The sun was beginning to set, burning low behind the canopy, casting long shadows that stretched like fingers across the cracked plaza. The jungle shimmered gold at the edges, but the space around the Visitor Center felt darker now. More claustrophobic.

  Maria paced the perimeter of the lawn, eyes flicking to the path every few seconds. It had been over an hour. Maybe longer. She’d stopped checking her watch. The light changed too fast to track.

  Emilia sat on a chunk of broken column, arms wrapped around her knees. Her silence had grown heavier with each passing minute.

  “They should’ve been back by now,” Maria said again. She didn’t mean to keep saying it, but the words came anyway.

  Emilia didn’t look up. “Maybe they got lost? Or they’re messing with us. I hope they’re just messing with us.”

  “No one’s yelling. No one’s laughing.” Maria turned. “Not even Jake. You think he’d stay quiet this long?”

  Emilia stood, dusting off her jeans. “We give them ten more minutes.”

  Maria didn’t answer. She crossed to the speaker, still sitting near the abandoned grill, and clicked it off. The sudden silence pressed in like a held breath.

  They waited. Ten minutes came and went. Then twenty. The path remained empty. Cassy, Clark, Jake, Samuel, Sandra, all gone.

  Maria stared into the trees, jaw clenched, stomach churning. Finally, she turned. “We’re going back to the yacht. Now.”

  Emilia didn’t argue. She grabbed her bag and followed.

  They moved fast, boots crunching dry leaves, hands brushing vines aside. The jungle felt closer than before. The trail looked different now, more overgrown than it had been when they’d first arrived. Maria had to remind herself it hadn’t changed; she had. Every broken branch, every rustle felt loaded now.

  They broke through the trees and reached the north dock.

  Maria stopped, color draining from her face.

  Emilia exhaled sharply. “Oh… shit.”

  The dinghy lay half-submerged, slumped sideways in the shallows like a gutted animal. One of its pontoons was ripped clean through, shredded rubber dangling in the water. The small outboard motor was crushed inward, bent like paper.

  Beside the boat, tracks gouged deep into the sand, parallel rows of prints, three-toed, each easily the size of a dinner plate. They led from the jungle, stopped at the wreckage, and vanished into the surf.

  Maria took a slow step forward. Her legs felt heavy. A tightness had settled in her chest that wouldn’t ease. Tears, silent and unbidden, sprang to her eyes.

  “What could’ve done that?” Emilia asked.

  “I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know.”

  Emilia crouched, touching the edge of one track. It was still damp.

  Maria backed away, heart hammering. “We need to get back.”

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  Emilia looked up. “The Visitor Center?”

  “It’s got solid doors. Thick walls. Radios. Maybe even…”

  A sound cut through the trees behind them. A branch snapped.

  Maria spun, eyes wide, palms damp, heart racing.

  Nothing.

  The trail was empty. But the light was dimming fast, and the shadows were long, and whatever had been here was not far off.

  Maria grabbed Emilia’s hand. “Run.” She hissed, tugging her behind in a mad dash. Back to the only place they could hope to find shelter. The Visitor Center.

  They returned to the Visitor Center just as the last rays of light vanished beneath the horizon.

  The jungle had closed in behind them. By the time Maria and Emilia stepped through the weathered doors, the shadows inside felt thicker, older, like the building had been holding its breath since they left.

  Maria pushed the door shut. It didn’t latch. It leaned crooked in its frame, the top hinge half-rusted through.

  “Forget locking it,” Emilia muttered. “It’s dead weight.”

  Maria nodded and dragged over a nearby planter stand made of cracked stone. They wedged it in front of the door with a hollow scrape. A poor deterrent and the only means of defense they had.

  The main hall lay draped in silence. Dust floated in the weak light that filtered down through the broken dome. Ivy coiled down through the gaps in the ceiling. The air was heavy, thick with humidity and something almost sweet beneath it, like rotting fruit and wet stone.

  “We need to find supplies,” Maria whispered. “A working radio, maybe some bandages.”

  Emilia didn’t respond. She stood still, scanning the shadows above the cracked skeleton display, as if expecting it to move.

  Maria got her attention by placing a hand on her shoulder. “Hey. Stay with me, okay?” she spoke softly, not wanting to draw attention.

  Emilia nodded and squared her shoulders. They swept the lower levels in silence, flashlights flickering across walls stained from time.

  A staff lounge revealed overturned chairs, and a vending machine cracked open at the side. Its plastic window had buckled inward, not broken, but warped. The snacks inside were mummified. A stack of employee ID lanyards lay scattered across a desk, the cords chewed through.

  “Rats?” Emilia asked, pointing at the cords.

  “Or something else,” Maria muttered, nudging a crushed soda can. It had tooth marks. Not small ones.

  They passed through what had once been the infirmary, a narrow room with a toppled gurney, faded posters for emergency evacuation drills, and open cabinets full of curled medical gauze and brittle bandages. A row of plastic-wrapped syringes sat behind cracked glass. Nothing worth using.

  “First aid’s a joke,” Maria hissed. “Barely anything usable.”

  Most of the electronics were dead. Consoles covered in dust, switches cracked from heat exposure. A row of monitors hung dark above a bank of rusted control panels. A rat’s nest had been built in one of the open panels. The chewed foam stuffing spilled out like innards.

  “No power,” Emilia said.

  “The batteries probably bloated years ago.” Maria tapped a screen. “Anything electric is a paperweight now.”

  In one of the admin offices, they found what might have once been a radio setup: a square console with an antenna jutting at an odd angle and a microphone crusted with black mildew. Maria tried turning the knobs anyway. Nothing. No clicks. No static. Just silence.

  “I hate how quiet it is,” Emilia muttered.

  “I don’t.” Maria’s voice was tight. “Quiet means nothing’s inside. Yet.”

  They argued briefly about lighting a fire. Settled on flashlights only. One was dying. The other had a solid beam, but Maria didn’t trust it to last the night.

  They picked a side room with only one entrance and a narrow window half-covered in vines. Maria wedged a chair under the doorknob. Maria didn’t know if it would do any good, but it made them feel better. They sat in the dark, backs to the wall, knees drawn in. Neither one spoke for a while.

  Outside, something moved. It wasn’t loud. No crashing or obvious noises. Something brushed the outer wall, a long, slow scrape. Maria’s grip tightened on the flashlight. The sound was barely above a whisper, but to Maria, it was like a gunshot.

  Her flashlight shook slightly. Her heart was racing a mile a minute, and sweat was beading down her back. The silence that followed rang in her ears. It was slow torture. The faintest of sounds, followed by a deep quiet, was fraying her nerves.

  Emilia’s eyes were wide in the dark. “It knows we’re here.” She whispered.

  They waited. Eventually, sound returned to the world. The soft chirping of crickets could be heard. The wind blew softly, shaking the leaves of the trees, making a natural white noise. It should have comforted them, but they were beyond that.

  They didn’t sleep. Couldn’t sleep. They just sat there, listening to an old building groan and sigh. Wondering if every sound was masking the approach of their death.