Windkill

Melissa reacted slowly; it took a moment for her to truly understand she was watching a woman possibly die on a live feed. She saw the networks had gone to commercial, but she also saw the camera feed from Cynthia was still on and amazingly pointed at the bridge high above the body.

A man peered over the cracked and severed concrete, looked down at Cynthia and, as Melissa watched, simply vanished.

“Get the ambulance out there,” a technician jumped from his chair to comply. Looking over her shoulder, Melissa wondered why Mark had not made the demand. The director was on the telephone, quietly persuading the producer as he flipped through the different camera views available from the valley.

With a sickening realization she knew what the director was doing, the producer wanted to back out of the broadcast and Mark was arguing for the continuation of the show. Strength seemed to go out of her legs and she sat on an empty seat.

Their show had transcended the simple fun of the past and entered a new world Melissa could see in one vast blink of her eyes. The people in the valley were no longer a family invited to partake of some good-natured fun. They had truly become victims. The Ottingers were being offered as a sacrifice to the media realm; they had become nothing more than a means of gaining money. Mark would no more call for the ambulance than he would part with this opportunity.

Melissa felt so utterly helpless that she could only sit and watch Mark as he negotiated.

The trailer door swung open, and the technician leaned into the opening. “The ambulance is gone,” he said with a tinge of panic.

As if breaking from a trance, Melissa lunged for the microphone.