Owen grabbed for Claire's hand pulling her behind him. They both heard the roar of engines just before the four Jeeps burst through the underbrush pulling to a stop and surrounding them. The sound of the stationary Jeeps was quickly overshadowed by the unmistakable clicks of weapons being drawn and trained on them. The obvious leader stood up from the passenger seat of the lead Jeep, military cap positioned low on his forehead, shades hiding his eyes. He leaned casually on the front support bar of the Jeep.
"Well, well, well. Look at what we got here boys," He drawled. "The famous Owen Grady and the infamous Claire Dearing. I'd say we've got our catch of the day boys. Certainly what we were looking for."
"What do we do now?" Claire whispered to Owen, who had a death grip on her hand.
"They've got us Claire," Owen responded in low voice. "We keep our heads down and find out what they want."
"So, do we get to know your name?" Owen inquired, now projecting his voice.
"Commander Ken Wheatley," the man in charge responded also projecting his voice. "Leader of the best group of hunters in the western hemisphere."
"And what do you hunt?" Owen questioned.
"Whatever we want if the price is right," Wheatley answered.
"So you're mercenaries," Owen grumbled.
"We've been called worse," Wheatley shrugged. "Now get over here and get in the back," he commanded, gesturing to the two empty seats behind him.
Claire pulled on Owen's hand, trying to encourage any direction that didn't involve getting into a Jeep. Owen calmly pulled back. "Come on," He instructed, gently but firmly leading her.
"Ooowen," Claire hissed softly in warning.
They reached the Jeep and Owen half pushed and half lifted Claire up into the back seat from the passenger side, swinging up and sliding in next to her.
"Mr. Grady, hands on either side of the crossbar," Wheatley directed pulling a set of Zip ties from his pocket. He secured Owen's wrists to the crossbar. "We've got some rough road ahead so I'd suggest you hold on. Wouldn't want the ties to cut you up," he suggested with a smirk.
He turned to one of his underlings who had stepped over to the driver's side from the next Jeep over. "Just attach her to the back of the headrest," he instructed. "Wouldn't want prinnccesss to be too uncomfortable."
Claire smacked at the man's hands that reached for her wrists with the waiting Zip ties.
"Miss Dearing, please," Wheatley addressed her calmly.
Owen gave her a stern look similar to the expression she had seen him use when the raptors were acting up during a training session. Claire huffed and brought her hands up to the back of the head rest. Wheatley turned around sitting down in his seat as Claire's wrists were secured. The soldier turned back to the other Jeep and one by one the Jeeps went into motion back the way they had come. Claire rode in a stewing silence. Owen was doing his best to hang on and preserve his skin, which was keeping him occupied. Wheatley would periodically break the silence shouting over the wind and the noisy vehicles, annoyingly like they were on a Sunday drive. Claire figured he was doing it on purpose.
"Damn. This island sure is one hot hell hole!" he exclaimed. "And to think you two were working here voluntarily." They slowed to pass a herd of grazing Triceratops. "I guess you can't beat the views," he commented admiring the living fossils. "Hey, Zackquarius!" he called to one Jeep over. "T-Rex still on the other side of the island?"
The man in the passenger seat glanced up from a tablet and responded. "Yeah Ken, we're good."
"Her name is Rexy," Claire piped up from her seat.
"Oh yeah? You know I saw video of you running her down Main Street. Your balls might be bigger than mine," Wheatley responded turning his head to glance at Claire.
"In four inch heals no less," Owen added proudly.
Wheatley let out a low whistle. "Shit, girl."