Wreckage
The boom operator swore he captured the scream, but a quick review of the footage yielded nothing. There was only me talking, Goatee jumping back, and then jittery motions from when the cameraman jerked away. But nothing had been captured in the recording, our reactions to it the only evidence.
Goatee is frustrated, but there’s nothing to be done. Already the team is shifting their focus to the next phase of production.
“We’ve got two drones on standby,” says the man in charge of the show’s IT team. He pats one of the robots affectionately—a tiny helicopter with quad rotators and a list of specifications that makes no sense to me but does to everyone else. “This one will give us a bird’s eye view of the island; it’s good for any overhead shots for promo and will also keep a lookout in case anything strange is going on that we can’t see. We’ve got a station devoted to its feed, so we’ll see everything happen in real time.”
“This one, though.” He crouches down and shows us another kind of robot. This one looks like a small tank equipped with a large camera lens. “It’s the SZ-132. It’s built for rockier terrain. We’re going to lower it down the sinkhole and see how far into the tunnel it can go. See these?”
Two small handles on each side of the robot lengthen and retract. On each end is a small knob with finger-like articulations that could apparently be used to grip objects. IT Guy demonstrates, using a complicated-looking remote control. It grabs at a tuft of grass on the ground, pulls it out. “Are we clear to explore the sinkhole?”
“We’ve gotten what we can from the corpse,” one of the scientists says. “Like most strangler figs, balete grow from the top down on host trees that are already thriving. Eventually they consume the latter, and, in many cases, kill them. But this one—” He pauses dramatically.
“Well, what?” Leo asks irritably.
“There are no host tree remains. It’s hollow. The balete tree grew around the corpse. The corpse is the host tree.”
“It grew on the body? But—”
“From the upright way it has taken root and from the unnaturally slow way the corpse was decomposing—it’s almost as if—”
“Almost as if the person was still alive when the balete consumed it,” Hemslock finishes for him.
“You can probably suggest that for the show. Improbable, of course. That means the balete would have grown around it at supernatural speeds unknown in any other plant species—”
“And how far does this sinkhole go down?”
“We made some initial measurements. Surprisingly it’s not that deep. Thirty or forty feet at most, and then solid ground. We’re relying on SZ-132 here to be our eyes.”
“Practically the most advanced in the market today,” IT Guy says proudly. “If there’s anything worth discovering here, it’ll find it.”
“You think you can get this ready to go?” Hemslock asks.
“We have everything in place, but we weren’t sure if we were doing this today, after what happened to Mr. Galant—”
“Mr. Galant would have wanted the show to go on. He’ll be happy to hear we’re making money for him while he’s asleep.”
I hang back and watch as the robot is lowered into the pit. At the same time, I hear a faint whirring sound as the helicopter drone is sent up, its figure retreating into the distance and disappearing among the trees.
“If this wasn’t such a cursed spot,” says one of the crew piloting the drone, his eyes on the screen before him, “this would be a real gorgeous place.”
He’s right. The airborne drone gives us a beautiful angle of the island from overhead—a stunning view of the trees spread out before it, the white sandy beaches that circle the shorelines, the crystal blue of the sea.
But Hemslock’s attention is focused solely on the robot tank. I move nearer so I can see the camera from its point of view as it descends, its night vision mode kicking into gear when it finally hits bottom.
“Excellent landing, Rick,” Hemslock says. “Spin it around for a bit. Give us some bearings.”
The drone’s camera swivels. I expect to see nothing but the walls of the sinkhole and the base of the balete tree. Instead I see another small tunnel looming on its left, large enough for a person to pass through. The roots of the balete tree do not end on the rock floor, but instead twist themselves westward, straight into that new passageway.
“Christ,” Leo Gries says.
“What are we missing here?” Hemslock asks.
“The tunnel isn’t a result of the sinkhole,” one of the scientists confirms. “It’s the other way around—the sinkhole happened because of the tunnel. Judging by how long these roots are and how far they appear to go, it must have been growing upward like this for some time. Which is, again, puzzling. Balete latch onto a host tree and then grow down to the ground.”
“Rick,” Hemslock says. “Think you can drive that thing down the tunnel, see where it leads?”
The little tank wheels around in reply and whirs down the passageway. From within a hidden compartment, a flashlight flickers on, allowing us to see its surroundings more clearly.
“Does it look man-made to you?” IT asks doubtfully. “The tunnel, I mean. Maybe this was part of some mining pit that got filled years ago?”
“The ground was solid when they tested it. Logan was very sure about that.”
“The sinkhole proves him wrong though, right?”
There is little conversation after that. By now, other crew members are watching, curious. I see Chase lingering awkwardly on the edge of the group; our eyes meet.
Wordlessly I incline my head toward the space beside me. A smile lights up his face as he makes his way toward me. “Does that mean we’re cool?” he whispers.
“We’re cool.”
He looks relieved. “What are they doing?”
“Are those pieces of paper?” Hemslock asks. “Go nearer.”
The tank scoots nearer, picks up one with its robotic arm. The handwriting looks familiar to me.
“I’m sorry, forgive us,” Straw Hat reads. “I’m sorry, forgive us. It’s all that, filling the rest of the page over, and over. Damn creepy, man.”
“There’s something else.” Leo Gries points at the screen.
The tank edges closer. One of its small arms reaches out, digs into the soil, and comes away holding something white and metallic in its hand. The camera zooms in on it.
“Doesn’t look like a rock to me,” Hemslock says.
“It’s too small to be—hang on.” IT Guy guides the robot nearer. This time it finds a larger, heavier piece, and drags it out.
“It looks like it’s made of steel,” Leo muses. “Some kind of ancient machinery?”
“Machinery, yes,” Hemslock says. “Ancient, not likely. Rick, go right.”
IT Guy complies. This time, they find something that looks like paper, parts of it burned as if by some fire, but the remainder is otherwise intact.
“Inch it closer. I think I can make out writing.”
The camera zooms in again and refocuses.
“All that’s discernible are these numbers: 245. What does that mean?”
“245?” Leo leans forward, until he’s almost plastered to the screen. “Rick. There’s something beside that large rock over there, on the left.”
The robot dutifully finds it, raises it up for a better view.
It’s an earring. Though covered in grime, there is no mistaking the sparkle of cut diamonds glistening back at us despite the gloom.
“No!” Leo rears back, clutching at his head in disbelief, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “No!”
“Calm down, man,” Hemslock says sharply. “What’s gotten into you?”
“245,” Leo says, nearly hysterical. “That’s the flight my wife was on. RWY245. And those earrings—my wife wore those earrings. I gave them to her as an anniversary gift. What are my wife’s earrings doing on this island?”
“Those are Mom’s?” Chase cries out, horror-stricken.
“A plane ticket,” Hemslock says with sudden understanding. “I see now. And all these metallic bits strewn about—plane wreckage? How did none of the investigators find—why would the wreckage be so far underground? When someone buried Giles Cochrane here, did they also—?”
Leo grabs at Hemslock’s collar without warning. “Why are my wife’s things down there?” He shouts, “If this is some sick joke to get ratings, Reuben—”
Several inches shorter than the actor and with far less bulk, the producer is no threat. Hemslock lifts his hands in a gesture of peace.
“Leo,” he says, in a calm, conciliatory tone. “I don’t know why your wife’s possessions are underneath the island. This isn’t a prank. I want to know as much as you do, but that’s not going to happen if you lose your temper. You hear me?”
Still trembling, Leo releases his grip on the man. “They searched here for weeks,” he whispers. “They didn’t find anything. There isn’t a—why would—”
A sudden grating sound from the incoming video gains our attention. The robot tank isn’t moving. Something else appears to be making the noise, but there is nothing else down there.
IT Guy manipulates the controls. The tank spins around, trying to find the source of the noise. “How should I go about this, sir?”
“Keep following the trail of roots as far as you can,” Hemslock orders. “That’s where we’re going to find answers.”
The robot sets off again. Chase is by my side, struggling not to cry. Awkwardly I let him lean against my shoulder for support, though my eyes never leave the monitor.
If there are other plane detritus inside the tunnel, we do not see it. Instead the roots splayed against one side of the wall grow thicker as the robot travels deeper.
“This is promising,” the scientist says, eagerly. “Once we find out the base of this balete tree, we can get a better understanding of how it could thrive underground, far away from any—”
The robot’s flashlight dies abruptly, leaving only its night vision mode. Hemslock curses. “Now what?”
“There shouldn’t be anything wrong with it.” IT Guy fiddles with a few buttons. The drone lurches forward in brief sputters. “I don’t think it’s stuck. Let me restart the system and see if we can—”
He cuts himself off this time when a shadow slips across the upper part of the robot’s screen. The robot raises its camera toward the ceiling.
“There!” Hemslock shouts, pointing. The camera stabilizes, honing in on a dark figure that crawls through the balete’s roots toward us, barely visible in the darkness despite the robot’s night vision. “Get it out of there, Rick,” he urges. “Come on, come on. Get out—”
The robot backpedals noisily, speeding away, but I already know it’s hopeless. The figure’s movements quicken, arms scrabbling, grasping at the roots as it makes for the drone at twice the speed.
The flashlight flickers on.
We catch a glimpse of the thing. Straggly, twig-like hair. A bare body made up of roots rather than skin and bone but still grotesquely human in shape. A face that curves inward—with an expanding mouth, rows of teeth lining its cavities, parts of it flapping up like flesh that has been flayed and distended beyond its jaw to be bigger than even its head should be.
Leo, the thing says.
It lunges at the camera—screeching. Something within its face extends—
The screen goes dark.
“W-we lost contact,” IT Guy stammers after several seconds. “SZ-132 isn’t responding.”
***
There is no film. There’s no footage of Flight 245’s remains, no shot of the dark figure that destroyed the robot. There’s no record of the creature’s face, none of its terrifying form that we all so clearly saw in the flashlight’s glare.
“No,” Hemslock says desperately. “We saw it. We all saw it. The camera should have captured it. Run it again.”
Straw Hat tries, and then tries again, and then several more times.
The screen is black for all of the tank’s run.
Hemslock does not take this failure well. He stalks off, pausing only to punch at the mess hall’s outer wall. Gries sits on a chair, head in his hands, trembling.
“Did Mom survive the plane crash?” Chase asks his father quietly. “Did she wash up here? With no one to rescue her?”
“I don’t know, Chase.”
Chase gulps. “Dad. Do you think that…maybe that was Mom—”
“No!” Gries shouts. “She died when the plane crashed. No one could have survived a landing on…” Leo closes his mouth, realizing he’s only making the situation worse. “Have you seen anything like that…thing on this island?” he asks me instead.
A shriek interrupts my reply. It’s one of the crew. “That was the ghost that Lydia and Trish saw on the shore! It was her! Oh my God.…”
“We have to go inside,” Leo Gries says, desperately. “I want to know why my wife’s belongings are buried here.”
“Are you kidding?” IT Guy sputters. “That thing’s still down there! It could kill you!”
Hemslock returns, a determined look on his face. “We’re going into the cave.”
“What?” IT Guy is about to have a conniption. “Why?”
“We might have lost one robot, but we still need more footage.” Hemslock strides to the other station, still monitoring the helicopter drone, and moves the monitor so we can see what it had recorded. Its flight over the island reveals a dark figure standing just inside the cave, disappearing from view when the drone’s camera shifts down for a closer look. “I want some answers, and it looks like this is the best place to start.”