Linda stood by the office window, van rental sheet in one hand, the coil of the phone cord looped around the other.
"Yes, two Ford Econolines. Two Dodge Sportsman," she said into the receiver. "We're moving both gear and crew. We'll need them delivered."
A pause.
She glanced at James, who was flipping through a list of props.
"Avon Rental says they've got both," she said, covering the mouthpiece. "But it's tight on the delivery date."
"Do they deliver to the lot?" he asked.
"They can if we pre-pay and verify insurance."
"Then pre-pay," he said flatly. "Unless we want thirty-five people hiking into Topatopa with a tripod each."
Linda turned back to the phone. "Alright. Confirm the four vans. Delivery on the eighth. Yes, we'll have insurance. Thank you."
She hung up and scribbled in the margin:
Avon Rental – 2x Vans (Econoline/Sportsman) – $44/day + mileage – Pickup April 8
"Do we have drivers?" she asked.
"we've got few crew riders with valid licenses." James said.
"Miracle."
Linda stood by the office phone, one hand on the receiver, the other balancing the Panavision rate sheet.
"Yes, Paul, I've got it in front of me," she said, nodding. "Two Panaflex Golds. Both with zoom and prime kits. Pickup on the 7th, return the 22nd." She jotted down the number Paul gave her. "Thirteen thousand flat. Right. Insurance by Tuesday."
She covered the mouthpiece and looked at James. "Cameras are locked. Panavision's giving us both kits bodies and lenses. We'll need to sign the insurance rider when Paul brings the paperwork back."
James nodded, flipping through storyboards. "We're insured up to fifty grand on gear, right?"
"Canyon Mutual says yes," Linda confirmed.
She went back to the phone. Paul's voice crackled faintly on the other end. "Uh-huh… okay, I'll tell him."
Linda turned to James again. "Paul says don't forget dailies. CFI Labs on La Brea. Drop by eight at night, pickup at eight in the morning, hour grace. Six hundred for every print, give or take."
James scribbled it in the margin of his notes. "Terry can handle the shuttle."
Linda returned to the phone. "He's got it. Okay, thanks, Paul. See you back here after."
She hung up, underlined the note, and tapped her pen. "Every night, no exceptions."
Lighting was next. James dialed Glenn.
"Two HMIs. Three redheads. Bounce boards, flags."
Glenn's voice crackled faintly. "I'll load everything into the Sportsman."
"Perfect. Call sheet's coming Monday."
She hung up.
"Sound?" James asked.
"Mike's bringing a full Nagra kit. Boom, lavs, spares. Says his buddy's got a backup rig if ours dies."
James flipped a page and nodded. "Alright. That's gear, transport, and sound. What's next?"
Linda looked at the board. "Crew."
By Wednesday morning, the support crew was locking in.
"Luisa Ortega. Chef. Thirty-eight. Fed ad crews and syndicated TV staff,"
"Three meals a day. Asked about sandwich preferences."
"I like her," James said.
"Great." She moved to the next folder.
"Assistant Director: Terry March. Twenty-one. Student film credits."
"Fresh but polite. No barking. Eager."
"I don't need an ego."
Linda flipped once more. "Maureen Elster. Art Director. Late twenties, North Hollywood. Worked in Theatre's and some B-movies."
"Give her the prop sheets Monday. She can start dressing cabins early."
Linda pulled a second sheet.
"Camera tech: Joel Kim. Lighting: Rita Singh. Sound utility: Devon Lake."
James scanned the names. "All verified."
"All hired."
She added their names to the board under SUPPORT CREW.
"That's it?" James asked.
"For now," Linda said. "We officially have enough people to destroy the camp and each other."
James smirked.
Saturday. Burbank Airport.
James and Paul stood outside Terminal 2, scanning faces as a pair of Econolines idled behind them.
Betsy Palmer appeared with a small travel bag and a scarf tied tight against the wind.
"Hope that's not our production budget idling," she said, nodding toward the vans.
"Just a third of it," James replied, taking her bag. "Welcome to California."
Twenty minutes later, they pulled into a rented garage space tucked behind a shuttered carpet store. Inside, folding tables had been set up like a crime scene: buckets, plaster, extension cords, rolls of plastic. Jerry had claimed the far corner, already elbow-deep in compound.
The cast was mostly gathered: Sam sipping juice, Craig sitting on a cooler.
"You're late," Jerry said without looking up.
"I brought the face," James replied.
Betsy stepped inside, eyes adjusting. "This place smells bad."
Linda waved her over. "You're scheduled for twenty minutes. Jerry promises not to ruin your day and time."
"I make no promises," Jerry muttered. "Just don't chew gum or sneeze. Or smirk."
Craig looked up. "Is smirking a safety hazard?"
"For plaster integrity," Jerry said.
James handed Betsy a towel and pulled a folding chair into position.
Sam winced as a cold layer hit her collarbone. "Remind me why we get murdered on-screen?"
James shrugged. "Fake death's cheaper than fake love."
Linda scribbled that onto the corner of the call sheet. "We should print that on crew t-shirts."
Craig tapped his juice box. "Wait, we should have crew t-shirts?"
Jerry called out, "James, I need your head next."
The room paused.
Craig squinted. "Wait. You're playing Jason?"
James hesitated. "We need someone. No lines. Mostly underwater. Last-second reveal."
Sam muffled from beneath her mold, "He's going full Hitchcock. Nice."
Jerry cracked his knuckles. "Don't move. If you pass out, fall sideways, not into the table."
James sat down. Betsy raised an eyebrow.
"You're really doing this?"
"Short hair, cold lake, small screen time, young and can swim, I qualify."
By late afternoon, molds were drying across the plastic-covered table like fossilized shells. The room smelled of latex, sweat, and burnt plaster.
Betsy gathered her bag and slipped on her coat.
"We still good for the 15th?" she asked.
James nodded. "Lodging's booked. First scenes are near the lodge. Two setups, both close."
"Fine," she said. "But if the coffee's bad again, I'm charging a hazard fee."
James smiled. "We'll stock it. Call if anything shifts."
Betsy gave a nod, turned toward the door, and left without ceremony.
Jerry wiped down a mold and grunted. "These will cure overnight. I'll start the dummies tomorrow."
Linda stood beside him, flipping through the latest calendar draft. "First read-through Monday. Props arrive Tuesday. Then we roll."
Camp Lot. April 8th.
The gravel lot filled slowly. First a van, then another. By 7:15 a.m., gear cases thudded to the ground. A thermos cracked open. Someone sneezed.
James stood outside Cabin 2, script binder under one arm, half-finished coffee in the other. He watched the crew drift into place.
Linda arrived with sandwiches wrapped.
"Where's Sam?"
"Makeup," James said.
Paul set down the Panavision on a folding crate and groaned. "Next time, I'm charging a spine tax."
Luisa passed with a cooler under one arm. "Breakfast in the mess. Don't come late or I'm naming sandwiches after you."
Craig wandered over in a loose flannel, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Did anyone else almost die on that cliff road?"
"No," Linda said, "but we're hoping you're the only one."
Maureen was already halfway through dressing the cabin, taping a photo to the wall above the bunk bed. She just hummed and swore softly when the tape peeled wrong.
Terry came jogging over, winded but smiling.
Jerry peeked out of the bathroom holding a coiled tube and a canister. "We still doing the bed kill before lunch?"
"That's the plan," James said.
"You want arrows to pierce skin or soul?"
"I'll settle for believable."
Craig blinked. "Wait, today's my death day?"
Linda looked up. "Yes. Welcome to your death."
He put a hand to his neck. "Can I at least die face-up?"
Jerry patted him on the back. "You'll be beautiful."
James exhaled, looked around. Everyone was busy.
He stepped inside the cabin, now dressed like an actual place someone might have slept in once. The sleeping bag lay in the bunk.
Sam leaned in the doorway, sipping coffee. "You look terrified."
"I am," James admitted.
"Good," she said. "Means you won't overdirect me."
"Fair."
Behind them, Jerry's voice echoed across the clearing. "Ready on blood!"
James stepped back outside, looked toward Paul.
"Rolling in five," Paul called out.