"Where are you going? Tim? TIM!"

He strode quickly toward the door, his rifle slung across his shoulder. "I'm going out there," he said simply.

"You can't go out there," Dr. Cross protested.

Tim stopped at the door leading to the stairwell, his hand resting on the knob. "I have to. Rick's out there alone, and judging from the way he landed, he's probably hurt. I can't just leave him."

"What about all those raptors, Tim?" Cross argued. "Are you just going to say 'excuse me, but we've got a man hurt over here, so would you mind not shredding me until I can go and check on him'?"

Tim turned the knob. "I'll do whatever I have to d--"

Tim was cut off mid-sentence as the door burst violently inward, striking his head and chest and sending him sprawling. An instant later, the bewildered young man saw the raptor standing over him, and understood what had happened.

More important, he understood what was about to happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lex watched the entire event in slow motion. One second, Tim had been standing by the door, ready to go and risk his life for Rick. The next second, he was sprawled on the floor with a raptor standing over him. It took a few moments for her mind to process what her eyes were seeing.

She reached up instinctively for the rifle that was no longer on her shoulder. She had given it to Rick after he discovered that his own weapon had been damaged. She turned to Dr. Cross, who was screaming helplessly at Tim, repeating his name over and over. Across the room, Dr. Grant was stirring in his sleep, probably startled by the noise that suddenly filled the room. A few feet away from him, his rifle and Rick's stood side-by-side.

Her mind raced. She couldn't get to the rifles in time to save Tim, and even if she did, by some miracle, manage to cross the room, she couldn't be sure which rifle was Alan's and which was Rick's. If she picked up the damaged gun, it would be all over for Tim, and probably for the rest of them as well.

Finally, logic took control and she realized that she couldn't do anything if she didn't at least try. She took the first unsteady step toward the corner of the room where the rifles stood.

The raptor leapt forward to intercept her, carefully staying close enough to keep one foot on Tim's chest. Lex stepped back from her attacker, bumping against the computers along the wall. As she watched, the raptor slowly retracted its deadly toe claw, holding it at the ready above Tim's vulnerable chest.

Tim's rifle was just beyond his reach. Cross didn't carry a gun. Lex's own weapon was outside with Rick.

It was all about to end very badly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rick leaned against the inside wall of the shed, taking the weight off of his throbbing left ankle, while allowing his eyes to adjust to the relative darkness of the room.

He put his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, taking account of the situation.

He had come to the shed in search of a generator. Now, in addition to the problem of how to open the gate so that he could haul said generator back to the main building, he had to deal with the additional minor nuisance of being devoured alive as he made the journey back. The raptors had left him and gone in the direction of the main building; he was therefore certain that a welcoming committee would be waiting inside when he got back.

He opened his eyes and looked around. It was a small, square equipment shed, as they had all assumed, and it was a mess.

On the wall to his right was a long workbench, mostly empty and unused. To the left of the bench was a tall, red steel toolbox.

Various unfamiliar shapes under dingy canvas tarpaulins occupied the majority of the floor space. One of those shapes, he hoped, would be the generator he sought.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward, and immediately felt the sensation of nails being driven into his ankle, causing his knee to buckle. He cried out and reached for the nearest solid object for support.

He took several deep breaths, trying to get himself under control both mentally and physically. He looked down at the object with which he'd caught himself, an unidentifiable bulk beneath an oily canvas tarp. He decided this would be a good place to start the search.

He tugged at the tarp, slipping it easily off onto the dusty concrete floor to reveal a machine of some sort. He had no idea what it was, but it was clearly not a generator.

A paper tag cased in plastic hung from the top of the machine. Curious, he reached down and took the tag.

It was a maintenance request form. The machine, listed on the form as a Sonic Repulsion Beacon, had apparently been tagged for service, then shoved into the shed and forgotten. It crossed his mind that everything in this shed might be junk, waiting for the maintenance man who would never come, but he pushed the thought out of his mind. There was a gas-powered generator in this room, and he was going to find it, and it was going to work, and the radio was going to work, and the InGen boat captain in Costa Rica would have to put aside his Mai Tai and come back for them.

Also, Santa Claus was going to ride up on the back of a dinosaur with brand-new weapons and ammunition to tide them over until the boat got back.

He sighed heavily. He had stood up to some tall odds in the past, but this was taking long shots to a whole new level.

He turned to the next object, which stood roughly three feet away. With both hands firmly planted on the broken machine, he slid his right foot across to his new destination. He took a deep breath and pushed off with his arms, bringing his weight to balance on his good right leg, keeping his left foot off the floor entirely.

He firmly took hold of the next tarp and yanked it off, thinking briefly that this would be another broken piece of junk, tagged and awaiting repairs.

He was so certain that it would be another unrecognizable piece of high-tech nonsense that it took him a few seconds to realize that the white legend, emblazoned on the unit's red top, read HONDA.

Here was their generator.

He reached over to slip the lid off the fuel tank, but never got around to it. He was startled by the sound of a single gunshot.

He turned and carefully worked his way back to the door of the shed. Leaning out the doorway, he shouted up toward the open window on the second floor.

"TIM?"

He waited for perhaps fifteen seconds before calling again.

"TIM? LEX?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lex was staring blankly at Tim, not comprehending what was happening. She had waited for the raptor's deadly toe claw to sink into her brother's chest, helpless to prevent it. But somehow, Tim had managed to shoot the raptor after all. It wasn't possible, because she was watching him, he was several feet from his rifle, and just what the hell had happened? She had heard the gunshot, and now the vicious predator was lying against the wall, its toes twitching slightly.

"Tim, are you okay?"

The voice was so unexpected that a moment passed before she realized it had been Dr. Grant who spoke. She turned to the corner where Grant had been lying.

He wasn't lying there anymore. He was fully on his feet, holding his rifle in both hands.

Tim nodded, unable to speak. Alan acknowledged with a single nod of his own, then lowered the rifle. He reached out and steadied himself with his right hand.

Lex ran to Tim, kneeling beside him and looking him over for signs of injury.

"I'm okay," Tim said, his voice husky with terror.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he said simply, waving her away.

Dr. Cross had joined Dr. Grant in the corner, and was urging him to sit.

"I've done nothing but sit or lie down all day. Let me stand for a minute."

"How do you feel?" Lyndsey asked.

"Terrible."

"You look better," she said, trying to encourage him. His eyes were still sunken and hollow, but there was a light in them that hadn't been there the day before.

He nodded. "I feel better. Just not good." He lowered himself carefully to the floor and looked around the room. "Where the hell are we?"

"We're not sure. There's a little of everything here--security, emergency equipment, a radio--"

"Radio? We've got a radio?"

"Sort of," she conceded. "It's not working yet. Rick's gone to find a generator."

Alan nodded again. "Where's my hat?"

Before anyone could answer, the sounds of many raptors calling for help issued from the edge of the forest. Tim got to his feet and went to the window. The sun had set and the island was quickly growing dark, but he could see the raptors leaping from the lower windows of the building and rocketing across the clearing and into the forest.

"They're leaving," he announced.

"They'll be back," Alan warned.

Lex nodded. "And Rick's still outside."

"I think now is the time to get him back," Alan said, trying to get to his feet.

"Oh, hell no," Tim said sharply. "You save your strength. Dr. Cross, watch the window. Lex, go with her and shoot anything that moves that isn't your brother."

"Tim, please--" Lex began, but Tim cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"I'm going," he said matter-of-factly.

"I was only going to say, be careful," Lex finished.

They exchanged a long, meaningful look. In that moment, Lex remembered Tim as he had looked right before leaving Isla Nublar, with his hands bandaged and his hair spiked from the shock of the electric fence. He was so much older now, but in her mind he was still a little boy. She supposed he always would be.

Tim was thinking about that fateful weekend as well, but the image in his mind was a picture of Lex's innocent face--painted with brachiousaur snot.

He turned and headed for the door, leaving Lex to wonder what he could possibly be grinning about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rick rummaged through the drawers in the red steel tool cabinet, searching for anything he could use to cut the chain link fence and allow the generator to be brought back to the main building. He had gone through about half of the cabinet's eight drawers but had not yet found anything useable.

Suddenly, an idea struck him, and he looked toward the door. There, on a hook beside the door, was exactly what he had hoped to see: a single key.

First he had found the generator, and now this. It was too much to hope that the key by the door might actually fit the lock on the gate outside. His luck was never this good.

Then again, he thought, maybe this sudden surge of good fortune was payment for all the hell he'd been through since agreeing to take on this job.

He loped carefully to the door and removed the key from its hook. He pressed it tightly into his palm, hoping that it was the key he needed.

He pushed the door open slightly, peeking outside for signs of dinosaur activity. It was almost dark. He had to move swiftly.

He forced himself to use his left foot just slightly in order to cover the distance to the gate more quickly. He made good time, but it hurt like hell. As soon as he reached the gate, he took his weight off the injury.

He took the hanging lock in his left hand and positioned the key in his right, holding it tightly with his thumb and forefinger. Taking a deep breath, he plunged the key into the lock.

He was amazed at how easily the key slipped into the lock, and even more amazed that the lock itself turned and opened with very little effort.

He swung the gate open, then paused, listening, certain that he'd heard something moving in the tall, untended grass.

Then he saw a shape moving toward him out of the shadows, coming from the direction of the building. He froze for a moment, unable to move.

As the silhouette moved closer, Rick got his wits about him and slammed the gate shut. He hung the lock for good measure.

The silhouette, now moving toward him at a dead run, let out a sound that was familiar but nevertheless startlingly unexpected.

"Rick!" it shouted.

"Tim?"

"Nope, Bob Barker, and you're the next contestant. Get the hell out of there, we've got to get inside."

Tim came to the gate. "What's the holdup? Let's get going."

"I found a generator," he explained.

"How heavy?"

"It's got wheels," Rick said, shrugging.

"Okay," Tim agreed. "Let's get it and get gone."

They both turned toward the shed, with Tim moving at a fast trot and Rick loping along, favoring his injured leg.

Tim, noticing Rick's limp, stopped. "What happened?"

"I think I sprained it."

"Nice," Tim said. He held his rifle out for Rick to take. "You stay here. I'll get the generator out."

"We'll need fuel for it, too," Rick said.

Tim pointed at the two rusting white Jeeps inside the enclosure. "I'll check the tanks on those."

He dashed to the first Jeep and unscrewed the gas cap. He couldn't see anything inside, but the smell of gasoline was fairly strong. He turned back to Rick. "I'll need a hose," he called.

"Why don't you try the spare cans mounted on the back?" Rick suggested, smirking.

Tim turned to the back of the Jeep. There, mounted on the back of the vehicle, was a spare gas can.

"Wish I'd thought of that," he called back to Rick.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"If they stabilized the fuel before they parked those old Jeeps, we might have a chance," Rick said soberly. "Really, though, chemical fuel stabilizer isn't meant to keep gasoline useable for ten years. We're going to be damned lucky if this things starts."

They were on the first floor of the building, gathered around the generator. All eyes were on Rick as he carefully checked the oil level and went over the machine with a fine-toothed comb, doing everything he could to ensure smooth operation.

"Well," he announced at last, "This is where we find out whether I wasted my entire afternoon out there."

He held the t-handle of the starter cord firmly and pulled. The old, unused engine sputtered to life immediately, coughing out great gusts of smoke as it choked and coughed. After a moment, the engine leveled off to a smooth but very loud idle.

"Muffler's shot," Rick announced.

"What?" Alan asked.

Rick waved a hand in the universal gesture of never mind, then motioned with his hands, suggesting that the whole group should go upstairs.

Dr. Cross held out the rolled extension cord she had hanging on her arm, and Rick plugged the business end into the built-in outlet on the generator. He then took the other end of the cord and followed the rest of the group upstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was perhaps the longest night of Lex's life. The thunder of the generator downstairs was maddening after so many days in the relative quiet of the remote jungle, but every time she began to think she might get used to it and drift off, the raptors began calling in the distance. It was as if all the forces of nature were conspiring to prevent her getting any sleep.

She got up from her place on the hard floor and crept up the stairs leading to the roof. The night was clear and starlit, and from this position in the wide clearing, she could see almost the entire sky.

She could hear Rick's voice, coming from the small, rooftop room that housed the radio. He was taking his turn, calling for help, repeating the same short phrase again and again:

"Mayday, urgent message for Captain Solomon of the InGen transport Fortitude or any traffic in the vicinity of the Cinco Muertes."

She walked slowly to the radio room, still looking up at the gorgeous night sky.

"Mayday, urgent message for Captain Solomon--" Rick stopped abruptly when he noticed Lex on the roof.

"Evening," she said offhandedly.

"It is indeed. Is it your turn already?"

She shook her head. "Couldn't sleep. But I'll take over if you want."

"Nah," he shrugged. "I have a few hours left before laryngitis sets in.

She smiled. "How's the ankle feeling?"

"Like hammered shit," he said simply. "But I'll live."

Suddenly the radio crackled to life, startling them both. The voice of a man with a thick Spanish accent came from the single tiny speaker: "Attention unidentified party. Transport Fortitude is in quarantine in Costa Rican port of Puntarenas. From where are you broadcasting?"

Rick keyed the mike, then released the button and looked up at Lex. "Quarantine," he said, a quizzical expression on his face.

"Why would the boat be quarantined?" Lex asked.

"Because the boat's been here. The captain and his men were probably all arrested. This island is still off-limits."

"So we tell them where we are, they come and get us, we make up a few lies about how we got here. It's not so tough."

Rick considered this, then shook his head. "We've been calling for the InGen captain. They'll know we're not here by mistake."

"Then we do a little time or pay a little fine or what the hell ever," Lex insisted. "The main thing is, we don't do it here."

Rick nodded reluctantly and took up the microphone again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4/5/2003 11:54:37 PM

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