Windkill

“It was determined, from the study of the valley layout, that three to four explosions occurred in such rapid succession that the people outside the valley only perceived one tremendous explosion.”

“This locomotive behind me is an example of the force generated by explosion, which we believe occurred in one of a dozen storage bunkers a few hundred feet in that direction.” Brock gestured to the north with a negligent wave of his hand.

“As you can see, the train is nothing more than a pile of steel now,” Paulie followed Brock as he made a slow journey alongside the locomotive. The train lay on its side, the boiler crushed to half its normal width and drive wheels canted to the ground. A child could not have done a better job of destroying a toy. In the near distance, three more locomotives lay piled aimlessly. One of the wreaks spoke of a train that had been in motion when the explosions occurred, its boiler blown apart from internal pressure, split open with the piping flowering from the wound when the internal pressure of the boiler exceeded the restraint of the steel casing.

“From what records remain of the Deutshwerk facility, we know each of the bunkers stored up to seventy-five, one thousand-pound aerial bombs of the type used to destroy the Wilhelmshaven submarine pens.”

Brock faced the camera with a serious expression. “The rest of the bunker doors were locked and welded. As is an entrance to an underground bunker complex at the northern end of the valley. If there was any luck in the terrible events of that day in nineteen forty-four, it was through those trees. Most of the remaining bunkers held naval ordinance up to eighteen inches in diameter.”

Paulie swung the camera toward the bunkers and swore.

“Who’s that?” the director’s voice asked in Paulie’s earpiece.

“Don’t know, too far away to tell.” Paulie swung the camera to Brock who was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe it was Anthony.”

“Sorry Brock,” Mark apologized. “Let’s take it from the top.”

“Maybe it was a ghost,” Melissa spoke helpfully from the sound console.

Covering his microphone with a hand, Mark looked at his assistant with a raised eyebrow. “That might not be funny. Dolan thinks this place is really haunted.”

“You’re kidding,” Melissa perked up, the boredom of the repeated takes lost, her green eyes vibrant.

“No, he’s pretty worked up about it. Swears he saw a train pull into the draw while he was outside.” Mark replied and looked up at a map of the valley. His people spread out over the ruins. As far as he knew, Anthony was going to the site of the first explosion where they were installing a good pulsating fog effect for the victims. That was the closest work site to Brock.

He opened his microphone. “Hold up a second, guys. Paulie, play that section with the guy in it again.” It was possible Anthony had lost his way. Or one of his crew was out finding a secluded place to use as a bathroom. But what if it was a ghost?

The screen fuzzed for a second and the end of Brock’s report came alive. The camera began to swing and Mark saw the man walking between two of the intact bunkers. Distance was too great to get a good look at the man, but it seemed like he was wearing denim coveralls.

“What are you thinking, boss?” Melissa rolled her chair to Mark’s side.

“We can use this.” The image of the man was just odd enough to add to the night’s display, the sighting of a ghost. “Save that section Paulie. We’ll edit it into the show when you guys get back to the trailer.”

“No problem,” Paulie gave a roll of his eyes that drew a smile from Brock.

Obediently, the two men repeated the report.