Chapter 5
chapter
five
DAISY
The diner breakfast was weird.
Not bad-weird. Just weird in the specific way it feels jarring when something is too natural too fast.
I’ve had this happen before with random people I’ve interviewed. Conversation flows so naturally that there’s an unspoken bond, even if you can’t name it.
I’m trying very hard not to think about it as I crouch in my bunk two hours later, aggressively shoving camera batteries into a backpack like I can organize my way out of the feeling.
Because at the end of the day, nothing happened.
We ate eggs.
We drank coffee.
I accidentally shared toast with a man who explores unsolved mysteries for a living.
That should not feel intimate.
And yet.
My phone buzzes beside me before I can spiral any further. I zip the backpack closed as I lean over to check my notifications.
Marissa
Alive?
I snort softly and type back.
Me
Debatable. Desert still hasn’t claimed me, though.
The typing bubble appears right away.
Marissa
Got a minute to talk?
I pause. Around me, the Mystery Machine hums with movement as we all prep for today’s mission.
Jax is outside calibrating drone equipment while blasting music loud enough to shake the walls.
Taylor’s on the couch arguing with Miles about whether “aura” should count as navigational input.
Maya’s somehow managing all of it without visibly losing her mind.
And me? I’m just trying to do my first hike with this crew. I need a distraction and a connection to my reality. Immediately.
I take my backpack with me as I step outside, walking away from Jax’s music, and bring up Marissa’s number. She answers, and I hear keyboard clicking in the background on her end before she even speaks. “Okay, real talk. How’s it going?”
“You know that feeling,” I say slowly, “when you accidentally walk into a friend group that’s been bonded through shared trauma and inside jokes for years?”
Marissa laughs immediately. “Oh no.”
“Yeah. That.”
“Aw, Daisy.”
“No, it’s bizarre,” I insist, lowering my voice further as Maya walks past. “They all move around each other like… I don’t know. Like they’ve built a whole ecosystem out here.”
“And?”
“And I feel like an invasive species.”
Marissa considers this. “That’s got to be good for the show, right?”
“Or terrible for the show.”
“You’re there to disrupt things.”
“I think I already did.” I pause, setting my stuff down. “One of them made fun of me for being from LA by acting all surprised that I didn’t order avocado toast.”
“That's funny.”
“It was,” I mutter, annoyed.
I hear her typing stop on the other end.
Then her tone shifts almost imperceptibly, but I pick up on it right away.
“Hey,” she says. “You know you got this, right?”
Something in my stomach tightens. Marissa’s faith in me clashes with my hesitations around making this too much of a joke.
“I do.” I think about the backpack sitting by my feet, filled with a mess of cords and batteries and new, unfamiliar equipment I still barely know how to use.
I continue: “There’s definitely something here, but I can’t tell if it’s…
enough. Like, enough to be fresh and cool and…
” I stop talking because I don’t know how to voice all the doubts floating in my head without imploding.
I built half my career telling new podcasters to stay fresh or get replaced.
And now I’m on the wrong side of the conversation. The pressure is real.
“Be honest with me,” I say before I can stop myself. “Do you think this is a stupid boondoggle?”
Marissa laughs, then goes quiet again.
Long enough that I know she’s being deliberate with her answer.
“I think,” she says slowly, “We need to hear what the first episode sounds like. And I know it’s going to be amazing.”
Something sinks low in my stomach. Marissa has an aggressive level of belief in me even when I don’t deserve it. Even when I’m spiraling or doubting or one bad interview away from setting my entire brand on fire.
If even she isn’t sure—
“Daisy,” she says gently. “Hey.”
“I’m here.”
“You don’t have to figure it all out on day one.”
I look out toward the Machine again.
At Miles stepping outside with Taylor, still mid-explanation, gesturing at a topographic map like his life depends on it.
At the way the rest of them instinctively orbit each other.
At this whole strange little world I still can’t decide if I’m exposing or embracing.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I know.”
“Do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Don’t try to produce it while you’re living it.”
Damn. That hits.
“You know me too well,” I mutter.
“That’s literally my job.” I can hear her smile again now. “Now go chase Bigfoot or whatever.”
“Cryptids,” Miles corrects from behind me.
I freeze. I had no idea he was so close by—probably testing some thermal equipment.
Marissa bursts out laughing through the phone.
“Oh my God,” she wheezes. “Is that Miles? He heard that?”
“He hears everything,” I hiss.
“I already love him.”
“I absolutely do not.”
“Mm-hmm,” Marissa giggles.
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Love you!”
“Bye.”
I end the call before she can say anything else embarrassing and stare at my phone for a second longer than necessary.
Then I shove the insecurity down where it belongs and turn to walk towards the group.
Miles looks up from his tablet.
“You still coming out with us?” he asks.
I narrow my eyes. “You say that like you’re hoping I’ll back out.”
“I say it because you’ve never done this before.” His eyes flick down to the bag. “Why is it so large?”
“I packed supplies.”
“You packed what looks like a week’s worth of supplies.”
“You don’t know what I packed,” I say, trying to cover the actual nerves surfacing.
“You’re leaning sideways,” Miles observes.
“I like being prepared.”
“Oh, so now preparedness matters?” He smiles.
“That’s different,” I push back.
“How?”
“Because my backpack isn’t laminated.”
He laughs. Warm and easy and unguarded for half a second.
And stupidly, my stomach flips. Unacceptable.
I breeze past him toward the 4Runner.
The desert sun hits like an oven, but we’re headed up to a cooler elevation, so I have a flannel tied around my waist for later.
Taylor’s loading gear into the trunk while Jax launches a drone overhead, focused on maintaining line of sight while also making sure she’s loading his equipment right.
I climb into the backseat while they bicker and everyone else loads up around me.
Insecurity follows me instead of curiosity.
I think we need to hear what the first episode sounds like.
The words loop in my head as we drive. Marissa never says things like that lightly. Ever. She believes in me with her whole ass. If even she’s unsure…
I shove the thoughts down hard. Focus on the work. That’s what I do best.
By the time we reach the remote canyon trailhead and begin our mission, podcast mode is engaged and I’m Daisy Bennett, host extraordinaire.
Observe. Analyze. Control the narrative before it controls you.
"Jesus Christ," I mutter, catching my balance for the third time in five minutes. Of course the terrain is already trying to kill me.
Ahead of me, Taylor scales uneven terrain like a mountain goat two Red Bulls deep.
Miles glances back. “You okay?”
“I’m fantastic,” I lie, wiping sweat off my upper lip. “Love nature. Huge fan of suffering.”
“You’re stepping wrong.”
I glare at him. “Excuse me?”
“You’re fighting the terrain instead of moving with it.”
“That sounded incredibly spiritual for someone who owns fourteen satellite trackers.”
“It’s physics.”
“It sounded like a yoga instructor.”
I hear Taylor giggle five paces ahead.
I adjust my footing with false confidence. “I know how to hike.”
He just shrugs and keeps walking.
This is going well.
The farther we move into the canyon system, the quieter everything gets. Not silent. Just distant.
Wind snakes through the rock formations in low whistles while boots crunch over dirt and gravel. I’m surprised at how the land feels here. It’s way rougher than I imagined—juniper and pines tower overhead, while small canyons create depth and shadows. There are plenty of places to hide here.
Jax sends the drone overhead, its faint buzzing disappearing between the cliffs.
“This area lines up with three separate vocalization reports,” Miles says, slipping straight back into work mode. “All within a five-mile radius.”
“Okay, you guys know I’m new to all this, but do you ever hear yourselves?” I ask. “You sound insane.”
“Yes,” Maya intones. “Every day.”
Taylor points at me. “You’re still using a logical voice. You gotta let the desert humble you first.”
"Much like my exes, the desert can go fuck itself." I trip, my new hiking boots already bursting newly formed blisters.
Taylor loses it, only stopping when she sees Miles crouch suddenly near a cluster of trees ahead.
“Hold up,” his hand held out.
Everyone stops on command.
I almost walk into Maya’s backpack, trying to catch myself.
Miles studies the ground with a slow, precise scan.
“What?” Jax murmurs.
“Possible structure.”
I stare. At first, I don’t see anything. Then branches contorted together. Twisted. Like what I saw in the Bigfoot documentary.
“Oh, come on,” I say. “That could just be from wind.”
Miles glances back at me, focused.
“Could be,” he says. “But wind break patterns don’t usually rotate inward like this.”
Taylor crouches beside him, eyes wide. “That’s fresh too.”
“How can you tell?” I ask, quieter now.
“The color,” Miles says. “Interior wood’s still light.”
I fold my arms skeptically. “Or a deer ran through here.”
“Deer don’t twist branches.”
“You don’t know what ambitious deer are capable of.”
Jax laughs under his breath while filming.
And that laugh. This—this is where I feel myself settling back into familiar ground. Observation. Distance. Narrative. Laughs and reactions.
I pull out my recorder.
“Current field status,” I murmur into it. “The team has stopped to investigate what appears to be highly suspicious sticks.”
Miles points at me without looking up. “That’s editorializing.”
“It’s documenting.”
“It’s sarcastic documenting.”
“Can’t help that I’m funny.”
He heaves a heavy sigh.
And then, a sound echoes somewhere deeper in the canyon.
A howl or cry of sorts. Low. Sharp. Wrong.
Every person in the group freezes.
The sound comes again.
Not loud.
But strange enough that my skin prickles with unease.
It’s hard to place exactly what it is.
Not quite animal. Not quite human.
Something in between.
The air changes around us.
I feel it before I understand it.
Taylor slowly straightens.
Jax lowers the drone controller.
Even Maya looks unsettled.
Miles goes completely still. Every trace of easy humor disappears from his face.
“What was that?” I whisper.
No one answers.
Because no one knows for sure.
The canyon falls silent afterward in this horrible, heavy way that makes me aware of how alone we actually are out here.
My pulse kicks hard against my ribs.
Another crack echoes somewhere in the distance.
Closer this time.
I laugh nervously before I can stop myself. “Okay, nope. Nope. Absolutely not.”
But nobody else is laughing.
Miles lifts one hand to signal silence, eyes scanning the canyon walls. Focused. Alert. He makes a sign with his hand that the others clearly understand. I’m left clueless.
“I wasn’t in Panama, Adler. What the fuck does that mean?”
He shakes his head—not smiling—and waves for me to follow him.
Taylor looks psyched. Jax is frantically ensuring his gear captures the audio. Maya has the same determined look as usual, albeit with a bit more satisfaction. They all know this is their hard work paying off.
What I know is something is lurking in the shadows, and I’m just a girl.
My mind races, questioning every documentary I’ve seen and how I wrote it off as editing.
And for the first time since arriving—for the first time since this whole ridiculous assignment started—something cold slips down my spine.
Because suddenly this no longer feels like fluffy editorial content.
It feels like standing at the edge of something uncharted.