Sat quietly on a jury rigged platform, suspended high within a fork of a tree and draped with camouflage netting, Savanarolova kept watch over the dark forest below. Somehow she knew something was afoot. The forest seemed to be holding its breath, it seemed very quiet, the wildlife almost appeared to be waiting for something, communicating in curtailed snatches of their normal nocturnal calls. An inner radar flashed a red light in her head. Danger lurked below and she’d better be awake when it arrived. Stifling a yawn, she looked over to where she knew Munro sat in a similar hide in a neighbouring tree. Using a very expensive pair of night-vision goggles that were normally reserved only for the military, she could see him, the world turned a strange tint of grey and green in her display, with the stars shining like sharp pinpricks in the patches of sky visible through the trees. She could imagine him keeping watch, unblinking, trembling with suppressed violence. She only hoped that the hides they had constructed served their purpose. Observation was the word of the day – or night – and sleep would come later.

They had heard the gunfire. Mentally, she ticked off the box marked “diversion” that appeared on her schedule of things to do. Smiling to herself grimly she continued her vigil, waiting for the morning, waiting for the safety of daylight. Her suspicions about the potential dangers on Solitude seemed to be confirmed. The most important thing right now was to sit and wait. Waiting was what she was very good at.

A short time after the gunfire had ended she heard the crashing of something large coming down the slopes of the volcano. Bursting into the space below her hiding place two men emerged, dishevelled, trailing straps from torn equipment. Even in the green display of her night-vision goggles she could see the fear etched into their sweat streaked faces. One man stumbled and cried out, causing the other to pause and turn. She found it interesting to watch Dusty and Pincher play out their last meeting. At no point did Dusty take one step closer to Pincher. She knew before a word had been said what Dusty would do before he abandoned his comrade. It was all in his body language. He kept his distance. His head kept flicking down the slope, in the direction that they had been heading. It was almost as if there was a smell around Pincher that Dusty could sense – the crawling stench of the grave. Yet there was no indecision in Dusty. He had not stopped to consider the option of carrying his injured mate. Stopping was about merely playing out the farce of their goodbye. Savanarolova nodded to herself, people were simply fools. Stop? She would not stop. She would not have even broken step if something was on her trail that scared her like these two experienced hard-men were scared.

She looked over at Munro who nodded at her, the strange, elongated shape of his own goggles waggling up and down. After Dusty left, they waited, silently, expectantly, absorbed by the drama playing out ten metres below.

Pincher moaned as he tried to drag himself into the depths of a birds nest fern that towered over his slumped form. Scrabbling with his kit, he managed to unhook the hard plastic scabbard of his machete and strapped it around his lower leg, immobilising the break. Savanarolova was impressed by the way he managed his pain, not once crying out as he performed the procedure, rotating and straightening his leg so that he could bind it securely, though she could hear his teeth grinding, even at the distance she was at. All conducted in the fetid darkness. Not bad, Pincher, she thought, it’s almost a waste.

The man shuffled back through the foliage until he had his back to the trunk of her tree. He draped broken ferns over himself, hoping to hide himself from view. Even without light, even though the job was imperfectly done, it would suffice. He had made concealed himself quite well. Would it be well enough?

After the frantic drama had played out and Pincher had settled himself in for his long wait, all was quiet. Savanrolova stifled a yawn. Come on! Slowly she scanned the forest around and about for any sign of Pincher’s pursuers. There!

Slipping out silently from behind a tree, not thirty metres away, a figure stepped. It walked upright and appeared not to be impeded by the dense undergrowth that rendered so much of the rainforest on the slopes of the volcano such a twisted maze. There was something indistinct about the person that walked, even strolled, down the slope. Savanarolova could see little detail through her goggles, although she could see the plants around him with perfect clarity. It was almost as if it was the silhouette of a man that walked towards them.

She glanced at Pincher, who was doing something extraordinary. He had raised his rifle and was aiming at the mysterious man. How could he see? Her goggles displayed the local time and she could see it was nowhere near dawn. Puzzled, she took them off. At once, she was plunged into darkness, yet a weird blue glow seemed to be reflected off everything beneath her. She looked for the source of the light and perceived a pale, luminescent globe that seemed to hover over the spot where the mysterious figure should be. That explained what Pincher was aiming at. Mystery solved, she put the goggles back on, eager to see what happened next, as well as activating the video recording function of the onboard camera.

The figure stopped its progress down the slope. As it stopped, she could see it turn its head and look directly at Pincher. She shivered, not with cold. A musty, rotten smell seemed to permeate the jungle, a stench of past deaths and misdeeds. It reminded her of the dark places in her life, the mausoleums that she had delved into, the misery she had inflicted on those less worthy, the detached cruelties she had committed in the endless pursuit of her interests over others. For a moment, the cool façade of Savanarolova’s almost unshakeable belief in herself cracked and she held her head in her hands as a wave of guilt swept through her. However, even through the storm of remorse, a tiny, glacial flame seemed to flicker within. Like a drowning man grasping at a line, she grabbed hold of her ice-fire, deep within the surging torrents of her mind. In the bleakness of an ocean of despair, she quickly nurtured it, holding it tight within and it blossomed, spreading its reassuring, frigid tendrils through her. With a quiet gasp, she opened her eyes, sweat bathing her clammy skin.

Whether it was because of the noise she made, or one made by Pincher, the dark figure responded to it and took a step towards her tree. Ten paces away it seemed to breathe in, sniffing the air. Nine paces away it paused again and looked directly at Pincher. Step by step it closed the distance, its gaze never once distracted from its target as it strode up to Pincher’s hiding place.

Savanarolova held her breath, eyes wide, tense beyond any expectation, at the scene being played out below. Her nostrils flared at as a sudden flush of stinking rot enveloped her from below. It was a scent she knew well and was not –now - disturbed by. Instead, she savoured it. Her tongue slid across her lips, licking away the salt sweat that had collected there, as if tasting the air like a snake.

The muzzle of Pincher’s rifle almost touched the ghastly spectre, which loomed over him. It leaned into the rifle, which sank into the dark figure. It took a half pace forward, pushing itself further onto the AK47 until its body touched Pincher’s hand grasping the forestock. A strangled mewling came from Pincher but he did not fire. Without warning, he let the rifle slide from his nerveless fingers and it thumped into the undergrowth beside him. Pincher hunched up, dragging both good and bad legs into a foetal position, covering his face with his arms, like a small child hiding from the bogeyman under the bed.

The figure now stood directly over Pincher. Leaning down to the prostrate man, it reached with one dark hand and touched Pincher’s head, caressing it like a mother would a distraught child.

Savanarolova flinched as she watched the hand sink into Pincher’s head up to the spectre’s wrist. Pincher stopped making any sound and shook once. His arms fell from his face and he stared up at Savanarolova, eyes unnaturally bright in the night-vision goggles false colour display, his jaw slack. The spectre waited, hand enveloped by Pincher’s skull. It seemed to be considering something. Then it nodded once, as if a decision had been made.

Suddenly, Pincher screamed; a piercing wail that tore the throat. His hands clenched spasmodically in the dirt next to him as his whole body began to shake uncontrollably, back arching in agony. Savanarolova clutched the frame of her platform beneath her and gripped tightly, fascinated and appalled. Abruptly, the dark figure flicked its hand out of Pincher’s head, as if tearing at something. Pincher shuddered once, twice and then stopped, collapsing back onto the ground.

As if looking at the whole thing on a television, Savanarolova coolly noted the absence of a wound in Pincher’s head. Mentally, she carefully stored every aspect of the events she was witnessing. At some point she would analyze them, dismantle the whole sequence and pick it apart like the dissection of a lab rat, looking for clues as to what motivated the supernatural entity below her - and what would help her find something to negate it, or combat it. She flicked an eyebrow up in surprise at what came next.

Casually, effortlessly, the spectre tore apart Pincher’s body and placed each part in turn on its chest. Like a piece of meat dropped into tar, the bloody limb sank liquidly into the torso of the entity, the surface of the being rippling with each piece absorbed. Legs, arms, head, and everything else disappeared from the ground beneath the hide, leaving little but broken equipment and Pincher’s unused AK47. When it had cleared the ground beneath the tree, the dark figure turned its head and gazed downhill. Without a pause it walked off in the same direction that Dusty had taken, once again unimpeded by obstructions.

Breathing out at last, Savanarolova turned off the camera. That at least would be worth something to her employers. Proof of the supernatural was always interesting, though rarely did they have a practical application. However, there was always a chance that some way could be found to make use of these being’s unique talents. Interesting. Dangerous, yes, but definitely interesting. There was more on Solitude than the primary objective. It could be that her small expedition may need to be expanded into a much larger one, after delivery of the primary objective, of course. If her employers weren’t interested then perhaps she could consider an independent venture?

Interesting to say the least. Savanarolova’s mind raced, mapping out a range of possibilities and opportunities, like the warp threads of a weave, emanating from this one event, just as the threads would emerge from a knot. She considered getting down from the platform to investigate but then thought better of it. It’s not morning yet. Wait till morning. All will be well in the light. Bad things only come out at night.

***

Charlie, Trev and Carmen talked well into the night, with Charlie acting as an intermediary between Trev and Carmen. Despite the precarious nature of their position on Solitude, Charlie felt no small measure of relief. Even though Carmen could not see or hear Trev, she accepted his presence through Charlie.

Eventually, accepting of Trev’s insistence that they light no fire, nor use the torch more than they had to, sleep settled over them like a comforting blanket. Ignoring the insect life in their hiding place, as well as the other crawling creatures, they huddled together, slumped over their knees, legs drawn up in front of them. The gunfire barely stirred them in their slumbers, nor did Pincher and Dusty passing at speed outside the pandanus tree, nor the pale blue glow that briefly illuminated the space beneath the tree’s roots. Trev watched all these pass as he waited at the entrance to the hole, a silent sentinel guarding old friends and new. He moved once, nodding to the blue orb as it hesitated outside the pandanus tree.

These are not for you, his gesture seemed to indicate, seek others to satisfy your hunger!

“H-h-has it gone?” a thin reedy voice said from the depths of the hole, a voice with traces of an American accent.

“It’s gone,” said Trev, turning to talk to the tattered figure that squatted next to the sleeping forms of Charlie and Carmen. “Rest easy, soldier, it’s gone for now.”

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