“Fertile Trough”

        The island of Mulamayora was about twenty five kilometers to the west of the coastal nation of Dunnelozara, isolated from the many scattered tourist destinations that were found further north the coastline. The government's climate research department had designated it as a priority research destination  recently after collecting and assessing data regarding the air quality on the island and the surrounding areas. It was far enough away from any large city that would pass on its pollution but that alone couldn’t explain the steadily decreasing carbon dioxide levels that were observed over the last couple of months.

The climate research department was underfunded since their inception nearly a decade ago but because of recent donations of non-dispersive infrared sensors by donors, the team had made great strides in creating an environmental profile for the country. They were most often concerned with the general pollution levels of cities and enforcing industry regulations but the data collected regarding the island’s remarkably low carbon dioxide measurements was most notable to Dr. Simeros and her staff. She herself was a botanist and environmental engineer, a burgeoning force among academics that had secured a position where she felt she had the most resources to do the most good for the world.

When she discovered the peculiar case of Mulamayora, she brought it to her team’s attention during an early Tuesday meeting, where each expert could propose an explanation or suggest why this might be the case. Some suggested that the jungles were primed for carbon dioxide reduction due to the offset by heavy and dense vegetation. Another scientist postulated about wind streams in the areas and their potential to divert the carbon dioxide in a way that would disperse the mainland air outwards in wide patterns that would affect Mulamayora less than the other islands. None of these suggestions satisfied Dr. Simeros; the experts themselves now curious after thinking aloud with the group and hearing the opinions of others.

It was decided by the department that it was worth the short trip to the island to spend a few days collecting data and analyzing the potential causes for the phenomenon. After a call with her accounting department and a few hours of filling out the essential documents for her official request, she waited a few days before being officially denied the funding. It was disappointing although not surprising in the least as this was the standard route of trying to accomplish her goals with the government’s assistance. Fortunately for Dr. Simeros, she was able to secure funding through previous partners who benefitted from the public relation campaign as well as a tax-write off donation, collecting enough funds to purchase and transport equipment roundtrip from the campus, to the docks and back.

Dr. Simeros recruited three department scientists for the upcoming excursion based on their particular expertise. First was Dr. Uluru, a foreign-born chemist who had studied at a university in the country, working for the past fifteen years on large government contract projects such as crop revitalization.  Second, was the young meteorologist, Dr. Cliffyeros, who at only thirty-years old had already completed several academic studies that better dissected the changing weather patterns of the region. Finally, there was Dr. Rettersom, a highly analytical ecologist with decades of experience and a heavy dose of skepticism that paired with his grumpy demeanor.

The team was created so that tasks could be delegated efficiently; time would be short, and they had to move swiftly and with confidence to complete the collection portion before their analysis. The only obstacle that remained was to find proper transport from the docks to the island itself. The government was not willing to send a navy ship to escort a research team, citing budget cuts and personnel issues, and all local guides ran dry with visitors, closing the doors on their businesses over the last couple of years.

Mulamayora had its fair share of tourists once upon a time that would at least go to the shores and take photographs on the photogenic island, documenting their arrival and soon departing without setting foot into the interior. There were old stories and rumors that kept people from traveling inside the jungle, some that were inspired by reasonable concern and others born of pure fiction from superstitious minds.

Historically, the island was home for several hundred years to an indigenous tribe that had an established village, riding longboats to the coast to trade and interact with their sister villages on the mainland. Over time, the land tribes assimilated during the industrialization of the country, along with much of the rest of the world but the island remained populated until roughly fifty years ago. The longboats stopped coming to shore and the systematic seizing of the waters in the name of fishing and trade by wealthy businessmen and government contracts prevented mainlanders from visiting their people. When members of the community communicated with government officials, they were assured that they would do a welfare check, returning to state that a localized epidemic must have eradicated the population. The officials then stated it was unsafe to set foot on the island out of fear of bringing the disease back to the countryside. None of the community members accepted the results with the lack of evidence of their discovery. They had seen their lives interrupted and disturbed in the name of financial gains so they waited to see the remains with their own eyes.

Mulamayora offered a lush array of plant life with an expansive and diverse assortment of tropical trees and fruits. Amongst the sprawling green life were families of colored frogs, scaly reptiles and a few species of primates and large cats. The wildlife was beautiful but not without safety concerns; there were plenty of creatures with venom or fangs that could easily end a person’s trek to the interior. Even the plant life was not risk free, with many species of toxic plants that would leave the body splotched and red with an itch that could not be scratched away. For these reasons, most people opted for the less wild and more beach focused excursions, to run with sand in their toes and dive into the clear blue water in the warm light of the sun.

Dr. Simeros spoke with local residents as she searched for a guide and was given the contact information for an indigenous fisherman who was known to take occasional trips to the island, both for personal reasons as well as for the rare venturous client. She arrived at the pier where his boat was docked and found him sorting and packing materials on the deck. He had long hair fixed in a braid and wore a long sleeve shirt and jeans to protect his skin during the long hours baking in the ultraviolet rays.  The older man had heavy bags underneath his eyes; he worked himself empty on most days with it being a busy season for both tunas and marlins.

He met with the scientist and they discussed the scope of the research trip to the island and he agreed but conditionally; the man had a mystery of his own to solve but lacked the investigative skills that the scientists themselves might possess. Ataw recounted how he was the first from his village to be born on the mainland. His mother was born on Mulamayora but was raised by her uncle on the mainland where she would eventually meet Ataw's father. At the time he was born, the indigenous community he was a part of had been forced to spread throughout the country while looking for work in the modern era. He told Simeros how no one trusted the government’s conclusion about regarding the whereabouts

Dunnelozara was in the midst of an economic boom in his childhood but rich benefactors had mostly taken over the fisheries and trade routes. His father worked on these boats while he mother delved into crafting and selling her goods to tourists in the area. Ataw’s father noticed that the longboats hadn’t visited the mainland in quite some time and pleaded with his supervisors on the ships to go check on them. Without telephone lines or mailing routes, they were without contact and his father was uneasy about their absence. Eventually his father had ejected a lifeboat off the side of one of the fishing boats and tried an overnight journey to the islands to visit his wife’s family. In the early dawn hours, he returned from his visit to the trip but was confronted by military officers that provided security for the fisherman against thieves, protecting the assets of the wealthy investors. They knew he had stolen the boat and as he pleaded with them to let him return the small vessel to its rightful place, he was taken ashore by force and was taken to a prison, never to be seen by the family again. It was reported to the family that he had died from a simple case of tuberculosis contracted in the jail cell and that his body was already cremated. Ataw and his mother rejected this fate and protested what Dunnelozara had become as a result of the pursuit of wealth and exploitation.

Ataw’s mother wished to see the people from the island of Mulamayora everyday until her final breath was taken, succumbing to cancer early in her sixties. It was then that Ataw promised her that one day that he would find out what really happened with his people. He was able to purchase a worn-down trawler that he had to learn to repair thanks to other fishermen’s assistance and eventually was able to take groups to the various tourist islands to make a decent living for himself. The other guides warned against going to Mulamayora, they either accepted the official cause of disappearance or held their own opinions, wildly influenced by late night stories that people seemed to make up when bored at sea. These current guides were not indigenous themselves and lacked a relationship with the locals, ignorant of the tribe’s culture and the kind of people that they were. As far as Ataw knew, it was possible that tragedy hadn’t even struck the island as his father was never able to speak to them to tell of what he saw.

So Ataw eventually traveled to the island himself, searching far and wide for a place most unfamiliar to him. Throughout the entire island, there was no one to be found — not on the beaches, nor in the jungle, not near the creeks, nor at the end of any trail. There were no remnants of life to be found across the island with housing structures, cooking supplies and many abandoned plots of farmland. Ataw returned again and again, searching for graves or evidence of an evacuation but they hadn’t left a thread for him to follow. He despaired for so long at his inability to carry out his mother’s dying wish but now with the scientist’s promise, he had a final chance in his golden years to investigate Mulamayora’s greatest secret.

Simeros assured him that she would carry out her end of the bargain, promising to use all the tools at her disposal afterwards to search the area forensically for a reasonable cause of disappearance or making proper calls to get someone capable of doing so. She was a limb of the government but it was precisely this familiarity that made her give more value to Ataw’s suspicions.

All the scientists in the group traveled to the port of Mulamayora where Ataw had outfitted his trawler to carry all of the gear that the scientists had prepared. Together, they embarked for the four day trip, dancing with the waves as the ship sliced through the ocean for nearly five hours.

Dr. Rettersom sat reclined on a mounted deck on the bow, falling asleep for most of the journey. Dr. Uluru vomited a handful of times, eventually finding her sea legs and sitting in peace, now empty. Dr. Simeros sat and conversed with Dr. Cliffyeros for the first part of the journey, talking with the younger scientist who was beaming with excitement for the fieldwork that took them outside for the first time this year. Ataw, captain of the Alumzuqar ship, drove patiently and focused; his eyes fixated on the great empty horizon as he navigated effortlessly to the destination.

Mulamayora island finally came into view and the scientists, save for Rettersom, came to the edge of the rail on the bow to look towards their destination. They had all been tourists themselves to other islands and Rettersom had even set foot on Mulamayora’s sands before when boats would at least make a quick stop. Still, they felt childlike excitement that beamed from their face as they mentally prepared for the job at hand.

Once near the beach, the boat found its place to drop the anchors and settle in for a few days. The first anchor flew fastly downwards into the blue depths, hitting the bottom with an unknown sound to those on the surface. The trawler drifted backwards to fix the anchor into place and then the second anchor was dropped, keeping the boat from spinning in place if without it.

The group descended into a smaller boat that would take them to the island. A few trips were required as they had to move some equipment to the shore as well as camping supplies and other travel tools. None of the equipment was particularly large for this investigation as they would be mostly taking readings and the sensors themselves were compact. After three trips back to the trawler, all of the equipment was now on shore, with the time just approaching noon. This left the scientists with roughly four hours to work before they had to prepare the campsite before sunset.

They decided to start with the beach and the edges of the jungle, observing the carbon dioxide levels on their devices, making detailed notes regarding the plant life on the edge of the shore and taking some samples of various species. It wouldn’t take long for the differences of this island to be noticed as the initial carbon dioxide readings were all recorded near three hundred parts per million. This carbon-diluted sample of the air would have last been seen before the age of  industrialization forever changed the landscape of the world. The island was fighting off the outside world from its deadly interference and winning with overwhelming dominance. Dr. Simeros checked the device and reread the readings a few times, waiting for about half an hour for each trial and finding that her device was precise.

“It’s remarkable,” she said to the group, “Numbers like this haven’t been seen for over a hundred years.”

“Indeed. How refreshing” Dr. Rettersom replied.

After two hours, the group started to trek further into the jungle, carrying all the gear they had brought with them, assisted by Ataw who suggested they camped nearby a waterfall further up the trail around two kilos. They agreed and walked through the lush array of jungle life, a living painting with more beautiful details the further one looked.

About one kilometer into the forest, the verdant vegetation began to fade into smaller, less productive plants with a yellowish tone. Near the entrance, the trees, leaves and vines all popped vibrantly but now these interior plants lacked the bursting vibrance like the others before. They walked past shrubs in the understory, the leaves falling off without putting up a fight against the gentle wind following their footsteps.

“It wasn’t like this the last time,” Ataw remarked.

The trail was littered with struggling greenery but as they neared the waterfall, there was a branching off of the trail, contrasting the colors of the surrounding area; it was green and luscious like what they had seen before. The scientists set down their belongings near the waterfall to set up camp later and carried a few of the sensors along once more to investigate the other side of the trail.

Simeros took a new reading of the new part of the trail, with slightly lower readings compared to the beachside. Low carbon dioxide levels could safely explain the changes in color from the yellowed plants on the first trail but with even lower readings now, the sudden liveliness had no reason to diverge this way.

With each step forward, there was not only a difference in just color but also in some of the species present. There were blossoming flowers they hadn’t seen to this point and a splattering of mushrooms covering everything from the ground to the trees; round, fibrous roots wrapped around nearly all of the trees; it wasn’t easy to distinguish which they belonged to. Insects were crawling and buzzing through the area at a higher frequency, with flies and mosquitos densely packed all around. Each member of the group was swatting the few areas of exposed skin such as their necks and hands. Rettersom wielded a large can of insect repellant packed with picaridin and misted his skin before passing it to others.

The onslaught of insects didn’t slow them down for a moment as they continued onwards. Simeros looked closely at the non native mushrooms and exchanged a glance with Rettersom, who quickly responded, “Those don’t belong here do they.”

“No but they see. Everything around is thriving.” Simeros replied.

“Doesn’t mean they can’t become a problem.”

As they began to take pictures and record remarks into a notebook, Uluru stumbled a few steps into the bushes near the path. The rest of the crew turned to her direction, Cliffyeros walked over to grab her by the arm.

“Woah, are you feeling okay?” She asked.

“Yeah, just feeling a little lightheaded. Maybe I’m just tired.” Uluru replied.

Cliffyros didn’t let go of her colleague’s arms, looking upon her with worried eyes. Uluru started to walk again but fell forward, falling out of Cliffyros ‘s grasp and landing on her hands and knees. The rest of the crew ran to her side before she plummeted to the ground, collapsing face first into the muddy earth beneath her.

Immediately, Simeros ran to her side and checked her wrist and throat for vital signs, the ailing scientist’s heart maintained a normal pulse, breathing on her own. She lightly slapped her face, failing to wake her out of the sudden slumber.

“She just appears to be unconscious.” Dr. Simeros said optimistically.

“Could be the heat. She was puking her guts out on the boat so maybe she’s just dehydrated.” Rettersom added.

“Let’s bring her back to the boat, it’ll be more comfortable.”

“That’s too far of a walk. I can take her to the campsite and set her up to rest inside a tent.” Ataw said. “Go ahead and do what you have to do here.”

“Just a few more minutes should be okay. It’ll give us more to discuss in the evening so that we can start prioritizing and narrowing down what we’re doing.” Simeros felt guilty about leaving Uluru in this state but this far away from immediate medical services left her without any real aid to be rendered. She agreed with Rettersom’s assumption of dehydration, drinking some water and getting rest was all that could be done anyways.

Rettersom looked at the others and back to Ataw, nodding his head in approval and shaking his hand. They helped lift her body up and handed her over into Ataw’s arms and he made his way back to the camp as the others gathered their belongings to continue on. Simeros noticed on the ground a large binding of roots covered with fungi leading further up the path. And so they followed.

She walked quickly with her eyes and feet following the trajectory of the roots to the top of the path, the other two scientists following slowly behind her footsteps. A few meters at the top of a hill, she looked down and saw great mushrooms that were beyond the size of any known species in not just the region but the entire continent. The two colleagues gazed with amazement at the extraordinary find; all of their hearts began to beat with excitement and curiosity took their minds flying with possibilities. Fungi pull carbon dioxide from the air and store it inside of their submerged networks, allowing the jungle’s plants to feast on the now available nutrient. These plants were working past expected natural limits of carbon consumption by working in unison with the fungus , preying on the compound at an unprecedented rate.  

Simero's excitement wavered as she felt a flash of fatigue over her body. Suddenly, her eyes began to droop and she swayed forward, catching herself and shaking her head vigorously to keep her eyes open. She looked at her two colleagues and their reactions were similar. Each of them began to shake their limbs to increase circulation and stave off the drowsiness creeping into their minds.

“I don’t think it’s the heat. We need to leave this area.” Cliffyeros suggested and the others agreed. All three of the scientists clamored together to support each other while walking as they started their way back down the hill. A few meters downwards, loud and repeated huffing could be heard beneath the bushes alongside the path, just a few steps away. The scientists looked at each other with confused expressions, listening together for just a moment more as the huffing continued.

“Is that person?” Cliffyeros asked.

“Did they maybe fall in the bushes?” Simeros said.

“I can’t think straight. Maybe.” Rettersom said, pressing his hands on his forehead.

Simeros moved to the side of the bush, the noise continued to get louder; she saw the leaves being blown by air coming from the interior. Rettersom got on his knees as well and pushed aside the branches, his fingers grazed flesh near the bottom.

“What in god’s name is that?!” He shouted, turning to Simeros. “Do I see a person under there?”

 A human face was  nearly totally submerged into the ground at the bottom of the bush. They were breathing laboriously, with a large volume and a dull scratch accompanying each inhalation. The only part of the head that remained above ground was from the tip of the chin to the crown at the back of their skull. Roots similar to those covered by the mushrooms extended from the ground and into the sides of their face, penetrating the skin, dried blood crusting the perimeter. Their eyes were open but the pupils had separated into pieces, a milky glaze blurring the dead stare.

Cliffyeros legs gave out and she began to crawl backwards, inundated by the rooted human and its gasping respirations. Simeros reached forward and ran her hands over the human in stasis, unsure if her perception had been altered by the bout with drowsiness. Rettersom pleaded for her to take her hands off but she had to confirm that her brain wasn’t playing a trick; that this was indeed a flesh and bone human in an arduous situation.

“Don’t just sit back! We need to get them out.” Simeros shouted at the other two scientists, neither one inching forward to help her as she began to claw around the face, digging up the dirt surrounding the face.

Cliffyeros drifted backwards and tried to lean back but succumbed to the somnolent feeling in her body, unconscious as Uluru. The two able scientists looked at her with Rettersom moving to her side and slapping her with great force.

“Wake up damnit! What the hell did you bring us to Simeros!” He shouted angrily, turning his glare to Simeros.

Simeros returned to try to help the sunken person out of the ground, finding more and more roots that were penetrating their body, now expiring with more strenuous intensity with each breath. As much of the dirt was removed down towards their shoulders, Simeros began to rip some of the roots out of their body so she could continue to separate this stranger from the earth below. After a handful of roots were ripped from their head and neck, they began to open their mouth, slurred words began to dribble out. Simeros attempted to decipher what might be said but all of the words were unintelligible. They began to pull their arms without aid out of the dirt.

With one hand free, the stranger began to feel their face and the expression they wore melted into consternation. They began to cry a terrible noise as they clawed and felt their own face over and over again, feeling everything from their cheeks to their eyeballs and inside of their mouth. They were able to pull the other arm out as well and tried to pull themself out of the ground, Simeros's trying to come to their aid, unable to bear being an audience to their suffering any longer. 

Once out of the ground, they began to crawl displaying pathetic strength, never ceasing to stop the screaming. Crawling hardly let them get anywhere as they began to writhe and shrivel into a fetal position, some of the roots still unremoved from their back, down their legs and even from their feet. Neither of the scientists could take their eyes off of her but when Simeros finally turned her attention to Rettersom, he too had succumbed to the sleeping plague sweeping through the group. She stood up and tried to run and get the attention of Ataw before he was too far away but she came crashing down to the earth as well, eyes falling shut and her mind slipping into an unconscious state despite the screams that filled the air from the floundering abomination of a human flesh that continued its agonizing squirming in vain.

When Ataw had not seen the others return to the campsite, he went back to look for them, finding the three scientists still motionless on the ground. He stood still while his eyes slowly scanned the jungle floor to search for a perpetrator, finding a fourth body sent a cold shiver down his spine, raising thousands of tiny bumps under the skin of his arm. It laid with its mouth open and eyes agape, the roots extending from its body now curled in surrender from the death of its host. The body looked like that of a woman, her skin dark like his with a broad bridged nose like his mothers.

He dashed over first to Cliffyeros and checked her pulse, her heartbeat appearing normal as Uluru’s but there was a strange movement on the back of her arm, a worm-like wiggling underneath her skin and moving downwards towards her elbow. He pressed down on it and tried to pinch it but it was very firm, sinking down when touched. He lifted up her shirt and found two more branches of squirming lines beginning from her stomach and moving towards her back where they punctured the skin and stretched into the ground beneath the surface. It was dark brown and fibrous, branching off at several points like the roots of a vegetable securing its place. He lifted her up far off the ground and stepped on the root simultaneously, ripping it out of her back as blood slowly began to leak out. He placed the scientist’s body back on the ground then ran over to Simeros and quickly checked her for a similar affliction but couldn’t find any immediate similarities as she began to flicker her eyes open, coming to consciousness. He grabbed her with both arms and shouted to keep her from falling back into her involuntary slumber.

“...where am I?” Simeros struggled to ask.

“You’re still on the island. There’s something strange happening us.” Ataw replied.

Simeros retained her consciousness and began to wake up more as she brought her limbs back from immobility, maintaining her escape from the clutches of cessation. She followed Ataw’s lead, moving over to check on Rettersom, finding the roots already making the presence pervasive in his body. She had never seen anything like this with any plants, animal or otherwise. No known parasites, infections or viruses behaved as what they had seen here. Ataw was never told any stories of the island that involved the grotesque trespassers and had not come into contact with them during his excursions on the island so far. They quickly ripped out the invasive cords from his flesh and tried to wake him but were not as lucky as Ataw was with Simeros.

There was no easy option to transport the two immobile scientists; Simeros placed Cliffyeros’s arm around her shoulder and Ataw followed suit with Rettersom. They walked back to the waterfall where their camp was set up, discussing how they could escape from the jungle while carrying the three bodies of her colleagues along. Ataw suggested crafting a makeshift stretcher from the camping equipment; the research equipment would have to wait until they returned again with the boat.

“We’ll come back. I haven’t forgotten about our agreement. I think we have enough evidence to convince the government to begin a large-scale investigation of this island.” Dr. Simeros said.

“Let’s take care of your friends first. I fear that I may be closer to my goals than you are.” Ataw replied.

“How come you haven’t collapsed as well? Are you feeling well?”

“I feel a bit strange but it’s nothing.”

“And your family? Did they ever speak of something like this being here?”

“My family were mainlanders but no, no one I met from the island mentioned something like this. The path we were on was new however. I’ve never seen mushrooms like that on the island.”

“I was afraid of that. The spores. It’s possible we’re having some sort of reaction to them but this is happening too fast for a fungal infection.”

“What was the other thing on the ground?”

“They came from underneath the dirt…it was still moving when I passed out.”

Ataw’s face contorted as he thought hard, putting the pieces together in a puzzle with no definite end. There hadn’t been a sighting of his tribe in all of his trips to the island, living or dead. The husk of a person had been nearly transformed past any resemblance to their previous humanity. 

After a short but difficult hike backtracking their way to the waterfall campsite, the fatigued duo laid down their deadweight companions and sat down on the ground for a moment to relax their bodies; Simeros almost immediately stood up upon seeing Uluru still laying down inside of one of the tents that Ataw had placed her safely in. She asked Ataw if he had noticed any of the growths coming out of her body but he admitted that once she was in the tent, he assumed she'd rest as long as her body demanded.

Simeros rushed over, Uluru was covered with a blanket; her eyes open fully, now foggy with the pupils disintegrated. Simeros began stammering and pleading with Uluru to return to how she was; Ataw came to her side and witnessed her further descent into the infected state.

Simeros wagered her hopes on the possibility of there still being time to revive her longtime colleague, ripping off the woman’s clothes to search for the roots that were surely binding her to the earth. She began to rip and tear each of the cords out of skin and held one of them closer to her eyes, seeing spots of fungal mold on the outside of the plant root. She continued to peel the roots off while her mind raced to understand this strange symbiotic relationship. The new mushrooms had begun to intertwine their mycelium into the broader networks of plantroots, connecting the jungle life of the area into one intertwined structure. Yet the mushrooms were exhibiting parasitic features, searching for nutrients that they are unable to produce as compared to plants. Uluru was becoming Mulamayora’s meal, its members attaching to her body, several at a time..

Uluru’s eyes finally began to shift from side to side and she grabbed the arm of Simeros.

“Hello? I can’t see.” Uluru was able to say.

“Hold on, it’s Simeros. What’s happening? How do you feel?” Simeros asked.

“Simeros? What happened? What was that light? Am I dreaming?”

“Light? You passed out earlier but I’ve got you now.”

“My eyes are open aren’t they? I…can’t stay here. I want to go back but I’m so scared. It’s so overwhelming.”

“What is it my friend? Stay with me.”

“It’s so beautiful, there’s so many others. I want to go back to them.”

“No, who are you talking about? You have to help us understand what you’re seeing so we can help. It’s the mushrooms Uluru! The mushrooms are inside of you right now! Stay with us!”

“No. It’s Mulamayora. It’s the people behind her, a part of her. My heart hurts just being separated from them.”

“I…don’t understand…”

“You were almost with us. I felt you for just a moment. Come to us. Oh god don’t make me take you Simeros. You have to kill me because…I think I’m going to kill you first…You’re going to be one of us. Don’t worry, Simeros, just come. ”

Uluru squeezed much tighter on Simeros’s arm, looking right into her eyes while still blinded by the infection. Simeros could feel her friend staring at her but there was nothing behind those eyes. She nearly pulled her arm away when she felt the worm-like roots breaching Uluru's skin and then moving into her own arm. Simeros shouted at her converted comrade to let go and began to strike her hand and then her face. Ataw ran to her aide and apologized to Uluru as he lifted his boot up and stomped onto her face, knocking her back with crushing force and freeing the scientists from the fungal fate at least for the moment.

Simeros began to mourn her yet to die friend. Uluru was no longer the person she once knew, the one who piloted her body alone. She now served a different force from this moment forward. Ataw turned to grab Simeros and help her up but Uluru leaned into an upright position once and again and lunged onto the ankles of Ataw. He stumbled over and kicked at the scientist, unable to undo her grip this tine. All down the length of her arm, more and more roots sprouted from her flesh and began wrapping and piercing into Ataw’s legs, much faster than a moment ago with Simeros. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a black knife and began to hack away at Uluru’s arms, ripping out the penetrating roots as quickly as he could.

Simeros jumped to his aid but he protested.

“Go! It’s too late here.” He continued to slash the fungal human. “Forget the other two as well. They’re going to turn out just like her.”

Simeros hesitated briefly before letting her intuition motivate her to stand up and make a run to the ship, the wet noises of metal shredding through flesh continued as he fought for a way out in vain. She looked at both of the remaining scientists one last time, pulling each one by their arms and begging them to stand up and follow her but the tension of the roots made her pessimistic. In the short time after they were returned to camp, they two were sewn to the earth to join the network of the possessive parasite.

Simeros surrendered the final remnants of hope of saving the lives of her crew; whether they would truly die or become empty vessels serving the island, they were without humanity, that much was certain. She too had been touched by the infectious roots but as long as she was still the commander of her own sanity, there was a chance to make it back to the ship and set sail to shore. There’d be a chance for her to get proper medical attention but more importantly in her mind, she’d be able to contact other branches of scientific research to explore the cause of the infection. For all she knew, the island was the localized source for this variant species and containment was vital for keeping the danger isolated.

She arrived at the small dinghy that she’d ride back to the trawler with  just offshore. There was nothing she could carry and certainly nothing with priority over her own safety. The evidence was safely stored in notebooks, cameras and in memory banks of devices still at the campsite. The rest would stay in her mind as long as she was still breathing and when she made it back to report, she could tell the tale that might lead to helpful conclusions. She owed this much to her team and Ataw. Whether Ataw was alive or not, she would hold up her promise and search for the remains of his vanished community.

She had no formal training to pilot the ship back but once she traveled a few hours back to shore, she’d be able to use the phone and reach out for assistance. She tinkered and experimented with the controls, using the automated functions to reel in the anchor and to start the engine, puttering along and picking up speed in the direction that they came to the island. She took a seat behind the steering wheel, her body reeling from the stress put upon it, mentally and physically. She rolled up her sleeves and inspected her arm, a rash had begun to spread from inside her elbow and down her forearm, rope like bumps underneath.

Simeros questioned quietly why she would be the one to be spared; as the leader of her group, she felt like she should’ve been the one to pay the price for the mistakes that were made, intentional or not. There was no way of predicting the pervasiveness of the invasive species that had wreaked havoc among the scientists and their guide, yet the guilt remained. A sharp pain began to pang in her arm as the roots began to creep out, piercing through her skin with some blood leaking out on the perimeter. She almost began to chuckle as she predicted her own expiration. The roots weaved around her arm and downwards to the bench she sat on but were unable to reach further inside without any soil. Simeros let the situation play out, observing the lack of latching from the fungal carriers. Without soil or another body to touch, there was potential to starve out the infection. Simeros finally began to feel hopeful again, her journey carrying her from tremendous highs to devastating lows.

Every fifteen minutes or so, she’d grab the phone and dial the number of her office, searching for a dial tone that’d signal her saviors to her dire situation. After nearly two hours and forty five minutes into the journey, she finally made contact with one of the lab assistants who was always typically working late. It was only in the early hours of the night but past the normal working hours for most of the staff. She communicated the situation in as few words as possible so that the emergency services could be coordinated accordingly. After a few calls back and forth, Simeros was connected with an operator of a navy medical ship that instructed her that she would not be allowed to dock due to the nature of her infection. Instead, the ship would come to her with well equipped members capable of handling hazardous materials. She followed their instructions after reviewing her location along with the map and carried on with the journey.

The intercepting ship came into view at last, Simeros once again calling to the ship and receiving instructions for holding her position and preparing for contact. She gathered some papers that she had been writing on while traveling as well as a toolbox she had filled. When the ships were side by side, she called the other ship a final time.

“Are you sure you're capable of carrying out what I asked?” Simeros asked the operator.

“Absolutely. We have a set refrigerator for hazardous materials.” They replied.

“Good. Please be careful while handling…you must drain the blood as quickly as possible or else there won’t be enough to produce results.”

“Sure. Don’t worry. We are capable of performing blood transfusions on this vessel. We just need to be careful while inspecting you first…hello?” The call was cut short by Simeros and she made her walk to the side of the boat. A group of navy members were standing by in their hazmat uniforms.

“Please, just stay there and don’t drop what I’m going to throw over.” Simeros shouted. The sailors all looked at each other, unsure of the detour from the instructions they were given. Their commander was called over as Simeros opened up the toolbox she brought over. She was only a few meters away from the ship, just far enough that one could not jump from ship to ship without a higher chance of falling into the ocean than landing on solid ground.

From the tool box, she lifted out an emergency axe with a bright red head at the end of the wooden handle. She rested her arm on top of the wooden table and lifted the axe up, her arm bent at a ninety degree angle before she shouted and swung downwards with all that she had to give. Blood sprayed all over herself as nearly her entire forearm was severed from her elbow. She fell over in agony, screaming out in pain. The sailors huddled to the edge of the boat and begged for her to calm down and grab onto a rope that they had thrown over. She shouted at them to stay put and grabbed her hacked off arm with her still attached limb and asked if they were ready to catch. The sailors looked at each other in confusion but one man raised his hand and leaned over the side of the boat. She tossed her arm over to the man, falling over to the floor, unable to bear the pain well enough to stay standing. The sailors pleaded for her to remain calm and assured her of their capabilities to save her life.

In the toolbox was a lighter. She pressed her thumb on the igniting wheel and drew a flame, the intoxicating fumes of petrol that she had spread out onto the floor filled the air before she held the lighter to the floor and ignited the liquid. The medical boat crew looked onto the inferno that consumed the woman they had come to save, baffled by each moment of madness unfolding before their very eyes. Their commander shouted as their boat began to drift away to avoid being caught as collateral damage. On the mainland, the remaining members of the staff would have to piece together each and every action of their former boss. The government that had left her ill equipped throughout her tenure now had been hand delivered a prime sample and a warning of the natural horror of Mulamayora. They were left with weighing further research regarding the carbon offsetting miracle island against its relentless needs for living fertilizer. A treasure trove of data remained inside the green depths of the  jungle that had extinguished all of those attempting to understand what provides its nutrition from below.