The crowd confirmed he was at the right location, which stirred a sense of relief and dread. It had been a long day, and if this became the lead story at six o’clock, he’d have to stay out here until it was over, which meant driving all the way back to the station, droping off his gear, handing over his P2 cards with all this video, then another hour and a half commute home. The McDonald’s bag from lunch winked at him. See ya at dinner.

He rolled down the window as two people walked past, signs under their arms. “Hey, is she here yet?”

“Supposed to be any minute,” a woman responded.

He pulled over the lumbering van. No need to raise the mast yet, the news release said this was where they were supposed to meet and then walk to the location. It better not be far. The LiveU, that enabled anyone to go live from any location, was as heavy as the old three-quarter-inch gear.

Strapping it on his back and grabbing his camera and tripod, he saw people were already holding up their signs, like runners stretching out before a race. He grabbed a few establishing shots and then some tighter close-ups on the bold writing: “WE WANT THE TRUTH.” “THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE.” “THE WORLD DESERVES THE TRUTH.” “WHERE ARE OUR MISSING?”

He made sure his lavalier mic was ready to go because he wanted to capture the natural sound when those freaks started chanting. Hell, they’d probably let him pin the mic to their shirts to get good, close sound. Whichever reporter was rushed down here would appreciate it.

Better get close ups of the T-shirts, too. He saw more than one that were homemade, with the picture of that redhead dude who everybody thought got abducted by aliens when he was a kid. “BEAM ME UP, WILLIAM,” one shirt read. “TAKE ME TO YOUR WILLIAM,” read another.

He saw the crowd begin to crane their necks as a car with tinted windows pulled up. One of the people, who he decided was clearly an organizer, based on her shaved head and her Stranger Things T-shirt, rushed over and talked to the driver.

“OK!” the woman shouted out after a moment. “Follow the car to the meeting space!”

It was only when the crowd began to walk that the photographer realized just how large it was, given that he’d been unaware of all the people who were now coming from a side street.

Were there two hundred … no, three hundred people? Jesus.

None of it will matter unless she shows.

He kept pace, getting tight shots of the feet, medium shots of the walk. No one was chanting, so the mic stayed in his gear bag.