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Jurassic Park X Factor Chapter 14
By drucifer67
It would be a fool's errand, and Ian knew it.
The risk involved in what he was considering was unbelievably high, but he knew he had very little choice. He was completely convinced that he would never see daylight again except by his own actions.
The general idea was simple. He intended to take Bradford's security card, using whatever means necessary, and find his way out of the building before Eichmann's people had time to react. It was simple, but he knew that sometimes simpler was better.
The obvious problem with the scheme was that Ian knew nothing of the building's layout. Once outside his cell, he would be completely lost. Asking for a guided tour was clearly out of the question.
Then another idea occurred to him, and he realized there was a way to learn a little more about the building's blueprint. It would require a little acting on his part, but he was fairly certain he could be convincing. It was, after all, a necessity.
If he could persuade the people monitoring the security camera that he was sick-- horribly, deathly sick--the rest should be in the bag. The installation would have an infirmary, or, barring that, provisions to hospitalize their inmates if the need arose. Of course, it was too much to hope that he could escape en route to whatever treatment facility they chose, since he would undoubtedly be firmly bound to a gurney. He would, however, be free to look around, to observe, to take inventory, and in that lay his only hope of escape.
He decided it would have to be sometime in the early morning hours. He would go into his act sometime after lights-out, and if everything went as planned, the wheels would be set in motion.
If everything went as planned.
The key reader beeped and the door slid open fluidly on its track. Bradford stepped through the opening and crossed to Ian's bunk. "Good morning, Dr. Malcolm," he said jovially.
Malcolm, of course, did not answer. Bradford took a seat next to him on the bunk.
"I trust your night went well?"
"Oh, of course," Malcolm answered. "Best night in prison I've ever had. Be sure to thank your boss for me."
"You understand, Doctor, that it's up to you now, whether you stay here or go home."
Ian opened his mouth to speak, then promptly closed it again. What was the point, really, in chasing Bradford around that same old tree? They had been over it before, to no avail.
"Of course," Malcolm said at last. "Of course. You're right. This afternoon I'll tell everything. I'll tell you everything you want to know. I'll tell you who kidnapped the Lindbergh baby, and, and Jack the Ripper's real identity, that should ah, should look good on your record, right?"
Bradford shook his head and stood. "I would have thought you'd be more cooperative by now, after all you've been through. I suppose you'll have to go through a little more." He strode to the door and stopped, then turned slowly to face Ian.
Then, to Malcolm's complete and total surprise, Bradford winked.
He slipped out, and the door slid to a close behind him.
Ian stared at the place where Bradford had stood, trying to decipher the meaning of the odd little gesture. It seemed so completely out of place.
He put his hands down on the bed, intending to shift back into a reclining position. When he did, he felt something stiff under his palm.
There, lying on the bunk beside him, was a scrap of paper not much bigger than a postage stamp, neatly folded in half. He palmed it, careful of the camera, and continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
He lay on his side, with his back shielding his hands from view. Slowly and carefully, he unfolded the tiny scrap of paper. Printed there, in the neat and clipped manuscript of a very orderly person, were two simple sentences that answered one question but brought up many more:
My kids ate all the bacon. I'll try to bring more tomorrow.
"You need to stop and think about who you work for."
Rick was strutting like a little king, berating Carlisle for his attack on Grant. He was reading him the riot act, and had been doing so for at least twenty minutes. He showed no signs of relenting.
"We were hired to protect these two," he said, indicating Grant and Lex, "and to find Hammond's grandson. I intend to do both, and anyone who isn't with me can hike back to the beach and wait for the boat."
Carlisle hardly seemed to be listening. Markinson, who had barely participated at all, sat digging in the earth with a stick. Ramirez sat quietly, occasionally shooting Rick a mean-tempered expression of disgust. To Lex, they looked like three teenagers in the principal's office.
"Anybody? Who wants to go back and wait by the beach while I do the job I came here to do?"
No one answered.
"Let me share one more little piece of information with you ladies," Rick intoned. "Dr. Grant here is one of the most respected paleontologists in the world. He's the top man in his field. If he says don't build fires, we don't build fires. If he says don't rob nests, we don't rob nests. If he says don't squat in the bushes, we got a real problem."
Lex covered her mouth with the back of her hand, stifling a laugh. The three men seated around Rick all looked up at him, and Lex could see that the icy looks were beginning to melt away. Rick was right, and they knew it, and now it was simply a matter of admitting it.
Ramirez was the first to nod his head in agreement. "Okay. S'cool."
Markinson looked up from his faux cave art long enough to make eye contact with Rick. "I'm with you. We're all on the same team here."
Rick turned to Carlisle. "What about you, John Lee?"
Carlisle didn't look up. "Of course," he said flatly. Rick continued to study him until he finally looked up. "Of course, Rick." He said sincerely. "All for one, and one for all, and all that crap."
"Good enough," Rick announced. "Let's keep our eye on the brass ring, boys."
Lex looked at Rick with a small measure of respect. He was still an idiot, of course, but at least his heart was in the right place.
The group slowly gathered their packs and rifles and prepared to move on.
"Well, Rick's stock went up a few points," Grant said softly to Lex.
"A couple," she admitted.
"It's good to know that at least one of them is on our side."
Ramirez stood and turned toward a thick stand of trees a few yards away.
"Hang on, Hector," Rick ordered. "Where are you going?"
Ramirez looked around, uncertain how to answer. "I gotta go in the woods," he said at last.
"Wait," Rick said. "John Lee and I discussed it last night, and we think the best course of action is going to be staying in groups of two. We'll stay together, all as one group, whenever possible—but nobody is to go off without a partner."
Lex stepped closer to Alan, making it clear that there was only one person in the group with whom she would participate in the "buddy system".
"Me and Carlisle, Grant and Lex, Ramirez and Markinson. That work for everyone?"
Ramirez shrugged. "I don't care, but whoever's goin' with me better hurry."
Will Bradford pressed the red button on the security console, closing off the door to Malcolm's cell, then turned to his right and strode up the long hallway. Fluorescent lights buzzed beside him, sunken into the walls at the upper corners. He passed perhaps a dozen unmarked doors, finally arriving at a service elevator at the end of the corridor.
The elevator, mostly unused, opened as soon as he pressed the call button. He stepped inside and chose Level 6 from the panel. On impulse, he pressed the button to force the doors closed.
He stepped off the elevator on the sixth floor and into a different world. Where the rest of the building was small offices and cubicles and detention cells, this level was dimly lit and beautifully appointed. The floors, in the offices as well as in the corridors, were covered in a deep, lush burgundy carpet soft enough to sleep on. Level Six was home to only three rooms—the Executive Offices.
To the left, behind a heavy oak door, was Stone's office. The office on the right had once been occupied by a man named Haggarty, who had recently retired—suddenly, and under peculiar circumstances—and had not yet been replaced.
Bradford took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. He understood the consequences of being caught here, doing what he was about to do, but there was no other way to access the information he needed. The online database would be simpler, but there was no way to collect information from the computer network anonymously. He was risking his job—and possibly even criminal charges—but this was the only way to keep his actions from prying eyes.
He stepped forward, reaching inside his coat pocket as he walked. He removed a small, multipurpose tool that was standard issue to field agents. He deftly chose the correct tool from among its twelve assorted blades, feeling a pang of nostalgia. As a field agent, he had used this particular device on countless occasions, and now he was using it in a way he had never imagined he would.
He looked left, then right, checking the hallway, then went to work picking Eichmann's lock.
"I'm open to suggestions," Rick said, disgusted. No one seemed prepared to offer any.
They had first begun to hear the faint, distant sound of rushing water quite some time before, so it was no surprise when they arrived at the river.
What no one expected was how deep the river valley would be.
They stood on the edge of a steep bluff, just a few degrees shy of being a straight drop. The vertical face of the sheer wall was almost exclusively rock, with the exception of a few sparse patches of vegetation. Descending the precipitous bluff to the riverbed would be impossibly dangerous.
"Looks like fifty meters or more," Markinson said. He spoke so seldom that his voice startled the others.
Carlisle agreed. "Hundred and fifty feet or so. I say we scout in both directions for a place that's not so steep."
"Once we get down there, we still have to cross the river," Rick pointed out. The river churned and roiled, in places sending sprays high into the air.
"Crossing's not the worry," Carlisle said. "No matter which way we go, we'll get across eventually—either at the point where it empties into the ocean, or at the shallower points farther inland."
Grant agreed. "We can assume there will be a place to cross the river itself. What we need to look for, then, is a way down. Certainly not here."
"I'll go this way," announced Ramirez, pointing south, to his left. He slapped Markinson on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go check it out."
"Good," Carlisle answered. "Rick and I can scout upriver. Check your watches—walk twenty minutes and turn back. Report back here and we'll compare notes on the landscape. We should be able to decide from there."
Ramirez nodded, and turned away into the brush. Markinson reluctantly followed. He seemed dissatisfied either with the buddy system, or the man he had been paired with, or both.
Rick and Carlisle set out in the other direction, following the river basin north. The two groups thrashed their way into the dense growth, leaving Grant and Lex to mark their original position.
Grant sat down on the soft, damp earth with his legs drawn up, his forearms resting on his knees. He scanned the immediate area with narrowed eyes, looking for trouble—it was becoming strictly a matter of habit.
He turned to face Lex, and although he could only see her profile, the anxiety in her face was clear.
"Something the matter?" he asked.
She turned quickly to face him, startled. "What? Oh…oh, no…nothing."
"It's only a setback," Grant assured her. "I know you feel the need to keep moving. So do I, as I'm sure they do."
Lex nodded, but didn't reply.
"It's an obstacle," he continued. "Probably not the last we'll encounter."
She still said nothing; her eyes wandered to the far side of the river, as if staring at it long enough would bring it closer.
Alan moved to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. He tried to think of something to add, but no words would come. In the end, he decided that nothing he could say would offer any real comfort. She would feel better once they got moving again.
The river had stopped the team in their tracks, halting progress and delaying Tim's recovery. Lex was disheartened, of course, at having to stop and go through the meticulous process of working out the best way to cross. But the river wasn't her biggest concern—and that disturbed her even more.
She found herself worried about the team. She could hardly stand the four men who had gone scouting, so it naturally alarmed her to discover that she was so anxious for their well-being. She didn't want to wish ill on anyone, of course, especially the form of ill that lurked in the jungles of this island. But it was more than that; it wasn't the simple, detached concern one feels for a fellow human being. This kind of anxious unease was usually only reserved for friends and family. Watching the scouts disappear into the jungle had been like watching a friend being loaded onto an ambulance.
They had been through a lot together, she reasoned. It was natural enough, she supposed, to expect feelings of apprehension, under the circumstances. The thing that was hard to believe was that, only this morning, she would have been glad to see those men—or most of them, at least—hauled away in chains. Now she was worried over their fates.
No, she thought, it's not them you're worried about. It's only one of them.
She shoved the thought aside with breaking force. "Like hell," she said aloud.
The sound of her voice startled Grant a little. "Something?" he asked.
She hesitated, realizing for the first time that she had spoken her sentiments aloud. "Nothing," she said, a little too casually. "Just…thinking out loud, I guess."
Ramirez was getting tired of Markinson. He hadn't liked him from the very beginning, when Rick had introduced them outside the InGen machine shop. This was not the kind of job where he wanted to be working with new people, and in his opinion the group had been good enough with just four.
He didn't like the fact that Markinson was so quiet. He hardly talked at all, just keeping to himself like some kind of spook. Ramirez had tried to strike up a friendly conversation on the boat, but it had been fruitless. Markinson wouldn't talk about where he was from. He wouldn't talk about what kind of music he liked. He just plain wouldn't talk.
What Hector Ramirez didn't like right now was the fact that Markinson refused to keep up. He was lagging back, taking his time, like some kind of sightseer. Put a camera around the dumb hibrido's neck and stick him in a Hawaiian shirt, and he'd look like he was on vacation.
"Hurry up, man," Hector called back for the second time. "We're supposed to walk twenty minutes, I wanna make more than twenty feet." Then, under his breath, he added: "Asshole."
Refusing to wait for Markinson, Ramirez pressed on, forcing his way through the crowded growth. The vegetation was mostly waist-high, but as he pressed on, he found himself in foliage as tall as his chest. Broad, flat leaves slapped at him as he forged through.
He heard movement ahead and to his left, a rustling in the high growth that sounded like something large in a great hurry. He stopped and cocked his head, listening intently, stock-still.
The sound seemed to be moving in his direction. Whatever was out there was ahead of him and closing the distance quickly.
He slowly lowered his upper body, bringing himself to a position where he could just see over the tall grass. He scanned the lush forest ahead with trained and experienced eyes, watching for signs of movement.
When he saw it, his knees turned instantly to water. It bounded through the forest, staying near the tightly packed trees, cutting its way through the high grass, angling toward him, bobbing its head as it ran. It was moving very quickly.
He could only see the upper two-thirds of the dinosaur's body, but that was enough. It had a long neck, something like an emu or ostrich, and a small head that sported a narrow, almost beak-like snout. It was a sort of beige, the color of coffee with cream, except for its strikingly white underbelly. Its legs churned up and down like pistons as it sprinted.
Two more appeared from the trees ahead, followed by a fourth, then a fifth.
Behind them came the rest of the herd, easily two dozen animals.
Ramirez was prepared to run—his brain was telling his legs to run—but it just wasn't happening. The lead animal bore down on his position, showing no signs of slowing, but the fear that spurred the flight instinct had quickly turned into the terror that nullified his instincts altogether. He thought of a deer mesmerized by car headlights, and the thought did nothing to calm him.
Less than two meters away, the lead animal suddenly changed directions, leaning to its right and angling away from the place where Ramirez cowered. The other animals immediately changed direction in order to follow.
The leader rocketed past Ramirez almost close enough for him to reach out and touch it. He watched it as it sprinted by, its upper thighs churning, its head and neck thrusting fore and aft as it focused its entire being on generating speed.
The herd was not far behind. Ramirez watched in awe as they passed, noting the strength of their legs and the grace with which they moved. The sound of the considerable group of animals as they approached and passed was not unlike the rumbling of a passing train. Before he knew it, the last of the animals was several yards past him, sprinting madly.
He stood and took a few quick steps to the south, still watching the herd as it raced northward.
He broke into a run, finally turning his head away from the herd and concentrating his attention on the forest ahead.
Then he stopped again.
As soon as he saw the two giants, it all began to make sense. The herd hadn't come through on the run because they were chasing him; they were running because they were being chased.
They stepped into the clearing with neither haste nor hesitation. The herd had used the compact growth in the forest to its advantage, going where the pursuers could not go, and as a result had gained precious distance. The hunting pair had lost too much ground to continue the chase.
Ramirez looked up at the duo. They stood on their hind legs, one slightly taller than the other, their heads darting up and down, side to side, as if searching.
Their large, semi-oval heads were full of razor-sharp teeth. Their eyes were sharp and keen, the eyes of a great hunter. Eyes of a hawk, Ramirez thought.
Clearly, these dinosaurs were the same species as the one that had crashed their party this morning. They were younger, clearly, because they were both smaller, but the same animals nonetheless.
He dropped to his knees, unable to stand any longer, and once again froze in position, forcing himself to remain utterly motionless.
The two dinosaurs stepped deliberately forward, both watching him with keen, hungry interest as he dropped down and took up his new position. One of the dinosaurs growled, a long, low, undulating sound that was almost mechanical in its rhythm. The second predator answered back with a short and sharp bark. They moved their heads this way and that, looking behind Ramirez, looking at the trees, the vegetation around them—they were looking everywhere but directly at him. He silently thanked God for Lex Murphy's instructions. The dinosaurs were clearly confused.
They moved again, one repositioning itself slightly to his right and the other to his left. Watching them move was frighteningly surreal, but Ramirez kept a rein on his terror. He did not move. He would not budge, he thought, no matter what.
The two prehistoric hunters now seemed to have given Ramirez their undivided attention. Both stared directly at him, their eyes locked and unwavering. Every muscle in his body tensed. He could feel beads of sweat on his forehead. Knowing what to do to stay alive wasn't enough assuage the terror of being face-to-face with these enormous nightmare creatures.
The hunters lowered their heads slowly. They still seemed to be looking straight at him, but one of the two cocked its head in a gesture of puzzlement.
A single bead of sweat worked its way past Ramirez' eyebrow and into his right eye. The salt spreading over the sensitive area was like a dozen tiny needles, and it was all he could do not to cry out. He was afraid to even blink it away. He wasn't sure how still he had to be, but he was going to take no chances.
The dinosaurs shifted their weight again, looking around briefly and engaging in a short verbal exchange before settling their attention back on Ramirez.
The more he looked at the dinosaurs, the more he began to believe they were looking right at him. He knew that he had not moved—but it seemed they could see him just the same.
Then he noticed something he hadn't before.
He distinctly remembered thinking, after the attack on the camp earlier, how odd the giant predator's forelimbs had looked. The thing that caught his attention was that they had only two fingers. He had wondered what good two fingers could possibly be.
The monstrosities now standing before him had three fingers, and the arm to which they were attached looked more muscular—more useful.
If this isn't the same kind of dinosaur—
The thought never had time to fully form in his mind. The smaller Allosaurus
lunged forward, its mouth opening in a great flash of small white daggers. In an instant, Ramirez found himself in a moist, cave-like darkness, and in another instant he could discern a searing pain, like fire in his stomach and intestines. He screamed into the horrendous, foul-smelling dark, overcome with the agony of the wounds, finally realizing what was happening to him. Light flashed briefly as he was lifted skyward, then all became dark again as the dinosaur's jaws snapped shut once more. He screamed until no more sound would come, then tried to scream again. He heard nothing more, saw nothing more, as he was enveloped in a cold blackness unlike any he had seen before.
1/25/2003 11:48:49 PM
(Updated: 1/26/2003 12:26:46 AM)
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