“Every instrument we use on this island to contact the mainland is dead. The radio system. The satellite internet. It’s all broken.” I stare at him. There is a prickling sensation on the back of my neck. “What the fuck are you talking about? How is that possible?” He spells it out. “They’ve been broken.” “By who?” “I don’t know.” The strangest sensation touches the back of my neck and I look behind me in the small space, almost, for a second, expecting someone else to be in here with us. But we are alone, and all the hairs on my arms are standing on end.
