After dinner, I thought about how to scout out such a large area in some efficient way. Doing it on foot was a non-starter. A dirt bike might be useful-- except I don't own one and would probably still require more time that I could realistically spare. Maybe a whole team of off-road explorers could do this relatively quickly, but I didn't have one of those, either. I'm betting a military satellite could do this job in no time at all-- it's a shame I don't control a large, multibillion-dollar array of ultra-sensitive orbital surveillance platforms (although I was hoping for something like that for my birthday this year). But an idea popped into my head and a phone call to my insurance agent followed shortly thereafter.

Many insurance companies use drone pilots to do surveys and inspections of difficult-to-reach spots—the roof on a three-story house, for example. Within a few minutes, I had the number to a local drone pilot and an hour later, we were discussing technical capabilities and prices. As there was no reason for subterfuge, I decided to be completely candid about wanting to search a large block of land that I didn't own to look for Orcs who might be creating thermal signatures that weren't supposed to be there. I even offered to supply the thermal camera for the job. After some initial hesitancy, we reached an agreement—it’s amazing what an offer of hard cash can do to calm a nervous drone-pilot. We would meet in a couple of days to map out a survey plan and discuss any final terms.

So, it's not a multibillion-dollar satellite network, but it just might be enough to locate a certain sneaky warren of Orcs. If nothing was found, I'd still happily pay the nice drone operator their cash, offer a handshake and let this increasingly insane matter finally drop.

A few days later, I found myself pleasantly surprised that my friendly, neighborhood drone operator already owned a very nice thermal camera system and seemed excited for the opportunity to put such an expensive piece of equipment to use. I came prepared with maps and a general plan, which was quickly refined into a multi-part survey strategy that would likely take a just a day or so to finish. Add another few days to process all the imagery and provide me copies, and it should be a wrap. I offered up the first payment (in cash, as promised) and let them know I would be present on-site-- both out of curiosity for an admittedly interesting use for a drone, and as a security element.

In the intervening days, I had done some research on the rather large block of property that had been consuming so much of my attention lately. The entire areas, covering nearly 350 acres, had apparently been abandoned after World War 2 and fell into the hands of the county government. A few attempts had been made to sell the property, but all such efforts seemed to go nowhere. Of note was a now-empty Factory complex, formerly belonging to small company that made various machine parts on contract for the War Department. Nothing classified, secret or unusual-- just one in the great horde of military contractors that supported the war effort at that time. After the war ended, they struggled to stay afloat until finally closing their doors in the mid-1950's.

What remained of the original road that led to the Factory was no longer maintained but still largely intact. Today, there is zero operating infrastructure out there-- no water or power services, no streetlights, and cell phone coverage was likely a bit spotty. Various news articles in the local papers over the years have mentioned a few vague “development projects” that were supposed to involve this area, but the stories faded away quickly and these alleged opportunities for the county to finally rid itself of this unused land always seemed to vanish without public explanation. As the decades passed, this little-known, seldom-seen corner of the world turned into one of those forgotten places one typically hears about only in ghost stories.

On a whim, I took a ride out to take a closer look at this general area. It wasn't an easy place to reach-- lots of unmarked roads (most of them weather-battered or unpaved) with a scattering of rather old (and clearly forgotten) fences, gates and “keep out” signs. Driving slowly, it was clear that even the teenage partiers and the homeless never came out here. Heavy over-growth and a lack of man-made litter seemed to indicate as much, anyway. Finally, after nearly two hours of driving at a snail's pace, I reached what was left of the Factory's main gate. The ancient chain-link gate stood wide open and clearly had been rusting quietly away for a very long time. An old gatehouse stood nearby, doors missing, and windows broken out long ago. All was quiet, with just a breeze making the autumn chill noticeably less pleasant. The road continued to the old church site and appeared to end there.

I grabbed my rifle and a pair of binoculars and decided to go for a walk. I scanned the area thoroughly and walked slowly and quietly. There wasn't much here; the tree line a few hundred yards away, tall grass, a gravel road and a few old concrete buildings standing amid the trees and overgrowth of the Factory's former main parking lot. Even sweeps using the thermal scope on my rifle showed nothing-- not even animals. I felt a bit frustrated, honestly. I continued to have that crawling feeling of being watched, but, yet again, turned up no obvious sources for such a feeling. After another hour of fruitless meandering through the general area (being careful not to leave too many indicators behind), I decided that I should probably alleviate my dissatisfaction with a decent dinner and hot shower. To home, I went.

Returning to the present, it was clear and cold, with only a slight breeze-- it seemed like a great day to fly. The operator herself was unusually excited about this mission-- it was very unlike the usual boring insurance requests (her description) and she further mentioned how using thermal imaging was a rare treat that very few clients ever ask for. She tells me this after breaking out a drone and thermal camera that probably costs more than my truck and was far more sophisticated than anything I had ever seen, along with spare batteries, charging hardware, a laptop and am impressive array of cables. As she fiddled with cabling and setups, she asked if the rifle I was carrying was strictly necessary. I threw a platitude at her; “better that have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.” I assured her that while it was very unlikely that we'd encounter any trouble out here in the daylight, but I'm not the sort to take unnecessary chances. She shrugged it off and got the drone in the sky.

The plan was simple enough. We'd search the entire several-hundred-acre region in a basic grid pattern at moderate altitudes. Traversing it slowly enough to look for thermal signatures that didn't belong, but fast enough to get it done within eight to ten hours or so. Orcs don't like sub-freezing temperatures any more than humans do, and I am taking that to mean that even underground, waste heat from almost anything they might be doing should leak out somewhere and be detectable-- or so I was speculating. In the event we need more footage, I had enough money to come out here for one more day and fly around.

Working from the areas farthest from the road access, filming proceeded as expected. After the first hour or so, I relaxed a bit and stop scanning the wood line for threats. I wasn't getting that weird crawling feeling today and giving myself an eye-strain headache seemed ill-advised. The drone operator was clearly very good at her job-- apparently her years in the Air Force as an image analyst was serving her well today. She mentioned that she was usually busy with all the insurance and inspection jobs and she had no trouble making enough money to stick with it.

As we finally crossed over the area of the abandoned Factory, things got interesting. We'd spent all morning seeing small animals (likely squirrel and rabbits) and a few deer popped up on camera early on, but now we were seeing exactly the sort of thermal “leakage” I had hoped for. I said nothing as she analyzed it out loud. She was very puzzled about a small but definite heat plume bubbling up from a broken window on one side of the main building. This plume left the concrete around the windows very slightly warmer than it should be, making it stood out rather noticeably on the high-end thermal imaging system.

Taking the drone in more closely she decided that (after a fresh battery), she'd be willing to take the drone into the building and look around in more detail. While she saw to the drone, we talked more about this area. I confirmed that, to the best of my knowledge, no-one lived out here, no known businesses were operating, no vehicle traffic traversed the nearby roads and nor was there any functional electrical infrastructure present (she noted how active power lines were warm and easily showed up on thermal imaging). I answered her questions but otherwise found it best not to interrupt a professionally trained analyst while they were in their element and professionally analyzing things.

Once inside the rather spacious main building, finding the plume was relatively easy-- a wide concrete staircase leading downward, the empty window frame above it allowed the warmed air to escape. Sending the drone in there was a bad idea and we agreed not to try. A detailed search of the rest of the ground floor turned up one more interesting item-- a large pile of garbage (for lack of a better term) that clearly possessed enough bacterial activity to show up as “warm”. I had a pretty good idea what was in that pile but opted to remain silent in an attempt to maintain some decorum. It was, however, rather difficult to ignore the freshly severely Orc head sitting atop the pile. It was clearly an intentional display and I had to wonder who this hapless Orc annoyed to meet such an unenviable fate.

I was more bothered by what was missing. No red cloth totem. No sentries. No apparent perimeter security. These Orcs where either feeling so terrified that they needed a deeply concealed hide-out or they felt so safe here that they needed no such security measures. I’m honestly struggling with how either of those scenarios could be true. There’s something else in play here and I’m obviously not seeing it. I learned long ago that when something seems confusing, it’s because the information needed to understand it is still missing. It’s a feeling I strongly dislike and I’m hoping that follow-up analysis might help address this concern.

The rest of the property was scanned a few hours later with special attention being paid to the Factory’s fence line and any damage that Orcs might exploit. Surprisingly, this stubborn old fence was still standing strong with very few breaches. The nearby homesteads sites and the old church were similarly scanned with enough detail to confirm that my band of wayward Orcs had ignored these places completely. This did not surprise me—orcs seem to generally dislike being exposed above ground.

We finished up just before sundown and I suggested we leave and go find someplace less exposed to talk. By sundown, we were sitting in a diner, laptop between us, going over the day's footage with dinner scattered across the table. I sprang for meals and coffee as we talked and the none of the other patrons paid us any attention at all. She copied the more interesting pieces of footage to a flash drive for me to keep, with the promise of making the entire volume of footage available in a few days via cloud service for download. I paid her in cash, as promised, we shook hands, I thanked her for her time and assistance with analysis, and we parted company. It was a productive day and I felt grimly satisfied that the Orcs did, in fact, run but couldn't hide for long.