The thrum of a propeller precedes the arrival of a black helicopter at Skinwalker Ranch. The ranch’s new owner, Brandon Fugal, and his brother are on board. His brother Cameron, the pilot, lands the helicopter, disturbing the otherwise quiet scenery with a cloud of dust. Fugal steps out onto the helipad, the one he had built specifically for his regular visits over the last six months. He has no reason to suspect this visit will be any different. They walk the perimeter under a punishing sun, now accustomed to the gruesome sight of animal entrails ceremoniously draped over the fenceline. Then, there it is above the mesa, where there had been only cloudless sky an instant before. Wide and flat like a saucer and gleaming silver, an object hovers in the air, moving at angles and trajectories that defy logic or explanation. The group of men freezes, staring, transfixed. The disc moves in the blink of an eye, like a bullet unhindered by physics, and vanishes.
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