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.”