Project Bermuda: The Journals of Alex Lee

Tuesday August 18th, 2082

It seems utterly impossible. Every ounce of logic in me is trying to argue that I am mistaken, that there exists an explanation that I have just not yet dreamt up. And yet, from everything my eyes can see, from every piece of information I am capable of gathering, there is only one possible explanation:

This little spot of land has, somehow, remained wholly undiscovered.

For the sake of brevity, I will attempt to summarize the happenings that led to my apparent stroke of unimaginable luck.

I set out from Ni’ihau approximately three weeks ago, with the intent to arrive at Cawthorn Institute on the northern bank of New Zealand in ten weeks’ time. In the never-out-of-fashion, first-world desire to know and understand every facet of the living world, the big think-tank of world governments officially green-lit a handful of immense grants in 2080 to the top global research facilities to undertake a new project that they so astutely dubbed, “Project Bermuda”: the attempted mapping and studying of every last yet-unknown ecosystem and organism of earth before the turn of the century.

Ludacris and ego-boosting, if you’d happened to care about my thoughts on the matter. What little remains of undiscovered…well, undiscovered anything really at this point in history…remains too far into the depths of the oceans yet for humans to breach. And 99% of life above those depths has been, regrettably, discovered. This whole stunt, in my humble opinion, was nothing more than a massive, global di nether-region pic by the world’s richest and smartest (or so they’d like to call themselves) to say to the masses under them, “look at us and our collective genius, finishing the works of Darwin, Linnaeus, Sir Richard Owen, and the like.” All without caring to recognize that much of this work was finished long before them by those who never sought glory from the pursuit of discovery.

And also without realizing (much like nether-region-pic sharers the world over) that their audience found this display of supposed grandiose not only unwanted, but disgusting–disgusting that such immense amounts of money were being funneled into such an unnecessary pursuit when the majority of world’s populations are facing mountains of crippling debt, empty dinner tables, and rationing of healthcare.

Unfounded, unnecessary, and (were it not in quite so poor taste) laughable.

Or so I had assumed.

But…

         Well. It seems I may have to rescind at least some of my earlier sentiments, seeing as I am now standing on the banks of an island that does not exist on any map or in any database at my disposal.

I can feel the sand beneath my feet, I can see the clouds above my head, I can hear the waves rolling in and out against the rocks. And yet I can’t quite believe it. An island on the world, our world, that has somehow been unmarked, unknown, and presumably untouched by man.

         Until now.

Thursday August 20^th, 2082

I realized this morning that, in my haste to set out after my last entry, I neglected to record who I am. To be honest, I just don’t see how it’s that important. I am not and should not be the focus here. But undoubtedly, after banking at New Zealand and sharing my discovery, I will have my name blasted far and wide whether I like it or not. So…fine.

My name is Alex Lee, and I am a second-year professor at my alma mater, the University of Hawai’i, where I received my B.S. in biology in 2076. How did a second-year professor end up on a 10-week ecological research expedition across a stretch of the Pacific? Easy – it was offered to me in exchange for funding my doctoral research. Months of hand-shaking and paper-signing later, and here we are.

So there you have it. My “how-hell-did-I-end-up-here” story in a very tiny nutshell. At some point I know I will be required to detail my background far more extensively, and I am sorry to whoever will have to slug through that pile of absolute wonder. But for now, I want to get on to the real reason you’re reading this.

The island is relatively small, likely only a day’s hike from one side to the other. Today marks my fourth day on its shores, and while I haven’t made the trek across yet, it is only because A.) I have been far too fascinated with the discoveries appearing on the beach and tree line so far, and B.) what appears to be most of the central part of the island is covered in thick trees and foliage, so heavy that from the few feet I have wandered into it, nearly all sunlight has been cut off. I imagine the inner, thickest portions are black as nightfall, and without knowing what may lay inside–unused to the scent of man and wrought to be disturbed–I dare not venture deeper.

But back to point A.

The first species of note that I happened to look upon were small, crab-like creatures that dotted the beach, with shelled exoskeletons and pincers, though appearing to have twelve legs as opposed to ten. I say “happened to look upon,” but really it’s more like I stumbled over them, as they all blend almost perfectly with the sand. One moment I was looking at an apparently blank stretch of beach, and the next I was falling to my hands and knees, only to be greeted with the sight of hundreds of them rising up from the shores, claws reaching forth on long, thick arms, all snapping my direction. They made little approach, but the sight was certainly enough to scare me further up the shore. But what most fascinated me was the apparent hive-mind; one felt the potential threat (my bumbling feet) and the collective sensed it, rising as one in defense.

Fascinating.

Most of the remaining way up the coast looked as one would expect it to. Shallow cliffs of rock form a barrier of sorts between the beach and the beginning of the forested section of the island, but with a bit of careful footwork, I was able to navigate over this without too much trouble.

The flora around the outer edge of the forest was where my curiosity truly peaked.

Based on appearance alone, the plant life looked mostly normal. Various spurge species, ferns, and the like rushed up to meet the rocky edge, mainly shades of green, but with dots of color on various flowering vegetation throughout. But again, it was my touch that brought out the disparities. No sooner had my boots crushed a small orange bud sprouting from one of the plants hidden deeper underfoot than several others nearby unfurled, their leaves stretching with a sound like pulling fabric. Before I knew exactly what I had done, something orange flew at me from the right, hitting my leg and sending an almost instant burst of burning pain through my calf. I stumbled backward, falling to the dirt just beyond the line of plant life, swatting at my pants. A hole the size of a lemon had burned through the leg, leaving the skin beneath red and inflamed and coursing with heat. I stood, ready to make a run for it, but it seemed that leaving the line of foliage had done the trick–the plants were furling back up, inner tubers (supposedly the mechanisms that had shot the goop at me) disappearing back into their hosts.

It was a long while before I dared place my foot again, though eventually I was able to surmise that the general greenery elicited no response. Only the colorful blooms, when brushed with anything more than gentle force, brought forth the attack of the others.

I know I should be more fearful of whatever substance I was hit with. A potentially harmful chemical from an unknown species of plant on an undiscovered island gave room for more than a handful of fears. But even as I examined the wound back at my boat, applying general burn cream and attempting to observe any visible dangers (of which there were none outside of the patch of angry skin, at least that I could see) I couldn’t help but feel…awe. Two unknown species (at least as far as my knowledge extends) in less than two hours, and both exhibiting a sort of collective consciousness that defends against perceived threats.

That, however, is where my biggest question lies:

What has caused this defensive evolution?

Friday, August 21, 2082

Okay.

Okay.

So…

Friday, August 21, 2082 (Later)

Three words. In four hours I managed to scribble out three words. Incredible what the brilliance of the mind is capable of.

Friday, August 21, 2082 (Later later)

I need to get this down.

Shit.

Okay.

So…

So. Yesterday evening, in the couple hours spanning before dusk to just before dark, I set out from my boat again, this time with some necessary equipment to catalog a few of my findings. I worked my way around the left side of the island, at first planning to keep my boat in sight at all times. But the further I went, the greater the pull of the unknown. So I quickly gathered up a few of the smaller, stray rocks around the bottom of the cliff edge, placing them every few yards behind me as I continued on, and stacking them into a sort of pyramid any time I crossed upward over the cliffs so that they would stand out against the rest of the rock. Great.

Part of me wanted to stay out past nightfall as well. The potential for observing any nocturnal species was tempting. But my better instinct took hold, and as the reds and pinks in the clouds began to purple, I turned back and began following my makeshift breadcrumbs.

And then…

Well.

I am quite honestly not sure how to describe what I presume happened other than the plain observation: I was attacked. Or rather, my boat was.

I’m not sure how long I stood frozen as I attempted to make sense of what I was seeing. My brain seemed stuck somewhere between fight and flight–there was no observable danger to fight, and flight would naturally lead me to my only refuge, which was currently sitting in its anchored location about fifty feet out from shore, but now bore rows of long, deep cuts down its side, and holes of jagged glass that had once been the cabin enclosure.

And my landing craft–a smaller boat with just enough room for me and any supplies–was upside down in the sand, chunks of steel gouged from the underbelly.

So.

So…

Saturday, August 22, 2082

It is early morning. The sky is still tinged with pink. I spent last night in a shallow cave made by an outcropping of rock jutting from the slope. I’m not doing great. Physically I’m fine, if not a bit sore from semi-sleeping on makeshift bedding on a stone floor. But mentally, panic has already set in. I’m not sure why I’m even bothering to write this, except that maybe it makes me feel like I’m still on a linear path, like it’s just another thing to record. Normalcy of some sort, I suppose you could call it. Without it all I’m left with is…

Well, to state it simply, I am temporarily stranded. My landing vessel is completely unusable. I had hoped that maybe the holes in the bottom would be shallow enough for a temporary patch job, but closer examination quickly ruled that out. I had to leave my supplies on land (which was how I happened across my current shelter) and swim out to my boat. The waves didn’t appear strong from shore, but it was enough that my arms were tired by the time I reached the port side.

I guess the good news first–my food and water supplies, while tossed and partially damaged, still remained mostly intact. A number of cans and bottles had been destroyed, but the rest simply lay scattered. So I suppose I can call that a win. What that means is that I will thankfully be able to keep myself alive for a time while I await rescue, which is all I can currently do–wait.

Because besides my cabin’s glass and sizeable chunks of my hull and deck, my console is also destroyed, and my PLB missing. Whether fallen through a hole in the deck into the bowels of the boat itself or lost overboard during the ransacking, I couldn’t say. Either way, I couldn’t locate it in the jumble of glass, wires, and framing that was once my cabin.

So my emergency distress signal, to be used only in situations where the radio is compromised (which given by the fact that is in now in approximately five hundred pieces, I am going to say it is decently compromised) is gone. So we fall back to the oldest form of communication–verbal.

Every day at noon, I am to check in with my contacts at both the Ni’ihau coast and the Cawthron Institute. If I do not, contact with me will be attempted again in two hours. If no response is given within an additional two hours, a search and rescue team will be sent out. Since, as I stated, it is early morning, I will not be missed for several more hours. Four hours after being missed, I should, presumably, have bodies out looking for me. This should all be comforting. I will be found and carted home, along with evidence of my discovery. I know this.

And yet I slept worse than I have my entire life last night, eyes constantly snapping open, my watch showing barely any movement in the minutes between each regression, because in the forefront of my mind all I can process is that something or someone is on this island with me.

Saturday, August 22, 2082 (Later)

I picked at a can of food I brought with me, then buried the trash near my ending point from yesterday, far along the left side of the island. I don’t want anything trailing the smell back to me.

I sipped at the water, but am going to try and make that last as long as possible. I should be out of here within a week at most, but even still…

Saturday, August 22, 2082 (Later later)

Night has nearly fallen again, and I haven’t left the cave. My mind is a hornet’s nest, constantly buzzing, filling my every second of thought with questions and what-ifs. Something is out there, something with the capability to completely destroy my boat, and now it knows I am here too. Would the boat have been a better place to hole up? If it had already attacked there, would it presume I would not go back, that its work there was done? Or would it return to the only place it would reasonably associate with me? Is this mysterious “it” even capable of that kind of deductive thinking? What even could “it” be? Presumably it came from the forest, unless it happened to make its home on the opposite side of the island. Is any of it even worth ruminating on? Why in the ever-loving f*** didn’t I grab my single defensive weapon–a pistol–from the boat? Is it worth the risk to swim back out? Will it even be there?

Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing…

I’m so scared of the night. I don’t want it to get dark.

Either Saturday or Sunday, I don’t know

Something has been making noise above and behind me, toward the forest. It sounds like footfalls. I’m scared of the sound of my pen on the paper is going to attract it, so I’m trying to write as lightly as I can. Please God, please…

PLEASE GOD.

its getting clser and idk what to do i shoulddve went to the boat i should’ve grabed the gun the buzzing is so loud

         i never shouldve come here, shit weve never found shoulda stayed not found gd it

please let me out of here i just wanna go home please please PLEASE

i just wanna go home

i just wanna go home

i just wanna go home