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Jurassic Park Dawn of Retribution Stage Eighteen
By JPJunkee+Yvonne
EIGHTEENTH STAGE
"In taking revenge, a man is but even with his enemy; but in passing it over, he is superior."
-- Sir Francis Bacon --
Larson rolled on the ground, scooping up the small plastic detonator in his hands as one of the pteras swooped down at him. He quickly got back to his feet and shot upwards at the creature, missing each time.
Seconds ago, there had been only two pteras. Now, there were four and he could see more in the near distance. The humans had tried to seek shelter by running back toward the cave, but the pteras seemed to understand that tactic, cutting them off and forcing them further and further away. He had to admire the animals, whose attacks seemed so coordinated and in sync.
The thundering blasts of Griffin's rifle reverberated through the jungle surroundings as he fired off round after round. Larson backpedaled swiftly, his large pistol held high as he discharged bullets at the flying hellions above them.
The two closest pteras let out loud echoing screeches as they flew skyward, then flipped over and started another dive at their human prey.
Griffin and Larson got on their knees, steadying for better shots as the pteras descended towards them. Once the animals were in range again, they released a hail of bullets upon the creatures.
Blood spurted from the torso of one of the pteras. It screeched before falling from the sky and landing dead on the ground. The second ptera looked at the crumpled wings of its counterpart. Suddenly, bullets ripped through its wings, and it too fell from the sky.
Larson smiled slightly, until he saw the last two pteras fly into view. Again, he and Griffin fired upwards.
To Larson's dismay, most of his shots never found their target. He risked a hasty glance at Griffin. Bullet shells flew to the ground one after another as Griffin shot at the flying beasts. When Larson looked back at his attacker, it was already bearing down on him. Instantly, he dropped from his crouch stance, and put himself in a position on his stomach.
Pressing the side of his face against the ground, Larson tried to remain as flat and level to the soil as possible. He heard the sound of the rapidly descending ptera above his head, and braced for any attack. With a rush of wind, the animal passed over him, but it held the talons on its legs low, raking them over his exposed back. Larson reared his head up as he shouted from the unbelievable pain.
From out of the corner of his eye, he saw the second ptera making its dive at Griffin. Larson's strong willed partner continued to fire from his crouch posture, swearing at the winged creature in defiance.
Larson screamed as loud as he could, "Get down!"
The scream broke Griffin's concentration, causing him to look at Larson at the worse possible time. In that moment, the ptera glided down and used its legs to grasp Griffin by the shoulders, picking him up off the ground.
Larson watched in awe, as Griffin was then flown straight up. The unearthly cries of the ptera were drowned out by Griffin's own screams for help.
Larson pulled his pistol up again and took aim at the retreating ptera. Being careful not to hit Griffin, he let out a fusillade of bullets. Another smile crept across his face as he saw two large round holes tear through one of the skin membranes, causing the animal to shriek in agony. The ptera's flight suffered a little, as it began to flutter down slightly.
Griffin fought back the pain in his bleeding shoulders as he positioned his rifle, striking the barrel against the stomach of the soaring monster. Then without a moment's hesitation, he pulled off a round. At point blank range, the high powered rifle blew a colossal hole in the animal's stomach. Blood and other organs splattered down onto Griffin's head as the animal's wings stopped and its legs went limp.
Larson watched with apprehension as Griffin and the dead ptera plummeted down to earth. Simultaneously, the two bodies hit the dirt with a loud thud.
Wincing from the wounds on his back, Larson hurried as fast as he could over to where Griffin had fallen. He saw his blood-soaked colleague standing up slowly, brushing off a long pink coil of intestine from his shoulder.
"Are you okay?" Larson shouted as he came closer to him.
Griffin panted as he slowly raised his head to look at him. A devilish grin graced his lips, but the grin was quickly abolished, replaced by a look of alarm.
Larson never heard the other ptera as it swooped down and seized him by his shoulders. He looked at Griffin with wide eyes of fear as he saw the earth slipping away from him. He now understood the pain in his shoulder to be the long curved talons sinking into his skin. All the trees faded into the bright shine of the sun as he flew higher and higher.
He thought for a moment about killing the animal just like Griffin had, but he knew that he was too high now, and that the fall may be the death of him.
Then, he felt the worst pain he had ever felt in his life, as the talons dug in deeper. Next, the individual toes began to separate from each other, tearing his skin where the talons had stabbed in. He never knew there was such a pain in the world. He felt his head growing heavy, everything beginning to blur, as he began slipping into unconsciousness. But, right before he could, the talons pulled out of his shoulders, and he felt his limp body plunging down to the ground.
He fell head over heels, tumbling and twisting in the air as he flew downwards. The wind tugged at his clothes and hair. It stung his eyes to keep them open, but the sight of watching the earth disappear into sky and then the earth rushing back into vision over and over again was too awe-inspiring to look away from.
The thought occurred to him that he probably would not survive this fall. Grant and Malcolm were still alive. His mission was a failure. He would perish before knowing about their deaths. The vision of poor, dying Ellie Degler flashed into his mind. Perhaps it had not been a total loss, after all. He took in a deep breath, and smiled.
Then he hit the ground.
He landed feet first, and with a sickening snap, he felt his legs and ankles giving way to the force of his body landing.
He remained there, in the position he had landed in, on his knees with his left foot twisted at a disgusting angle, his arms slumped at his sides, and his chin on his chest as his face stared at the ground. Blood oozed from the wounds in his shoulders.
With a moan, his eyes began to open.
He felt no pain at all and wondered if perhaps he had died. It took a moment for him to realize that he had in fact survived the fall.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew death wouldn't come quite so easily for him.
Why had he fallen from the clutch of the ptera? He wondered if Griffin had killed the bird, just as he had killed the one that attacked him. He wondered if perhaps the creature was clumsy, and he was too heavy for it to carry, and thus it had dropped him by accident.
A gust of hot air, dust and other random debris flew into his face. Slowly, he looked up from the ground.
He was at the top of a hill. There were only a few scattered trees here, surrounded by rock and dirt. He looked down the side of the hill and saw Griffin's bloody figure walking towards him in the distance. But that was not what concerned him. What concerned him was not knowing how the strong gust of wind had been created.
His answer was quickly answered when the hovering ptera slowly descended to the ground, twenty feet in front of him.
It had not been injured, it had not been clumsy. It had dropped him on purpose, to incapacitate him, and allow it to carry out its attack with less need for caution.
The ptera stood perched on its wings, much like a bat would. It stood inert, just studying its injured prey. Larson looked at the wild, fearsome eyes of the winged beast. They simply stared at each other, for what seemed like an eternity.
Then Larson let out a sigh and said in a taunting tone of voice, "That which does not kill me, makes me stronger."
The ptera let out a long cry, as it began to charge at him. Larson watched as the animal advanced towards him using its wings like arms, its small back legs kicking it forward. Its long beak spread open as it neared its prey.
Larson tried to stand then, and run. A sudden wave of pain coursed through his broken left leg and ankle, straight up his nervous system and into his brain. The pain brought a flush red color to his face as he clenched his mouth shut to stop himself from screaming.
He resorted to using his pistol. He pulled the firearm from its holster at his side, and held it out in front of him as he calculated his shot.
The ptera was five feet away now. A loud shriek escaped its long mouth.
The loud bang of the gun drowned out all other sound. Larson heard and saw nothing but the bullet as it raced towards the open maw of the ptera. The bullet connected with flesh and tissue on the inside of the mouth. Then, with a crack, it broke out the back of the ptera's skull. Instantly the animal collapsed on the ground, dead.
Blood bubbled out of its throat and created a puddle underneath its skull.
Larson's eyes were wide with terror. Adrenaline sped through his veins. He stared at the dead body of his assailant with a sense of admiration and anxiety.
He heard the sound of rocks being kicked around as something ran towards him from the right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something appear at the top of the hill. He trained his firearm at the new visitor.
"Hey, put the gun down."
Larson's vision came back, and his sight became less blurred. He found Griffin in the line of fire. Griffin carried no rifle now, Larson assumed he had lost it during his fall. Larson did not lower his weapon.
"You're bleeding," Larson said, still aiming his pistol at Griffin's blood-covered body.
"So are you," Griffin said grimly.
"You've been infected by the disease."
"What?"
Larson narrowed his eyes, then pulled the trigger.
A puff of blood splattered out of Griffin's chest. He stared at the pulpy wound as blood slowly trickled down his stomach. He looked back up at Larson and said in disbelief, "You shot me."
"I meant to kill you," Larson said, pulling the trigger again. This time there was no loud sound of gunfire, but instead, a quiet click. Concern flooded over Larson's face, and he pulled the trigger again, and again, and again. He shot Griffin a furious look, then he began to search frantically for a spare clip.
Standing there, trying to keep his balance, Griffin was astounded that Larson would resort to shooting him. The surprise quickly wore off, though, as he began to feel more hatred than ever before toward a human being. He gave a war cry and ran at Larson.
Larson found more ammo, and shoved the replacement clip into the pistol. But before he could ever take aim, Griffin was upon him. Griffin grunted as he kicked the gun out of his hands, sending it hurling out of both their reaches. Larson watched in panic as the gun flew away from him, then he looked back up at Griffin standing over him, just in time to see the clenched fist coming down at his face.
Griffin's fist connected with his nose, shattering it into a crunched mess of blood, skin, and cartilage. Larson fell to his left, the side of his skull hitting the rocky ground of the hill. Turning himself on his back, he looked up at Griffin.
Griffin's attack was unrelenting as he released a barrage of furious kicks to Larson's midsection. Larson cried and grunted with every hit he took. Saliva dripped from Griffin's clenched teeth as he continued to pummel Larson. Shifting his body, Griffin kicked out with his shin at the other man's ribs.
With a shout, Larson reached out his hands and grabbed both sides of one of Griffin's feet before he could finish his kick. Using nearly all of the remaining strength in his arms, he twisted his foot to the side. Larson heard a satisfying snapping sound from his ankle as the man toppled over onto the ground.
Griffin was only down for but a moment, though. And before Larson was able to crawl away, Griffin had limped over to him, and snared Larson's head with both his hands. Griffin got down on the ground with Larson, and literally tried to crush Larson's skull with his bare hands. With the palm of his hands on the temples of both sides of Larson's head, and both thumbs pressed into his eye sockets, Griffin began to add pressure.
Larson screamed and flailed his arms wildly as he felt his skull being pulverized within Griffin's clutches. Then, the screaming and resistance abruptly came to an end, and Larson's body went limp.
Griffin released Larson's head and got back to his feet. Putting his hands on his knees, he breathed deep, trying to catch his breath.
In between his ragged gasps for breath, he said, "Nice knowing you, Brock. I always liked you." He closed his eyes as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
"Really?"
Looking down again, Griffin saw Larson staring up at him.
"I've always hated you," Larson said.
Griffin tried to reach out for his throat, but Larson was faster. Griffin saw a glint of silver in Larson's hand, then Larson punched him in the stomach.
Griffin staggered backwards, then regained his footing, and was about to grab for Larson again, when he coughed. The thick blood came trickling out the side of his mouth. His face went pale as he gazed down at his stomach, and at the large hunting knife lodged into his skin. Blood so dark it could be mistaken as being black gushed from the wound. Griffin's eyes went wide and he faltered to the side, falling on his back.
"Looks like your hemorrhaging, my friend."
Griffin could barely breath, for the blood that made its way up into his throat. He coughed again, wiped the blood from his face, sluggishly getting to an upright position.
"Might have cut into the back of the intestine, the liver or the spleen. Maybe a blood vessel. The point is, unless you get some medical attention in the next half hour, you will have bled to death. Slowly, ever so slowly, the world around you will begin to go black."
Griffin finally made it to his feet, breathing raggedly, holding his stomach. He didn't realize just how close to the edge of the hill he had become.
"This is one of those cases where every second counts. Unfortunately for you, there's no one out here that gives a shit," Larson said, taunting him so he wouldn't notice how close to immediate death he was.
Having trouble trying to stay standing, Griffin stumbled slightly, falling back to his knees.
At that moment, Larson reached out and pulled the knife swiftly out of his stomach, causing Griffin to murmur in surprise, his voice failing him.
"Oh, no, I shouldn't have done that. Probably caused even more damage," Larson teased, looking at the gore on the knife in his hands. "What a way to go. It's one of the most painful ways to die, besides suffocation, or having your skull crushed in by the hands of a gorilla."
Still on his knees, Griffin managed to take a swing at him in anger, as he gripped his abdomen tightly.
Larson only laughed, as he easily dodged the substandard attack. "Aren't we edgy?"
Griffin opened his mouth and closed his eyes, trying different ways to transfer the pain. Nothing was working.
"Well, this was fun, but I've grown a little tired of it now," Larson said. "Good-bye, Griffin."
Before Griffin could do or say anything more, Larson reached out and pushed him backwards, his movement causing Griffin to fall over the side of the hill, tumbling down rock and stone. He rolled over the cliff, and into the lagoon below with a loud crash.
The action left Larson on his side, laying in the dirt. He paused for a moment, contemplating his next move. Then he cautiously got back on his knees, placing the knife back into the sheath.
He heard the sound of something approaching from the bottom of the hill. Was it Griffin? Or was it some dinosaur? He reached into his left pants pocket, and fingered the small plastic device, but he did not feel compelled to end it all yet. Not yet.
"Oh, so exciting," Larson said to himself as he awaited the arrival of whatever was making its way up the hill.
* * *
Adam Kaje stepped forward and tripped over the root of a tree. He cursed at himself for not seeing it, as he stood up and shook his head.
That was the fifth thing he had tripped over. He wasn't seeing a lot of stuff. Everything was so blurry; it was like he was in a damn fog on the banks of Boston after a big storm.
Oh, how he wished he could be in Boston now. He had always claimed hating his hometown, saying that it was a boring place, and that no person there knew anything about the English language.
But Boston was his home, and he loved the damn place.
He was nowhere near Boston anymore. And he would probably never see it again, either.
Kaje began to hum softly to himself, not caring about making unnecessary noise, anymore. He knew that any precaution he might take would be folly.
He wondered how Grant and the others were doing. Sure he acted like he hated Grant, but in all respects, the man had always been his idol, even his teacher at one time. But, Kaje was too proud to admit it. He was too arrogant to have just been a colleague of Grant's and instead he had to be Grant's competition. He regretted this now. He wished he could somehow make it right.
But no one ever answered his wishes.
This whole expedition was something he should have never agreed upon. But Aldez and his men had insisted that he come along. "You were a great help on the past mission," they had said. And of course after hearing that, he had to accept the offer. It would be great for your career. Just think, Adam Kaje helps save Isla Sorna. Thinking back, he almost laughed out loud. He had been so blind. So naive.
But none of the past mattered now.
Because here he was in, quite possibly, the most dangerous place in the entire world. And, he was infected with an unknown disease.
Yes, there was a cure. But of course he didn't have it with him.
He was going to die.
And even as much as it hurt him inside to think that he would not even live long enough to see the sun set from his office window again, he felt at peace. He felt . . . alive. He had no worries. He had no fears.
He was dying and he accepted it. For there really was nothing he could do to stop it.
Kaje stopped walking and looked up at the tree canopy above. He then closed his eyes and just began to smell the air. As he breathed in, he felt the sensation of something traveling up one of his nostrils.
He opened his eyes in surprise, touching his finger to his nose. When he brought his hand back, there was a large splotch of dark blood on his fingers.
He looked at the blood in utter dismay. He gave a long sigh, then closed his eyes again.
He heard the bushes behind him shake.
What now?
Quickly, he spun around, looking toward the bushes. They had stopped shaking. He didn't dare breathe.
He heard an odd clicking sound, like something that a bird would make. But, he knew better. Kaje took in a deep breath, then spun around again, darting away from the bush.
Behind him, he heard the bush's branches snapping as something broke through it in pursuit.
He ran as fast as he could, jumping over the fallen trees and swerving to avoid the large rocks that were in his way. Behind him, he heard an animal running, and making odd grunting sounds as it gave chase.
Then to his left, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted another dinosaur. He looked very quickly at the animal and was not all that surprised to see that it was a velociraptor. The raptor had its eyes fixed on him.
The raptor to his left was running parallel with him, easily keeping pace. Then, without warning, the raptor took to the air with a screech and jumped directly at Kaje.
Kaje acted quickly and ducked to avoid the long talons coming directly for his face. The raptor sailed clean over his head, colliding head-on with a tree.
He looked back and saw the other raptor run past its fallen partner and continue the chase.
Kaje yelled in defiance as he stopped and picked up a large stick and held it above his head.
The raptor had not expected this, so it stopped running, standing still and studying Kaje. It then began to walk around him in circles, sizing up its prey.
Kaje panted and tried to keep his vision stable as he readied himself for combat. He thought about running again, but he knew he'd be caught for sure.
The raptor stared at him and let out a fearsome roar. In return, Kaje roared back, indifferent to looking foolish. The raptor tilted its head to the side in confusion, and probably even fascination.
Then, the raptor slowly stepped forward, so he raised the stick even higher. He could feel his weak muscles tensing. The raptor spread its arms to the side and let out a screech.
It was at that moment, that Kaje leapt forward and swung the large stick into the raptor's head. There was a sickening thud, and the raptor fell on its side. It looked up at him dazed, and he brought the stick down on its head again.
Again and again and again he hit the wretched creature. Until finally the stick broke in his hands, and the raptor was left moaning on the ground. Kaje looked at how the stick had broken. It had shattered in the middle, and what remained looked like a dagger or a stake. He gripped the sharp remains of the stick, and raised it above his head.
With all of his remaining strength, he jabbed the stake down and through the eye of the raptor. The raptor twitched in pain and screamed in horrible agony, but it never stood up.
After a moment, it stopped moving. He allowed himself a victorious smile as he stared down at his fallen enemy. Taking a deep breath, he stepped away from the animal and slowly turned around.
The other raptor stood directly before him. It did not move, nor did it make a sound. It stared directly into his eyes.
He watched as the raptor looked past him and looked down at the dead raptor on the ground. Then, it looked back to him and roared, its head projecting forward in its own form of defiance. Saliva splattered over Kaje's face.
In one fluid motion, the raptor jumped straight up and swung its body around slashing one of the killer claws across Kaje's stomach in the process.
His mouth fell open from the incredible pain, as he fell to his knees. He looked down at his stomach and was stricken with terror to see his intestines slowly flowing out of the large gash. He clutched his own viscera helplessly trying to put it back where it once was.
Then he felt the pressure against his neck as the raptor began to press its nose up against him and take in his scent. From there, the raptor moved its head up, sniffing his sweaty hair. Kaje could feel the jaws parting as it opened and revealed its teeth.
He felt no pain when the raptor gripped his skull and began to pull him away. Either the animal was being very gentle, or he simply couldn't register pain anymore.
* * *
Everything seemed to move in slow motion, from the sound of the sticks and stones crunching from beneath his feet to the faint breeze of wind that swept over his face. Every single movement seemed unnaturally sluggish and slow. One foot at a time, Grant walked up the hill towards Larson. He could hear the man grunting and moaning as he was apparently going through much pain. But the pain that Larson might have been suffering from was diminutive compared to the pain and anguish that plagued Grant's heart and mind right now.
He reached the top of the hill, now standing at the edge of the small plateau. He saw Larson on his knees a short distance away. Looking at his clothing, he saw that it was stained with fresh blood and torn in many places, indicating some deep battle wounds. Larson's head was hung low, and he looked at the ground with his arms under him to help stay upright. Saliva dripped from his mouth, dancing in the wind. Slowly, his head rose, his eyes meeting Grant's own.
A wicked smile came upon Larson's face. "I can see it in your eyes," he said, his voice had a sick inhuman tone to it. "Poor Dr. Sattler is no longer with us, is she?"
Grant's vision began to blur, and the world around him took on a crimson red color. He thought about holding Ellie in his arms, as she took her last breath of air, and then the stillness that took over her body. Her closed eyes would never again open to view the world. Her hand would never again caress his face. Their hearts had once been conjoined, but now her heart would never again take another beat. Ellie was the love of his life, and the mother of his son. And the man in front of him was solely responsible for her passing.
Hatred rapidly growing, Grant made his uninjured hand into a fist and walked towards Larson.
Larson sat up as straight as he could, extending his arms at his sides. His leg was too badly damaged for him to stand on his own. His chin bobbed slightly from the fatigue in his body, and he said in a long droll of slurred words, "Do what you will with me, Dr. Grant. Show no mercy."
Grant reached out with one hand and grabbed Larson's shirt collar, then quickly asserted his anger by punching Larson in the eye. The man fell from his crouched position, and landed on his back. Before Larson could move again, Grant was upon him. Using his knees to pin Larson's arms to the ground, he wrapped his hands around the man's throat and began to strangle him.
Larson coughed and struggled to get out of Grant's grasp but he couldn't manage it in his condition. The scientist was too strong and too angry.
Grant lowered his face directly in front of Larson's and growled, "You let her die-"
Larson snapped his own neck froward and head-butted him in the nose as soon as Grant's face was close enough, not allowing him to finish his words. Grant shot backwards, freeing Larson's arms, but since he was still partially sitting on his midsection, Larson punched him in the stomach. He followed through with a swift jab to Grant's chin, knocking him off of him and rolling onto the ground.
Larson turned himself over, and crawled over to Grant, trying his best not to use his injured leg. He winced each time he progressed an inch towards his opponent, every joint and body part seeming to have its own distinctive pain that made it special and incapable of ignoring. He reached Grant's side as soon as the man was beginning to sit up, rubbing his bruised and bloody mouth.
Before Grant even looked in his direction, Larson delivered a blow to his forehead with his elbow. Grant's head snapped backwards and again he slumped, rolling onto his stomach. Larson smiled again, spitting more saliva onto the ground, then crawled closer to Grant. He grabbed his right wrist, and then with all the might in his arms, twisted Grant's arm around to his back and then towards his neck. There was a revolting pop, as the arm was dislocated from its shoulder socket, causing Grant to scream out in agony.
Grant's limp arm still in his hands, Larson leaned in closer and whispered into his ear, "I offered you vengeance, and you attacked me the cowardly way. Pinning me down, leaving me defenseless. There was no decency in your attack, no motivation." He paused for a moment, then said, "Poor Ellie would have been ashamed of you, Dr. Grant."
It made Grant feel sick to even hear Ellie's name spoken by Larson's foul and twisted tongue. Grimacing from the pain in his shoulder, and driven by his overwhelming grief, Grant spun around and used his free arm to backhand Larson in the face. The man grunted and fell backwards, allowing Grant to stand.
The pain in his shoulder was nearly unbearable, and could only be compared to the pain the crowbar had created in his hand. It caused his mind to drift and wander, he wondered if Ellie was in much pain before she passed away. He could only hope that she would have been lucky enough to feel nothing at all before the darkness took her.
Grant staggered over to a thick tree. He fixated on it for a moment, contemplating his options, as he tried to rotate his shoulder. It was definitely out and the minuscule movements were enough to make him want to shout in pain as loud as he could. And he did just that. With a scream, he rammed his shoulder and arm into the side of the tree. The pain was excruciating, but he knew that the arm was still dislocated. He looked back at Larson, who was panting and breathing hard as he tried to use a large rock to help him to his knees. Looking at the tree again, Grant took in a deep breath, biting his lower lip, and then put all his body weight into his second shoulder thrust against the tree. There was another pop as the bones found their proper place once more, and the wave of pain rocketed from his shoulder, coursing though his entire body. He felt dizzy, his fingertips felt numb and tingly, and his legs went out from under him.
Larson blinked away the steady trickle of blood from his forehead, and watched as Grant collapsed to the ground. He had the passing thought about where the others were, but he figured they were still trying to revive Dr. Sattler. They had left Grant to his hurt and sorrow, and allowed him to vent his rage upon Larson, alone. How wrong they were, he thought with a devilish grin. He removed his knife from its sheath, Griffin's dark blood still staining the blade.
First, he would slit Grant's throat, and watch him drown in his own blood. Then, he would kill Malcolm by stabbing him in the back when they found Grant's dead body . . . Ms. Owens was a different matter, he supposed. The knife gripped tightly in his tensed fingers, he winced as he crawled over to the enemy.
Grant stared up at the green treetops above him. It all seemed to gyrate and swirl as the world spun around him. His shoulder throbbing, he slowly sat up. As soon as he did so, he saw Larson sluggishly making his way towards him. In Larson's right hand he held a long hunting knife, the dark blood on the blade gleaming as the sun shone down upon it. Grant wasn't sure how much fight he had left in him, and the fact that Larson now had a weapon worsened his chances of living through any further confrontation with the man.
Grant looked to his left, searching for a stick to use as a club to defend himself. He found nothing. He looked to his right and the sun was shining down through the leaves of the trees, catching something on the ground reflecting light off of it. He strained his eyes, trying to identify the object. It was a gun. Larson's gun. He looked back at Larson, judging how close the man was, and then tried to stand. His legs were like rubber, and he couldn't find the strength to get back to his feet. After one last glance at Larson, he turned and started to crawl towards the gun.
Larson frowned, he had not expected Grant to flee. The man had to be irate with rage over his friend's death. It seemed unlikely that Grant would try to crawl away to safety, even considering that Larson had a knife. Grant's crawl was fast, hand over hand, knee after knee, as he furiously made his way across the dirty ground of the plateau. The madman's brow creased as he followed Grant's gaze . . . to the silver object laying on the ground, ten feet away from Grant. Larson hissed and doubled his efforts and speed, covering the distance between him and Grant with renewed vigor, putting the knife back in its sheath.
Grant allowed himself a faint smile. The pistol was right in front of him now. He reached out with his good hand for the silver weapon---
Larson reached out and grabbed both of Grant's ankles, then yanked back hard. The sudden attack caught Grant off guard, causing his knees to go out from under him as he landed hard on his stomach and chest.
Grant gasped in surprise as the wind was knocked out of his lungs. He turned his head around as Larson released his grip and pulled the knife out once more. He could see that Larson's face was glowing red, his bloodthirsty eyes bore into Grant's own. Larson lunged for Grant's neck with the dagger. Grant flinched and kicked Larson with both feet in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards into the trunk of a nearby tree.
Larson bounced off the tree as if the attack had not even affected him in the least. Nothing mattered now. Nothing but killing Alan Grant. He raised the knife above his head, pouncing on Grant as he lay prone on the ground. He landed on Grant's chest, and immediately Grant's hands shot up and seized Larson's wrists, preventing him from plunging the knife down into his heart. Larson's face shook, spit mixing with his own sweat and blood, as he placed more force onto the knife.
Adrenaline pumped through Grant's body, as he used all the remaining energy left in his arms to keep the blade at bay. The pain in his shoulder was agonizing and rapidly getting to the point where he could barely keep his strength up.
Tilting his head to the side, Larson gritted his teeth and smiled, pushing down on the knife even harder.
The blade moved closer to his flesh. Not like this, he thought. He had not come this far in life to be killed by a man he didn't even know, over a matter that was completely out of his control. He had nothing to do with whatever had happened to Larson and he wished he had never met the man. However, this man had murdered Ellie and at the time, he was helpless to stop him. But now, he could do something. He could make Larson pay for what he did. Not allowing himself to let it end like this, he tapped into whatever energy he might have left. If not for himself, then for Ellie.
The blade caressed his shirt, and still downward it went. Tearing through thread and string, the tip of the knife made first contact with his skin. He grunted, trying his best to hold off the blade, but it was of no use. He felt a slight trickle of warmth, which he knew to be his own blood, slowly flow out of the small wound. The blade was only but a centimeter in so far, but it was steadily and sickly impaling him. He would die here, his heart pierced by the foul blade of Ellie's murderer. He had failed her. Slowly, his eyes began to close.
Suddenly someone screamed, causing Grant's eyes to flash open. Leah was there and he saw her swinging the butt of the silver pistol at Larson's skull, before he slipped away into exhaustion. With a loud thwack of metal against flesh and bone, the gun hit Larson in the right temple, sending him flailing off of Grant. Larson landed hard on his shoulder, his eyes closed, out cold with the knife held by limp fingers.
Leah dropped to her knees beside Grant, ripping open the front of his shirt to look at the wound on his chest. She had walked up the hill moments ago, her eyes instantly finding Larson hovering over Grant with the knife stabbing down at his heart. She had held back the feeling to scream, knowing that it would probably break Grant's concentration, thus allowing the knife to find its mark and kill him.
The small wound on Grant's chest was still bleeding, though it didn't appear to be too deep. She checked on Larson, to make sure he wasn't moving, and then put one hand against the cut, lightly touching the side of his face.
"Alan, are you okay?" she asked, her voiced cracked and faltered as she tried to remain calm. "Can you hear me?"
Grant's eyes fluttered open, his vision finding the face of Leah framed by the sun in the sky behind her. He smiled, knowing that she had saved his life.
"Are you okay?" she repeated, her voice a little more even now.
He nodded his head slowly and it was all she needed to lean over and quickly kiss him on the lips. The adrenaline had left him, and his body felt very weak and feeble, but his arm managed to find its way around the small of her back as he returned the kiss. Seconds later, he whispered, "The gun?"
Leah paused for a moment, then shook her head. "Larson's unconscious."
"Give me the gun," Grant said, his voice returning to him.
"No, you rest," Leah said. She knew what would happen if Grant had the gun. As much as she hated Larson, she didn't want to see any more bloodshed, especially none on their account. "I've got the gun, in case he wakes up."
Grant stared into Leah's eyes. "Please, Leah, give me the gun."
Leah pulled the gun from her side, and brought it around front, looking at it in her hands. It was much heavier than she had thought it would be. She saw her reflection in the shiny silver. Grant began to raise his hand, waiting for Leah to give it to him. She frowned, looking from Grant's hand to the gun projecting her teary-eyed reflection. Then, she saw something in the reflection that wasn't there a moment before---
Leah screamed as Larson wrapped his arms around her. One around her shoulders holding the knife to her neck, and one arm around her midsection. He forcefully shuffled away from Grant, Leah now under his control.
The gun tumbled from Leah's fingers, and landed in the dirt beside Grant. His eyes darted between Leah's terrified face and the gun. Suddenly, all strength had seemingly been restored to his body. He picked up the gun, and then got to his feet, the barrel pointed at Larson's face.
Leah and Larson were on their knees, the only two things keeping Grant from pulling the trigger being the knife resting on her throat, and the mere thought that he might miss his intended target.
Larson smiled at Grant, as he too knew that Grant wouldn't shoot with Leah so close. He turned his head to look at Leah, but his eyes still stared at Grant. He sniffed twice, taking in her scent, then slowly opened his mouth and licked her cheek where he had cut her previously.
Leah fought the urge to scream, but tried to move her face as far away from him as possible. The more she fought his hold, the more the knife pushed against her skin, though.
"I could have easily loved you. Too bad you turned out to be so false," Larson hissed between his teeth. Then he chuckled slightly, "Looks like I got the better end of this shitty bargain, Grant. You get to watch two of your most beloved friends die, and then have to live with it for the rest of your fucking life. And me . . . I get to die with a beautiful woman in my arms."
The pistol in his hand wavered slightly at the thought of having to watch Leah die right in front of him. He was utterly helpless to stop the death, to stop the killing. Just like Ellie's death. He brought up his other palm and gripped the pistol with both hands, steadying it as he stared down the barrel that was fixated on Larson's toothy grin.
Leah whimpered, but then bravely shouted, "Shoot him!"
Larson sighed and then actually laughed as he replied, "Your move, Grant."
"Let her go," a voice said sternly behind Larson.
Grant looked away from Larson, and Larson turned his head around, looking at the new assailant.
Malcolm stood about fifteen feet behind Larson, in his hands was a long black assault rifle. The same weapon that had once belonged to McCarney.
Larson frowned at the weapon. "Where did you get that?"
While Larson was momentarily distracted, Leah took the initiative, and drove her pointed elbow into Larson's ear. The sudden attack caused Larson to relinquish his hold on her. Dropping his knife, he fell backwards, as Leah cried and reached out with both arms for Grant.
Grant grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, away from Larson. Leah hid herself behind him, as he kept his aim on the injured man, gripping the gun with two hands again.
Larson's head was ringing from the pain in his ear. He put his hand to the side of his head and got back onto his knees, looking at Grant and Leah.
"Bitch," he spat.
Malcolm saw that the situation was now in Grant's control, so he turned to the side of the plateau, and threw the assault rifle over the cliff. With a splash, it sank into the lagoon below.
Leah looked at him strangely, so he answered her silent question, "Wasn't loaded anyway."
Larson glared at him, but Malcolm simply smirked, then he turned back to the others and made his way to Leah's side, prying her away from her boyfriend.
Larson put his hands behind his back, his head slightly rolling on his shoulders. Blood continued to pulse out of the wound on his forehead. He looked up at Grant and said, "Well, this is what you wanted, wasn't it?"
"Alan, don't do it," Malcolm said in a pleading voice.
Grant's face was emotionless. His eyes narrowed as he continued to aim the gun at Larson's face.
"You wanted a clear shot. No one is in your way now. You wanted vengeance, and now is your chance to get it." Larson's hands, hidden from view, gradually reached into his back pants pocket.
Malcolm didn't like the look in Grant's eyes. "Alan, you don't want to have to live your life with a man's death on your conscience," Malcolm said softly.
"You must not hesitate, for hesitation is a sign of the weak," Larson said. "Kill me and get your retribution. End my godforsaken life." His right hand slowly pulled a small plastic object from the pants pocket.
Grant frowned, and lowered the gun, then raised it once more. He was not a killer, he couldn't see himself resulting to such violence. But he had Larson in his grasp now, and he wanted to see the man punished for what he had done to him and his.
"Alan . . . Ellie wouldn't want this," Leah said, finally joining Malcolm in talking him out of it. A very big part of her wanted him to shoot Larson, but she knew it would change Alan forever. "If you shoot him, you'll become like him. I know you don't want that, Alan. Please, just put the gun down."
Grant felt his eyes welling up. He blinked a tear away, his lips quivering at the thought of Ellie. The thought of her lifeless body in his arms, her cold face held against his. He did not lower the gun.
Leah sighed and decided to try a low blow, since nothing else was working; "You're a father now. You need to think about that. You need to put that gun down."
The words struck Grant's heart hard and he felt his blood run cold. Suddenly he found himself deaf to the world. He looked at Larson on the ground smiling up at him, the wind blowing through his hair. He turned his head and looked at both Leah and Malcolm, as they stared intently back at him, their eyes pleading with him to lower his weapon. He closed his eyes, choking back a sob at the act he was about to commit, and lowered the gun.
Leah smiled, wiping away a few tears of her own.
Grant turned away from Larson and threw the pistol as far away as he could. When he turned back, the man on his knees was frowning shamefully.
"Coward," Larson said.
"Murderer," Grant said quickly, in a very disgusted tone, "Killing you wouldn't be enough justice." He turned to Leah and Malcolm, and the three started to walk away from Larson.
Larson's angry face contorted as he tried to suppress a smile. Then he laughed out loud, "How touching, you do care!" He brought his hands around to the front, the plastic object gripped tightly in one fist.
Grant proceeded to walk forward, not looking back. Leah and Malcolm followed his lead as the madman kept talking.
"You should have killed me," Larson simply said.
At that comment, Grant turned around and looked at him.
Larson's fingers unfolded, revealing the plastic detonator he had been hiding in a safe place. "Unlike you, Dr. Grant," he said. "I am willing to die for what I believe in. And I believe in rightful redemption."
Grant stared at Larson, speechless, as Larson's thumb hovered above the red button on the detonator. Unconsciously, Leah gripped Grant's hand as the three of them watched Larson.
Larson smiled and winked. "In eleven minutes, we'll all meet our various makers." His thumb moved down and pressed the button. There was a loud audible beep, and then green numbers appeared on the detonator that slowly began to tick down.
* * *
Ian Malcolm ran with all the strength he could manage. Leah and Grant weren't far behind him and he was relieved everyone was together.
"Ian! Where are we going?" Leah yelled from behind him.
Malcolm had been running for one purpose; to find the shelter that he had overheard McCarney talk about several times during their captivity. Realizing no one else knew what was going through his head, he turned and explained quickly, "McCarney kept going on about a shelter. He said they were planning on using it later. We need to find it. Now."
Keeping his increasing pain to himself, Grant finally found himself slowing down. Leah quickly grabbed his left arm, slinging it over her shoulder. Ignoring his grunts of pain, she wrapped her other arm around his abdomen, silently forcing him to keep moving.
As the trio came into the clearing, Grant fought Leah's persistence to keep going, slowing down her momentum. "We need to get Ellie," he more or less ordered.
Malcolm, who had still been in the lead, slowed down and was about to object to that idea, when he caught Leah looking at him. Her facial expression was more than enough to tell him that arguing with the irrational Grant would do him no good, so he nodded and looked toward the cave. Knowing Grant would never leave this island with Ellie in there, he altered his route and began to run towards the dark cave entrance.
Leah followed, but had already noticed Grant was taking the lead away from her, running with renewed vigor. To her amazement, he had been able to run so fast, they almost met up with Malcolm at the cave entrance.
Going in first, Malcolm ducked underneath a low-hanging rock as he went inside. He found Ellie immediately, looking like she was just resting soundly in the dirt. He quickly walked to her, noticeably limping, and then stopped short of reaching her. In his heart he wanted to be able to startle her awake, to tell her it was time to go . . . but he obviously knew better.
In his haste, Grant had brushed past him and fell to his knees beside her. Without a word, he tried to lift her up.
"Hold on, I'll help you," Malcolm said, grabbing one of Ellie's arms and pulling her up. She felt cold to the touch and Malcolm almost dropped her in surprise, trying his best not to look at her face. He wanted to remember Ellie differently than she looked right now.
Leah stood at the cave entrance, visualizing the numbers ticking down on Larson's detonator. She glanced at her watch. It had moisture inside of it, so she shook it until she could make out the hands. About four minutes had passed by already. Not being sure about where the shelter was, a thought occurred to her. "Maybe we should stay right here?"
Malcolm shook off the notion right away, "No, no. This place isn't going to bode well when the big boom comes. It's already crumbling from the random gunshots earlier. We need to find that shelter."
A little happier now that they had Ellie off the ground and were moving toward the entrance, Leah nodded in reluctant agreement.
"Go ahead of us and see if you can find the shelter, Leah," Malcolm said firmly, "McCarney said it was near the lagoon."
"Okay," she replied. She turned to leave, but then stopped, "What if you don't---"
"Just go," Malcolm insisted, pulling most of Ellie's weight on his side.
The manner in which Leah asked the question caused Grant to look up at her. She was standing outside the cave, not sure of what to do next. "We'll make it. We're right behind you," he said encouragingly.
She nodded, wiping away a tear before it ever had the chance to fall.
Grant was relieved when he watched her turn and run.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Leah ran steadily, taking care to jump over and dodge various rocks and branches. She dared a glance back, to see how far away Grant was, and tripped over something. Reaching out for a tree at the last second, she was able to right herself and keep running.
She had decided to find the shelter and then come back to help the rest of them get to it. If they had enough time for all of this, she would be unbelievably surprised, but she didn't let that thought dampen her quest to find the lagoon and shelter. Ahead of her, it looked as though the trees subsided, possibly giving way to a body of water. Hoping it was water and not just a clearing, she put even more energy into running, since their time was very limited.
In a short flash of a few seconds, she found herself teetering over the camouflaged cliff edge. She was only barely able to stop and for a split second, she thought she would be able to keep her balance.
She was wrong.
Her body involuntarily swayed forward and she began to free-fall straight down.
Grant stopped when he heard the piercing screams, seemingly getting farther and farther away. "Leah!" he yelled.
Malcolm was able to transfer some of Ellie's weight to Grant now, and it made their pace quicker. In a few minutes they made it to the cliff edge. Malcolm readjusted Ellie again and said, "Go find her."
Grant nodded and walked to the edge. Trying to catch his breath, he gazed below and saw the prize; the lagoon.
But the lagoon resided about thirty feet below.
Yelling, barely audible from below, had him scanning the area for the source. Smiling with relief, he saw Leah wading through a shallow part of the lagoon, almost to the shore. Facing him, she yelled again, but he couldn't understand her. "What?" he shouted with his hands cupped over his mouth.
Again, she yelled and he didn't hear. Seeing that she was getting hostile, she suddenly began to dramatically point to her left, trying to get him to look that way.
"Is she okay?" Malcolm asked.
"Yeah. She wants us to go that way," he said, pointing to his right.
Malcolm looked to the right and saw some stone steps leading down to the lagoon. "Much better idea."
Both men heaved Ellie toward the steps, moving as fast as their battered bodies could.
Leah ran along the sandy beach, heading for what she hoped was the shelter. There was just a small rectangular entrance, bricked and overgrown with vegetation. She reached it and tried the door. It only slightly budged. An unexplained anger overcame her and she pulled again, releasing the door this time. Sighing with relief, she brushed her wet hair from her eyes and looked at her watch. She gasped in fear and looked toward Grant and Malcolm, who were all the way down the stone steps now, "Three minutes, Alan! Hurry up!"
Taking a second to let us know what you think is
very helpful and muchly appreciated, so please don't hesitate. :)
--JPJunkee and Yvonne
11/6/2003 2:23:45 AM
(Updated: 11/8/2003 2:54:17 AM)
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