Free Invasive by Chuck Wendig

with your investigation, Ms. Stander.” He walks off, whistling. She’s about to go after him.
    Instead, she pukes over the side.

    Hannah is leaning over the edge of the boat. Breathing in and out. Her brow is wet but her lips are dry. It’s then that she sees it. A line above the horizon. A small bump. Seven hours so far on this boat and that’s what she gets: a bump.
    She looks around. That island is alone. No neighboring islands to be seen.
    â€œThe Kolohe Atoll,” Dan Sullivan says, startling her. He comes up, arms crossed and chest out like all the water and all the sky is his domain. He’s not a big man—average in most ways. But he’s got that captain vibe about him. “Kolohe—Hawaiian word. Means ‘mischief’ or ‘mischief-maker.’ A trickster.”
    â€œThat’s comforting,” she says, her guts plunging down when the boat goes up and slingshotting up when the boat drops back down.
    â€œThe legends about the atoll are not too dissimilar from those about the Bermuda Triangle. Boats trying to avoid it crash here. Ships trying to land here can never find it. And sure enough, there are a few wrecks out there. One on the island, too—an old Japanese Zero that went astray, got lost, and crash-landed.”
    Hannah lifts an eyebrow. “Are we going to crash?”
    â€œI sure hope not!” Captain Dan lets loose with a big belly laugh. “I don’t truck with legends and stories. None of that red sky, no bananas on board, look I see a mermaid nonsense for me. I’m an old tour captain. I use things like science and my brain to get through each trip.”
    â€œYou give me hope for the human race, Captain Dan.”
    He just laughs as the boat surges closer, cutting through the churn with great big belly flops. “You want a soda? Protein bar?”
    â€œI’m good.”
    â€œJust be happy we didn’t hit any of the weather.”
    â€œWeather?”
    â€œSome coming in over the next few days. Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of here before it hits.”
    Soon evening settles in. As if to spite Captain Dan’s insistenceon ignoring superstition, the sky has an eerie red cast to it. She tries to remember if it’s red sky at night or red sky at morning that sailors caution against—not that it really matters, because a red sky whenever carries its own sinister feel.
    The island looms closer, and Hannah starts to get a sense of what it looks like. Flat for the most part, as most atolls are—though she knows this isn’t entirely an atoll. It’s part coral, but also born in part from a geological shift. The very edges are reef, but the inner ring of the circular island is pushed and bundled like the dough in an uneven loaf of bread: puffing up at the center, but burned thin at the margins. From here she can see the rise in the earth—dark stone and ground riddled with trees and white dots. Birds, she thinks. The white dots are seabirds. Thousands of them.
    The boat moves alongside the edge of the ring-shaped island. Here the sea becomes calmer—and Hannah breathes a sigh of relief.
    Ray emerges from belowdecks. “There it is. Kolohe.”
    â€œYou come here often?”
    â€œYou hitting on me?” He rolls his eyes. “No, I don’t come here often. Couple times a year.”
    â€œWhat is it exactly that you do, Mr. Espinosa?”
    â€œLike I said, it’s Ray. I’m a liaison.”
    â€œWith whom do you liaise?”
    A cheeky smirk. “With whomever I please.” But then his face darkens. “Right now, you’re my job, Hannah Stander. To make sure you don’t mess things up here.”
    â€œI have no intention of ruining what you’re doing here.”
    â€œI hope that’s true. I’m sure our lawyers would be more than happy to eat you up the way you say those ants ate that dead man.”
    â€œHe was alive when they ate