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X Factor Chapter 16
By drucifer67
Jurassic Park: X-Factor
Chapter Sixteen—The Crossing
Dark had come once again to Isla Sorna. Alan Grant and company sat in a tight circle on the sandy riverbank, just finishing up a fairly tasteless but adequate meal. The wide riverbed broke up the dense jungle canopy, offering a clear view of the three-quarter moon as it rode unhurriedly across the night sky.
Alan tucked the empty ration containers—he had wolfed down two full cans—into his pack.
"Leave only footprints, right, Doc?" Carlisle said, smiling.
"Something like that," Grant answered. He didn't care for being called 'Doc'—it was a bit too familiar for his tastes—but he supposed it was better than being beaten up.
"I have to apologize for this morning," Carlisle said, surprising Alan just a little. It was as if the man had read his thoughts. "I don't have a good excuse, but it shouldn't have happened."
"It's done now," Grant replied.
"I'm serious, though," Carlisle persisted. "I was in the wrong. I'm supposed to be here protecting you two, like Rick said. As much as I hate to admit that Rick was ever right."
Rick playfully tossed his empty ration can at Carlisle, who deflected it deftly.
"Hey, hey," Lex chimed in. "Leave only footprints, remember?" Her right arm was suspended in a makeshift sling that Rick had fashioned from two handkerchiefs.
Rick laughed. "Yeah, John Lee, pick up your trash."
Carlisle tucked the can away, then lay back on the sand, using his pack for a pillow. The drawback to camping on the riverbank was the absence of the tall, thick trees they had chosen to sleep in before. "If you all don't mind, I'm going to try to sleep. The days are getting longer."
Markinson agreed, but picked up his things and carried them a short distance away from the group. Apparently he liked his privacy.
"What is it with him?" Lex asked quietly.
Rick hesitated. "Not sure. Just…something about this afternoon bothered me." He looked at Lex, her face painted a ghostly pale blue by the rising moon. She looked back at him, puzzled.
"Okay," Rick explained, "When we met back up this afternoon, and I asked him what happened to Hector…he couldn't give me details about it. Nothing. He hesitated before he described the animal—and then said it looked like the one this morning. It sounded a little weak."
"So what are you thinking?" Grant asked, curious.
Rick hesitated again, casting a glance in Markinson's direction. "I think he ran. I think he was nowhere near Ramirez when it happened—I'm betting he heard the noise and ran like hell."
"Well," Grant said, "In his defense, it's not exactly as if there was much he could do to help."
"He had a rifle. That's not the point, though, Doctor. The thing that bothers me is, I don't believe he would have done anything, even if he could have. I should never have brought a new man on this."
"Well," Alan said softly, "I must admit, I don't think much of him, either. There's just something—"
"Sneaky about him," Lex finished.
Rick looked from Grant to Lex. "Are you two related? Twins or something?"
Lex laughed, and Alan thought it was a little too loud and maybe a bit forced. He looked from her to Rick and back, then announced that he was going to call it a night.
Alan moved away from the broken circle and began to spread out on the sand.
Rick turned to Lex. "You should sleep, too," he said, with a soft but firm seriousness in his voice. "Best thing for that arm is to let your body rest."
"In a few minutes," Lex said. "What about you?"
"I'm going to stay up for a while," Rick said, looking up at the moon. "It's a pretty night. Besides, I kind of think it would be a good idea to keep watch."
"Not all night," Lex protested.
"No," Rick said, shaking his head. "No way could I stay awake all night."
Lex laughed. "At least you're honest," she said.
Will Bradford's dining room table was littered with file folders. He sat with his elbows on the table, propping himself up with his hands. He had gone through several of the files, but the overwhelming majority of the folders had yet to be opened. He had unearthed some surprising information, but still couldn't make sense of any of it.
He opened the folder marked WU, HENRY, and immediately froze.
He skimmed the details in the file, picking up just enough information to understand where this piece in the puzzle might fit, then reached for another folder:
WALLACE, CHARLES
Opening the folder, he immediately uncovered still more information that had, for whatever reason, been kept from him. He was less surprised this time.
A thought flashed across his mind, and he rifled through the stack until he came across the folder labeled MALCOLM, IAN.
As he read the folder's contents, Melinda padded softly into the room.
"Another late night, eh, sport?"
"Afraid so," he answered, still reading.
"What's all this? Still the same thing? The one with Malcolm?"
He nodded distractedly, caught up in something in Ian's file.
"You look like a kid cramming for a big test," she said. "Shouldn't you have all this committed to memory by now? I mean, I thought this was your case from the start."
"I thought it was, too," Will answered. "It appears I was wrong."
"You've always said the agency's bad about not letting the left hand know what the right hand's doing."
"This is worse," Will replied. "Much worse. Something is seriously wrong with the way we've been going about this." He opened another folder, scanned it, and tossed it aside, and picked up another. He thumbed through its contents, half-interested, and was about to toss it aside when something caught his attention.
"Well," Melinda suggested, "don't stay up all n—"
"Shit!" Will exclaimed, stopping her in mid-sentence.
"What?"
"Shit," he said again.
"You're so eloquent tonight," Melinda said sarcastically.
Will gathered the folders into a half-straightened pile and dropped them into a cardboard box on the floor. He then turned to Melinda, gently placing his hands on her shoulders and looking into her eyes. His expression was a little alarming.
"Will, wha—"
"Baby, I have to tell you a story. See, I was beginning to wonder exactly what it was that Eichmann could want from Ian Malcolm. It just didn't add up. We had Henry Wu—well, that's not exactly right but I didn't know it at the time—anyway, we had all the information we could get on this case, and I didn't understand why Eichmann wanted us to sweat Malcolm out. Nothing was making sense, and I couldn't see starving a man without a damn good reason. We haven't fed him since we took him into custody—"
"My God, people still do that? In America?"
Will nodded impatiently. "Sometimes. Now listen…this morning, I took him a couple of pieces of toast. I smuggled it in and dropped it in his cell."
Melinda laughed. "Two pieces of toast? How many days has he gone without food?"
"It's not like I could set up a banquet in there, right? Eichmann would have my job for just the toast. He's probably going to have my job anyway."
Melinda looked as if she had been slapped. "What…your job? Will, what's going on?"
"It would take a while to explain all this—"
"I have time," she said flatly. She wouldn't be avoided on this one.
Will nodded. "Okay. Sit down, then, and I'll start at the beginning."
Melinda took the chair nearest her, and Will chose the one next to it. He scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand, considering where to begin. Finally, he took a deep breath and began to explain.
It was nearly noon when the group found a suitable river crossing.
Carlisle was kneeling by the river, filling his canteen, when he suddenly shouted back to the others, pointing at something upriver. The rest of the group joined him, and Alan soon saw what had got Carlisle's attention.
Fifty yards or so to the north, the river was broken by a series of large rocks protruding from its surface. From here, at least, it looked as if the rocks might serve as a bridge.
"That looks pretty good," Rick agreed. "We'll be able to tell more once we get there."
Carlisle stood, capping his canteen. "Let's get moving, then. I want to get this river behind us."
The sand on the bank had gradually given way to greenery as they walked, and ahead of them now lay a thick, wild growth of brush. Rick entered the undergrowth first, followed by Lex and Carlisle. Alan waited deliberately for Markinson to take position behind Carlisle; for reasons he couldn't put his finger on, he didn't want Don Markinson behind him. After the previous night's discussion with Rick, Alan found he suddenly didn't trust the quiet, secretive man.
They forced their way through the choked path, with Rick doing all he could to clear the way as he went. He stomped the bushy plants and trampled the vines in an effort to make the going easier for the others.
Rick stopped suddenly, slipping his rifle off his shoulder. He was watching something in the jungle to his right.
Lex moved instinctively behind Rick and to his left. Alan moved past Markinson and Carlisle, peering into the brush. At first he saw nothing.
Then a greenish-brown flash of movement caught his eye. He traced the small, fast-moving object as it wound its way beneath the growth. At last, it stopped, offering Alan a clear, unobstructed view.
It was small, roughly the size of a house cat, with long, thin hind legs and a whip-like tail. He recognized it immediately.
"Compsognathus corallestris," he declared. "Compy, if you prefer. Small carnivore, late jurassic period."
A second compy appeared next to the first. They stood, heads bobbing lightly, watching the human interlopers with great curiosity.
"I doubt we're in any danger," Carlisle said, on the verge of laughter.
"Hey," Rick said defensively, "I heard the bushes move. I didn't know it was a bunch of fucking iguanas."
A third and fourth compy had gathered with the first two, and were suddenly joined by a half-dozen more.
"Look out, Rick," Carlisle mocked, "they're ganging up on you!"
Rick gave Carlisle a warning look, then shouldered his rifle and resumed his stomping trek through the brush, muttering under his breath as he went. Lex and Carlisle followed, but Markinson was a bit more hesitant.
"They eat lizards," Alan explained, "and insects, probably. Things of that nature."
Markinson looked at Alan doubtfully. "Okay," he said at last, nodding slightly. He took a doubtful step forward, then stopped again. The tiny predators had shifted as a group, and now all their tiny eyes were focusing on him. He froze in his tracks again.
"Please, Mr. Markinson," Grant said impatiently, "they're not going to attack you. They couldn't possibly be less interested in us. They like to eat small things." He found himself speaking slowly and carefully, as if Don Markinson were a particularly dim first-grade student and Grant his unfortunate teacher. He didn't intend to, but his words came out that way nonetheless.
Markinson pressed on, lurching past the place where the tiny herd lay in wait. Alan thought he was near panic.
By the time Alan caught up with the group, they had reached their destination. Rick, Lex, and Carlisle stood at the river's edge, studying the natural bridge of broken rock steps.
"How does it look?" Alan asked.
"Not too bad," Rick answered doubtfully. "Some of the rocks have a little moss growth, which is going to make it slippery in places, and there are a couple of gaps that are too wide to step across, but I don't think we're going to have to make any Olympic long-jumps."
Grant was thankful for that. He wasn't sure he had any good long-jumps left in him.
"Okay, then," Carlisle said. "Remember to keep your weapons up out of the water."
"And yourselves," Alan added.
"Right," Carlisle agreed. "If you fall in here, we'll most likely pick you up somewhere in the Pacific."
Rick stepped up onto the first rock. It was big and flat and mostly dry, making it a good jumping-off point. What would happen next, though, was anybody's guess.
He mustered his courage and stepped across the rushing water to the next rock. It was surprisingly easy, and it only took a moment to step to the next. He turned back to the others. "It's not so bad," he said. "We can do this."
He turned back to the task at hand. He chose each step carefully from among the many scattered boulders in the river, hopping nimbly from stone to stone.
Lex stepped up onto the first rock just as Rick was coming down on the other side. He landed on solid ground, whirling around and smiling, his arms outstretched in a playful gesture of triumph.
Carlisle followed immediately behind Lex. "Having that arm in a sling is going to throw your balance off some," he warned. "Don't worry, I'll be right here. Just take it one step at a time."
Lex nodded, then carefully chose the nearest stepping-stone.
Carlisle followed, stepping into her place as she vacated each stone. She slipped a little, once, on a moss-covered rock, but quickly stiffened and brought herself upright. Regaining herself, she continued the perilous trip.
Markinson followed a few steps behind Carlisle, making good time. Apparently the treacherous rocks and the deadly river current weren't as intimidating as the diminutive dinosaurs in the bushes.
Alan was just preparing to hoist himself up onto the first stone when he heard faint sounds of movement behind him. He turned to see the herd of compsognathus gathered directly behind him, eyeing him with renewed interest.
He climbed onto the rock, then turned and bent slightly at the waist.
"Now, gentlemen," he lectured, "let's not bite off more than we can chew. Go and find a nice lizard or two, and leave the big, dangerous humans alone."
Smiling, he stepped to the next stone.
Then he heard the sounds of movement again. The herd was following.
He leapt from rock to rock, each time stopping to observe the progress of the tiny dinosaurs as they followed along behind. "Extraordinary," he said to himself. It was hard to believe what he was seeing. Why would they put forth the effort to pursue something as large and difficult to overcome as a human being?
He returned to the business of making the crossing, but before he could choose which rock to take next, he felt a sharp stinging sensation in his lower leg.
He shook the compy off quickly, sending it flailing helplessly into the raging river. Its head appeared above water a few feet away, but it quickly submerged again.
The rest of the herd had gathered at Alan's feet, staring up at him in a way that reminded him of infant birds in a nest, awaiting a morsel of food from their parents.
The image was a little unsettling.
He turned, ready to leap to the next rock, when several of the small animals set on him at once. He felt the tiny jaws snapping in perhaps a half-dozen places on his lower legs. He shook violently, trying to throw them off, but with limited success: one of the tiny predators struck the water, throwing up a great, white spray, but the rest either hung on or dropped easily back to the rock and prepared to strike again.
Alan made the next jump, attackers and all. He lost a few in the process, but he couldn't guess how many. He heard two or maybe three small splashes, but was too busy focusing on getting across to worry with how many of the attackers he may have drowned.
He jumped from stone to stone, trying to ignore the painful, burning bites on his legs. Every time he stopped to prepare for the next jump, he shook slightly, hoping to rid himself of at least a few of them.
He stopped and looked down. He could see four attached to his legs, but he knew there were more, out of view, on the backs of his calves and thighs. On the surface of the rock, the remainder of the herd circled about him excitedly.
He jumped again, feeling a little more urgency now. He landed on the next rock, and teetered there for a maddening instant as he fought to find purchase on the slick, mossy surface.
Recovering, he jumped easily to the next stone, guessing that he was probably about halfway across. He looked up at the group waiting for him on the other end, and froze.
Carlisle had brought his rifle up, and was tracking the fast-moving dinosaurs through the scope.
"NO!" Alan shouted, trying to be heard above the roaring of the rushing water.
Alan's efforts were in vain. Carlisle either hadn't heard, or had chosen to ignore Grant altogether. He squeezed the rifle's trigger gently, and Alan felt a slight tug at the left leg of his trousers.
He looked down, near panic, knowing that Carlisle had missed his target, certain that the area just below his knee would be a mass of devastated flesh.
To his surprise, the leg was untouched. The compy holding it, however, had been struck dead-center, and all that now remained was its upper body. The tiny attacker's head and forelimbs still clung to the fabric of Alan's pants.
The herd reacted quickly, leaping from rock to rock, back in the direction from which they had come. They paused briefly, a few feet from Alan, assessing the situation. Carlisle fired another shot among them for good measure, sending one compy flying into the river and the rest racing back to the east bank.
Alan looked himself over and, noting that his attackers had fled altogether, continued on his way. Shortly, he landed on the west bank, putting the river behind them for good.
He strode purposefully to where Carlisle stood, his fists clenched, an angry furrow in his brow.
He stopped directly in front of Carlisle, sticking his right forefinger directly in Carlisle's face, oblivious of the events of the previous morning.
"You," Grant began, then stopped. He slowly lowered his hand as he searched for the right words. Finally, he spoke again: "That was…a damn good shot."
Carlisle laughed. "Didn't mean to scare you, Doc."
"Well…you did. But that's…that's quite all right."
Alan stepped away from Carlisle and sat down on the soft carpet of low vegetation. He removed his right boot and turned up the leg of his pants, just enough to get a good look at some of the bite marks.
"Looks pretty nasty," Rick pronounced.
"Indeed," Alan answered. "And they're going to get worse."
"Worse how?"
"Several years ago, a family on vacation anchored near one of the beaches of this island. There was a young girl who was attacked by what she called "big lizards". She spent some time in a Costa Rican hospital. She recovered, in time, but the infection from the bites became quite ugly in the meantime."
"Infection," Lex echoed, concerned.
Grant nodded. "I can't remember all the details from the news reports, but I'm certain it was this island, and I'd be willing to bet that the girl's 'big lizards' were our little friends over there." He indicated the compy herd, still gathered on the far bank, heads bobbing, watching.
"I've got a few things," Carlisle offered. "Some antiseptic stuff, antibiotic cream, a little first aid kit."
"That's better than nothing," Rick agreed. "But we're going to need to get him off this island soon. He's going to need real treatment."
"We'll care for the bites as best we can," Grant said, "and then we push on. We're not leaving this island until we've done what we came to do." He looked at the others. There was no mistaking the gratitude in Lex's eyes, or the disbelief in Carlisle's, or the horror in Markinson's.
"Okay, then," Carlisle said at last. "The good doctor says we slap some goo on these mosquito bites and keep moving. What are we all waiting for?"
He knelt, slipping his pack off his shoulders, and set to work doctoring Alan's wounds.
The slope on the west bank proved to be much less dangerous than the one they had descended the day before. In a matter of minutes, the group had crested the shallower, lower embankment and stood in a sparse grove of tall, thick trees.
As they moved through the forest, Rick suddenly broke from the group, wading a few paces out into the dense growth to their right.
"Dr. Grant, Carlisle, come see this," he called.
The three men knelt beside a handful of items, scattered and hidden in a small, clear area amid the heavy growth. A tattered pack, with one strap torn, lay in the center, surrounded by a miscellany of other odd items: a filthy bandana, a wide-brimmed hat, a mud-caked book, and a variety of other small items. Alan picked up the first thing that caught his attention.
"This was Reilly's," he said matter-of-factly. "I met him on several occasions, everything from digs to dinner parties, and he was never without this thing." The hat had originally been white, but had been altered for the jungle environment. It now sported a flaking coat of green paint and a few clumps of dead, drying moss.
He dropped the hat back to the ground. Leaning forward, he carefully picked up another item—a long, narrow bone. He turned it over in his hands, examining it carefully.
"What's it from?" Rick asked.
"I'm fairly certain," Grant said hesitantly, "that this is a human femur."
Carlisle's face went white. "God," he muttered.
Lex came up alongside Alan. "Why did you guys leave me there with—"
Her words trailed off as she caught sight of the litter on the ground before her.
"Lex," Rick began, but could offer nothing more.
Lex stepped into the low patch slowly, as if in a dream. She passed the hat and the pack and the litter of other things as if they weren't there, and stooped to pick up the book.
She sat down hard, clamping a hand over her mouth. She closed her eyes and fought back tears.
"Lex," Alan said gently, "Lex, what is it?"
She tried to answer, but couldn't. She dared not speak for fear her voice would betray her. She closed her eyes again, lowering her head.
"What is it, Lex?" Alan repeated. Lex thrust the book up toward him. He took it from her and looked it over. On its tarnished black leather cover, stamped in gold leaf, was one simple word:
JOURNAL
He opened the book carefully, shaking off bits of drying, caked-on mud in the process. On the inside jacket, written in a whimsical feminine hand, he read the inscription:
Thought you could use this to keep track of all that dino-crap you dig up. I wonder if you'll find a Doyouthinkhesaurus, you big nerd. Just kidding, kid, you know I have to give you a hard time.
Good luck with your internship. You're going to be the next Alan Grant, I just know it!
Love, Lex
Alan closed the book gently.
1/27/2003 10:03:19 PM
(Updated: 1/27/2003 10:17:03 PM)
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