Tendrils close around his neck.

And then behind him, the creature’s maw grins.

Both the soldier and Hemslock are thrown to the ground from the force. With a roar, Hemslock shoves hard at the man on top of him, and the creature obliges by dragging the bodyguard back. More tentacle-like roots spring from its face and wrap around the unfortunate man.

The soldiers whirl on the creature and then hesitate. Their bullets will hit their comrade. Their brief pause is all the thing needs to escape through another tunnel hidden to the left of the tree.

There is a horrifying thunk, the jarring sound of bone scraping through rock, as it drags the soldier into the hole with it.

Hemslock rushes to the opening, curses. “We can’t fit inside this. Too small. Anyone see another way in?”

There is a furtive silence as the remaining four men search with Hemslock. Two keep their hold on Goatee. The others train their guns and lights upward, scanning the ceiling for signs of another attack.

“Nothing,” Hemslock says in disgust. “Goddamn it. Goddamn it!”

He strides to where the woman in the cocktail dress fell, but she is no longer there. Hemslock stares at the spot for several seconds, and then kicks hard at the ground, sending up whiffs of dirt.

“Good riddance, you lying bitch,” he says, and spits.

“What are we going to do about Carthorn, sir?” one of the soldiers asks.

“Forget him,” Hemslock says. “We’re heading back. Leave Karl here, too.”

“But sir—“

“Do we look like we have a choice, Gunther? Have you seen the size of the hole that tree bitch pulled Carthorn through?” He points. “His bones are as good as crushed. If the unnatural angle he went in was an indication, he’s dead. Be glad that he didn’t suffer like Galant. We’re heading back. They attacked us because we tried to break Karl free. But I know what we need do now.”

“But sir—”

“You knew the risks of working with me. Said you wanted to hunt—and not just for sport, didn’t you?” The camera shifts as Hemslock looks back up at the foreboding tree before spinning back to Goatee, still unconscious inside his thorn prison. “We’re coming back,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “With an offering.”

Eighteen

Too Small

Communication outside of the island still doesn’t work. The helicopter has yet to arrive. Hemslock has the crew continuously checking the connections, searching for equipment damage.

The storm should have passed by now. I sit and stare blankly at the sky. I can feel the heat of the sun shining down on me. I can feel the cool breeze brought in by the waters. Everything feels solid, real. It is easy to discard Hemslock’s claims that this is all an illusion.

Several feet away, a new fight was threatening to break out between Gries and Hemslock once it became clear that the latter’s attempts had done little to get us out of our predicament. Gries is still of the belief that rescue is coming. “You tried to kill it,” he snaps at the actor. “It didn’t work. Let’s not push it. You already lost one man down there.”