Brett Battles - No Return

“We’re first?” she asked.

“Looks like it.”

Wes loaded the camera bag and the backup system into the rear of the Escape, then joined Anna in leaning against the front fender.

“Should we make sure they’re alive?” she asked.

He checked the time on his phone. “Nah. Let’s give them until seven forty-five.”

It was 7:39 when Dione shuffled out of the courtyard corridor, face slack and a pair of Jackie O sunglasses covering her eyes. She was followed thirty seconds later by Alison, who merely looked tired, then by Tony, and finally by the host of Close to Home .

“I could have sworn we had to shovel Monroe into bed last night,” Anna whispered to Wes.

Monroe was showing no ill effects from the tequila fest the night before.

“Maybe she’s always hungover,” Wes suggested.

Anna stifled a snort.

“Where’s Danny?” Dione said, her voice at least an octave lower than usual.

Shrugs, and a few I-don’t-knows.

“Has anyone called him?” she asked.

No one spoke up.

“Great,” she said as she pulled out her cellphone.

Two seconds later Wes heard another phone ringing in the distance.

“I’m coming,” Danny yelled.

They could all now see the second cameraman walking quickly toward them down the sidewalk that ran along the motel. And he wasn’t alone.

Dori was draped under his arm, sporting the same age-inappropriate dress she’d been wearing the night before. They stopped in front of a Lincoln sedan, shared a few words, then kissed for several seconds.

Alison let out a groan. “I really didn’t need to see that first thing in the morning.”

“I really didn’t need to see that ever,” Tony said.

As Danny and Dori parted, Dori looked over and gave Wes a small wave.

This elicited a raised eyebrow from Anna.

“Don’t ask,” Wes said.

“Morning, gang,” Danny said as he jogged over, surprisingly spry after a night of drinking. “Sorry I’m late. I got a little sidetracked.”

“Can we just go?” Dione asked wearily.

Their first stop was Robber’s Roost. It was basically a large, fractured boulder, with a couple of smaller piles of rock nearby, that bandits in the 1800s had used as a lookout for spotting stagecoaches bound for Los Angeles. It wasn’t exactly the easiest place to shoot, but was a natural location for Close to Home .

Tony went up and down the rocks over a dozen times, wearing his hiking boots and a wide grin as he hauled equipment, then escorted Monroe into place.

“This is awesome,” he said as he helped Dione up the side of the rock.

She groaned, then pushed her glasses up her nose. “ ‘Awesome’ isn’t quite the word I’d use.”

When they rolled into Red Rock Canyon just before 11 a.m., they were surprisingly still on schedule. The canyon was a fascinating mix of cliff faces, buttes, and tributary ravines lined by erosion-carved rocks. The colors, too, were striking-deep reds, whites, and, of course, nearly every shade of brown.

They spent the first hour and a half shooting B-roll, then broke for lunch at twelve-thirty.

Wes was just taking a bite of a roasted turkey sandwich when a dark sedan turned off the highway and drove slowly toward them, parking just behind the SUVs.

He took a step toward the sedan as the door opened and Lars got out.

“We can’t be in trouble,” Dione scoffed. “I got all the right permits.”

“Relax,” Wes said. “It’s not the park service. It’s a friend of mine.”

“Hey, Wes,” Lars said as he walked up.

“Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

“I was passing by and realized it was you and your friends, so thought I’d stop.”

“You saw us from the road?” Wes asked, surprised.

“Yeah. When I noticed the cameras, I figured it had to be you.”

“Everyone, this is my old friend, Lars Andersen,” Wes said to the crew. “We grew up together. Lars, this is Danny, Alison, Tony, Dione, Anna, and Monroe.”

There were a lot of hellos and nice-to-meet-yous.

“So this is what Hollywood’s like, huh?” Lars said to Wes, once everyone else returned to lunch.

“Yeah, pretty glamorous. At least we’re on schedule. We were supposed to shoot on the base yesterday, but that got canceled.”

“I heard,” Lars said. “Sorry about that, but standard procedure.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Wes said, grinning. “I get paid whether we shoot or not.”

Lars returned the smile. “I was wondering if you might have a minute to talk?”

Wes nodded. “Sure. We’ve got about ten until we start up again.”

“Why don’t we take a walk?” Lars suggested.

They followed the wall of the canyon away from the SUVs.

“So, what’s up?” Wes asked once they were out of earshot of the others.

“I did some checking,” Lars said. “Wes, the guy in the newspaper picture was the pilot of the plane.”

“You’re sure?”

Lars nodded, a sympathetic smile on his face. “I talked to some of the search-and-rescue team, reread through all the reports; there’s no question. It was Adair.” He paused. “Look. It’s completely understandable. You were under a lot of stress. It’s a wonder you remember seeing anyone at all.”

“You’re one hundred percent positive?”

“Absolutely. Multiple ID verification.”

Wes sighed. “Guess I was wrong.”

Lars put a hand on Wes’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you asked me to check. Better to know the truth than to just assume, right?” He paused. “Listen, when do you leave town?”

“Wednesday,” Wes said.

“So you’re here this weekend?”

Wes nodded.

“Will you be shooting or do you get some downtime?”

“No. A couple people have to go back to L.A. for the weekend, so we’re off.”

“Then come over tomorrow afternoon. We’ll barbecue and talk about old times. What do you think?”

“Maybe,” Wes said.

“I’ll take that for a yes. Four-thirty, and bring beer.”

Wes remained silent as they turned to head back.

“Don’t beat yourself up. You went above and beyond yesterday for Adair. You should be proud of that.”

“I was so sure.”

“I told you, stress likes to mess with your mind.”

“That photo … I could have sworn it was wrong.”

“Hope this has made you feel a little better. Always good to get things settled.”

“I guess.”

“At least now you can stop wandering around bars looking at pictures.”

Wes stopped walking. “What?”

Lars let out a resigned breath. “I heard about your visit to the bar last night. I didn’t realize how seriously you were taking this.”

Wes eyed his friend. “You didn’t just come out here by chance, did you?”

Lars hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

“How did you find us?”

“I work for the Navy, Wes. If we can find a specific submarine in thousands of square miles of ocean, finding a film crew in Red Rock Canyon isn’t difficult.”

Wes paused a moment. “Then why the lie? And what about the pilot? Are you lying about him, too?”

“Whoa. I just came out here because I knew it was bothering you and thought it would be nice to clear your mind as soon as I had some info. I didn’t come to get into an argument.”

Wes took a breath and allowed himself to relax a little. He glanced toward the crew vehicles, then back at his friend. “What if I could prove I’m right?”

“Right about what?”

Wes hesitated, unsure if he should go on. But this was Lars, his old friend. They had trusted each other once. “We shot video of the accident, including a shot of the pilot’s face. It’s not Adair. I’ll show you and you’ll see.”