Ian Malcolm stepped into the hallway and closed the door to the now-empty cell. He checked the time once again on the watch Bradford had given him. It was fifteen past midnight.

He turned right, as instructed, and made his way down the long, narrow corridor toward the elevator at its end. He moved slowly at first, then broke into a fast walk. A few steps later, he realized that it would be best to take up a normal pace and try not to draw any unnecessary attention.

The trip to the elevator was probably no more than a two-minute journey, but the hallway still seemed impossibly long.

He reached the end of the corridor, after what seemed an eternity, and pressed the elevator call button. He waited for the doors to open, certain that the elevator car would be full of security officers on their way to investigate the strange goings-on in Ian's cell.

His fears proved ungrounded when the doors opened. Seeing that the elevator was empty, he sighed with relief and stepped inside.

He paused, unable to remember which level Will Bradford had instructed him to choose. His index finger hovered in mid-air, pointing at the panel. At last Ian pressed the button marked "S1".

The elevator stopped at sublevel one. The doors slid open, and Ian bolted through, bearing directly for a door on his right. Neat white lettering on the door proclaimed this room as "MAINTENANCE". Below, in red, was the warning "PERSONNEL ONLY".

He used the keycard Bradford had given him and opened the door. The shop was compact, and while there was no sign of life inside, the small room was far from empty. Workbenches, about waist-high, lined the room on three sides. From the top of the benches to the ceiling, the walls consisted of pegboards covered with tools. The benches were likewise littered with vices, grinders, and assorted hand tools. On one bench lay a leather tool belt. Without a second thought, Ian picked up the belt and slipped it around his waist, adding his own touch of authenticity to the disguise Bradford had provided.

He moved slowly around the room, taking a quick inventory of his surroundings. A tall tool cabinet, equipped with wheels, stood near one corner. There was just enough room behind it to hide, if that became necessary.

As things turned out, he hadn't thought of it quite fast enough.

The door opened behind him with a faint beep and a dull click. He turned to see a short, thin man, in his mid-forties, dressed in the same type of coveralls as Ian.

"What the hell're you doin' in here?" the man demanded.

Ian glanced at the embroidered tag on the left breast of the small man's coveralls. "Ah," he said, "You, you must be Sid. I'm, ah, supposed to meet you. I'm the new guy."

"New guy?"

"Mal…Mallory," Ian said, thrusting out his hand. He hesitated, thinking, and chose a simple first name, in case he should called upon to remember it later. "Joe Mallory."

Sid didn't shake Ian's offered hand. "I don't know nuttin' 'bout no new guy," Sid said. "Why the hell did they send you to me? They do all the training on the early shift."

"I…I wouldn't know, ah, Sid. All I know is that I'm supposed to, ah, to observe you, tonight, while you work."

Sid looked Ian over suspiciously, and after careful study, proclaimed: "Bullshit."

Ian tried his best to look shocked, rather then terrified. "Excuse me? No, no, this is, ah, this is where they sent me."

"This don't make no sense," Sid said, puzzling it out slowly in his mind. "I ain't heard about no new guy, which I usually do hear about. Then I get the new guy dumped on my shift, which never happens. Stay right here, Mallory, I'm going to check into this."

The small man turned toward the door. Ian, seizing an opportunity, threw his arm around Sid's neck, trapping him in a firm headlock.

"Sorry, Sid," he whispered. "I just want you to know, ah, this, this isn't personal. I'm really not the, ah, the violent type."

Sid's struggles grew weaker, until at last he hung limply in Ian's arms. Ian lowered the man gently to the floor, then turned to the cluttered workbench. He rifled through the jumble of tools and bits of equipment, searching frantically.

Then he caught sight of a roll of silver duct tape, hanging askew from a thin steel peg on the board above the bench. Snatching it up quickly, he turned back to Sid and went to work.

At five minutes before 1 a.m., Will Bradford passed his keycard through the reader and entered the motor pool garage. There, just a few feet from the doorway, was Ian.

Bradford made an effort to hide his puzzled expression. He went quickly to a dirty, cluttered desk in the corner and addressed the heavy-set, balding figure seated there.

"Special agent Bradford," the motor pool supervisor said cordially, standing. "We're expecting you."

Bradford was even more puzzled, and this time he couldn't hide the expression.

"Mallory, the new guy, he told us. Sid's up on two, filling out the new hire paperwork, so he's sending the newbie with you."

"Oh," Bradford said, slowly catching on to what was happening. "I see. Well, I would rather have had Sid along, but I suppose someone's got to stay here and tend to the building."

The supervisor nodded. "Keys are in it," he said, pointing at a brand-new, jet-black Humvee. "All ya gotta do is sign off on her." He thrust a clipboard at Bradford, who took the attached pen and scribbled his name on the bottom of the form.

"Have fun," the supervisor said, shaking his head. "Sounds like it's going to be a real bitch of a job."

"I'm sure," Bradford agreed, having no idea what he was agreeing to.

"As long as they don't get back before we're finished," Ian chimed in. "You must be, ah, Agent Bradford?" He offered his hand. Bradford, still confused, shook it weakly.

"Joe Mallory," Ian said easily. The name rolled off his tongue as if he'd been using it for years.

"Nice to meet you, Joe," Bradford said, regaining his bearings and joining in the charade. "Now, I'm going to suggest we get going, so we can get this thing done before they get back."

Ian smiled and climbed into the passenger's side door of the Humvee.

Alan was, as usual, the last to wake up.

Lex and the others were already well on their way through breakfast when Alan slowly and cautiously lowered himself from the tree. He was pleasantly surprised to have regained some of this strength, although not nearly all of it. Rest had rejuvenated him; the day ahead, he feared, would sap his energy all over again.

He joined the group in the clearing where they had convened.

"Good morning, Alan," Lex said. She watched him carefully, looking for signs of infirmity. He moved a little slowly, she noted, but he didn't seem to be in bad health overall--at least not yet.

Alan sat down carefully beside Lex, wincing a little with the effort. "Good morning," he replied, with no real enthusiasm. He took a can of rations and the satellite phone from his pack.

"I just tried," Lex said. "Still no answer."

Alan looked at her, considering, then dropped the phone back into his backpack. "This isn't irresponsibility," he said, "and it isn't a problem with the hardware. Something's happened to Ian."

"Like what?" Rick asked.

Grant shrugged. "Who knows. An accident, maybe, or…who knows."

"I also tried Wallace's number earlier," Lex added.

"And?"

Lex shook her head. "Maybe he had an accident, too."

Alan opened the tin of rations and began to pick over the nearly tasteless morsels inside. "Who else is on the auto dialer?"

"The rest of the team and the two SUV's."

Grant stopped. "No other numbers on the mainland?"

"No."

"Well," Alan said after a pause, "we'll just have to keep trying Malcolm and Wallace, then."

"I know we'll get in touch with one or the other of those guys any time now," Carlisle said, then added, "but we need a contingency plan just in case."

Alan agreed, trying to think of anyone he knew in the states who might be able to pull enough strings to send a rescue boat.

Lex tossed the phone into her bag. "Still nothing. And the battery is getting low."

Grant nodded as if he had expected just that. The battery on his phone had failed an hour before.

Rick tossed his phone to Lex. "Use this one," he said.

Carlisle checked his own phone and reported that it was about 75% charged.

Markinson announced that his phone's battery was dead as well.

"We need to conserve what batteries we have left," Rick warned. "All the electronics stores on Isla Sorna went out of business."

Lex ignored his attempt at humor. "I'm going to call Grandpa," she said. "I'll let him know the situation. He can have someone out here in a few days."

Alan rested his elbows on his legs, letting his hands dangle between his knees. He seemed to be studying the earth between his feet. "We're not ready to be picked up, in any case," he said.

"One of us is," Carlisle replied.

Alan raised his head, puzzled.

"We talked it over, before you joined us at breakfast this morning. We've all agreed that the best thing to do at this point is to arrange you a ride out of here. The four of us will continue on withou--"

"No," Alan said flatly.

"Dr. Grant," Lex said, almost pleading, "you're already showing signs of getting sick. I've seen the way you're walking. The infection is only going to get worse. You need to get to a hospital while there's still time to treat you."

Alan looked at Lex for a long moment, studying her face. He thought he could see the conflict within her; the part of her that feared for her brother needed Alan's expertise, while the part that feared for Alan wanted him to make his escape. "No," he repeated at last.

"Stubborn as a goddam mule," Carlisle said, disgusted. "Anybody got a pen and paper, so the Doc here can go ahead an jot down what he wants on his headstone?"

Alan glared at Carlisle, but before he could put up any argument, Rick spoke up.

"Dr. Grant, you've done your part. Now it's time to go home."

Alan stood suddenly, as if trying to show just how much strength he had remaining. "Look here," he protested. "None of you are have the slightest idea what these animals are capable of. I doubt you can even tell most of them apart."

"We're going to have to manage," Lex said softly.

"No, Lex. I can't leave you out here. I don't want to spend the rest of my life with survivor's guilt over you people."

He turned and walked away on unsteady legs. He disappeared into the forest.

"That went well," Rick said.

"I'll go talk to him," Lex sighed, standing and heading off in the direction Alan had gone.

Markinson, Carlisle, and Rick continued their pressing business--assaulting compys with sharp rocks.

"Doctor Grant," Lex called. "ALAN!"

He stopped and turned to watch as she approached.

"Alan, please," she said quietly. "You have to get off this island and to a hospital."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she held a hand up. "I won't hear anymore of the arguments. I know you're feeling old and I know you probably think your life's work has been shot to hell by Grandpa and Ingen--"

He shook his head. "No, Lex, my life's work has been shot to hell by technology. Electronic equipment performing 'virtual digs', they call it. In a few more years--"

"In a few more days you'll be dead. Not retired, or out of a job, Alan…dead. I can't let that happen."

Alan turned and was about to walk away again when they heard the scream.

Lex easily outran Alan as they made their way back toward the clearing. Halfway back, Markinson passed them, sprinting.

"What's happening?" Alan demanded, but Markinson didn’t seem to hear.

Lex broke through the cover of the tree line, then stopped so suddenly that Alan almost collided with her.

Just ahead of them, Rick was racing in their direction, clutching his rifle. Carlisle was hot on his heels, trying to keep up while casting quick glances back over his shoulder.

Then Lex saw it, and screamed.

It was low to the ground, about waist-high to the two men it pursued, and probably seven feet long. Its thick hide was a mottled green and tan on top and a bright blue underbelly, divided by a silvery-white slash that ran down its side from just below the shoulder to a point just past the tail. Its skin seemed to cast off small pinpoint reflections, as if it might have been scaly.

What caught Lex's eye was the thing's mouth. Its front teeth were almost horizontal, protruding forward from the slender mouth like the tines of a fork.

Rick dove for cover in the thick growth to his right. Carlisle ran past him, trying to outrun the charging carnivore.

Rick rolled over on his side and slipped his rifle off his shoulder.

The creature leapt into the air, coming down on Carlisle's back. He screamed, an unearthly sound of mortal agony.

The dinosaur's momentum carried it past Carlisle. It stumbled a little as it braked in to soft earth, then turned and focused its attention once again on its wounded prey.

The sound of two quick gunshots echoed through the forest, an instant apart.

The predator showed no signs of slowing.

Carlisle had wound up on his back. His torn and tattered backpack was cast off to one side, its contents littering the jungle floor. When he saw his attacker returning, he rolled and got quickly to his feet.

The timing could not have been worse. Just as Carlisle stood, Rick squeezed the trigger of his rifle.

Rather than hitting its target--a point between the dinosaur's eyes--the bullet sunk into the skin just below Carlisle's left hip, clipping the edge of the femur as it passed through. A cloud of blood and bone fragments issued from the back of his thigh.

Carlisle spun with the force of the bullet impact and lost his balance. Going down on his back, he found himself facing his attacker.

As the small but vicious creature brought itself low, preparing to launch itself onto its prey for the final blow, three shots rang out in quick succession.

With a low, rumbling sound, the great predator slowly leaned to one side and struck the earth with a final, hollow thud.

Rick was on his feet even before the dinosaur hit the ground, sprinting through the low, tangled cover to where John Lee had fallen.

Alan and Lex arrived at the scene just after Rick.

"Easy, John Lee, just hang on," Rick was saying. He slipped off his pack, then his shirt.

"He's bleeding pretty badly," Alan observed.

Rick nodded. He wrapped his shirt around Carlisle's leg, tying it tightly on the outside of the thigh, then gently turned his friend up onto his side.

Lex, upon seeing the wounds inflicted on Carlisle's back, turned and walked several feet away.

Alan looked on as Rick tried to wash the loose dirt and leaves from around the wide gashes. He could see enough to know that the wounds were deep, probably deep enough to have severely damaged vital organs.

"Rick," Alan said softly.

"Don't say it. Give me a chance to work, here. Don't tell me…anything."

"Rick, please," Alan repeated.

Rick wheeled on him, grabbing his shirt collar. He pulled Grant closer, so that they were almost nose-to-nose. "Don't you say it, don't you dare say it! Get out of the way, now, god damn it, give me some room to work, I've got a wounded man here!"

Alan got to his feet and stepped back, waiting for Rick to come around. He didn't press the issue any further; Rick would realize for himself soon enough that John Lee Carlisle was not going to survive.

He stood aside, giving Rick the room he had asked for. Rick continued to work on his friend, cleansing and dressing the wounds and speaking to Carlisle in a soft, soothing voice.

Alan turned to the dinosaur corpse behind him, studying its features. The forward-growing teeth were an instant indicator of the species Masiakasaurus Knopfleri.

He knelt beside it, studying its bone and muscle structure and the unique, bright pattern of its skin. Scientists had long assumed that the protrusive front teeth might have been used to spear fish. Alan now knew what else those teeth could be used for.

He finally turned and stepped up behind Rick, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Rick," he began again.

"Don't you say it's over," Rick said, sobbing.

It was obvious to Alan that Rick was in a state of shock, still tending wounds and speaking words of comfort to a man who had been dead for at least ten minutes. Alan knelt beside the sobbing man and took a firm hold on his shoulders. Rick fought against it at first, but eventually gave in and turned to face Grant.

"We grew up together," Rick said, as if that fact alone should have rendered Carlisle invincible.

Lex came quietly up behind the two men. She knelt and placed a hand on Rick's back. He turned to her, his body shuddering and heaving with great sobs of grief. He embraced her, burying his face in the fabric of her shirt, and she made no move to push him away.

Rick's grievous, violent sobs had slowly faded away. He now sat quietly, off to himself, showing no signs of the earlier outburst of emotion other than the occasional sniffle.

"I had no idea they were so close," Lex sniffled.

Grant shook his head. "I thought they had worked together for a few years, if that."

Markinson, who had returned slowly after his panicked race through the forest, stood aside and said nothing.

Silence unraveled for a few long minutes, with Rick having nothing to say and the others having no further comfort to offer. There comes a time when condolences, no matter how sincere, outlive their usefulness. Alan and Lex recognized that time when it came.

"LEX?"

The single word shattered the relative silence, echoing through the jungle. It so startled Markinson that he had his pistol half-drawn before he realized that it had been a human, speaking a simple word in plain English.

Lex and Alan quickly turned to face in the direction of the voice.

"TIM!" Lex shrieked, leaping to her feet and sprinting across the forest floor. He stood perhaps twenty feet from the group, looking abused and disheveled. His clothes were torn, and he was covered head-to-toe in a fine accumulation of grime.

Lex reached him and embraced him forcefully, almost tipping him off-balance. She said nothing for several moments, opting instead to hold her brother tightly.

Alan joined them, patting Tim's back and shoulder. He hadn't seen Tim in years, and was amazed at the changes to the young man's appearance. He was tall, taller than Alan, and sported a growth of stubble on his angular chin. "You have no idea how good it is to see you," he said.

"It's good to see you, too, Dr. Grant. We came when we heard the shots. What happened?"

Alan looked back at Rick, then answered softly: "We lost someone."

"Tim," Lex interrupted, "Are you okay? Is everything alright? God, you look like shit…"

"Easy, Lex," Tim said, laughing a little. "One thing at a time."

Then, from behind Tim, another voice interrupted: "Please, God, don't tell me."

Alan looked over Tim's shoulder, instantly recognizing the owner of the new voice. "Lyndsey Cross?"

" Doctor Cross," she corrected. "I can't believe they sent you."

Lex looked from Alan to Dr. Cross and back. "You two know each other?"

Alan opened his mouth to answer, but Dr. Cross spoke first. "Unfortunately, yes. You people are lucky, indeed, to have the great Dr. Alan Grant here to lead your expedition."

Alan opened his mouth to speak again, and again was interrupted, this time by Tim. "What have you got against Dr. Grant?"

"As a paleontologist, not much," she said.

Alan opened his mouth to speak yet again--and this time, he could find no words.

"He's a great man," Lex said defensively.

"Wait til you've known him a little longer, honey," Cross said sourly.

"He came here to save your ass," Lex spat back. "You could show a little appreciation."

"I'll appreciate him when we're back on sovereign U.S. territory. In the meantime, I'll prepare for the worst."

She walked past Alan and Lex and Tim, crossing to where the dinosaur carcass lay in the low growth. She knelt there to study it.

"What's her problem?" Lex asked Alan.

"You don't even want to know," he sighed.

2/6/2003 12:12:36 AM
(Updated: 2/6/2003 1:06:34 AM)
(Updated: 2/8/2003 1:57:50 AM)

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