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“It knows you’re here now,” she said.
“Yeah, I’d say my cover’s been blown on all fronts,” I said.
“Sophia?” Liam asked, hesitant.
“It’s okay,” I assured him, standing up. And then I saw what she was holding. Abby’s camera. “Where did you get that?” I asked.
“She wanted me to bring it,” the other girl said. She held it out. “You have to see.”
I took it from her, shivering as my fingertips brushed against her skin. I opened it to check the data slot. There was an SD card inserted. Which meant...
“That’s it,” I said. “This is the data card we found at the LARC. Abby must have put it in her camera.” I turned on the camera. The screen might be cracked, but the innards were clearly still working, because I was able to pull up a list of video files.
Videos from 2003.
The files went on and on. Someone had started filming and stopped so many times, and the videos weren’t short. They’d filmed so much. What had happened? I needed to find the beginning of the thread.
I sat back down on the bench. Emotion boiled at the edge of my awareness, but I clung to the calm.Breathe steady. Don’t think, don’t feel.Because if I started to feel anything, I would feel it all, and I would truly drown.
Yet even with the hungry void, my hands were shaking. Liam reached over, resting his hand over my forearm to steady me. I tried to speak but my mouth was hopelessly dry. I swallowed down a sob, my control fracturing.
“This is it,” I said. “Whatever happened, it’s on this camera.”
“Play it,” Liam said.
“I can’t,” I said softly. As long as I didn’t know, anything could be true. She could be alive. Out there, waiting for me. As soon as I played those files, the possibilities would collapse into cruel truth.
“It’s okay,” Liam said. “I understand.” He took the camera from me gently and selected the first file.
We watched in silence as the tale unfolded in fragments, and my hope shattered piece by piece.
VIDEO EVIDENCE
Recorded by Joy Novak
AUGUST 14, 2003, TIME UNKNOWN
In the final file of the 2003 LARC excursion, the group retraces their path: out of the church doors, up the flank of the island. The ground seems to fold itself to shorten the way, and while the camera—held now by Kapoor—catches glimpses of shapes both human and otherwise, they seem frozen in place. Whatever Novak’s echo meant to do, it seems she is succeeding.
Hardcastle, apparently recovered, takes the lead. The wariness in his posture says that he is not only thinking of what beasts might lurk out of sight, but also of the other threat out here: his own echo.
They climb the stairs. None of them remark on how there are far fewer now than when they went down. They’ve moved past the expectation of a consistent reality.
Some things persist. Joy makes the girls turn away when they pass echo-Baker’s body.
They have almost reached the shore. The possibility of escape has nearly teetered into probability, fear giving way to the wild blossoming of hope. There is the empty shore, the gray water. There is the boat, their boat, not some twisted mimicry but a solid, certain thing. Novak lets out a sound of relief.
KAPOOR [echo]: This is where I leave you.
Kapoor nods, unsurprised. Her echo looks down at the gun.
KAPOOR [echo]: I don’t know if I can...
She swallows.
KAPOOR [echo]: Will. I know it’s a lot to ask.
HARDCASTLE: What do you—? Oh.
