James Rodriguez

We document the coordinates reported during extraction.

Emily's face showed conflict between human emotion and survival necessity.

Finally, she nodded.

Let me at least take pictures of the site.

I allowed December 8th, 2025 for documentation.

Emily photographed the sinkhole and surroundings, logging the exact cordlets in her notebook with mechanical precision.

Her hands trembled slightly, but her movements remained methodical.

We stay on the main trail, I said when she finished.

No deviations, no matter what we hear or see.

Emily adjusted her pack, wincing as she put weight on her injured ankle.

The island's closing in on us.

It knows we're trying to escape.

I didn't argue with her assessment.

The whispers had grown more insistent since Sarah's death, voices calling from every direction.

Movement glimpsed between trees that vanished when directly observed.

We maintained forward progress, despite Emily's injury.

I offered my shoulder for support on the steeper sections, measuring our pace against the jeek's distance remaining.

The afternoon light filtered through the canopy at an increasingly sharp angle.

Shadows lengthened around us.

At 437, I spotted a break in the vegetation ahead.