“A rancher from the west side called me about seeing helicopters flying in, carrying huge packages to one spot high and way out to the northwest, that same area. Part of that mystery purchase. He knows the terrain, especially the area they were flying to. Odd topography. An inverted bowl.”

“And you want to know what’s going on up there?”

“Yeah…” Old Joe’s face took on a look that told Vance he wasn’t telling him everything. “Can you check it out?”

At dawn the next day, Vance took his old Dodge truck and some camping gear and headed out. Even though he’d never been to the exact spot on the map, he knew that it would take him most of the morning to get there and Old Joe had known that it was a ride few people could have done. About ten miles out, it was just a lumpy, pitted fire road—no name, only numbered—that ended in a mess of scrub bushes covering the start of some old and narrow trails. It had been undriven for years but was still cut with deep grooves made by the violent climate rains—the kind that only used to happen in the summer monsoons but now happened almost anytime. The inverted basin was high, at the top of a steep and overgrown ravine. He’d have to make his own path through the ascending slope of pines, trying not to get done in by the sagebrush, small cacti, and all the rest of the bushes that grew on the upper slopes of the vast rim.

This level of high desert required a deep sense of attention. From rattlers to an unseen hole that would break his ankle, every step was dangerous. With that in mind, he made his way up, in a slow step-by-step. The top of the mountain rim was only a few hundred feet more. The pinyon pine here were thick and not much higher than the edge he was crouching on. This inverted bowl was an oddity of nature, but what was even odder was that poking through the bowl’s center was a walled-off, two-story pagoda-roofed house, or at least he thought it was a house. It was all sided with smooth black paneling; there were no windows that he could see, and the roof held new solar panels.

Keeping his head down, he took a moment to scan the area – no cameras or sensors up in the trees or anywhere else from the looks of it. Did they think that they were isolated enough not to have a need for security? It had to be a house, but in its bulk, the pitch-black exterior made it look more like a warehouse.

He took in as much of the wooded basin and house as he could. The building was circular, although even only being able to see it from one angle, it looked to be more angular than circular. It backed up almost to the far wall. No doors were evident, but on the second level, a bridge attached to the house crossed over the open space to a large, smooth boulder; old oil stains told him that was where the helicopters landed.

Having no windows — at least on this side, when just behind him was one of the most beautiful expanses of high-forested desert in the world — was more than puzzling. It was telling. It was like looking at a secret black space capsule that someone had dropped into its own special silo. Waiting was the best plan.

Slipping into the shadow of a large pine and keeping an eye out for any kind of movement, rattler or human, he kept assessing what he was seeing in front of him. It was no wonder that Old Joe wanted to know; there was nothing about this that was normal. In fact, it felt like a secret place, something so far away and hidden that no one would ever know it even existed. Was something stored here? If it was, it had to be illegal… and worth a lot of money. Why else would someone spend such a huge amount of time or money to build a hideout in such an impossible place to access?

An hour later, almost mid-afternoon by the looks of the sun, he decided that no one was there. He slipped over the ledge and walked confidently down to the forest that surrounded the house. Pushing quietly through the juniper branches, and from this nearer vantage point, the house came into sharper focus. He stopped, staying under cover of the branches.

This close, he realized that the house was a modular — he could see seams between blocks. The helicopters must have flown in the modules. It was raised off the ground and had an octagonal shape, with wide porches coming off the sides that he could see and covered by the extended pagoda-like roof that rose just above the tree canopy, reaching out to cover part of it. Going for a better view, he turned in a different direction. But as he got near the top of the rim again, he could hear a helicopter starting its engines. He stopped right where he was and ducked down.

Turning his head to follow the sound, he saw the copter. The exterior was jet black, the only marking a “DB” painted in gold letters on the fuselage. A movement caught his eye and he watched as one part of the wall opened and a woman began running to the helicopter pad. He was still too far away to make out her face, but it was impossible to miss the bright yellow of her outfit.

He needed to get closer. As he ran through the rest of the trees, his face getting whipped and scratched on top of the many scratches he’d already collected, he searched for a new spot. The area around the house had at least twenty feet of cleared space. He saw a place and paused. Then figuring that no one would be able to see him, he stepped out into the clearing.

He heard them before he saw them. But by then, it was too late. There, floating about ten feet in front and just above him, was a whirring threesome of drones—but not the usual box-like shape that he was familiar with. These were round and about the size of a basketball… a basketball that to him looked a 1950s flying saucer with its small turret on top. The thought that three cartoon-like drones could be in any way threatening was almost amusing. But not enough to keep him in sight. He slowly took a step back into the tree cover.

“Come out.” It was a human voice but a perfectly monotone one… the way a human voice sounds when it comes through a mechanical voice box. He decided to take his chances and took a step out from under the trees. As he did so, the drones floated downwards to his eye level and that same strange voice spoke again.

“You are trespassing. Why are you here?”

“Lost, car broke down.”

“No car can come within ten miles.”

“Like I said, very lost.”

They hovered, forming a half circle around him; they were about the size of a small refrigerator    

Even without ever having seen a drone like these, Vance knew that they would be armed and the next words proved that he was right.

“Hold Your Gound says I can shoot you on the spot.”

“Stand Your Ground.”

“Whatever.” Although momentarily amusing, it was the annoyance in the tone that reminded him that there was a human controller or controllers of these drones who could see him from inside the house through the drone’s cameras. He decided to just wait. He knew that he could throw himself backwards and land inside some branches and roll to the left and be near a tree trunk… but he’d still get shot.

For a moment, the flying saucers didn’t move. Consistent with their 1950s movie style, their engines just gave off an eerie, hollow sound.

“I’m going to be missed. My friends know where I am.”

“So?” The drones now separated their cluster and surrounded him in a kind of triangular shape. And he was its center.

“I have a feeling you don’t want anyone to know you’re here.” Silence.

“And I am breaking the law; you could turn me in.”

“Or kill you.”

Both pose a risk for me, he thought. He didn’t have to say it; the role he needed to play was dumb and lost. Not worth the trouble. He’d accomplished his goal, though the mystery of who was here and why was only making him more curious — and Old Joe would have the same reaction.

He heard a click and was ready to jump, but the saucer was faster; a projectile pierced his shirt and upper left arm. He stumbled back but kept talking.

“They’ll come and look; several people know that I’m out here. I bet you value your privacy more than one lost trespasser. I’m just trying to save my skin here. Innocent mistake.” He took out an old red bandana and started wrapping his arm. It had started to sting badly. With the long silence that followed his words, he was glad for the tree cover from the sun. It all came down to whether they wanted to deal with a dead body. 

“Leave. Now.”

He stood up, adjusting his mind to the pain. The flying saucers followed him all the way to the basin lip, where they changed course and seemingly left him on his own.

Whoever this was kept the scare tactics as obvious as possible. Even as he made his way on the long hike back to the fire road they floated above the tree line, still tracking him all the way to his truck. He took one last look around as he got in. Then he shut the door and drove out. Looking up through his windshield he couldn’t see them; but then he didn’t expect to since dusk had settled in. Still, the dusk wasn’t affecting his hearing—that eerie sound was following him. And as much as he wanted to step hard on the gas, he had to drive slowly to avoid the pits dug by a hundred monsoons. They continued to track his truck for miles. He’d report back to Old Joe in the morning… though telling a tale of a mysterious black house, flying saucers was going to require a lot of coffee. If he hadn’t been wounded in the upper arm, Old Joe wouldn’t believe a word.

Coming June 21st.

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