The shriek comes again, and is answered by something on the other side of the island, a voice that could be human or bird.
HARDCASTLE: We need to get somewhere safe. I—
The cries are drowned out by a bellowing roar, echoing over the island.
NOVAK: The town’s closest.
HARDCASTLE: Come on.
He sets out. Kapoor begins to follow—and then Novak shouts. Rocks skitter and scrape.
KAPOOR: Hang on!
The camera tumbles, coming to a rest upside down, showing nothing but a slash of grass and gray mist. Kapoor speaks from nearby.
KAPOOR: I’ve got you. Are you all right?
NOVAK: My leg . . .
KAPOOR: Shit, that looks bad.
NOVAK: Sophie?
She seems calm at first, but her voice quickly grows panicked.
NOVAK: Sophie? Where are you? I had her—I was holding her hand and I must have let go when I fell. Where—
CARREAU: Stay calm. We will find her.
The video cuts out again. Kapoor turns it back on.
NOVAK: Does anyone see her?
HARDCASTLE: Everyone keep sounding off. Don’t go too far in this mist.
BAKER: We have to keep going! We’re never going to find her in this. That thing—
CARREAU: Hold on, I’ve got—
The video cuts again. It resumes with the view angled downward, as if the cameraperson has given up trying to capture anything.
HARDCASTLE: Down this way!
KAPOOR: The mist is thinner higher up. Maybe we should head that way.
HARDCASTLE: There’s nothing up there but the airstrip. At least we can find some shelter if we head down.
Another unearthly shriek pierces the mist.
SOPHIA: Mama, I’m scared.
NOVAK: It’s okay, sweetie. Martin’s got you. I’m right here.
BAKER: I say we get out of the open.
KAPOOR: Fine. Carolyn, grab the camera so I can help with Joy.
She hands the camera off to Baker, who trains it on the mist behind them as the others start to move. A shadow shifts within the thinning mist. It seems humanoid. Baker whispers.
BAKER: What are you?
The figure shrieks and shakes, the air around it distorting, fracturing like digital glitches. Video cuts out.
When the recording resumes, the camera is lying on its side, discarded on a bench along the wall of the old chapel. Hardcastle and Carreau are struggling with a half-rotted pew, bracing it against the doors.
HARDCASTLE: That should hold.
KAPOOR: Against what? We don’t know what’s out there.
HARDCASTLE: Did you want to stop and find out?
NOVAK: Will you two please stop sniping at each other?
Novak sits on one of the more solid pews, her leg stretched out in front of her. Sophia sits, knees to her chest, on the floor next to her.
CARREAU: Let me look at that leg.
He steps over and carefully rolls up Novak’s pants leg. She hisses, and he winces in sympathy.
CARREAU: We need to clean this and get it bandaged.
A muffled shriek sounds outside, but it seems to be coming from a distance.
BAKER: Those things aren’t human. Are they?
KAPOOR: The people on the beach seemed human enough.
HARDCASTLE: But those other things in the mist . . . They didn’t move right.
KAPOOR: What were they? Were they people?
SOPHIA: Not yet.
Everyone looks at her.
NOVAK: Sophie? Why did you say that? Did you see something?
Sophia buries her head in her arms, overwhelmed by the scrutiny. Hardcastle is peering out through a crack between the door and the crooked frame.
HARDCASTLE: Where’s the camera?
BAKER: It’s over here.
HARDCASTLE: Bring it here, will you?
She complies, and he mutters as he gets it lined up with the crack in the door. He zooms in on a distant splotch, brings it into focus.
HARDCASTLE: What the . . .
Three of the humanoid figures are walking in the middle distance, one after the other, single file. They move with an unnatural gait, sinking deeply as if their legs can’t quite support them, their bodies sagging with each step before whipping upright again.
Above them, like tongues of white flame, countless birds wheel in the sky. As the procession moves out of view, Hardcastle backs away from the door.
HARDCASTLE: Where did those things come from?
NOVAK: I don’t think they came from anywhere. We’re the ones that came from somewhere else.
HARDCASTLE: What are you talking about?
NOVAK: This isn’t the church. Not the same church, at least. Unless that was always there.
She points upward. Hardcastle lets out a whistle, then fiddles with the camera, switching the view back to normal. He points the camera upward as the others make sounds of astonishment.
The beam of the camera’s light is not strong enough to illuminate more than a small patch of the ceiling at a time, but that is enough to make it clear that Joy is correct.