Chapter 1
A Dream Deferred
The gripping chill of a New York winter met Alan Grant with a shock. He left his hotel, hands forced deep in the long overcoats' pockets, and walked to the limo waiting in the street.
A man in his middle forties, dressed in a business suit draped over by a long overcoat exited the limo smiling.
"Dr. Grant!" he greated.
"Chancellor Hilman. A pleasure," Alan responded, unearthing one hand for a brief handshake.
"You ready?" Chancellor Hilman asked enthusiastically.
"As much as one man can be, John," Alan replied getting into the limo.
Since the San Diego incident and the discovering of the "Dinosaur Islands," a large amount of public outcry for some sort of decision regarding the islands lit up a political firestorm with politicians requesting special trips to be made to the island to view the animals, and various groups voicing their concerns. Everyone felt they had claim to the animals either to see them, save them, hunt them, or exterminate them.
All those who'd been to the island were under a gag orders not to speak of what they saw, including Alan. But in recent years, debate at the UN had been brought to a stand still over how exactly to deal with the islands. Many feared the animals but an equal amount feared losing them to conservative opposition.
Thus, the UN brought in a special session of the Security Council, creating the first debate on Re-animated Organisms ever. The meetings had lasted a week now, televised on C-SPAN 2. Many news companies were carrying the story, with correspondents out on location outside the UN building.
"So Alan, how are the accommodations?" John asked.
"A little over the top for my taste, but you people know how to live in style."
"So we do." John smiled.
Alan could sense the amount of pride in John's voice and was slightly amused. Chancellor John Hilman was the typical politician: rich, sharp, quick witted, and self serving.
Alan remembered the first time he met Chancellor Hilman five years ago on the helicopter as they left Isla Sorna.
"Dr. Grant! We finally meet in person." he recalled John saying.
"Yes. And you are?"
"John Hilman, Chancellor for the United States of America. I represent home, Dr. Grant. Our office got a call from a friend of yours, Dr. Sattler about 5 hours ago. She alerted us to your situation here. Threw the office into an uproar!"
"She has a way of doing that," Alan laughed awkwardly.
"Well, it's good to see you're in good spirits. How are they?" he asked, nodding towards the Kirby's.
"Alive, which is more than I can say for the others-"
"Others?"
"There were several, yes," Grant answered painfully.
"You realize this is a serious violation of the agreements established between the U.S. and the Costa Rican governments? It's going to be a while before this whole matter is resolved. If you work with us, we'll do our best to avoid any serious penalization."
He had been right, of course. Chancellor Hilman was able to spare them the brunt of the attack, instead shifting the blame from the Kirby's to the deceased pilot, who lay scapegoat for "going off course", along with the Costa Rican Government for inadequate patrolling of a protected zone.
"Have you been watching the news?" Hilman asked.
Grant leaned back into his seat. He could sense where this was going.
"Yes, John. I have."
"And what do you think?"
Alan hesitated, contemplating what exactly to say.
"Well," he began, tapping his thumb on the windowsill, "I can't say that I'm not at all surprised. We knew they would come to this conclusion at some point–"
"Yes," John interrupted, "but do you think this would be the most appropriate step after what you've been quoted as saying."
Alan mouth contorted slightly, trying to remember back to what exactly he'd said.
"John, the islands are a damn nuisance. They shouldn't be here. The UN is on the right track–their decision shouldn't be swayed by whatever it is you think I said–"
"They are a gift," Hilman broke in again, after having fumbled through some papers.
"The animals are a once in a lifetime chance to study what could have been–"
"Hear that? What 'could' have been–" Alan interjected.
"–what the animals may have been like–"
"Again," Alan said, pointing his finger at John decisivly, "may have been lik–"
"–and should be examined fully."
There was a moment of silence. Alan didn't respond, his finger still pointing at John, mouth poised for rebuttal. Instead, he relaxed back into his seat and sighed.
"You said you were ready?" John asked, smiling lightly.
"You know," Alan began, "I stared velociraptor square in the face and even that doesn't compare to you. At least with them you know where the attack is coming form."
John Hilman smiled and sat back in his seat beaming.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Despite Alan's seemingly corse front, a troubled mind lingered. At night before he'd sleep, he would close his eyes and remember the first time he'd seen a dinosaur. His first words "It's a dinosaur." Even after eight years, seeing them again made him feel the rush of exhilaration of a child. The words "Oh my God, I'd forgotten," issued from his mouth without any thought. Secretly, he desired to see them again. His heart had changed. He feared that the most.
"Good afternoon. I am Dr. Alan Grant. I have come before this council today to speak from my knowledge as a scientist and as a survivor of the Island Chain in question."
Outstretched before Alan lay the UN Security Council, assembled specifically to meet the possible threat of Los Cinco Muertes. Alan sat in one of the chairs allocated for the United States. Before him lay the semi-circle table, with a rectangle table in the center. to the left lay the gallery where not a chair was empty. Television cameras were moving around in the distance, focusing on him.
The mediator then spoke.
"Dr. Grant is with us today to help us in our decision making. He is an experienced archeologist and also has been to Isla Sorna. I will open the floor to questions. Raise your hand and I will acknowledge you in the order the hands are received."
The mediator then nodded to Alan, who took a last glimpse at Chancellor Hilman, who smiled and nodded as well.
From around the table hands flew up immediately.
"The chair recognizes Costa Rica."
The man leaned forward, pointing his finger angrily at Dr. Grant and began yelling in Spanish. Dr. Grant looked around confused until the translator in his ear began to speak.
"The Costa Rican Government forever condemns these islands! Many of my country's people have died from these animals and I will not rest until these islands are gone for good!"
With that, the man relaxed back into his seat. Many hands continued to be raised and the mediator spoke again.
"The Chair recognizes China."
"Good morning Dr. Grant," the Chairman spoke in English, then continuing in Mandarin.
"China is wondering: How do you feel presently about the animals that inhabit the island. I have heard multiple accounts of what happened. Dr. Malcolm's version, your book, but from my understanding, you were asked to give a full account of what happened but were given a gag order by InGen. Are you familiar with this account?"
Alan wasn't sure how to answer. He'd been sworn to secrecy after the incident. He looked to John for some answer, only to be confronted with a smile. John stared for a moment, but then leaned in.
"We used an executive order to unseal your secret, sworn testimony. We've all read it. You can answer."
Alan hesitated, wincing at the thought that his testimony from the first incident had been unsealed. Sure, he'd been asked to write a book after the San Diego incident, when his involvement with InGen and InGen's true purpose had been exposed, but this was different. That book was a farce. InGen had gotten wind of the possible disclosure and reminded Alan of his "contractual obligations," and that any book about what actually happened would be in breach of it.
"The Death of Dreams" as Alan called his book, was mostly fictional, telling a slightly more crude story that his publisher asked him to write. He and a few others crawling through velociraptor tunnels underground and depicting the t-rex with an opposable tongue with other such nonsense.
This was different: this was really what happened. That scared him the most.
With much hesitation, Alan leaned into the mic and responded.
"Yes, I know of these accounts."
"I have a transcript of your sworn testimony nearly eight years ago. It says here that when asked about the animals, your only statement was 'They are genetically created monsters.' Does this view still hold true?"
"I believe that we created them. We need to take responsibility for them, whatever they are. As to whether they are monsters, in my experience I found that for the most part, the animals behaved how we would expect them to, but only observation could truly answer that--"
Chancellor John Hilman tugged on Alan's shoulder and pulled him away from the microphone.
"Dr. Grant. You just said, on record, that you believe only observation can answer the real question here: are the animals authentic. Correct?"
Dr. Grant moved slightly uncomfortably towards the microphone and spoke.
"Yes. Or maybe someone close to making them. Dr. Wu might know, but-"
"Mediator. I'd like to call for a short recess in order to prepare for a closed session," John Hillman interrupted again.
"I need a second to move for a motion for a closed session."
"I will second," Germany's Chancellor spoke.
"I will read a list of chancellors, reply 'yay' or 'nay' to a closed session."
"It's been a catastrophe! The entire Eastern shore has been put into ruins. We have not seen a disaster like this for many years," Grant watched the TV in the cafeteria as the Indian Chancellor spoke passionately into the multitude of microphones stationed on his podium.
Two hours had passed since the closed session had cleared the gallery and turned off the cameras. Apparently even that wasn't going well. In the small time since then, reports of an earthquake in the middle of the Indian Ocean that had brought about a catastrophic tsunami, hitting India hard began to flood in. The meeting must have been canceled, Alan thought, but no one had come to find him yet so he remained where he'd been left.
"Hearings that were taking place today at the UN were brought short when news of the disaster struck. The UN had been in some quiet deliberation over the fate of the fabled 'Dinosaur Islands,' a decision that seems even less sure to be made than before," the news anchor spoke. The footage then cut to the Indian Chancellor speaking again.
"It outrages me when this committee's power is misused. Instead of deciding how much aid we can send to my country's people who are dying, we are instead deliberating over what to do about some unimportant island chain on the other side of the world that shouldn't exist! We should be focusing on the here and the now, and the people alive who need our--"
Alan stepped down from a chair, having sucessfully turned the tv off.
Placing the chair back underneath its table, Alan walked around the room, trying to find something to do. His stomach growled as he walked by the snack machine.
"M&M's or Skittles," he pondered, staring at the candy behind the glass. He'd decided to get a snack, stuck with only a few dollars, not enough to get anything of real interest.
He inserted the dollar. The machine started to whirr, but spit the dollar back out.
"I hate machines."
"Dr. Grant," called a voice from the hall.
"Dr. Grant," again called the voice of John Hilman, as he knocked on the window and entered the cafeteria.
"Thank you again for your testimony in there today. It may have been brief but it was just the thing!" Hilman finished, shaking Alan's hand.
Alan looked at Chancellor Hilman unconvinced.
"Just the thing to what?" he asked.
"Oh, you know," Hilman stalled, taking Alan's dollar, rubbing it on the corner of the machine and reinserting it.
"You said it yourself! You'd want to investigate the animals further! That was something that John Hammond brought you on board to do all those years ago, and now, thirteen years latter, you're going to be able to do it!"
Alan took a step back not sure what had just transpired.
"Don't you see? You're going back. M&M's or skittles?"
There was a moment of silence, then John spoke again.
"The UN has given me two months to put together a mission to the island chain. We are going to create two teams–oh! I'll tell you all about it on the car-ride back."
Alan didn't respond. He continued to stare at Chancellor Hilman in slight disbelief. Part of him was happy to hear the news, another part, appalled.
"But what about aid to India? How are you going to–"
"Don't worry Alan! We know what we're doing. There will be aid sent to India within forty-eight hours."
Alan still looked at Hilman, almost in shock, thinking only of the last attempts to visit the islands.
"Alan! Don't worry. We've done our homework! The last mission set up by that low-life of a company, InGen, will pale in comparison to what we have planned. And you are going to help me decide who gets to go. Isn't that great?"
There was a pause.
"M&M's," Hilman stated.
"You seem more like an M&M's kind of guy to me."
Alan nodded, leaned over and retrieved the M&M's from the machine, saying something under his breath.
"What was that Al?"
Alan stood upright, opened his M&M's and started to walk away.
"You're going with me."
The gentle waves of a moonless night rocked the small fishing boat in a glassy sea. Juan, a man in his early twenties walked away from the railing and entered the galley. His face, distorted in the starlight, writhed with discontent.
He walked back to the galley and walked through the door.
"Hey! You returned!" spoke a grizzly man, positioned in the corner of a dinette, vodka bottle and shot glass in hand.
Juan walked over to his father, attempting to remove the bottle from him to no avail.
"Don't you think it's a little dangerous being drunk in these waters?"
"No," the father said, swashing his hand through the air, taking another shot.
"We're far from that place," he winced.
Juan sat down next to his father, sliding the bottle infront of himself.
"But don't you remember last time–"
"I remember boy!" his father snapped, retrieving his precious drink.
"I killed that beast! Remember! I–I drowned it. Gone. Bottom of the sea."
Joan looked on unconvinced of his fathers optimism.
"You remember it boy! You remember it!" his father beckoned to his son's anxious face.
"Retrieved the nets. Woke it up is what we did."
"Father–"
"No!" his father exclaimed, standing up from the bench.
"It was after the fish we were catching! The huge fish we can only catch here in these waters. These," his father leaned over the table "enchanted waters."
It was true: the waters around the aptly named "Five Deaths" were restricted and because of that, the fish that lived in them grow to enormous sizes. Back at the town market, any fisherman daring enough to go near enough to the islands to capture fish that big would make an enormous profit.
"But at what cost, father!" Juan broke in.
"Oh! You worry too much. We are fine–remember how I detached the nets, as is snapped at me with its jaws. It wanted me!"
Juan looked away, trying not to remember.
"As I recall it was I who cut the line," Juan said grudgingly.
In that moment, the serenity of the sea was broken by an unearthly wailing.
The two looked at each-other and Juan ran out onto the deck, his father hobbling behind.
The night was deceivingly calm. Not a sound; not a whisper of breeze: dead.
The two ran from railing to railing, looking down at the sea and out towards the dark horizon, that only now was beginning to cloud over with a blanket of fog.
Again, the sound echoed sharply through the night. A mixture of a siren and something else: something not of this earth.
Juan began to panic. The animal from his dreams, from that night long ago, haunted him, and it was coming for them. If they were attacked, they couldn't call for help. and he knew if they were found–alive--in these waters, they would be locked away forever. The only other option was being found dead, and Juan did not want to contemplate that.
Without thinking, Juan ran to the back of the boat and began to retrieve the net they'd been dragging. They were leaving, and now.
The turbine kicked on and broke the silence. Juan looked off to sea, straining to see anything in the dark.
The sound of rushing water grew louder and louder. Something was coming. Another roar pierced the night, frightening Juan's father, who fell to his knees next to the railing.
He ran for the helm but in his drunken stupor tripped and fell. Juan jumped past him and spun the wheel. They both looked over board as the large, looming shape came straight for them. A roar, no, a horn broke the air, and the ship that was barreling toward their boat sailed past them, knocking their boat away in its wake.
The two fumbled to their feet. Juan grabbed a flashlight and shone it onto the ship. No registry, no name. Nothing to say what it was.
Maybe it's a ghost ship, he thought.
He passed the beam of light over the deck. There was a frighteningly high pitched shriek and a pounding from a crate on the deck. Printed on the side was one word:
BioSyn
"Mommy!" squealed David, running up to the front door from the living room window. "Oh, hello David! How's Mommy's little boy?" Ellie asked, catching her boy in outstretched arms, running her hand through his hair.
"Hey mom.," Charlie interrupted from the stairs, now almost 9. His hair, blond like his mothers, styled in the bowl-cut. He smiled at her, gave his mother a quick hug, and walked into the living room.
Ellie picked up Alan's bag and started walking towards the stairs.
"Where's Dad?" she questioned Charlie.
"I'm over here," came the voice of Mark from the kitchen.
"I started dinner."
Ellie motioned for Alan to go sit in the living room while she brought his bags upstairs and he did so hesitantly, wanting to make sure she didn't want his help.
Ellie had bugged Alan for years about how little he visited, insisting he stay with them. With much hesitation, Alan conceded but that he would only stay the night.
"Oh, common' Al! D.C. living is expensive. It'll be free if you just stay over out my house. We have a spare bedroom. One night at any hotel will cost you a bundle. Besides, my neighborhood is safe. You can't say that about most D.C. motels!"
He had protested but Ellie was a very persuasive woman. Even all those years ago when they were a team together. Ellie wasn't just a great paleontologist; she also got the funding.
"Alright, but only for the night, Ellie. I have a plane to catch in the morning back to Montana."
"Great! You don't think I could persuade you to stay an extra day, hmm? I can get them to move the ticket to the next day," Ellie teased pleadingly.
"Two days, no more," Alan agreed, with much hesitation.
"Come to teach me more about dinosaurs?" Charlie asked, turning around on the couch.
Alan looked down at the boy slightly puzzled.
"You-"
"–Remembered? Nah. But it made my mom happy. She kept telling me the story so I couldn't forget it if I wanted to. She was so glad you came."
Alan smirked staring out the window. Charlie turned back around to watch tv again.
"So, Dr. Grant," Mark began, cutting into his pork chops, "What do you do now–now that people don't care about fossils anymore?"
"On the contrary," Alan started, "there are people who, like me, care about the dinosaur fossils: the problem is finding them."
The group laughed. David started to mash his pees into a pulp, ocassionally grabbing one he'd missed and smashing it into his mouth. Charlie watched the grownups wide-eyed, from face to face. He caught his mothers eyes and she made a funny face, making him smile. Alan just looked on, amused.
"I actually have started working at the Museum–of the Rockies. It helps fund my digs every summer or so."
"Still keeping to your old habits," Ellie said, pulling out of her funny face, laughing. Alan smiled.
Alan had to admit: he did miss her. He had always loved Ellie but after Isla Nublar, they both had changed, like people do after they return from war. Alan still wanted to work with the bones and Ellie couldn't stand the site of them. All she saw was the potential: the potential that money and ambition had to pervert the bones into creatures that nearly took her life. She wanted nothing to do with them anymore and their relationship began to fall apart. They lived separate lives and eventually broke up. He said she had changed; she said he hadn't.
"Ellie, I need to ask you something," Alan began, leaning back into the sofa in the living room after dinner.
Mark shooed the boys up the stairs behind them, as they finished saying goodnight to Alan.
"Shoot Alan. Anything."
"I was asked to go to the U.N. the other day: that's why I was in New York. They wanted me to talk about the islands; how safe they were and such. I think something is up. I've been told they are planning an expedition."
"Wow, Alan. That's big. I'm surprised it wasn't on the news. What did you tell them?"
"See what I mean! They're being very secretive about the mission! I told them that the islands were unique and should be preserved but I didn't know they were planning to send people there! If I'd known that I would have said bomb the damn things. The animals are too dangerous to live with man, and for a team to go there and document it–Why, you remember what happened to Ian?"
"Yes, he told me. I called him after I saw on the news about the San Diego incident. He told me what had happened. I was glad he was alright. But going back, again?"
Alan noticed it then, the thing that had probably upset him the most all those years ago: Ian. He had a charm with women and it had overtaken Ellie. After they left on the helicopter, they were detained for three months and in that time Ian had nearly died from his wound and come back from the dead. His suffering caught Ellie's maternal eye, building on that fascination she had developed for him: a fascination that tore Alan apart.
"Yes, well, um," Alan stammered, attempting to regain footing in the conversation.
Charlie snuck back downstairs and leaned around the wall, listening.
"You see, I want you to promise me if they call you, you'll say no. I don't want you going ever again. I've seen the new island with my own eyes: it's nothing like the old one. These are wild and untamed dinosaurs: Hell on Earth. I don't want you to ever go there. Promise me, Ellie."
Ellie sat for a moment. Charlie's eyes lit up.
Ellie reached out and took Alan's hand and gazed into his eyes.
"I promise."
The streets were muddy and cluttered with debris. Buildings, once several stories high, lay almost completely leveled. The frothy sea roared against the ruins of house-boats and docks, and anguished voices filled the air.
Trainers sat upon their elephants, dragging rocks and other debris down the street. In the middle of the square sat a large cargo vessel basking in the dry sun, brought ashore by the massive tsunami. Two days had passed since one of the largest disasters in the Indian Ocean struck, and very little aid had arrived.
A helicoptor roared over head. Nick Van Owen and a team of aid workers from the Red Cross and the UN surveyed the area.
"Take her down there," motioned the man in charge of the team, pointing to a clearing not far from the village. The Red-Cross team filed out of the helicoptor. Nick jumped out, camera hanging around his neck and a med-kit in hand.
This area was lucky. Further up shore, a town that lay directly in step with the wave's trajectory no longer existed; washed away in the middle of the night when the great wave first struck.
The group hurried towards the large medical tent. The leader of the group met up with one of the local officials, who pointed up the street, and gave out orders.
Nick took his camera to his eye again, taking photos of the massive grounded cargo vessel. The ship lay tilted to one side, leaning against a pile of debris. Walking closer, he noticed that the cargo door lay open, with the insides strewn across the ground: poles, boxes, and tons of wooden crates.
"Nick!" yelled a girl from behind.
He turned around toward the voice. A woman in her twenties ran towards him.
"They said that when you're finished here, they'd like you to head up to the other town to check out if anyone needs help," spoke Erin.
Erin, with her long, curly red hair flowing in the slight breeze, was a young woman at 22. She wasn't the brightest person in the world, but gave of herself very deeply, spending most of her adult life as an aid worker for the Red-Cross.
"Will do."
"Isn't that amazing," she added, shielding her eyes from the intense sun.
Nick continued to walk around the boat, occasionally glancing down toward the ground to find his footing.
"I'd probably say 'tragic.'"
"Any idea what was in the ship?" She asked, not far behind.
"No idea. There's a lot of what look like fruit crates, but no fruit.. I'm taking these more for the shock value. You don't see this everyday-Hell, you don't see this ever!"
He continued to shimmy through the rubble, snapping photos. He moved further down the pile until he saw a bike under some boards.
"I'm gonna head to the town, all right," he questioned, lifting the boards off the bike and checking its tires.
Erin looked down at him, crouched down to his level and responded.
"Yea, its just up the road."
"If anyone needs me, I've got my walkie."
Nick peddled up the road leaving Erin in his dust. She turned around and stared back up at the massive ship.
Nick drove deep into the forest, which had taken a beating too. You could see the height of the wave etched into the mountain jungle. The higher up the hill he rode the more trees still remained upright until he got above the damage line and into dense jungle.
Nick slowed his peddling now as the ground leveled out. Despite being well built, the speedy trip uphill had an effect on him: as did Erin. He liked the girl but she got kinda weird around him: almost airheaded. He use to like that, but now he just couldn't stand it. It reminded him of back when he–
Suddenly, a man covered in blood, clothing dangling from his body, ran across the road startling Nick. Nick's foot slipped and the bike pivoted to a rapid stop, almost falling to the ground.
The man screamed something into Nick's face, pointing into the forest behind him and then ran into the forest on the other side of the road, panting.
"Hey! Wait!" Nick yelled at the man.
"Hey stop! Come back! I can help you!"
He dropped the bike into the raod, and ran off after the man. The jungle hit his face like a hot towel; wet leaves wiping past his face while branches scratched his arms and legs.
"Hey! Sir!" Nick continued to yell. He reached down to his belt for his walkie-talkie but it was gone. He'd lost it somewhere, but that wasn't important now.
He could hear the frantic ramblings of the man in front of him. He tried keeping up, fighting through the jungle.
He came to the edge of the dense foliage at the bank of a rocky stream, the jungle starting again on the other side.
The whimpers of the man had gone silent along with the entire forest. Not a sound was heard.
Nick caught his breath and that's when he noticed the utter silence. The jungle had, in that moment, died. He instinctively crouched down behind a bush, taking out his camera and pocket knife. He looked around slowly. The jungle was still threateningly silent.
There was a sour stench filling the air. He almost put his sleeve to his nose when the silence was broken by a gargling sound, and a faint breath.
A light purring came from the other side of the river. Nick looked through the bushes and could see a small palm frond being nudged. A head popped up but was obscured by the leaves. All he could see was the one eye staring right back at him.
Chills ran through his body as the yellow eye dilated and then fixated upon him. The stench had gone away and he knew now that he was up-wind, and whatever the animals was, it knew he was there.
The eye scoped his position out, and let out another purring noise.
Nick became tense, and went to step back. He pivoted his leg, eye still fixated on the predators eye. It blinked.
That's when it hit him. Something was familiar about the eye: something strange too. No predator blinked like that. It was almost–
RING!
Nick fell onto his back, and a caw yelped from the opposing bank. Birds flew out of the branches and into the distance. Standing back up, he answered his phone.
"Hiya Nick. Where's your walkie," spoke the female voice.
He looked toward the bush, but the animal had gone, leaving a trail of swaying forest behind it.
"What Erin?"
"We've been trying to reach you. Some people are here to see you. They say they're from the UN. They say they need to talk to you."
Nick walked over to where the animal had been. The man he'd been following lay motionless, bleeding into the sand. Nick moved his fingers across the obscure tracks, unsatisfied.
"Did they say why?"
"They say they can only talk to you. It seems important."
Nick checked the mans pulse. He was dead. Disgruntled, Nick stood up.
"I'll be right there."