The first thirty seconds were normal.
One corner of the ground control station's main screen switched to the feed from the "Night Hawk's" forward sensors.
A blurry landscape rushed past below, mostly stretches of woodland with the occasional abandoned highway flashing by.
Other than a few wild animals, the screen showed no large walker herds or obvious signs of human activity.
Then the light began to fade. Dusk was approaching, and the drone's feed switched to night mode.
"Sensors are online and operating normally. Beginning focus…" Bossie went through the standard procedure.
Suddenly, Alan's voice changed sharply. "Satcom link signal strength is dropping fast! It's fallen from 85% to 40%… 20%! Attempting automatic reconnection… failed!"
Almost at the same time, the smoothly moving cursor on the main screen jerked to a stop. The data link icon beside it switched from steady green to red in an instant and began flashing rapidly.
"What's going on?" Calista asked, startled.
"It could be a sudden satellite malfunction, strong directional interference, or a compatibility issue with our onboard satcom equipment as it crossed some kind of electromagnetic boundary!"
Alan worked the keyboard at high speed, sweat beading on his forehead. "I'm trying the emergency protocols now!"
"Night Hawk One" automatically triggered its safety protocol and stopped descending, but something worse followed. The ground feed in the corner of the main screen, which had only just grown a little clearer, suddenly warped into a flickering mass of colored mosaic, then went completely black.
"The 'Eye' is blind," Bossie reported in a grave tone. "We've lost real-time monitoring and image acquisition."
Their long-range view had turned into blind flight just as it touched the edge of the area.
Calista silently stared at the pitch-black secondary screen and the cursor that was still stubbornly moving forward. She was not angry, but she was definitely disappointed.
"Bossie, when will its automatic return-to-base protocol trigger?" Calista asked.
"After more than 180 seconds without an effective control link," Bossie replied at once. "If the link still hasn't recovered by then, the 'Night Hawk' will turn around in place, return to base along its original route, and continue trying to reestablish the link until it enters line-of-sight communication range."
"So this time, it didn't even make it over the prison," Calista said.
Over the next 180 seconds, Alan tried every method they knew, but the red link icon kept flashing stubbornly, without the slightest hint of green.
"Time's up. The Night Hawk is returning automatically," Bossie announced, marking the failure of their first long-range reconnaissance attempt.
On the main screen, the cursor did indeed begin to turn slowly, tracing an arc as it headed back the way it had come.
Calista straightened and looked at the discouraged Bossie and Alan. "Record the detailed data from this test flight, especially the exact geographic coordinates and altitude at the moment the interruption occurred.
When you have time, analyze the root cause of this interruption, then prepare for the next attempt."
"Understood!" The two nodded hard. The failure had only stirred up their determination to solve the problem.
...
While the drone link was down and the screen was black back at Rock Fortress, high above a sparse stretch of woodland in Georgia,
"Night Hawk One," having lost satellite guidance and relying only on inertial navigation and its initial commands to maintain flight, still kept to its preset cruising altitude and speed as it swept across the sky.
A Dodge Ram pickup was traveling northwest along the highway. It was a Woodbury scouting team.
Since Gargulio and Haley had failed to return on time, the Governor had sent another team to the prison.
A small pair of binoculars jutted out from the passenger-side window, scanning the flanks and rear.
Crowley was still driving, with Martinez in the passenger seat. This time, besides Tim in the back, there were two more people: Warren and Eisenberg.
Martinez had just lowered the binoculars when Eisenberg, sitting by the rear window, suddenly snapped his head up and pointed at the sky. "Martinez! What's that sound? And… there's something up there!"
The drone was high in the air, painted a dull gray, and made very little noise. By all rights, it should not have been easy to spot with the naked eye, especially from a moving vehicle.
But Eisenberg had accidentally caught sight of a small black dot high overhead.
At his words, everyone except Crowley, who was driving, leaned toward the windows on both sides and looked up.
In the sky, a strangely shaped aircraft was gliding slowly past above them at an angle. It was low enough that they could faintly make out its flat body and distinctive outline.
"A drone?!" Martinez sucked in a sharp breath.
He had seen similar things during his time in the National Guard, but those had all been larger models with obvious engine noise.
The thing above them was almost silent, like a ghost.
"Crowley, stop the truck! Everyone out!"
The pickup slowed and pulled over to the roadside, but the engine stayed running. The men quickly got out, used the vehicle for cover, and scattered into the trees along the road.
"It's watching us! Should we shoot?" Tim raised his rifle nervously.
"Don't move!" Martinez growled, forcing the muzzle of his gun down. "It's too far away. We can't bring that thing down! And… we don't know where it came from or who's behind it!"
He was badly shaken.
A drone!
There was a force nearby capable of operating military drones?
The prison? Absolutely impossible.
Then who could it be…
The drone glided toward the south-southwest. Just as they were trying to make out more details, it suddenly made a move that clearly did not fit the norm. It did not keep flying deeper in. Instead, it began to turn slowly, drawing a gentle arc as it started flying back.
Crowley looked uncertain and alarmed. "It… it looks like it's leaving? I didn't see it make any obvious reconnaissance circles."
That only made the drone feel even stranger.
If it was scouting, why stop after barely taking a look?
If it was just passing through, why turn around in this airspace?
"Maybe it spotted us? Decided we weren't worth anything?" Warren guessed hopefully.
"Or maybe… it malfunctioned?" Martinez did not even believe his own guess.
Would an aircraft of that caliber really turn around and leave so casually just because of a malfunction?
The drone paid no attention to the confusion and alarm on the ground. It completed its turn, accelerated, and soon vanished into the sky, coming and going like a dream.
But the shock it left in the hearts of the Woodbury team refused to settle.
In the apocalypse, a mysterious force with drones held an overwhelming advantage over ordinary camps like theirs.
"Are we… still going?" Tim asked, his voice shaking.
Martinez's face was grim, and a fierce struggle played out inside him.
The drone's appearance and strange departure had thrown everything into chaos.
But then the Governor's order pressed down on his fear of the unknown, clear and unmistakable.
"We go!" Martinez forced the word out through clenched teeth. "If we don't finish the job, how are we supposed to explain it when we get back? Say we got scared off by a drone that might have malfunctioned? Who's going to prove that?"
At the thought of the Governor's two faces, the men all shuddered at once.
"Move! Be quick. Finish the job and pull out immediately!"
...
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