“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.