A/N: Hey everyone! Here's the next chapter! AND, as a bonus, it's a long one! Like a REALLY long one. I hope you'll enjoy—I had a lot of fun writing this one and I tried to pack it full of character and plot development. I'm excited to know what you think. Thank you so much for all your support on the last chapter. The reviews were lovely and very insightful. And as always, thanks for reading, favoriting, following, and all the other ways you all support this story and my writing! I hope you like this one. WARNING! Infrequent, coarse language ahead. It's rated T for a reason!
Claire didn't much care for alcohol—didn't like the taste of beer or the throat-burning sensation of hard liquor. The most she would have was a glass of red wine over dinner. But she had to admit that the bottle of Jim Beam Owen insisted on keeping in the wine rack looked pretty good right about now. Whisky for breakfast? God, Claire, what are you doing?
There had been a blissful moment—half a moment really—when she had woken up and didn't think of the email she received the night before from Rich. The email confirming her worst nightmare. The email telling her that if she wanted to keep her job, she would have to uproot her life and move to the West Coast. That half moment when she was just emerging from the murky depths of sleep in Owen's arms was quickly ended when the realization hit her like a ton of bricks. This was happening. She was going to have to tell her nephews that she would be moving halfway across the country. She was going to have to break the news to Owen. And even though he'd sworn to go with her wherever, even though she knew he would, it was still a daunting task that she wasn't ready to confront yet.
It wasn't even 8 AM yet and she leaned against the kitchen island, cradling a bowl of Special K in her hand, staring out the window as she ate. She was suddenly filled with a great sense of urgency, the strong desire to soak in this view—the trees, the early-morning sun warming the sky—while she still could. Who knew when she would have this view again? Rich wanted her on-hand as the first round of litigation began to make its way through court. Three cases had already opened last week—California, New York, and Texas and the media firestorm was bound to start heating up as testimony began. She was certain that they would want her in California by mid-July, the end of July at the latest. That left less than a month to figure out living arrangements and moving logistics, not to mention telling her family that she had to leave. There was brief moment where she considered sending in her resignation in response to the email. But that wasn't the right thing to do. Jurassic World had been partially—mostly—her mess. It was up to her to clean it up. If she walked out now, she would be giving up, not making good on her responsibilities. Not to mention the fact that the media would immediately vilify her. 'Claire Dearing Leaves Masrani High and Dry.' She would never find work again. Not after such a catastrophic event as Jurassic World. Any corporation would deem her a liability. It was amazing Masrani Global had even retained her after the fiasco. So there was no choice. She would have to move to San Diego and she would have to play by their rules until this whole thing blew over.
Owen was right, though, she decided. Masrani Global needed her as much as she needed them, perhaps more. The corporation had 'leaked' the footage of her baiting the t-rex out of its paddock, the images of the epic battle between tyrannosaurus and Indominus Rex with her and Owen and Zach and Gray popping up conveniently in the background. The press loved her—the badass corporate employee who risked life and limb to contain Indominus when all else had failed. She was the reason Masrani Global wasn't being dragged through the mud in the public arena. She had willingly played the role that the company wanted her to play, given interviews and press conferences, been hounded by journalists from local TV stations, and she had done it all uncomplainingly. Claire was determined to leverage all of this as soon as she could figure out a way to satisfy both her work and family commitments.
At 8:30, Gray padded downstairs from his room, bare feet slapping against the wooden stairs and the dog thumping along after him. Blue had taken to spending the nights in his room as of late, curling up by the footboard of the bed and rising at the same time as the boy. Claire was already on her second cup of coffee and deep in thought when her youngest nephew entered the kitchen, bleary-eyed with sleep-mussed hair. Blue was at his heels, then nudged past him to her food bowl, uncharacteristically empty.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Claire forced a smile but quickly shielded it with the rim of her coffee mug. She took a sip, opened the cupboard and reached for the dog food.
"Morning, Aunt Claire," the boy chirped, seating himself on a barstool at the island and resting his chin in his hand.
The dog food rattled around the metal bowl and Blue eagerly awaited her chance to lunge at the dish, the impatient swish, swish of her tail sweeping across the tiled floor filling the kitchen. The canine's nose was buried in the bowl the second Claire withdrew the bag.
"Are we camping in the yard tonight?" Gray questioned. His eyes were fixed on the trees and the expansive patch of green just beyond the gravel driveway.
Claire didn't need to force a smile this time. "Of course we are," she answered readily. The porcelain mug made a hollow thunk as she set it down on the granite countertop across from her nephew and looked him full in the face. He brightened, blue eyes lighting up and she felt her face soften in response.
"But we're gonna need some camping supplies," she pointed out, crossing the kitchen and reaching into a drawer. She drew out a small, yellow steno pad and a ballpoint pen. "Owen and I don't really have anything for camping. Should we make a list?"
"We need a tent," Gray pointed out.
"That's an important one," Claire concurred, writing tent in her neat print on the steno pad. "Maybe more than one. What else?"
"Sleeping bags," the boy replied. It went onto the list. "And lanterns!"
"We have flashlights right here," his aunt pointed out.
"But lanterns are cooler!"
Claire gave a good-natured sigh and inscribed lanterns on the pad. "Citronella candles are probably a good idea, too," she said. "To keep the mosquitos away. I think we have some in the garage. Let's see. What else? We have plenty of wood for a fire, but we might need some lighter fluid..."
"Can we make s'mores?" her nephew pleaded.
"It wouldn't be camping without s'mores," the redhead agreed, scrawling graham crackers, chocolate bars, and marshmallows on the ever-expanding list. "What else can we cook over a campfire?"
"Hot dogs!" Gray suggested.
"Good idea," his aunt marked it down. "What about corn on the cob? That's in-season. And we'll need roasting sticks while we're at it."
"What're we up to?" Owen strode into the kitchen and draped one arm over his partner and the other around his nephew.
"We're making a list of the camping supplies we'll need," Claire told him, stealing a good morning kiss.
The man read over the paper. "Lighter fluid?" he made a face. "That's cheating. Besides, you don't need lighter fluid, you got me."
"Because that worked so well with the hammock," Claire teased. "We'll get some just in case. Can you think of anything else we'll need?"
"Not really," he shook his head. "It's just one night in the yard. If we forget something, we can just run up to the house to get it."
"And that's not cheating?" the redhead questioned.
"Nope," Owen answered smugly. "The house's here already. Number one rule of survival: use the resources around you."
Claire rolled her eyes with a smile and ran water into her coffee mug. She placed a drop of soap onto the sponge and scrubbed the cup, at the same time glancing out the window. Tree branches shuddered in the breeze and she was filled with a sense of longing despite the fact she was still home.
Zach was up by 10 AM, by which time Claire, Owen, and Gray had all finished breakfast. Claire had just finished tapping out an email when her oldest nephew joined her in the kitchen. She pressed send, released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding in, and greeted him. He mumbled a barely-coherent "good morning" in response.
"We were gonna go get some supplies for our little campout tonight," Claire informed him as he opened the fridge and peered bleary-eyed into it. "You coming?"
"Of course," Zach answered, pulling out the carton of orange juice and shutting the fridge with a thud. He unscrewed the top, prepared to waterfall the beverage straight into his mouth.
"Ahem," his aunt coughed, freezing him in his tracks. She pointed toward the cupboard with a bemused smirk, compelling the teenager to get himself a glass. He opened the bread box and pulled two slices from the loaf, dropping them in the toaster.
In the great room, virtual gunfire erupted from the television as Gray battled Owen on the PlayStation. Zach made his way over to observe, calling dibs on the next fight against the winner. Claire's phone chimed. She read the reply email and swallowed hard.
Owen parked the black SUV between a faded blue minivan and a white Camry in a space towards the very back of an endless sea of cars. He hadn't thought the warehouse club would be busy on a Thursday until he realized Fourth of July was two days away. People were shopping for barbecues and parties. A white tent set up in the back of the lot advertised fireworks for sale.
"Sweet," Zach commented, eyes scanning the sparklers, roman candles, and firecrackers laid out on the table.
"No. Uh-uh. No way," Claire clasped a hand on his shoulder and urged him on. "Keep walking."
"Mom never lets us buy fireworks during Fourth of July," Gray complained.
"Tough luck, kiddo, 'cause I'm not letting you buy them either. Your mother would murder me."
"Just a sparkler or two?" Owen instigated.
Claire snorted. "Not a chance, Grady."
The entrance to the warehouse club was packed with rows of oversized shopping carts and shoppers rushing back and forth—some saddled with carts full of bulk merchandise and others flashing their membership cards and being ushered into the front of the store. "Alright, there's ten items on the list," Claire said. "Split up?"
"We'll race ya," Owen grinned impishly, clapping Gray on the back. The boy smirked devilishly.
Claire yanked a shopping cart toward her with one hand and seized Zach's arm with the other. "You're on." She ripped the list in half horizontally and tucked Owen's half into his shirt pocket, then took off towards the entrance, digging her club card from her jeans pocket. Owen and Gray were hot on their heels.
"Losers have to set up the tents," Owen called after them.
"What's on our list?" Zach asked, taking the paper from his aunt's hand as she maneuvered the cart around shoppers leisurely browsing the electronics at the front of the store. Claire knew that Owen's competitive side was the only thing stopping him from drooling over eighty-inch HDTVs she would never agree to buy.
"Food," she replied.
"Chocolate, graham crackers, marshmallows, hot dogs, corn on the cob," Zach read out as they rounded a corner and blew past the clothing section—endless rows of multicolored board shorts and breezy summer blouses folded neatly and piled on top of each other, laid out on pallets.
"Produce section," Claire increased her pace and directed the cart towards the back of the store, paying no attention to the occasional dirty looks thrown her way as she cut around people. She was a woman on a mission and even her nephew could barely keep up.
The corn was kept in its ear, a large box full of the vegetable nestled amongst bulk packs of bell peppers and tomatoes. Plastic bags and a large trash can were positioned conveniently to allow shoppers to shuck the corn before buying. A group of five older women were standing around the trash can and chatting as they ripped the corn from their ears.
"Eight oughta be enough, right?" Claire turned to Zach, who shrugged. The redhead began stuffing ears of corn into plastic bags.
"Uh, Aunt Claire? Aren't you supposed to take it out of the stalk before you bag it?"
"No time!" she answered. "We are not losing to Owen. He'll never let it go."
"And you will?" the teen questioned teasingly.
"Of course not," she replied, dropping the final bag of corn into the cart. "Hot dogs are in the freezer section. Come on!"
"Is shopping always this intense with you and Uncle Owen?" Zach was practically jogging to keep pace with his aunt.
"Only on good days," she shot back, halting the cart in front of a row of frozen grill foods—twelve-packs of burgers and veggie burgers and chicken patties and hot dogs. She grabbed a pack of frankfurters, dropped them in the cart. "What's left?"
"Graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows," Zach ticked them off. His aunt was already moving in the direction.
Claire dropped the sack of marshmallows in the cart with great flourish.
"That's it!" Zach exclaimed. "C'mon, let's get to the checkout before Uncle Owen and Gray finish!" The two swung their shopping cart out into the main thoroughfare, weaving in and out of shoppers until they reached the expanse of registers, all with lines forming rapidly. "I don't see them," the teen exulted, allowing himself the chance to fully catch his breath.
Claire looked around, saw no trace of her partner or her nephew. Nearby, an employee was offering chocolate bar samples. She seized two paper cups and handed one off to the teenager. "To victory," she declared triumphantly, raising the sample cup in a toast.
"To victory," Zach agreed. The line was getting longer and there was still no sign of Owen or Gray. Claire leaned against the shopping cart handle, twisting the thin, paper sample cup over and over in her hand until she had worked it into a knot.
"Aunt Claire?" Zach interrupted her thoughts. She locked eyes with him and the teen ducked his head almost shyly.
"What is it?" she questioned gently.
"Are you okay?" he indicated the twisted-up cup in her hand.
"Oh," she glanced down at it, crushed it in her palm, and searched for a trash can. "I'm fine, Zach."
"You sure?" he pressed. " 'Cause you've been acting kinda upset since Tuesday." He didn't want to admit it but he was worried. His conversation with Gray still weighed heavily on his mind. What if his aunt was about to lose her job?
"I'm okay. Really," Claire lied. "Work's just been…really stressful and even though I took time off, things have been crazy. But I'm okay."
"Are the court cases going alright?" the teen asked, hoping for a clue as to what was wrong.
"They began hearing testimony from witnesses and victims today," she answered. Major news outlets were providing hourly updates with whatever revelations the new testimony provided. "I don't know how it's going, though. I guess we'll see by the end of the day." She swallowed hard. Her nephew's face wavered for a moment and she could feel him studying her intently, as if trying to figure out if she was being honest. She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Owen pushing the cart with Gray riding on the back.
"No way," he said incredulously as he drew their cart alongside hers.
"Yes way," she taunted smugly. "See for yourself, Grady. Looks like you have to pitch those tents tonight," she pointed to the two tents in her boyfriend's cart.
"You got lucky we couldn't find the roasting sticks and had to ask somebody, right Gray?" he nudged the boy.
"That's right," Gray agreed.
"Geez, this line stretches back halfway through the store," the man shook his head and began transferring the items from Claire and Zach's cart into his and Gray's. "Better get in line or we'll be here till Saturday."
A half hour later, the four passed through the exit of the warehouse club, having had the contents of their cart inspected by store security, as indicated by the line drawn in permanent ink down the front of their receipt. Owen stopped at the curb and scratched the back of his head. "Where'd we park again?"
"Oh god," Claire shook her head.
"I'm kidding," the man grinned after a moment. "I always remember where I parked the car."
True to his word, they found the car with very little effort, Owen leading the way and popping the trunk on the black SUV as they approached. Zach helped him load the two long tents into the trunk, followed by the rolled-up sleeping bags. Claire was helping load the food into the car when Gray suddenly pointed to a champagne-colored hatchback parked a few cars down in the opposite aisle.
"Who's that?" the boy questioned.
Claire spotted a man with a Nikon aimed squarely at the four. "Oh no, no, no, no, no," she shook her head and immediately began marching toward him with determination Owen and the Mitchell brothers hadn't seen since Isla Nublar. "Hey, you!" the redhead shouted to the man. "Stop taking our pictures! No one said you could photograph us!" Zach and Owen hurried to catch up with her, Gray hot on their heels.
The man let the camera drop on its strap around his neck but did not appear too alarmed. "How's it feel to know you killed two hundred people?" he sneered, backing up as she approached. The redhead froze in the middle of the parking lot. "Court just heard from a little girl who lost her mom to a pteranodon," the man jabbed again. "And you're out here shopping with your family like it's no big deal. You saved those nephews of yours no problem, right? What about all the kids who died?"
Owen balled his fists up at his sides and Claire knew he was seething as she felt the tears begin to press at the backs of her eyes. She swallowed thickly, forced them down. It was Zach who spoke first, much to everyone's surprise.
"Shut up," the teen growled through gritted teeth with so much ferocity Claire was afraid he might actually punch the guy. "Shut the hell up. You don't know anything about my aunt," he jabbed a finger toward the photographer. "She risked her life to save me and my brother and as many other people as she could. You wanna stand there and judge her but we all know that you would've run and saved yourself if you were there. Claire Dearing is braver and more selfless than any of you scumbag assholes who sit around all day judging her and you know it!"
"Whoa! Easy there," Owen said soothingly, stepping between the fired-up teenager and the obnoxious commentator who had suddenly fallen very quiet. "You better get the hell outta here if you know what's good for ya, pal," he warned in a voice considerably quieter than usual. "And I'd erase those photos if I were you." He took another step toward the photographer and the man took off.
The parking lot had fallen silent after the verbal altercation. Shoppers stared, employees rounding up shopping carts stood with their mouths agape, cars sat frozen and idling, their drivers' eyes fixed on the four. Claire screwed her eyes shut for a moment until the pressure behind her eyes subsided and she was certain she wouldn't cry. Gray shifted uncomfortably and slipped his small hand into his aunt's. Zach stared after the photographer, who had long since retreated out of view.
"Let's go," Owen said lowly, glaring at nothing in particular. He slipped Claire's hand into his and they made their way back to the car. They rode home in stunned silence. Owen watched as Claire kept glancing into the rearview mirror, smiling tightly to try to alleviate the tension in her nephews. When that didn't work, she returned to staring out the window, head resting against the glass. Gray bit his bottom lip nervously and kept his gaze fixed dead ahead of them while Zach slipped his headphones on and focused on the passing trees and houses and cars.
"I just need a minute," Claire said quietly after Owen parked the car in the garage and shut off the engine. He nodded, said nothing in response. The gravel crunched beneath her retreating footsteps and she disappeared from view as Zach and Gray helped him unload the camping supplies. They piled the tents and camping equipment beneath one of the trees and took the food inside.
A minute turned into an hour and the sun was starting to set by the time Claire emerged from the bedroom. The mood was somber in the great room as she joined them, her makeup refreshed and her hair brushed. Her boyfriend pretended not to notice the slight puffiness around her eyes, the redness. She had changed into a pale blue tank top and a pair of shorts and was altogether more collected than she had been after the parking lot encounter.
"So," she said cheerily, clapping her hands together, "camping." Her energy—a sign for them to put what happened at the warehouse club behind them—seemed to revitalize her nephews and even Owen brightened. He stood up, clapped either nephew on the back.
"C'mon, boys, let's go make camp," he encouraged.
They picked a spot near a few tree stumps in the grassy field beyond the gravel driveway and the three-car garage. Owen dropped the bundled-up tents and Zach piled the sleeping bags beside them.
"Have fun with those tents," Claire patted her partner's chest with a gloating expression.
"Hey!" Owen sputtered.
"You lost the race. I don't make the rules," she shrugged, seating herself on one of the stumps. She patted the space beside her. "C'mon, Zach. This'll be good."
Her boyfriend made a show of rolling his eyes and sighing, then said, "A'right, Gray, let's show these two how it's done." He added a little louder, "what your aunt doesn't know is that I've pitched hundreds of tents. Could do it with my eyes shut."
"Oh, like the hammock?" she shot back.
Owen picked up the first stake and worked it a little ways into the ground, then allowed Gray to use the mallet and pound the metal spike the rest of the way in. "See? You're practically a pro already," he high-fived the boy as they moved to the second stake. "Ya know," he turned to Claire and Zach with no small amount of satisfaction, "I think we got this tent thing down. Maybe you two can go bring the firewood over?"
The redhead rose from the stump. "Fine," she sighed. "But only because I love you."
The first tent was up by the time the two returned with arms full of firewood Owen had chopped and stacked by the garage shortly after they moved in. The second tent soon followed and Claire went to bring the food out as Owen set to work on the fire.
"Are you gonna rub twigs together to start the fire?" Gray questioned.
"I could," his uncle admitted, shaping a ring of rocks in an open area of the field and stacking the firewood inside. "But we'd be here forever. Which is why I keep a book of matches on me whenever I'm going out in the woods," he reached into his back pocket and drew out a matchbook.
Gray nudged his older brother. "See? Uncle Owen does it too! It's not stupid."
"Didn't say it was. Your dork pouch on the other hand…" Zach teased, earning him a well-placed elbow to the rib from his younger brother.
When Owen was satisfied with the campfire, he picked up the container of lighter fluid.
"Isn't that cheating?" Gray asked.
"Yeah but your aunt made us get it. May as well use it," the man answered, dousing the wood in the flammable liquid and striking a match. The fire caught immediately and soon there was a comforting warmth emanating from the flame, glowing orange and yellow to match the slowly retreating sun. The scent of burning wood and the sight of dancing fire reminded Owen of that night, half a year ago, when he had lost a raptor and almost lost his life. But the crickets had begun chirping and every so often the low groan of a bullfrog could be heard amid the tall grass and weeds surrounding the pond where they had gone ice skating in the winter. The result was a soothing effect so that he was lulled by the fire, the gentleness around him.
Zach and Gray rolled out the sleeping bags—two for them in the first tent and two of Owen and Claire in the other. Their uncle turned on the battery-powered lanterns and hung them at the entrance of either tent. By that time, Claire had rejoined her family, dragging along a cooler and a few citronella candles.
"The roasting sticks that cost us a victory," Owen said in a mockingly rueful voice. He wielded the two-pronged tools, handing one to his girlfriend and one to each of his nephews. Claire lay the grate from the barbecue over the fire. "Where'd you get that?" Owen asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Your grill," she stuck her tongue out. "Use the resources around you, remember?" She began placing the corn on the makeshift grill as Owen speared a hot dog and held it over the flame, rotating it slowly. Gray imitated him.
"You know," Claire withdrew her frankfurter from the fire and blew on it to cool it down, testing the temperature with a finger, "I never realized how underused this yard was. It's so big and we've hardly done anything with it."
"We can do stuff with it now," Gray pointed out. "We can do stuff with it all summer!"
Claire's face fell and she was grateful for the darkness and the long shadows cast by the fire, concealing her expression.
The four polished off the hot dogs and the corn and Owen broke out the s'mores ingredients just after night descended fully on the campers. The house was bathed in darkness, nearly obscured from view so that it felt like they were in the wilderness.
"Know what this calls for?" the man asked, ripping open the bag of marshmallows and spearing a series of them with the roasting stick. His nephews shook their heads. "Ghost stories," he answered with a playfully menacing inflection.
"Ooh, spooky," his girlfriend piped sarcastically, breaking pieces off a Hershey's bar and laying the chunks of chocolate out on graham crackers.
"Campfire tradition, Red," he answered. "We gotta tell ghost stories. And I got a good one." He scraped the toasted marshmallows off onto the graham crackers and passed them off to his partner and his nephews, who completed the s'more sandwich.
Gray was on his fourth s'more when Owen finished recounting the tale of a creepy, abandoned house at the end of his block as a child. Legend had it that many years before, a wife had gone insane and butchered her husband in that house. The story was pretty scary, the eleven-year-old had to admit, and he shuddered a little. He felt Zach squeeze his shoulder reassuringly.
"I have a ghost story," the boy offered.
"Take it away, buddy," Owen welcomed him.
"This happened in our old house when I was seven. Zach remembers," he indicated his older brother, who gave a knowing smile. "We had a ghost."
"I didn't know that house was haunted," Claire put in.
"It was definitely haunted," Zach confirmed.
"The ghost lived in the garage. We used to hear it all the time at night. It would knock things off shelves, make our bikes fall over. One time it set off the car alarm."
"Your mom never mentioned that…" Claire mused.
"Mom told us it was just a raccoon or something that got into the garage," Zach replied. "But it was definitely a ghost."
"Anyway, it got really bad one day when Mom and Dad went to the neighbor's house across the street. It was just me and Zach in the house and all of a sudden there was this really loud thud sound," the boy smacked the tree stump he was perched on for emphasis and the suddenness of the gesture caused his aunt to jump minutely.
"What'd you do?" Owen asked.
"We were really scared," Gray said. "But Zach wanted to go and investigate so he opened the garage door and there was this old paint can…"
Twelve-year-old Zach Mitchell closed one hand tightly around the cool brass of the garage doorknob, the incessant rattling emanating from within getting louder, more jarring. He kept his other arm behind him, holding Gray back defensively. His heart was beating so loudly he could hear it and his head pounded in time.
"I hear it," the boy piped from behind his brother. "It's in there!"
"Shhh," the older Mitchell urged. "Get the flashlight ready."
Gray complied, raising the flashlight like a weapon, its piercing blue light bouncing off the wooden door. He held his breath as Zach tensed up, then ripped the door open with a single, swift move. A paint can crashed to the cement floor and both Mitchell boys jumped backwards. Gray shrieked and Zach nearly tripped over him as they both darted out of the mudroom, the garage door still wide open. They pounded up the stairs and didn't stop until they had reached the older brother's room, practically diving inside. Zach slammed the door shut and leaned against it as Gray scrambled to his feet and hit the light. The house was silent except for the sounds of their ragged breaths and heartbeats.
"What do we do, Zach?" Gray questioned breathlessly, beginning to pace.
"I-I don't know," the elder replied.
"Should we call Mom and Dad?"
"No! They're just gonna tell us it's a raccoon or a squirrel again."
"Then what do we do?"
Zach grabbed the seven-year-old by the shoulders, halting him in his tracks and looking him square in the eyes. "I'm gonna think of something, okay? I'm gonna keep you safe."
"How?" the boy asked hopelessly.
It was Zach's turn to pace. "I got it! Remember that show you were watching on the History Channel the other day? About the knights and stuff?"
"Yeah…"
"What was that weapon the one guy was using? The hatchet thing."
"Battle ax," Gray corrected.
"Right. That thing. Maybe we can use one to defend ourselves."
"Except we don't have one of those," the boy pointed out.
"We can make one…" he glanced around the room, spotted the twelve-inch ruler he had been using for his math homework on the desk, and snatched it up. The pre-teen racked his brain for something to affix to the end of the ruler and hit on an idea. He crossed to the door and slowly pulled it open a crack.
"Zach! What are you doing, the ghost is gonna get you!" Gray hissed but fell silent when his brother held a hand up, signifying he should be quiet.
"Stay here," Zach urged, slipping out into the darkened hall. The house was silent. A sudden creak behind him made him jump and he wheeled around to come face-to-face with his younger brother.
"I'm coming with you," the boy said simply, grabbing onto his older brother's elbow. He clicked on the flashlight and the two picked their way carefully down the stairs. Zach stopped at the kitchen pantry, not daring to look past the refrigerator to the mudroom entrance.
"Shine the light up on that cabinet," he told Gray, who immediately complied. The pre-teen opened the cupboard and climbed up on the counter beneath it to reach the top shelf where his mother kept the paper plates and plastic utensils. His hand closed around the plastic bag containing the towering stack of paper dishes and he brought the package down with a forceful yank, hopping off the counter and not bothering to shut the door behind him. The two raced back up the stairs, Gray tripping two steps from the top landing. Zach caught him under his arm and hoisted him up the final two steps. The two brothers dove into Zach's room and slammed the door shut, taking a moment to catch their breaths.
Zach jumped to his feet, opened the top drawer of his desk, and pulled out a roll of tape. "Hold this," he handed the ruler to his brother and folded the paper plate in half, then ran the roll of tape around the ruler, crisscrossing the adhesive until the plate was fastened tightly to the makeshift handle in a way that somewhat resembled the medieval weapon he had emulated.
"What are you gonna do with that?" Gray questioned, wide-eyed.
"I'm gonna use it to protect us," the older brother answered, bravely throwing open his bedroom door once more. "Get behind me," he commanded and the younger Mitchell fell into place behind him. They inched down the stairs, hugging the bannister. When they reached the bottom, they hugged the wall, moving through the darkened kitchen and into the mudroom where the garage door still stood open, exactly as they'd left it. There was no sound coming from the garage.
"We know you're in there!" Zach called, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. The twelve-year-old advanced toward the threshold. Gray whimpered and clutched onto his older brother's outstretched hand, clasping it tightly. The elder Mitchell stuck the head of his homemade battle ax into the garage first, then poked his head in. "You need to leave me and my brother alone!" his voice echoed in the room. "See this ax? I'm not kidding! You need to get out! Now!" Something rattled and both boys jumped. Zach fumbled for the light switch and flicked the overhead light on. The yellow glow illuminated some fallen gardening tools, a few overturned paint cans, and some tools on the ground. The rest of the space was as it should be—the old, dark gray minivan in its space, the bikes parked in a neat row in the back corner, their dad's workbench upright with scraps of wood collecting dust. No sign of their supernatural invader.
"Is it gone?" Gray peeped, looking around his brother into the lightened garage.
"I think we scared it off," Zach breathed a sigh of relief and turned to his little brother. A triumphant grin broke out on his face. "We did it, Gray! We got rid of the ghost!" They high-fived and Zach let the battle ax fall from his grip, clattering to the concrete floor. He picked it up again, dusted it off, held it up like a trophy and handed it to his younger brother. "Here," he said, "take it. In case you ever have to protect yourself again."
"We moved later that year but we never heard from the ghost again," Gray concluded. The fire cast a long shadow across his features but it was obvious he was grinning.
Zach smiled fondly at the recollection, too. In hindsight, he knew his mother had probably been right—it was most likely a stray chipmunk or squirrel that had gotten into the garage when the door was open and concealed itself in a panic at all the noise the two brothers had made in an effort to scare off the ghost. But either way, they had successfully fended off whatever intruder had invaded their home. And that's what mattered. That's what he had drawn on to keep Gray safe while they were running for their lives on Isla Nublar. That's what he kept in mind to remind himself what it meant to be a good big brother.
Claire wasn't sure what time it was but she didn't want to stare into the harsh glare of her cell phone screen to find out. But it was late, that much she knew. The boys had long since retired to their tent and the rustling of sleeping bags and low, conversational voices had ceased. She leaned tiredly against Owen, watching the last embers of the fire die down. Only the battery-powered lanterns and the fireflies illuminated the campsite now—hundreds of the glowing creatures dispersed across the field, winking at the couple.
"Boys are asleep," Owen murmured, gently pressing a kiss to the side of her head.
"Mmmm," she hummed in response.
He grinned in the dark. "Haven't had a chance to use that hammock yet," he nudged her lightly and she smiled in response. He stood up, closing his hand over hers and gently pulling her to a standing position. Guiding Claire by the hand, he picked his way to the two trees whose trunks anchored the hammock and tumbled into the sling, arms encircling the redhead's waist and pulling her in with him.
Claire let out a giggle as she settled against his chest and he raked his fingers lovingly through her loose waves of hair.
"You okay, babe?" he asked after a long moment. "After what that asshole said in the parking lot today…"
"I'm alright," Claire reassured him. "I mean it was really upsetting when it happened but…well, I guess I can't please everyone." There was a pause. "I heard back from Masrani Global today," she finally began. She had been dying to tell Owen all day but had been waiting for the right moment. Now, alone in the yard of their home, seemed as good a time as any.
"And?"
The redhead sighed. "They're moving me to San Diego." She knew he knew it. They had both been anticipating this eventuality despite hoping against hope that it wouldn't come to bear.
"They're moving us to San Diego," Owen finally said. There was a note of insistency, of finality to the us that reassured her. "I'm coming with you, Red. To the end of the world if I have to. Can't get rid of me that easy." His hands settled on her waist and he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. "You thought about how you're gonna break it to the boys?" He had to ask that question. Their nephews would no doubt be devastated by the news.
"I thought of a compromise," Claire replied. "Rich is supposed to get back to me tomorrow with whether or not my request is approved. Then I'll break it to them."
"And what's the compromise?" Owen asked curiously.
"Their main reason for wanting me in San Diego is to coordinate all the initial legal actions against us—our PR response, official memos, all that. So I requested a temporary relocation and explained we already purchased a home here, that you have a professorship coming up, all that. I'm hoping they'll be understanding and only keep me on the West Coast for the duration of the first few cases. That's a couple months at most. And then we can come home."
Owen let the news and the compromise sink in for a moment. "I think it's a good idea," he told her. "And I'm with you no matter what," he swore. "We gotta stick together after all."
"For survival," Claire finished.
A/N: And that's chapter 4! What did you think? It was long but I hope it made sense and that you enjoyed the content and progression—don't expect the other chapters to be this long, though! My favorite part was writing the flashback to the ghost story. Did you guys enjoy that little interlude? (My other favorite was Zach telling off the photographer). What was your favorite part? Things that I got right and things that could use some work? I really tried to build up the sense of home this chapter. How'd I do? And what's your opinion on Claire's compromise? A good one or do you think it's not gonna pan out? I always appreciate any support and feedback you all offer so please drop a comment if you've got some time. As always, thank you so much for reading! I'll see you next chapter!