“What’s the status of the generators?” Hemslock asks, a calmer contrast.

“We can’t find anything wrong with them,” one of the crew admits. “It’s the ones for the mess hall and the other two cabins. But a team’s swapping it out. It shouldn’t take long.”

“My cabin’s one of those affected,” Armani says hotly. “You better get your asses on it immediately. I’m going out for a smoke, and I want this resolved by the time I get back.”

“Stay calm, Steve,” Hemslock says. “This happens all the time when we’re out in the middle of nowhere. The team knows what they’re doing.”

“It’s only the first day, Reuben.”

“Shit happens. If you wanted the Ritz, you could have stayed in California instead of bitching here. Roll with it.”

Grumbling, Armani shuffles toward the door, the slam letting us know he’s left.

“Alon,” Leo says to me. “Melissa’s going to be busy, so can you stay with Chase at our cabin while we figure out what’s going on? They say the electricity there’s still working. Chase, wait for me there until I return.”

“I don’t need anyone to escort me back,” Chase grumbles.

“Unlike you, he knows his way around the island. Don’t make this difficult.”

“Fine.”

I stand when he does and walk with him to the door. There aren’t many stars, though it’s not as dark outside as it was inside the pre-fab duplex.

The crew has already scattered and is hard at work with the generator. The lanterns are still glowing. Askal waits patiently for us at the door. His tail is wagging—unlike the others, the darkness doesn’t affect him.

The corpse tree is where we had left it. Armani insisted that cameras be trained on the balete, just in case. Some lanterns have been placed around the sinkhole, warning lights to ensure that no one accidentally falls in. They cast an eerie glow over the hole’s inhabitant, illuminating the dark hollows of its face, highlighting the ruins of what it had once been.

Chase takes a glance at the pit and shudders. “That is so seriously fucked up,” he mutters, though he can’t seem to look away, either. “It’s like a Halloween prank gone wild. Are you—have you ever seen anything like—?”

I keep my eyes concentrated on the sinkhole, half-expecting something to happen but not quite sure what. The body doesn’t move. Its limbs hang loosely from the cobweb of branches it’s impaled against, and the face continues to stare into the nothingness. “No,” I finally say. “This is a first for me.”

“I thought you were the island expert?”

“I’m not. This is the first time that I’m not the only one in Kisapmata, save for when I was with ’Tay.” Movement. Makahiya are blooming along the edges of the hole, opening and closing as if buffeted by a sudden breeze. I am certain that they were not there earlier.

The rest of the regular balete around us look forbidding, spindly shadows against a moonless sky. One of the branches slowly lowers, and I know it is from no wind.