This time, when Dak switched on the thermal scanner, he saw nine distinct shapes—all human forms. Eight were smaller than one, which Dak knew to be Nate. He counted again, slower and out loud the second time—just to be absolutely certain. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight."
The boys are alive, Dak thought.
The fact shook him. It hadn't been a false hope. The boys were there, still alive in the farmhouse. But for how long?
Dak realized the drone's battery was draining fast. He flipped off the thermal scanner and tilted the nose of the aircraft back toward the ridge, then accelerated at full speed.
The meadows and cornfields whizzed by in a blur below, soon replaced by a blend of fall colors from the leaves clinging to the treetops. The drone skimmed the canopy atop the ridge and then descended the slope toward the road and the hidden pull-off where Dak stood.
As he steered the aircraft around the turn into the trail, he saw himself and the SUV directly ahead. The low battery warning began blinking in the corner of the goggles as he brought the drone in for a rough, but safe landing a few yards away.
Dak stripped the goggles from his head and let them dangle around his neck. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, staring down at the tiny aircraft. He wasn't thinking about the drone. His mind was zeroed in on the eight boys locked in Nate's farmhouse.
Now that he knew they were safe, Dak had to figure out a way to get all the boys out safely. Then he would take care of Nate.
Nine
Brown’s Ferry
Dak stowed the racing drone in the back of the SUV without worrying to put it back in its hardshell case. Instead, he pulled out the slower, larger drone and began preparing for its flight.
He'd rigged a small winch to the bottom of it and synced it with two buttons on the controller so he could raise and lower lightweight objects. In this case, the object he attached to the long wire was a compact, highly sensitive microphone. The device was no bigger than a quarter in diameter, contained in a two-inch long plastic cylinder, and it could pick up sound through walls or from over fifty yards away.
The plan was simple enough. Would it work? There was only one way to find out.
He removed the goggles from his neck and set them next to the racing drone. The surveillance aircraft used a screen on board the controller that allowed the pilot to see everything through the camera fixed to the machine. The camera was attached via a gimbal which allowed the pilot to rotate the view on an x and y axis for better viewing coverage.
Dak picked up the drone and placed it on the ground. Satisfied he'd made all the necessary preparations, he sent the thing skyward with a push of his thumb.
The aircraft didn't shoot up like the racing drone. Instead, it climbed at a steady speed, gaining altitude until Dak could see over the ridge once more.
He eased the drone forward, pushing it higher as the machine approached the farmhouse. Hovering over the fields, Dak froze the drone in place when he saw movement around the front.
A tall figure stalked toward a red pickup truck, climbed in, and drove off down the gravel driveway, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake.
Dak tightened his eyebrows. Nate was leaving. But for how long?
He could make a move, let the drone crash, and storm the farmhouse to rescue the boys, but that would be foolish. He didn't know where Nate was going or for how long he'd be gone.
It could be a trap. If Nate felt he was being watched, it was possible he'd made it look like he was leaving to lure in a potential rescuer. Then, once inside the house, the trap would spring. Dak would be stuck inside with nowhere to run. He could always shoot his way out. That option always sat on the shelf, ready to be utilize as a last resort.
Dak ignored the irrational impulses and steered the drone ahead, pushing it to its maximum speed until it reached the farmhouse. With a quick look through the camera at the driveway to make sure Nate had gone, he bought the aircraft down rapidly toward the roof. From above, the house was shaped like a cross, with two smaller rooms jutting out toward one end. The gutter at the corner of one intersection would be the perfect place for the microphone. It would be out of sight and close enough to pick up sound in the home, possibly even in the basement—assuming that's where the boys were being kept.
He steered the aircraft toward the back corner, away from the driveway, and stopped when the machine was directly over it. The drone descended another twenty feet until it hung just below the top of the roof. Satisfied with its position, he pressed the button to activate the drone's winch.
The microphone lowered from the aircraft's body as the thin cable unspooled. Dak held his breath as the listening device neared the roof's corner. A breeze picked up and caused the microphone to sway. The drone held steady due to calibrations built into the processors for such inconsistencies. Dak nudged the machine a little to the right and continued lowering the microphone until it cradled into the corner, the sound-sensitive end pointing directly into the house.
He pressed another button, and the winch released the cable, letting it fall gently into the gutter next to the microphone.
Satisfied with the device's position, Dak maneuvered the drone down next to the house and scanned the area. He rotated the camera, inspecting the back steps leading down onto the lawn where an apple tree grew next to an old bird bath. He continued searching; moving the camera until he found what he hoped was there.
With a smug grin, Dak guided
