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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.