They disappear into the passageway as the walls continue to tremble. The trees watch them leave, content to sway in an unseen wind, waiting for everything and nothing at all. With Askal alert and expectant at my side, I turn back to Hemslock’s body, the machete in my hands.

I see them. I see rescuers guiding them toward a waiting helicopter. I see both Melissa and Hawaiian Shirt still waiting for Chase and his father, holding true to their promise not to leave the island without them.

I see Melissa talking to Chase. I see Chase, heartbroken, shaking his head. I watch Melissa’s face fall.

Before long they are all on the helicopter as it readies for its final journey away from the island. I see Chase turn his head to look back one last time.

He sees the roots growing over the entrance of the cave, wound so thickly and tightly that no gaps show through, preventing anyone else from entering.

He sees the sinkhole and the corpse tree entombed within, slowly gathering in sand and soil, until the sand lies smooth and even, like no hole had ever existed.

And then he sees me standing on top of the cave, on the one lone mountain on the island rising hundreds of feet above the trees. I watch him fly away from me as the helicopter rises higher, until the clouds obscure his view of Kisapmata, until there is nothing but an eye of an island staring up into the sky from waters of unwavering blue.

Twenty-Six

To Wake

Deep inside the caves, ’Tay and I sleep.

The world spins outside, and I drift through memories that lie scattered within Kisapmata. I see brief glimpses of what unfolds outside our little home, of what the future might bring.

Kisapmata is gone. There is no visible sign of the island anywhere on the map now. Scientists believe that an underwater volcano erupted, destroying Kisapmata in its aftermath. More months of testing will prove that to be false, but it is enough to fill the news for days.

There is no recovered footage of the tree creatures or of Tatay, but I know videos of the corpse tree will be all that is needed to draw fascination. So would recordings of Steve Galant—raving and blind, screaming for mercy in his final days. Unable to see or hear; unable to do anything but see and hear.

I wander through these half-forgotten thoughts, into the dreams of those who have never left the island. Airplane wreckage and boardrooms. Lights and cameras. Anger and speculation. Glints of gold coins. Cultists still nestled inside hollow trees, serving as sources of nourishment for ’Tay’s other children, who are undiscovered by even the most recent expedition.

I do not see Chase anywhere amid all this chaos, and that comforts me.

I hope he does not return.

But I know others will come. Humans are foolish. I said as much to ’Tay. Their goals will be no different the next time. Hunger and greed. Occasionally compassion. Kindness. But I know that is not always enough.