Windkill

“Is that Dolan?” Brock spoke as they walked north.

The men had taken to walking side by side. The creepy feeling they still felt was strong enough to make them want to know someone was close by.

“Maybe it was Dolan we saw?”

“I’d swear that guy was wearing overalls. Dolan’s wearing a suit.” Brock pointed out tonelessly; he had wanted to think they had seen Dolan as well.

“What do you say we get the hell out of this valley and tell Mark to shove the show up his ass?”

“I need the money,” Brock concentrated on walking and studying Dolan. The man was walking towards them like automation, his arms and legs swinging stiffly.

The large black man looked gray.

Picking up his pace, Brock reached Dolan near one of the huge bunkers, the mound of earth placed over the storage site fifty years ago overgrown with trees and brush.

“Dolan,” Brock spoke loudly and received no reaction. He grasped his friend’s arm and stopped Dolan. “Are you alright?”

Dolan looked at them like a man coming out of a deep sleep. “Get out of this valley. We’re not supposed to be here.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Paulie set the camera equipment down and dug for a cigarette.

“Don’t you feel it?” Dolan puzzled men.

“What?” Brock let go of Dolan and backed away a step warily.

“I don’t think they know they’re dead.”

“Aw no, this is too much for me,” Paulie stopped in the process of lighting his smoke. “Are you saying there are really ghosts here?”

“One thousand one hundred and forty-seven.”

“They don’t know how many people died here,” the protest sounded lame, as Brock said it.

“I do.” Dolan turned and walked away, his movements becoming stiff as he gained speed.

Watching Dolan depart, Paulie finally lit his cigarette with shaking hands. “Let’s get out of here.”

Brock was silent for a minute; he hung his head as he thought, then looked at Paulie. “We can’t go. We have to do this, but we have to do it our way.”

“No,” Paulie waved the hand holding the cigarette in front of Brock. “I know what you’re thinking. No, you’re going to get us fired and blocked from the profession. We’ll be lucky to get a job in some backwater town.”

“Mark won’t know the difference.” Brock was calm. “We keep our eyes open and look for the right stuff. I know we can find more guys walking around out here. I know we can film something that will shake Mark and Melissa out of their chairs.”

“Oh God, you have a feeling?”

“Yeah, and we don’t have much time.” He pointed at the camera. “Get that thing up and running. I need to talk with them.”

“Son of a bitch,” Paulie dumped the cigarette and picked up the camera.