Scraping
No one tries to stop us. I think the other adults have given up on changing our minds. Now that help has been assured, they’re more concerned with leaving the island before anything else happens.
Only Melissa remains trusting and optimistic, though worried. “I told them I’ll take a later trip out,” she tells us. “They should be back with more helicopters and boats now that they know what’s been happening here. But I cannot in good conscience leave you two without at least some adult supervision, even if that adult has to be me. I don’t think anyone else will. They all want off the island at this point.”
“I don’t want you involving yourself in this,” Chase says fervently to her. “This is personal, between Alon and me, and Hemslock.” Askal barks. “Askal, too.”
“They still have guns,” Melissa points out. “Maybe you should wait to pursue them until the next helicopter comes? I’m sure there’ll be authorities swarming in once they learn what he’s done. Let them take on the danger.”
“Guns aren’t going to help where we’re going. But thank you.”
Hawaiian Shirt, whom I had not liked at the first meeting, is surprisingly adamant as well. “You can get on the helicopter right now, you know,” he offers me. “You’re hurt. And now that the word’s out, they should have the authorities swarming the island soon, and I don’t know what that’s going to do to your, uh, god—”
“That’s not going to be a problem.” I look at some of the equipment still on the island, at the crew hurriedly trying to carry as much of it to the beach as they can, still seemingly thinking about the possible repercussions for their jobs. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to get the film footage you wanted.”
Hawaiian Shirt grins weakly. “We’ll see what we can splice together. And even if we can’t—we’re alive. That’s something, right? No documentary is worth dying for.”
Chase and I wait until the first of the crew begin boarding the helicopter and then leave, Hawaiian Shirt and Melissa following. We head toward the kitchen, the only place that might have supplies to defend ourselves with. “We should have pepper spray at the bungalow,” Chase says as we steal inside. “Should we go and get some there, too? I know Dad has a couple for emergencies—”
His voice trembles over the last sentence.
“You should get on the flight while there’s still time,” I say again gently.
Chase glares at me. “Like hell no. You don’t get to change my mind because I got a little—nervous. Let’s do this.”
In the short time we’ve been away from the mess hall, everything has changed.
Vines and roots cover the room when we step in. The brisk-moving foliage is slowly but surely covering the walls in their entirety as we watch. Chase gasps. Hawaiian Shirt cuts off a shriek, clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise.
The thick roots around us writhe and throb as if with a life of their own. There are some similarities to the giant balete tree growing in the cave; the roots are connected, braiding into a large tangle of branches that drop from the ceiling, makahiya scattered across its numerous branches. At certain angles, the tangles resemble arms and legs. At certain angles, faces seem to look back at us. They have no mouths or noses but stare at us with blank gazes.
“What is this?” Melissa chokes out.
“The Diwata’s power is growing,” I say quietly. “He knows that rescue has come and that more people will know about the island and its supposed curse. If it goes on like this, then the island may no longer be accessible.”
“What do you mean?”
“If Hemslock succeeds, then the god will no longer have any use for an island.”
An odd keening noise interrupts us. Something in the center of the balete’s base begins to open, the bark peeling back like petals.
A large eye blinks back at us from within.
Melissa gasps and Chase nervously raises his fists. But I step forward, carefully picking my way through the roots.
“Anong gagawin mo?” I ask it quietly when I am near enough.
The eye stares back at me. Something else moves within the wood.
A face forms among the brambles, a familiar one. A woman with long black hair and sad eyes appears. Her head twists slowly as she stares at us.
“Holy shit.” Hawaiian Shirt is hyperventilating. “Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.”
“No,” I say. “He’s gone. You can’t use her anymore.”
The face twists. The lips stretch wide and the eyes bulge out. Liquid dribbles out of the wood like white paint being washed away. The rest of the woman melts as well, something similar to the corpse on the balete tree taking its place.
“You’re Lindsay Watson,” I say. “Or what’s left of her.”
The corpse stirs, moans. The desiccated jaw stretches. Forgive me, it whispers.
“Is this Hemslock’s doing?” Melissa asks.
I answer. “No. The sacrifices directly fuel the Diwata’s power. This is His doing.”
“I don’t trust Hemslock,” Hawaiian Shirt says guardedly. “But it looks like he was right about you withholding information.”
“Is that what you’re most concerned with right now?” Chase asks heatedly. “Alon has been protecting us.”
“There’s another fucking corpse tree, and I was already about to lose it with the one we already discovered.”
“What do we do?” Chase asks from behind me. “Do we kill it?”
We should. Death would be kinder than the miserable existence this creature leads.
“No,” I say. “This is out of our hands now.”
“Hemslock controlled some of those creatures,” Melissa points out shakily. “Is the god granting him those powers?”
“Not for long.”
“How sure are you of that?”
“I know I haven’t given you a lot of details about the island. But on this one, I want you to trust me. He won’t have those powers for long.”
The face metamorphoses back into the large eye, which swivels toward Chase, who freezes.
“Yes,” I tell it.
“What is it asking?” Chase asks nervously.
“If I really do like you.”
Chase moves past me, crouches before the creature. “I swear I won’t do anything to hurt Alon,” he tells it. “I mean—I’ve never had to ask permission from an, uh, eye before, but—”
The tree creature shakes, branches rattling. And then the eye closes and disappears, bark closing back on itself.
“Did I offend it?” The boy asks worriedly.
“No.” I crouch down beside him, smiling. “It’s letting us be.”
Chase’s hand closes over mine. “You don’t have to do this,” he says. “I—I can understand why the Diwata wants to punish my dad. Why he would be a sacrifice. But this isn’t your responsibility. I should—he’s my—”
“No,” I say. “I’m more involved in this than you know. I want to bring your father back.”
“Even if you’re going against what the Diwata wants?”
“Even so.” I squeeze his hand. “We’re in this together.”
***
We take all the useful equipment we find in the cabins and the mess hall—flashlights, several coils of rope, an extra mace from Melissa. I have my machete, and we locate more hunting knives from the soldiers’ stash.
Hemslock barricaded the cave after he and his men entered with Gries. Beyond the stone altar, vines have slithered across the passageway, blocking our way. I swing at them with my machete, only to uncover a thicker swathe of roots beneath.
“Looks like Hemslock’s not going to let us have access to the treasures Cortes stole,” Hawaiian Shirt says. Unexpectedly, he begins to laugh. “Treasures. Jesus. We came here to look for the gold Cortes stole, but I almost forgot about that. The sanest thing to do would be to get out of here. Get back to the helicopter, let the authorities handle this.”
But Chase and I already know where we have to go.
***
“You kids positive you know what you’re doing?” Hawaiian Shirt asks nervously, peering over the edge of the pit, eyeing the corpse tree worriedly.
The balete does not move, content to simply be.
“Poor ugly bastard,” Hawaiian Shirt says.
“Are you deliberately trying to antagonize it?” Melissa hisses.
Chase and I are tying ropes around our waists, and she’s helping us, making sure the harnesses we‘re making are strong enough not to slip free. “You are two of the bravest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing,” she says. “Although I don’t know if it’s courage, or if you’re just out of your minds. But I have to come with you. I’m not going home and telling people that I let two kids into a haunted hole while I sat back and watched.”
“No,” I say quietly, giving my rope a good tug. “The fewer people involved at this point, the better.”
“That’s not on you to decide,” Melissa says. She glares at Hawaiian Shirt. “Back me up here.”
Hawaiian Shirt looks like he wants to argue with her but doesn’t know how to without looking bad. “Was Hemslock right?” he asks instead. “Do you really have some kind of weird mind meld with this god?”
“I trust Alon,” Melissa says firmly. “Save the questions till we’re all out.”
“Alright,” Hawaiian Shirt agrees, summoning his courage. “You’ve been telling us to stay away from this island since day one, and it’s our fault for not listening. We’re coming with you. This doesn’t sit right with me.”
“You said you knew nothing about caves,” I say.
“Well, we can’t leave you here, either. Did Hemslock and his men leave any guns and bullets we can grab?”
“There aren’t any,” Chase says. “And we’d likely shoot and hit something we shouldn’t.”
Hawaiian Shirt sighs heavily. “Let’s get this over with.” He looks down at Askal. “And you want him along? Won’t this put him in danger?”
“Trust me,” I say again, and he sighs.
Chase and I lower ourselves into the sinkhole first, the adults waiting to pull us back up at the first sign of danger. I hold on tightly to Askal with one arm. He endures the descent patiently.
“You’ve done this with your dog before, haven’t you?” Hawaiian Shirt asks warily but refrains from further comment. Askal simply wags his tail and yips importantly.
The descent is quick enough. We cling to the sides, taking care to stay as far away from the balete as we can, and shimmy down into the darkness. Melissa found us the flashlight helmets Hemslock, and his men used, and we flick them on once we reach the bottom, about a hundred feet down.
Chase stares up at the corpse tree and shudders. “We need to find Dad fast. Unless Hemslock’s already killed him. Like that might be for the be—”
He catches himself, biting his lip. “Hemslock’s a fucking liar, but he was right about what my dad did, wasn’t he?”
“You guys okay down there?” I hear Melissa call out.
“We’re good.” I shine a light down the tunnel, the one the robot tank had explored. Nothing stirs, though I know that doesn’t mean safety.
“I still think this is a bad idea,” I hear Hawaiian Shirt say loudly.
We don’t hear Melissa’s response because a sudden earthquake nearly knocks me off my feet. Chase stumbles and collides into me, and I hear the exclamations above us as they, too, struggle for balance. Askal begins to bark frantically.
I look back, and my heart freezes in my throat. The balete is turning; the corpse and its perpetually screaming mouth is slowly tilting to look at us.
It begins to heave itself off the ground.
It is the first time any of us have seen the balete in its entirety. Its roots detach from the soil one by one, curling back into themselves as the tree rises higher, the corpse jerking forward in detached, rapid movements. There are no feet—the corpse has been fused with the hollow of the tree for so long that I do not doubt its lower body assimilated long ago. But that does nothing to stop its quickness. Its gnarled branches lower, the thin branches flattening and gripping the ground like centipede feet—and the tree begins to crawl toward us.
“Chase! Alon!” Melissa screams, horrified by the sight. “Get out of there!”
But it stands between us and our way out of the sinkhole. There is no way we can reach the ropes for Hawaiian Shirt and Melissa to pull us up without getting caught in the tree’s roots, which are already multiplying at an alarming rate.
I grab Chase’s hand and pull him deeper into the cave as the roots begin to fill the entrance of the tunnel—yelling at Melissa to leave, to get help. Askal guards our rear, howling at the tangled roots.
Our flashlights helmets illuminate what they can of the passage before us, and we run. Askal catches up to us quickly enough, slowing down so as not to leave us behind. We can hear the corpse and its balete slipping in briskly after us, the rasping of its bark as it scrapes against the walls a terrifying sound, like the sharpening of knives.
We don’t know how far we go or how long. We don’t stop until we are gasping for air. And we slow only after there is no echo of its pursuit, until we are alone with the silence of our enemy.
“We’re screwed,” Chase gulps. “We are, aren’t we?”
“No,” I say. “If it hadn’t wanted us to go into the cave, the balete would have stopped us. It didn’t want the others inside.”
“Great.” He lets out a sound that is halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Why? Why does it want only us? I mean—I understand why it wants you here, but why me?”
Askal inspects us both carefully with his nose and lets out a satisfied bark of approval when he finds no injuries or bruises.
“Because Hemslock has your father,” I reply. “And while it might not seem that way, the Diwata is on our side.”
I’m not the most confident in my reassurance, but Chase nods, straightens his back. He takes my hand and squeezes it. “Once we get Dad out,” he says, “you’ll leave the island with us? And I can call you and stuff?”
I smile at him and squeeze back. “If we can get through this, yes.”
He nods. “Let’s get his over with, then. Wouldn’t be polite to turn down the Diwata’s offer of hospitality, huh?”