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X-Factor Chapter 23
By drucifer67
Jurassic Park: X-Factor
Chapter Twenty-Three
The building was a plain, two-story rectangle of reinforced concrete. The skewed radio tower, which Tim had pointed our earlier, stood at its north end, and an elevated platform jutted from the roof on the south. Almost all of the lower windows were shattered, and the six-inch-thick bunker doors hung slightly ajar.
"It's a real fixer-upper," Dr. Cross said softly.
"Any port in a storm," Rick answered. "I don't care how it looks, as long as the damned dinosaurs can't get in."
"They can," Tim said dryly. "With no windows, and the door standing open, it could be full of them now."
"Great," Lex muttered.
Rick stepped to the heavily reinforced door ahead of the group. He nudged it slowly open, certain of the surprise attack that would come from inside the building. When no such attack came, he leaned inside slowly and cautiously.
The main entry was a short hallway with a door marked DECONTAMINATION on the right-hand side. The short entryway opened into another corridor, which branched in both directions at ninety-degree angles.
He turned and motioned for the others to follow, then stepped into the entryway slowly.
At the end of the short first hallway, he peered around the corner into the perpendicular corridor, looking first right, then left.
He shrugged at the others. "Nothing in here," he announced.
Cross and Markinson lowered Alan Grant slowly to the floor, propping him against a wall. His hat slid off and down his face, ultimately flopping into his lap. His head slumped forward, and he jerked upright, his eyes fluttering open. He stared at Dr. Cross with a childlike expression of petulant reproach. "It's my turn to ride the pony," he announced.
Tim, fully understanding the gravity of their situation but unable to stop himself, burst into giggles.
"What?" Grant protested. "It is my turn. She went last, didn't you see--" Then his eyes rolled back and his head slumped backward, striking the wall with a thump.
"Someone should stay with him while the rest of us check the building," Rick suggested, stepping effortlessly back into his leadership role.
"I'll stay," Cross said. Seeing Lex's stifled smile, she added: "I wouldn't know a radio if I saw one anyway."
Rick instructed Tim to check the rooms in the right-hand corridor for signs of a radio, and to see whether there were any windows still intact and reinforced with bars. He sent Markinson to do the same in the left-hand corridor. Then he went to the door marked STAIRWELL, stepped inside, and disappeared.
Lex shuffled uneasily, as if unsure what to do next.
"You should go with him," Dr. Cross said, indicating the stairway door where Rick had gone.
"Why?"
"There are probably more rooms upstairs that need to be searched."
Lex hesitated, then nodded and followed Rick to the second floor.
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"Nothing down here," Tim declared. He and Markinson had returned to the hallway intersection at about the same time, having finished their cursory search of the first-floor rooms. "How's Dr. Grant?"
"About the same," Cross answered, sighing. "He's breathing, but he's still not coherent."
"What kind of odds do you give him?" Markinson asked.
"Depends on whether we find a radio, and who we can manage to contact," Cross answered. "He's still in pretty good shape, all things considered. If things go quickly, he'll make it."
"And if things don't go so quickly?" Tim asked.
Lyndsey Cross looked at Alan Grant for a long time. She reached out and stroked a wisp of hair back across his temple. When she looked back at Tim, he could see that her eyes had reddened around the edges. She didn't say a word, but she answered Tim's question just the same.
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Lex took the stairs quickly, hurrying to catch up with Rick on the second floor. At the top of the staircase was a small landing leading to a heavy steel door. Rick had left the door open just a few inches, and Lex could see enough to know that what lay beyond was much more open than the hive of hallways and small offices on the first floor.
She nudged the door carefully. As it opened, she could see the one room that comprised the entire second floor. She stepped inside cautiously.
Along the wall to her left stood a row of workstations, twelve in all, their screens black and the CPUs coated in a healthy layer of dust from years of disuse. Above and behind the computers was a row of observation windows, canted outward and caged in steel.
On the wall directly ahead was a group of two dozen closed circuit TV screens laid out in a four by six block. Stationed in front of the bank of monitors were three rolling chairs. She assumed this wall was dedicated to park security.
The third wall, to her right, was another set of twelve workstations and specialized windows, a mirror image of the group on her left.
The fourth wall contained a bank of low filing cabinets, the door through which she had entered, and a second door marked with the legend STAIRS TO ROOF. Below the words was a decal depicting a neat white circle with a silhouette of a helicopter in its center.
Standing in the center of the room was an island of cabinetry and countertops, littered with various tools and papers and odd-looking devices that meant nothing to her.
What she did not see was Rick.
"Hello?" she called, and immediately realized how stupid she sounded, like the main character in a low-budget horror movie.
When Rick burst through the door leading up, Lex had to stifle a scream. This was her first indication that she had actually been nervous. For the first time since their arrival on Isla Sorna, she had felt totally alone.
"We're in luck," Rick announced.
"How so?"
"There's a little radio room at the top of the stairs, and a helipad on the roof. We can call them right to us without ever having to leave the building."
"Assuming the radio works."
"Yeah, well, there's that. It looks to be in good shape, if we can power the damned thing. That's going to be the real trick."
Tim came up from the first floor, followed closely by Markinson. He glanced around the room, then at Rick. "No radio?"
"Up there," Rick answered, indicating the door to the roof. "All we need is some juice."
"I'll bet there's a generator around here," Markinson offered.
"Out there, maybe?" Lex cut in. She was standing by the row of computers on the right-hand wall and pointing out the observation window at something on the ground outside. "It's a shed of some kind."
"Possibly," Rick answered. "I'll have to go out there and check it out."
Lex turned quickly to face him, then realized what she had been about to say. She bit her bottom lip unconsciously, then nodded. "Good idea."
Lex studied the surroundings outside. A wide area had been cleared around the building's footprint, probably when it was constructed. The shed she had pointed out stood about forty feet from the main building, inside an eight-foot chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. Inside the fence were two white Jeeps, rusting away on flat tires. The fence had been hit hard at some point, and a wide area including two fence posts leaned inward at an insane angle.
"What if the gate is locked? You'd better take something to cut through the fence."
"From the looks of that fence, I could walk through it," Rick said lightly.
Tim was standing at the window on the opposite wall, watching something in the distance with keen interest. Markinson was fiddling with one of the old, dusty computers, as if trying to figure out a way to turn it on. Rick was looking at Lex from the corner of his eye, studying the way the sunlight through the odd windows lit her round profile in the darkened room. Lex was pretending not to realize he was staring.
They were all startled when Dr. Cross screamed.
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Tim was the first to reach the bottom of the staircase. He bolted down the corridor to the intersection where they had left Cross and Grant.
"A little help, here, Tim!" Lindsey shouted. She was busy trying to bring a barely conscious Alan Grant to his feet. Tim raced to Dr. Grant's side, taking up the too-familiar position under the good doctor's right arm.
Then he saw what had caused the scream that brought them all on the run, and froze.
Two velociraptors were in the building.
From what he could tell, they had entered through a shattered window in one of the first-floor rooms, and were just making their way into the main corridor when Dr. Cross saw them and sounded the alarm. Now they stood in the hallway, assessing the situation with the handful of struggling humans.
"Upstairs!" Tim shouted, and they began to drag Alan's limp body toward the stairway door.
Lex and Rick arrived, taking notice of the two raptors. "Move him upstairs," Rick said breathlessly. "Lex, go with them, help them get him up the stairs. Go!"
Lex hesitated, then joined Lyndsey and Tim in their effort to move Alan to the stairway and out of harm's way.
Behind her, she heard the shriek that signaled impending attack.
The trio reached the stairway door with their cargo, and Tim motioned with a nod of his head for Dr. Cross to open it and let them all inside. She did as she was instructed, and Tim and Lex heaved Dr. Grant through the door.
Markinson pushed past them, heading out the way they had come in. He held his rifle high aloft to avoid ramming anyone as he sped through the door and onto the lower floor.
Lex turned to shout for Rick, and froze. He was standing in firing position, his feet apart, rifle resting against his shoulder, repeatedly squeezing the trigger.
Nothing was happening.
Lex's mind raced. She was certain that Rick had reloaded his rifle after the near miss in the valley, but now it seemed that his gun would do nothing.
"RICK!" she screamed, just as the stairway door closed her off from him.
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Rick finally let go of the trigger and lowered his rifle. The ammunition must have been tainted, wet, contaminated, corroded…something was definitely not right.
The pair of ferocious predators was racing toward him, skidding slightly on the slick tile floor. He thought, oddly, that there was no linoleum when dinosaurs ruled the earth.
He was aware of Markinson, in his peripheral view, racing toward him, rifle in hand.
His heart raced, as did his mind. He wondered whether the rifle or the raptors would get to him first. He wondered whether Markinson would shoot the raptors or stand there stupidly, as he himself was doing now.
The realization that he was simply waiting to be killed got his feet moving. He turned and bolted toward Markinson, shouting a warning: "Get back upstairs! Go! Go! Go!"
Markinson skidded to a stop, staring wide-eyed at Rick. He turned on his heels and fled back toward the stairway door.
Rick sprinted to catch up, knowing that the raptors could not be far behind. He wanted to chance a look back, to see how much distance they had closed on him, but terror had taken control. His feet continued to move, and his eyes remained locked on the door that would lead up and out and ultimately to safety.
The attack cry of the raptor echoed in the empty corridor behind him, and he knew that only a few feet of open air lay between him and the great tangle of teeth and claws that pursued.
Markinson reached the stairway door and fumbled the knob with his sweat-slick palms. After a moment, he got a grip on the doorknob and yanked the door hard. He leapt through the opening and into the stairwell.
Then he closed the door behind him.
Rick, just steps ahead of his attackers, arrived at the door just as it clicked shut. He could not believe what he was seeing. Markinson, who had proven more than once on this trip to be less than a team player, had sealed the door and sealed Rick's fate.
"Open up!" Rick shouted, still stunned that Markinson would sacrifice him this way. "OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN THE---"
The door flew open so suddenly that Rick couldn't step back quickly enough. The edge of the heavy block of steel struck him squarely in the forehead, sending him staggering backward. His feet became tangled, and he went down flat on his back.
The two raptors, still moving at top speed, slid right past on the slick floor.
Tim, who had smacked Rick with the door, stepped into the hallway, his rifle held snugly at his side. He looked to Rick like Chuck Conners in the old western show as he snap-fired the rifle from the hip, sending the first of the two raptors sprawling into the wall. Shell after shell ripped through the animal's soft flesh and sprayed freshets of blood on the pristine white walls. The predator went down in a shrieking, debilitated heap.
The second raptor, enraged, let out a series of sounds that began as a shriek of agony, and perhaps grief, and ended in a low, warning growl.
Tim, in the sort of panic that only grips the accidental hero, was incapable of any sort of coherent thought. Instead, he spun on his heels, the rifle still clutched at his side, and snapped the trigger five or six times in quick succession. The second raptor staggered as its torso and thighs were ripped and shredded by the shells.
Seizing the opportunity afforded him by Tim's heroic efforts, Rick rolled over onto his hands and knees and crawled toward the stairway door in a frenzy. He slid through the open door on his belly, grateful for the feeling of the concrete floor of the stairwell against his skin. As he stood to call for Tim, he noticed Markinson sitting at the base of the stairs, empty-handed and looking addled. A rivulet of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Rick held the door open to let Tim inside, but Tim wasn't there. He thrust his head back out into the corridor, where Tim still stood, facing off against the one badly-wounded raptor that remained.
"Tim, come on!" he shouted.
Tim nodded, never taking his eyes off the fierce and fearsome predator. The raptor was moving gently from side to side in a wide, graceful arc as it closed the distance on its prey. A multicolored trail of blood and fluids showed the animal's path on the tile floor.
Tim studied the raptor, and the raptor studied Tim. Rick found himself thinking disjointedly that a referee should be between them, admonishing them both to fight clean and not to hit below the belt.
However, it seemed that Tim wasn't interested in a clean fight. He raised the rifle to his shoulder. At this range, he could safely ignore the scope--at this range, in fact, he could safely have taken no aim whatsoever.
The raptor seemed familiar enough with man and guns to know what was coming next. It shrieked a high, hollow sound of defeat that echoed down the corridor and pierced Rick's eardrums. As the sound began to fade, it was drowned out by the blast of Tim's rifle.
The raptor stood perfectly still for a moment that seemed like an eternity, then slowly listed to one side and struck the hard floor with a meaty thud.
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"If you're right about what bit him," Dr. Cross said doubtfully, "and if this isn't so old as to be perfectly worthless. Then it will work."
The group stood in the center of the upper level, discussing the contents of the six-inch glass cylinders that stood upright on the countertop before them.
"You're sure that's what he said?" Dr. Cross asked.
Lex nodded. "I'm sure about what bit him. He explained them in great detail. Compsognathus was what he called them, or compys. They're about this big--"
"Yeah, I know what they are," Lindsey cut in. She held a glass cylinder up, examining its greenish contents in the light of the observation windows. "The label says this is the stuff."
"So let's do it," Tim said eagerly.
"Yeah, what are we waiting for?" Rick added.
"There's one other possibility," Dr. Cross warned. "This substance is old, a decade old at least. It could very well have changed substantially…it may have aged like wine, but then again it may have--"
"Okay, maybe it's good, maybe it's festered," Rick interrupted impatiently. "What are you getting at?"
"If this has gone bad…look, I'm no chemist, and I'm no pharmacist, but I think it's possible that this won't do any good."
"Will it do any harm?" Lex asked.
"Possibly," Cross shrugged.
"So you think we shouldn't use it?" Tim asked.
"I don't know," Lyndsey whispered. She looked at Alan, slumped in one of the chairs in front of the security monitors, his breathing low and shallow. "I just…don't know."
"From the looks of him, I think it's a chance we have to take," Rick offered.
"I agree," Lex added.
Lyndsey Cross looked at Tim, who said nothing. He glanced around at the others, then took the cylinder from Dr. Cross and read the label again. It was supposed to be anti-venom, designed to counter the effects of compsognathus bites. It was stored alongside a host of treatments for other dinosaur-related ailments, including dilophosaur anti-venom and generic emergency kits. He stared at Dr. Grant for a long moment before he finally spoke up.
Very quietly, almost whispering, with his voice cracking slightly, Tim cast the deciding vote:
"Let's do it."
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4/2/2003 2:14:39 AM
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