Chapter 21: CHAPTER TWENTY

Creighton fought the urge to take the script and tear it into small pieces. Things weren’t going right at all, and if this continued, he’d take the cast and crew back to Los Angeles, send the Canadians back to whatever city they came from. This environment was getting to him; nothing but desolation and forests.

And aliens. Earlier it had just been Chandrha and that flying pet of hers, now a whole flock hovered overhead whenever he tried to set up a shot.

Sitting in the diner, he had the script on the table, open to Page 97. The RCMP man, Montelier, and the man who arrived yesterday, late at night, sat a few tables over, eating breakfast.

Page 97 involved a trek through the forest. Another edit. Los Angeles was being pushed further and further back in the film because he wanted this area to be the main focus of the picture. Even though something in his mind told him to get out of here, to seek the comfort and safety of California, shooting this film in this location would put him in the same league as Spielberg and Lucas.

He needed the aliens. They didn’t have to do anything in the film; they didn’t have to act. All they had to do is lead a group of humans through the forest.

Why? He hadn’t thought of that yet.

Where to? He hadn’t thought about that either.

Maybe Chandrha could help out. Did she have that cub in that pouch of hers? No, not pouch. A vision of a kangaroo popped into his mind. Chamber. That’s what they called it. A cavity in the abdominal region, furred, with a single tit for the cub.

Where was he going? Through the forest, of that he was certain. Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother’s house we go. Something like that.

The door opened, and Fenwick walked in. “Are we going to get started?”

“Where’ve you been?” He looked up. “I’m trying to figure something, but...”

Fenwick shrugged. “Westwood is a bastard.”

He wasn’t interested in Westwood, so why did Fenwick bring up his name? Right now, he had to think of a motive for the forest walk.

“I need more crew,” he said. “What have I got? Camera... microphone... script supervisor... costumer... I’m going to have the shortest end credits if I don’t get some more personnel up here.”

“Or we can go back to California.”

“It’s eight thirty in the morning,” Creighton said, “so I presume you haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“Montelier is out there.”

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“I know.”

“I’ve been studying,” Fenwick said. “You know I haven’t acted in... quite a few years.”

“I’m going to shoot the forest scene,” he said. “I just have to... you know, have a reason. Unless the aliens like walking there for the fun of it.”

“What forest scene?”

“The one I wrote last night.”

“It’s not in my script.”

“You don’t have to say anything. You just have to walk.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He stood up, came around the desk. “I’ll think of something.”

“You don’t expect me to go into that forest, do you?”

“You’ll have plenty of company. The aliens do have that poison in their claws, you know.”

“They can’t act.”

“They don’t have to act.” He placed a large, hairy hand on Fenwick’s shoulder. “All they have to do is walk.”

“Uh huh.” Fenwick’s voice was so doubtful even Creighton could taste it. Damn him, the man had no confidence in his film.

“We won’t know until we try, will we?” He gave Fenwick a quick smile before heading to the door.

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