Windkill

The door to the trailer opened. Mark and his staff hurried in and sat at their consoles.

“Start splicing the intro.” Mark pulled a clipboard from a nail on the wall and began checking off items on a list. They were doing well, the tasks remaining before the Ottingers entered the valley down to a relative few.

Setting the clipboard aside, he used a cell phone to call the network and confirm the arrival and the ideal nature of the location. Dolan’s confirmation of ghostly activity pleasantly surprised the producer. Better yet, the producer told Mark the promos for the show were already running with a portion of the clip recorded by Brock at the bridge.

Setting the phone aside, he looked at the footage running of Brock’s speech to the family with satisfaction. The man had walked out of the script and added to the content of the show in a way that was touching, a manner that would draw the audience into the show right away.

It was a director’s dream come true. Conflict from the start, the protest at the gate. This was their best show to date and promised to get even better.

There was a nagging worry about the mother. Tony told of the trouble the woman caused at the airport and in the van. If anyone in the family ignored the advice of Brock and the Dolan it would be her.

Mark chewed on his knuckle as he thought, then leaned back and looked at Melissa. “Where’s Anthony?”

“Outside having one of Paulie’s smokes,” without looking away from her project.

“I’ll be outside for a few minutes,” Mark stood and exited the trailer. He saw Anthony a short distance away as he closed the door. He walked to the effect man and the cameraman, who were indeed smoking a cigarette.

“I thought you stopped,” Mark neared the men.

“Relapse,” Anthony spoke without a hitch. It was hard to upstage the Englishman; he seemed to have a cocky reply for any occasion.

“I need your men to be alert during the show.” Mark said as he spotted the family at the fire pit, out of earshot.

“The woman? I saw it as soon as she stepped out of the lorry.”

“Reminds me of that guy at the New York mansion,” Paulie spoke.

“The one who fell through the floor,” Anthony nodded.

“She’s a loose cannon, so monitor her.” Dolan stepped close to the conversation. He caught Mark’s eye and received a nod.

“Will do. Speaking of a loose cannon,” Anthony smiled at Dolan. “You primed and ready to go, mate?”

“What were you doing in the valley? I thought you were going to wait out here.” Mark crossed his arms. It was the somewhat friendly director’s stance, which could easily change to the angry director’s stare if Dolan could not explain his actions.

“I was drawn in,” his soft voice, the others leaning close to hear him speak. “They wanted me to see something.”

“Well?” Mark prompted when Dolan hesitated.

“I saw the explosion. I watched them die.”

“Is that what was happening when we saw you?” Paulie excitedly remembering Dolan’s behavior near the bunkers.

“Yes,” Dolan nodded. “It was done by the time Anthony found me at the crater from the third explosion. I haven’t heard a peep since.”

“They’re gone?” Mark worried he had set the hopes of the producer too high.

“Maybe,” Dolan looked towards the valley.