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Jurassic Park: X-Factor (Chapter Ten: Omens and Signs)
By drucifer67
"All this equipment, and we can’t put our hands on a crescent wrench," Rick sighed.
Ed Mason’s feet were the only thing visible under the hood of the SUV. Other than some mild swearing, he had offered no diagnosis of the problem. The vehicle’s odometer, which read 4.4 miles when it was loaded onto the ship, now indicated just over 10.
"I can’t believe this," Ramirez lamented. "This is a bad sign, presagio malvado, no joke."
"It’s a minor setback," Carlisle said. "We’ll get going again."
"Yeah, cause Mason’s such a mechanical genius," Ramirez said sarcastically.
"Shut him up," Mason warned.
"Easy, guys," Rick said gently. "Let’s deal with one thing at a time."
Grant and Lex sat on a fallen log, a few yards away from the rest of the group, talking in low voices about their situation.
"Well," Grant said, "according to Rick we’ve made it six miles."
"And at the rate we’re going we’ll be lucky to make six more by tomorrow."
Alan nodded. "I suggested to them that we leave the car. I became unpopular very quickly."
"You were already unpopular," Lex said, smiling.
Grant couldn’t help but smile himself. "They don’t think much of me, do they?"
"I hope you don’t care," Lex said, patting him gently on the back.
"It wouldn’t pay to be too unpopular with people like them."
Then they heard the roar of the SUV’s engine as it suddenly came to life.
"Well," Grant said, pleasantly surprised, "it appears our Mr. Mason may be something of a mechanic after all."
They hurried to join the others, and Rick met them halfway. "Come on," he said, motioning to Lex. "Your turn to ride."
Lex started to protest, but Rick interrupted. "Come on, now, you don’t think you can handle walking the whole time, do you? Somebody like you, you’re not used to all that physical stuff."
“Somebody like me,” Lex echoed, dumbfounded.
“Yeah, you know…your grandpa being rich and all, you probably—“
"I’ll walk," Lex said coolly.
"Come on, now, be serious," Rick protested.
"I’m dead serious," Lex answered. "I’ll walk. I’ll walk the rest of you into the ground." She pushed past Rick and strode purposefully ahead of the group.
Rick looked at Grant, perplexed. "Something I said?"
Grant didn’t bother trying to explain.
Bradford stepped into the cool quiet of Eichmann’s office, taking the seat opposite the desk without a sound. Eichmann’s chair was turned to face the wall, and the only sign he was even sitting in the giant, overstuffed leather seat was a single tendril of smoke rising above him.
At last he swiveled the chair around to face Will Bradford.
"Malcolm’s trying to be tough," Eichmann said matter-of-factly.
"Yes, sir," Will began, but stopped suddenly, unsure how to proceed.
"He’ll get hungry in a day or two," Eichmann suggested. "In the meantime…you have the dossier on Charles Wallace?"
"Yes, sir."
"Send a team to pick him up. Put him in isolation on level three. Tell them not to question him until we get him back here."
"Yes, sir."
"They mustn’t say anything to indicate why he’s being picked up. Tell them to do whatever they have to, just don’t tip him off. If you’ve read that file, you know why I want him securely in hand before we show our cards."
Bradford had read the dossier, and it was impressive. Wallace was highly resourceful, and Eichmann didn’t want him slipping away.
"I’ll have him back here by tonight," Bradford promised.
"Not if he smells our people coming," Eichmann warned.
"Understood, sir."
"And when he gets away from you, at least make a note of which direction he went."
"Pardon me?"
"You heard me, Bradford. Getting away is what he does. Escaped a POW camp in ’69. Got shot down three more times in the years that followed, and made it back to friendly lines every time.”
“Still, he’s a patriot,” Bradford countered. “A real flag-waver, according to his file. Surely he wouldn’t turn down his government, in a time of need. We’ll appeal to his sense of duty.”
Eichmann nodded. “That would be a good approach. But I’ll bet my pension he gets away from us at least once."
Ian studied his surroundings, searching for some means of escape. He had no reason to believe that it was actually possible to get out, but he needed something to do to pass the time, and examining the room was as good a diversion as any.
The bunk itself was a plain steel framework, securely bolted to the floor, covered with a thin mattress. The wall directly opposite the bunk was bare, except for a security camera mounted high on the wall. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a straight-backed steel chair, also secured to the floor. He looked at the camera for a moment, then spontaneously burst out: "What if I want to rearrange?"
He lay back on the hard bunk and stared at the ceiling. He was getting hungry, but he suspected lunch might be late. Eichmann wanted him to talk, and he was the type to use any means necessary. Ian wondered how much information he would need to offer in order to eat again. He couldn’t help thinking that Eichmann would never release him—this building and the methods employed within were not the sort of things they would want people to know about.
He turned his options over in his mind. It was a very real possibility that his usefulness would end once he talked to Eichmann. It was also possible, however, that his hosts would eventually grow impatient and give up trying to squeeze information from him—in which case he would also become expendable.
So the secret here, he decided, was to keep his silence as long as he felt he could, to prolong things while he tried to form an escape plan.
He was growing increasingly certain of one thing: if he saw daylight again, it wouldn’t be Eichmann’s idea.
The SUV had stopped. Alan and Lex, following behind with Ramirez and Carlisle, could see it parked atop a low hill, with its three passengers standing beside it.
“Probably stalled again,” Ramirez said.
“The damn car is slowing us down,” Carlisle lamented. “It’s doing more harm than good.”
But as they approached the place where the vehicle was parked, they could hear the rough, arrhythmic chugging of the idling engine. The other three team members—Rick, Ed Mason, and Don Markinson—were positioned around the car and watching something on the other side of the hill, discussing it among themselves, pointing occasionally.
Carlisle slipped the rifle off his shoulder. “They’ve found something,” he said, clearly excited. He broke into a sprint.
“Wait, now,” Alan protested. “You can’t just—“
But Carlisle dashed ahead, heedless.
“—go on a killing spree,” he finished quietly. He turned to Lex. “These people are far too indiscriminate. Their carelessness is going to get someone killed.”
But Lex had picked up her pace also. It seemed she was eager to find out what was happening, as well. Grant sighed and hurried to keep up.
As they crested the hill, Alan slowed to a walk and then to a stop. He stared in awe, slack-jawed. Although he had seen Hammond’s dinosaurs before, there was always that moment of disbelief, the few seconds when his mind refused to process the message his eyes were sending.
In a depression just past the hill, a lone triceratops grazed in the dappled sunlight. It stood in a patch of low vegetation, munching dispassionately on the lush plant life surrounding it. It turned to face the interlopers on the hill, regarding them with passing interest, then returned to its meal.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” Rick said, his face illuminated with the innocent grin of a child.
Grant could not answer. The dinosaur he had always considered his favorite now stood before him. The only one he had seen before had been sick and tranquilized. Witnessing the creature up and moving, going about its simple business, was overwhelming.
“It’s beautiful,” Lex whispered. Grant had to agree; the trike’s markings were amazing. It was an overall brownish color, with mottled patches of green and deep red. Across its snout were two large tiger-stripes of green, bordered again in red. Its neck crest was marked with a splash of deep green that matched the forest around it.
“Splendid creature,” Carlisle said softly. As he spoke he leaned his body weight against the hood of the SUV and brought the butt of his rifle up to his shoulder.
“Don’t even think about it,” Lex protested.
“Easy, honey,” Carlisle muttered, dismissing her.
“Wait, now,” Grant said firmly, “she’s right. Not only is it pointless to kill this animal, but the sound might attract—“
“Whoa there, Dr. Grant,” Carlisle broke in, raising a hand. “I’m only getting a better look at the markings, with the scope. Not even taking the safety off.”
Grant accepted this, and resumed his observation of the trike. It moved forward a few yards, seeking a fresh patch of foliage, and Grant was taken with how gracefully it moved for such a bulky, heavy animal.
“Look there!” Mason called in a thrilled whisper. He pointed to the rim of the shallow vale, where a second triceratops was just entering the clearing.
“Two of them,” Ramirez said, clearly growing uneasy.
“These are herbivores,” Lex explained. “They’re not going to charge over here and eat you.”
The first trike trumpeted so loudly and so suddenly that Mason instinctively dove behind the car for cover.
The second animal bellowed forcefully in response, and strode further into the clearing.
A series of bellows and groans and trumpet-blasts followed as the two engaged in crude communications. Grant watched as the first trike slowly side-stepped its way around the patch of vegetation, keeping its eyes firmly locked on the newcomer. The dark green splash on its neck crest, he noticed, had become a bright, almost neon green color.
“I think they’re having a territorial dispute,” Grant postulated.
As if on cue, the second trike lowered its head and charged into the thick vegetation. It bawled low and loud as it closed in on its rival.
Then it pulled up short. The two animals were now less than a meter apart, their horns and beaks nearly touching. The first trike let out a long, low rumble, a sound not unlike distant thunder.
“God,” Mason managed, but could say nothing else.
The giant competitors sidestepped, circling each other in a great clockwise motion. Occasionally one would snort or growl, but the competition had become a mostly noiseless affair.
Then the first trike raised the stakes. Lowering its head quickly, it thrust forward and locked horns with its adversary, pushing the second animal back. Both animals brayed loudly and purposefully, then separated. The first trike, which was noticeably smaller, took a few short steps backward.
The second triceratops now took the role of the aggressor, hurtling its body weight forward and bringing its formidable horns to bear. The smaller animal rocked back on its haunches, bracing, and lowered its head. The sound of the collision was like a cannon blast.
The first trike stepped to its left, faltering a little. The second, seeing an opportunity, put its head down and leapt forward again. The smaller triceratops, still dazed from the apocalyptic collision, reacted too slowly. The aggressor managed to get its horns under the first trike’s jaw and lifted it, breaking the hide with one horn and rocking the smaller animal backward. The attacker broke away immediately, lunging to the left in a buttonhook motion, sinking its great and deadly horns into the smaller animal’s side.
The injured dinosaur threw its head back and howled in agony. It tried to step away from the fray but staggered again. It went down hard on its left side.
The larger triceratops trotted away, circling around, creating distance between itself and its critically injured enemy. With a snort, it spread its feet, bracing, and lowered its head. The animal held that position for a moment while the first trike, open and bleeding, scrambled weakly, trying to get to its feet.
Then the attacker charged, head nearly dragging the ground, wailing. It sank its three horns into the injured trike’s exposed belly and tossed its head back, ripping the hide and opening the doomed animal from side to side.
The victor strode in a circle around its dying adversary. The animal on the ground continued to bellow weakly for several moments, then its neck crest slowly began to return to the dark green color it had been before. Soon the triceratops was silent.
“Good Lord,” Rick said breathlessly. “That was brutal.”
Then the new master of the clearing turned its attention to the cluster of humans gathered around the SUV. It let out a short, high-pitched bleat, then watched for a moment, then followed up with a low, rumbling bellow.
“I think we shouldn’t be here,” Grant warned. But time had run out.
The trike lowered its head and thundered up the low hill. The team scattered, diving for cover behind the nearby trees. Ed Mason threw himself face-first on the ground and cowered behind the SUV.
The enraged dino chose to follow Carlisle, who darted behind the thick trunk of a tree. The trike skirted the tree, but the bulky creature couldn’t possibly match the agility of its smaller, faster quarry. Carlisle rounded the tree and headed back in the direction from which he had come. He spotted a stand of low trees and sprinted for it.
The triceratops, momentarily confused, had regained its bearings. It snorted and resumed the chase.
Carlisle reached the stand of trees well ahead of the charging dinosaur and dove behind the relative cover. Shouldering his rifle, he began to climb.
The trike stopped short of the tree. Looking up at Carlisle, it bellowed a final warning before turning away to seek out the other invaders.
Grant and Lex had chosen distance rather than cover. Assuming that the trike only intended to defend its territory, Grant decided the best course of action was to place themselves well away from that territory. It seemed to be working, as the rampaging creature took no notice of them.
The trike instead turned its attention to the SUV.
Mason had crawled into the back seat of the vehicle and was frantically rifling through the ammunition cases in search of the concussion grenades for the vehicle’s launcher. He looked up, through the small opening in the reinforced window, and realized he was a little late.
The triceratops struck the SUV low, crumpling the reinforcing bars Wallace’s team had installed. The vehicle lifted up, then settled back down violently.
The trike made a small circle, then charged again, striking the SUV and rolling it up on its side.
In the back seat, Mason held on in desperation as a hail of rations and ammunition containers battered him. The SUV rested on its side for a moment before the trike struck a third time.
Carlisle settled quickly into the fork of the tree and slipped the rifle off his shoulder. He took careful aim at the trike’s eye, hoping to penetrate the soft tissue and send the bullet directly to the brain for a quick kill. As he prepared to fire, the trike made its third attack, sending the SUV over on its roof.
Carlisle squeezed the trigger. The trike responded with a shrieking roar of pain and anger and fear. It stepped backward, instinctively shaking its head from side to side. Then, all at once, its forelegs bent and it went down with its hindquarters still in the air.
Fire belched from the SUV’s undercarriage. Even at a distance, Grant could see Mason trying to squeeze through the emergency hatch in the floor of the flaming vehicle.
Rick came out of hiding and sprinted toward the burning wreck, calling Mason’s name as he ran.
Fortunately for Rick, he was a slow runner. He was nowhere near the SUV when the fuel tank exploded. He went down instinctively, belly-first, and covered his head with his arms as bits of shrapnel zinged past him.
Carlisle climbed slowly and carefully down from the tree, watching as the car and its single passenger were incinerated.
Alan and Lex could only watch from a distance as the vehicle burned. Although Alan had hardly known Ed Mason, it was hard not to feel the sting of death when it was this close.
1/16/2003 10:44:22 PM
(Updated: 1/17/2003 1:27:56 AM)
(Updated: 1/17/2003 1:28:33 AM)
(Updated: 1/17/2003 11:47:37 PM)
(Updated: 1/17/2003 11:51:02 PM)
(Updated: 2/11/2003 3:14:08 AM)
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