studied an adjacent plateau just a short dash from his current position, but potentially capable of giving him the camera shot he sought. He hesitated because the detour wasn’t part of the plan. Nothing in life comes without a catch, he thought. What was the correct choice at this point? Come so far and give up, or deviate slightly? The path was clear. A fast jog would put him there in a minute; no point wasting two minutes thinking about it.
Trevor’s primary concern as he hiked to the rendezvous point was not being discovered. If the guards found the stranded Cherokee they would search for the passengers. And if they found him, they would want him back in the Cherokee and on his way; he would have trouble meeting Blake.
He decided not to retrace the tire tracks back to the drop point because the guards could track him more easily if they discovered the Jeep. Instead, he plotted Blake’s first waypoint into his GPS and hiked in that direction. Trevor assumed if he dropped Blake off at waypoint A, and Blake went to waypoint B while he went to waypoint C, and all three waypoints were east of the base, then he could travel from C to B without crossing the perimeter. And he was correct. The problem with Trevor’s new route was it deviated from the validated instructions given to Blake.
Trevor’s walk had become monotonous, but suddenly he was forced to freeze in his footsteps. Deep, slow breaths were his only movement. From behind his night-vision headset, his eyes trained on a man-made object ahead. He suddenly realized the directions for he and Blake were specific for a reason — to keep Trevor off the base, and in surveillance blind spots, so he wouldn’t attract attention on the public lands
Paces ahead to his left, in an open area with a view in every direction, a metal tripod supported a camera, which at the moment faced away from Trevor. Like two gunslingers waiting for the other to make the first move, he and the surveillance device squared off — both motionless. The camera drew first: it panned its lens left, sweeping in Trevor’s direction. Trevor charged at the camera, hoping to disable it before being seen.
Blake felt as though his heart pounded five times for each step he took. His minute trek stretched to almost ten as he progressed in increments — jogging, pausing, searching; jogging, pausing, searching — as he kept a watchful eye out for surveillance equipment, too afraid to move any faster. He knew he could retrace his steps at a rapid pace on the way back.
Upon reaching the plateau with no indication from his frequency scanner that he had triggered a sensor, he dropped to the earth, removed his night-vision goggles and situated his elbows to brace the camera. He immediately noticed a light lifting off from the tarmac near the hangar, a helicopter, and it appeared to be moving in his general direction. Although it was about two miles away, he panicked, thinking it was coming for him. His heart raced faster. He felt it harder to breathe. Did I trigger an alarm and they are coming to investigate? He quickly peered through the camera and zoomed for a closer view of the helicopter. Something is wrong, he thought, seeing nothing through the camera. Before he could pull away, he sensed everything around him go dark, like a blanket had been thrown over his head. He heard shuffling in the dirt and tried to react, to turn. An excruciating pain bit into his right shoulder blade like a bolt of electricity. Too much was happening for him to understand, and the pain halted his thoughts and reactions, shooting up his neck, down his right arm, and through his midsection, paralyzing his body. He struggled to pass air in or out of his lungs. A faint and prolonged “Ughhhhh,” came from his lips, and droplets of cottonmouth saliva spewed across his chin. The piercing bite-like pain ceased, but the aftereffects lingered. He lay motionless, trying to regain his senses. Only a brief second passed before he felt someone grab the shoulder strap on his backpack and drag him forward until he slid over the plateau’s edge and down a short embankment.