|
Jurassic Park: X Factor (Prologue)
By drucifer67
Dr. Michael Reilly and his protégé sat silent, staring into the dense tropical forest, searching for movement in the blackness. Reilly was stoutly built, fortyish, just beginning to gray at the temples. He managed to look distinguished despite his attire: a sweat-soaked khaki shirt, knee-length shorts, U.S. Army surplus boots, and a Panama hat spray-painted green and carefully covered in tree moss. His protégé teased him ceaselessly about the hat, but he refused to give it up. He had been to hell and back with it, he said often.
The younger man squinted, trying his best to distinguish between the inky shadows before him. He shifted his weight, taking care not to lose his balance. They were in the forks of a tall, thick tree, high above the ground. If he survived the fall, he was certain he wouldn’t live long afterward.
“They’re out there,” Reilly said gravely. “I can hear them moving around.”
“If someone hadn’t panicked last week and dropped the goggles, we could see them,” his protégé answered.
“That’ll be enough out of you, Murphy. Don’t begin to think just because we’re two thousand miles from home that you’re no longer the student.”
The call from the forest was so sudden and so startling that Tim Murphy was transported back in time, to that long-ago Visitor’s Center kitchen where he had first heard the sound. “Velociraptor,” he whispered. “Calling for help.”
“We’re being hunted,” Reilly agreed. He had also come to know the sound well, during his time on Isla Sorna.
Tim reached up to the pack hanging above him, carefully unsnapping the catches that held his rifle suspended there.
“You don’t think that will be necessary, do you? We’ve never observed them climbing trees before.”
“With these things I don’t take chances,” Tim whispered.
A low growl came from behind them, and they turned in unison to try to locate the source. Again the blackness of night in the tropics vexed them; there was only the sound.
Then they saw movement, and immediately recognized a small herd of Compsagnathus, roughly twenty in number, scurrying from the bushes and into the clearing near the tree. They swiftly crossed the open ground and dove into the underbrush on the other side—with a raptor in hot pursuit.
Two more raptors then appeared in the brush, leaping amidst the compy herd and scattering them.
“The hound, chasing the rabbits to the hunters,” Reilly observed.
All three predators dove headfirst into the jungle cover. Two came up
with their writhing compys, then the third. The three hunters crushed their prey—then cast it aside and thrust their heads back into the foliage. Again they each came up with a fresh kill.
“They’re gathering,” Tim said in a hushed voice.
Reilly nodded imperceptibly in the dark. “Not typical behavior in animals. Wild predators kill enough for the moment. They normally don’t hunt again until they’ve eaten the first kill. This is extraordinary.”
The three raptors had collected three more compys—they now had a stockpile of nine—and they stepped businesslike into the clearing where their prey was piled.
The smallest of the three stepped forward and took a limp, twitching morsel into his mouth and tossed his head back to eat.
The largest of the three lunged at the small one, nipping at its neck, snarling viciously. The small raptor immediately dropped its dinner back in the pile, lowering its head in submission to the larger animal, clearly the leader of the hunting pack. The leader cried shrilly, and the smaller raptor cowered still lower.
A low sound came from the leader, a guttural string of croaks and hisses like nothing either of the men had ever heard before. The smaller raptor lowered its head to the pile gingerly, uncertainly, and carefully lifted the compy again. The leader gave a short barking sound and turned.
Now all three raptors were staring at the men in the tree.
“God,” Tim managed, but could say no more.
The leader and the third raptor now leaned forward and took compys into their mouths as well. The leader then dashed around to the far side of the tree. The third raptor spaced himself evenly between the leader and the smallest hunter, then carefully turned so that the two men could see his full profile. The leader did likewise, and the small raptor followed his lead.
“Whatever they’re doing, the little one’s new at it,” Reilly said. “Watch them. The big one is their leader, he and the other one are familiar with this ritual, but the little guy keeps looking to them to know what to do. They’re teaching him.”
“Teaching him what?” Tim wondered.
“No idea. Watch and see.”
As if on cue, the leader and the second raptor snarled deep in their throats and whipped their heads first right then left. They released the compys from their mouths, and the small, dead dinosaurs were catapulted through the air—directly toward the fork of the tree.
Both projectiles arced slightly high, returning back to earth almost simultaneously. The raptor leader looked at his student and cocked his head, waiting.
The smaller raptor whipsawed his head back and forth, and his compy flew smack into the side of the tree. The other two raptors snarled impatiently.
“Dear God,” Reilly whispered.
The three raptors collected their projectiles and set up to do the whole thing over again.
“We’re being bombarded,” Reilly muttered, utter astonishment in his voice.
“Why? If they want us, why don’t they just climb up after us?”
“Perhaps they want to keep their footing on solid ground. Perhaps its—perhaps it’s just a lesson for the youngster.”
The trio slung their macabre weapons again, and this time the youngest raptor seemed to be getting the hang of it. His projectile arced slightly over Tim’s head, while the other two, thrown by the more experienced hunters, struck Reilly. One fell flat at the base of the tree, but Reilly managed to get his hands around the second before it could slip away.
“They’ve only got nine bullets,” Reilly said, grinning slightly. “If we collect them all, maybe they’ll go away.”
“They don’t give up,” Tim said soberly. He clutched his rifle tightly.
The hunters had by now set up for another volley, and on a growled signal from the leader whipped their heads right then left again. The three compys sailed through the air—and all three struck Reilly from different directions. He managed to capture two of them.
“This has to be the most ineffective alternate hunting method I’ve seen,” Reilly laughed. “If they want to knock us out of the tree they’ll need larger projectiles. Smart, they are, but they’re still lacking something in—“
He was silenced by a fourth raptor, diving from above, both powerful hind legs striking at once. Reilly screamed, then the scream grew louder as he began to realize what was happening.
The raptor took one foot off Reilly and placed it squarely against the upright fork of the tree. Using the tree as leverage, he pushed. Reilly, flat on his back, was pushed toward the edge of the tree fork. He hung on for life, trying desperately not to let himself overbalance.
Tim raised his rifle and pulled the trigger without any attempt to aim. The raptor’s midsection erupted and it staggered, shook its head, and snarled. It resumed its efforts at pushing Reilly out of the tree.
The second rifle shot entered the raptor’s head just behind the eye, instantly destroying the great and dangerous brain of the deadly hunter. It froze, then leaned to the right, and fell. It struck the ground with a great and meaty thud.
Tim took aim at the raptor leader next, but as he squeezed the trigger, the wary killer darted to Tim’s right, skirting the tree.
When he heard the sounds above him, it was almost too late.
A fifth and sixth raptor were making their way toward him—one was less than ten feet above him. The sixth was further away, and even in the near-panic, what Tim saw made sense of the whole madness of the last thirty seconds—it was entering Tim’s tree by way of the jumble of branches above, roughly half of which stemmed from another tree further away in the darkness. The compy projectiles had been no more than a diversion.
Number five went down easily on the first shot, but Tim had to scurry out onto a limb to avoid being beneath it when it fell. The sixth was an easy target—even at a distance, in the murky dark, it was clear through the night-vision scope of the rifle.
Then he turned his attention to the remaining raptors, two of which were clawing their way up the tree. He could see the raptor leader in his periphery, scurrying about like a great general, growling instructions to the other two.
He shoved the rifle directly into the open and waiting mouth of the nearest raptor and squeezed the trigger. There was a brief, final squeal, then nothing more. He repeated the procedure for the youngest of the raptors, the trainee who was making his way cautiously up the side of the tree. It fell gracelessly to the ground.
The leader dashed into the underbrush, disappearing into the night. Tim listened as the seconds ticked off, watching the blackness for signs of movement. The only sound was Reilly’s wet, labored breathing.
Then the raptor leader, now some distance away, shattered the quiet with a series of short, abrupt barks.
It was calling again.
To be continued...
12/15/2002 11:20:20 AM
(Updated: 12/15/2002 12:38:13 PM)
(Updated: 12/16/2002 8:38:27 AM)
(Updated: 1/15/2003 12:55:54 PM)
(Updated: 1/15/2003 3:44:05 PM)
(Updated: 1/15/2003 5:16:25 PM)
(Updated: 1/15/2003 5:17:49 PM)
(Updated: 1/15/2003 8:56:03 PM)
(Updated: 1/16/2003 11:53:23 AM)
(Updated: 1/16/2003 11:54:01 AM)
(Updated: 2/11/2003 3:04:20 AM)
(Updated: 2/11/2003 3:05:58 AM)
(Updated: 2/11/2003 3:06:57 AM)
(Updated: 2/11/2003 3:07:22 AM)
(Updated: 2/11/2003 3:07:53 AM)
(Updated: 2/11/2003 3:08:52 AM)
(Updated: 2/11/2003 3:09:17 AM)
(Updated: 2/11/2003 3:10:18 AM)
(Updated: 2/11/2003 3:10:42 AM)
(Updated: 2/11/2003 3:11:03 AM)
(Updated: 4/8/2003 12:22:15 PM)
Comment on this fan fiction!
|
|
|
