Author's Note: Sorry, all! I had this up for a hot minute and then took it down to make some corrections. Now, enjoy!

Forty-Seven

As promised, the Raptor paddock was not difficult to locate. There were signs guiding park guests, maintenance crews, and staff vehicles down different established roadways, probably for when the park develop from the main avenue and start establishing resort buildings and entertainment attractions farther out.

Alan assumed the guest route would be monitored by staff, and he certainly didn't feel called to drive the staff road, lest they be stopped and further hindered. So, Alan had opted to take a maintenance road, which was identified by signage printed in in three languages; shifting through the vehicle's gears quickly. A fiery hole of determination and haste burned in his chest – he wanted nothing more to get this done, and get off this island, with his family and friends in tow.

This place held memories that still haunted him – nightly, in his sleep, he heard the roars and the screams. Each time, he woke in the middle of the night, pinned into bed with beads of sweat soaking the sheets around him; further terrifying him, even subconsciously. Not a day went by that he didn't internalize the trauma of Jurassic Park and Isla Sorna, or relive the haunting memories.

People, he knew, tried to move on. The Kirbys had started an environmental cause to keep people off the island chain - which had failed; - investing the meager fortune from their paint and tile business into humanitarian efforts. Their son, Eric, was due to married next month – Alan had the invitation pinned to the fridge in the camper back in Montana. They kept occasional contact, and Alan had spoken at a number of their events regarding the islands throughout the years.

Billy, he knew, had married an oil heiress, divorced, and had recently married a zoologist. They lived and worked in Canada, from the last he knew, though they'd bounced around to different sites and projects throughout the years. They had two children; girls, whom Alan had met once.

Lex and Tim had since grown up into established adults – Lex had spent a large majority of her career as a chief program designer for Microsoft, and had more recently been involved with developing fail-safe computer and security programs for amusement parks and zoos. This was not overly surprising to Alan, given her accomplishments in the park twenty-some years previous. She was married, with teenagers, and had a late-life child, who was turning three. He received a Christmas card from them each year.

Her brother, Tim, had gone on to do great things in paleontology and species identification as a professor at the University of Michigan. He spent a lot of his time in an off-campus lab in the middle of Arizona, Alan understood, researching for the university over the summer months. He was up for tenure – Alan had submitted a letter of reference on his behalf. He knew Tim had married later in life, had three adopted children from Brazil, and a surprise pregnancy under his belt.

They all had gone on to bigger and better horizons, leaving Jurassic Park in the memories of bad times and experience. However, none of them had encountered the misery of survival twice, like he had, and he knew it had made a difference – Isla Sorna had ruined him, and he'd never been the same man since. He'd swiftly abandoned his relationship with a professor from Montana State, and had quit teaching; preferring to lecture as a professional speaker when he wasn't nose-first on the ground as a result of his inability to cope.

He'd sold his house, his new car, and bought a new RV. He worked from a small breakfast nook inside the trailer, which was permanently established at the Snakewater site. Many rumors suggested that he had gone clinically crazy, but that hadn't been true – he just internalized his trauma, which had manifested into what clinicians would diagnose as a midlife crisis. And, having seen life flash before his eyes on more than one occasion, he'd quickly decided what was worth his efforts and what was not.

Marianne had been one of the few things he had not entirely cut out of his life. He'd met her when she was young and inexperienced, and had been thrilled to know his military friend's family – he'd been honored to be a part of their lives, though distant. As they had grown up, he'd received weekly updates by letter, and he'd been present at Marianne's graduation. He had been more than privileged to take her under his wing.

In many ways, Marianne was the daughter Alan never had. She was more like him than he'd probably care to admit – stubborn, passionate, and smart. Not easily intimidated, he'd forfeited many a discussion to her, and they'd agreed to disagree on many professional opinions, though they remained closer than ever.

He'd known as soon as she'd been approached about this place that she would take it and run; that was Marianne's way. She was bright and ready to take on a challenge, and he knew she had wanted to prove him wrong about the vast progress made in the area of genetic research through Hammond's vision – he knew she had wanted to see it succeed, just like he had many years ago. Her stubbornness, though, had dulled her to reason; she'd had to experience it herself to know how awfully wrong John Hammond's vision truly was.

Did he regret coming here? Every moment he was still on the island, yes. Did he regret coming to convince Marianne to come home? Not in the very least. He could think of nothing better than to get in the air, and take them both home and away to safety.

They simply didn't belong here. No one belonged here.

He could see the paddock up ahead, and the frenzy swirling around it. He slowed to a crawl upon entering the fray, seeing the scores of vehicles parked half-hazardly around the cleared area. A group of men were raiding supply sheds, tossing boxes and crates into the back of a military transport truck, while someone supervised a clipboard at the entrance of the shed.

Another group tromped up the heavy steel stairs to the office, where they were rifling through papers, dropping bookshelves, overturning desks, and banging on file cabinets; all witnessed through opened windows. On the walkway suspended over the paddock, three men pointed into the enclosure, all wearing sunglasses and uniforms, save the man in the middle – he was heavyset, with graying hair, and held a tablet and phone in one hand, snapping gum. His khaki shirt was stained with sweat in the most obvious and visible areas.

Ellie was leaning forward in her seat, brow furrowed. "Who are these people?" She looked back at him, "They don't look military."

Alan navigated the vehicle out of the way, parking it beneath a large frond of jungle foliage. "I doubt the military would spare units for a potential contract," he popped the door on the Camaro, "I'll bet these are InGen contractors working for that Hoskins character."

"You think the information is safe?"

Alan shook his head, slipping on his sunglasses. "Knowing Marianne, I'm sure things are taken care of."

They both slipped out of the car, watching the scene before them precariously. Men darted to and fro around the paddock, carrying supplies and issued orders. The place looked more like a military camp than an animal enclosure; men stood around with expensive looking weapons slung casually over their shoulders. Everyone was sweating, there were a mixture of languages shouted across the space.

Alan noticed the man in the khaki shirt called for someone, and a young man rushed up the stairs. After a few whispers and hand gestures, he clapped the younger man on the back and sent him away with a wave of his hand. Giving Ellie an uneasy look, Alan gestured with his head for her to fall into line behind him as they began their march towards the paddock stairs, which would lead into the office.

They broke through the first line of men casually, who paused to give them quizzical - and ultimately confused - looks. The shouts turned into whispers, and the frenzy of work slowed to a lazy pace as he guided Ellie to the bottom of the steel staircase, feeling small and wrong. Taking the hot rails in both of his hands, Alan practically hauled himself up the paddock steps, one trudging stair at a time, before he and Ellie arrived at the top.

The man in khaki smacked his gum, turning to face them fully. Alan had noticed the group on the catwalk had been silently staring at them since they'd broke through the first crowd of workers. He wasn't sure if the look was that of disdain, aggravation, or irritability - all he knew was what Marianne and Owen had told him about this man, Hoskins, and his plans to subcontract the raptors out to the military.

He'd seen the plans, and the research, and not only was his hypotheses correct, but his biggest fears were as well: these dinosaurs were hyper-intelligent, and the government wouldn't hesitate to use them for their research and development. The very thought left a sour taste in Alan's mouth, and curdled a hot fear in the middle of his chest.

The man looked them over, then crossed his big arms over his chest. "I was thinking maybe Owen would come rushing out here when he heard I was on the island, but I sure didn't expect this," he extended a hand, "Dr. Alan Grant, what an honor it is to meet you."

Alan's brow piqued in surprise, and he cautiously looked over to Ellie. "We've met...?" As hard as it was to give the illusion of propriety, Alan could still hear the hesitancy in his own tone.

The man shook his head, Alan slipping his hand into his. "No, never. But I've followed your work for a number of years at InGen."

Alan lifted his chin, only slightly. He felt Ellie shift behind him at the company name. So InGen was behind this, just as he'd feared. "I see. I was under the impression InGen didn't follow anyone's work but their own since John Hammond."

The man's lip curved into a reptillian-like smirk, and Alan noticed that his eyes had a darkness to them that belied honesty. Alan's hairs were standing on the back of his neck, standing above the paddock, just waiting for that one key moment he'd be able to ask his question and catch the man in what was nearly corporate espionage. If Wu or Masrani found out that InGen was selling out from beneath them, things wouldn't bode well for this man, or anyone else in the area.

The man shrugged. "InGen is only as good as the people who comprise it, Dr. Grant," he dropped his hand from Alan's, "Vic Hoskins. I've been working with Owen Grady on his developmental research regarding the raptor pack. It is brilliant work, and very promising."

There it was, Alan's moment. "Grady told me that you're planning to take the research to the military," Alan breathed, Ellie slipped up closer to him, as if to compel him forward, "I can tell you first hand these animals will never develop enough to be put side-by-side with humans in any kind of field, no matter how many inundations or research you pump into them."

Hoskins looked stunned that Alan had threw the first verbal punch so quickly. He gestured over his shoulder, waved the men who'd been standing with him off, and looked down at his booted feet, gripping the railing with one hand. Then, without warning, he turned to look down into the paddock, leaning against the railing casually while smacking his gum in a masticating manner.

Chuckling, he gave Grant a slight look over his shoulder. "Grady has proved these animals take direction, Dr. Grant," he then straightened, turned to face them, and leaned against the railing, arms braced back to suspend him forward ever so slightly. "And, rumor has it that there's been some new genetic information discovered about the bone structure of these creations. It could very well take our perception of these animals from speculation, to fact."

Alan's stomach dropped. Hoskins had heard about the research. Looking to the office of the paddock, Grant crossed his arms in front of him. "Grady has proved these animals are reacting to human impression," he gestured with a hand, "Reaction is a far cry from obedience. You can't possibly expect them to interact safely with people, especially under the stress of outside stimulation."

Ellie piped up, "These animals will take generations to adapt, Mr. Hoskins," she was beside Alan now, looking down into the paddock, which was empty and eerily quiet, "We haven't even confidently domesticated foxes yet, for God sakes. You can't expect to take an extinct animal and just drop it back into a civilization it does not understand, nor has ever encountered. It's dangerous, and careless."

Suddenly, the man's phone rang. With no effort at all, he plucked it out of the breast pocket of his shirt, and answered it with a swipe of his hand. He had a smirk on his face as he stared across at them, as if he had no care in the world about anything they'd just said to him. Alan felt his blood begin to simmer with angry heat, suddenly wishing that he were anywhere in the park other than here, with this infuriating, insolent man.

Hoskins suddenly shifted his eyes, standing up a bit straighter, looking concerned. It could only mean that he'd just received word of the security breach, and the pale pallor creeping over his features confirmed Alan's suspicion. He wondered about Marianne, feeling a limb of dread begin to branch through his chest - he should be with her, walking her through this, protecting her. While he was confident of Owen's abilities, he'd feel better if he were beside Marianne, even if it meant enduring this all over again.

Ending the call, he gripped his phone and Hoskins looked to his associates. "There's an asset out of containment," he gestured to the office with a whip of his arm, "get that paperwork sorted out and report back. We've gotta get these overgrown lizards moved before they shut down completely."

Ellie stepped up to intercept him as he brushed by them, headed for the stairs. "Mr. Hoskins, understand - if you take these animals to the mainland and something goes wrong, it could be catastrophic to the entire ecosystem -"

He came about on the heel of his boot, abruptly halting their descent. Gripping the railing with a cemented fist, he pinned her with a scowl. Ellie stopped short behind him on the stairs, Alan stepped down onto the same stair as her, bumping his chin into her shoulder blade.

Looking between them, he sighed. "Look, I appreciate your concern for the greater good of humanity and all, but this is research. Eventually, it has to be brought out of hiding."

Alan snorted behind Ellie, rolling his eyes behind his shades. "John Hammond didn't think so," was his firm comment.

Hoskins glared at him. "This will make great progress for military affairs, and will be treated with the utmost caution, I assure you. Civilization demands progression, and this is some of the most progressive research of the twenty-first century. I cannot merely contain it to a remote island in the middle of the ocean. It has to come forward."

Alan couldn't believe what he was hearing. Progressive? Discretion? They were all familiar words he'd heard before; words from a millionaire visionary with a dream to make the world a more joyful place - in essence, the epitome of innocence. In reality, at the core of this place was pride and corporate greed, two things that had become evidently clear when InGen had tried to excuse the incident in San Diego with Ian Malcolm.

The park was never meant to exist, time and chaos had proven it. Perhaps Marianne had been right - perhaps the Almighty did have a hand in all of this.

Mind whirling with thoughts of hatred, disgust, and frustration, Alan gently stepped down the stair around Ellie, her raking her hands through her hair nervously. He came chest-to-chest with Vic Hoskins, who was sweating perhaps more than he had before. Squinting in the sunlight at Alan, he reached up to run his hand across his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat as he did so.

Alan removed his sunglasses, shaking his head. "You're a fool if you think you can handle any of this with caution. Look at you - you people can't even keep your own attractions secure; isn't that what this is about?" He gestured to Hoskins' phone, "If you take these animals off the island, Mr. Hoskins, people will die."

Looking to Ellie, he gestured for her to follow him down the stairs and off the platform. Together they moved towards Marianne's car, a sinking feel erupting in Alan's gut. Something told him his words hadn't deterred the man at all, and the very thought almost rendered him to his knees. Slipping into the car, Alan pulled the door into place, the vehicle rattling slightly as he did so.

When he noticed that their presence had faded from the paddock's frenzied work, Alan folded his arms over the steering wheel, and dropped his head to rest against it. Closing his eyes, he released a slow breath, uncertain how to feel anything outside his current emotion of anger and hatred.

As he reached for the keys, he felt Ellie's worried look on him, and fell back from the steering wheel, slowly - if Vic Hoskins wasn't going to take his word for it, someone else would. Someone else had to. And, who better to reminisce about the past with than someone who had already survived it?

As if echoing his thoughts, Sattler sighed, "So what now?" she paused, "If he won't listen to us, then who else is there to talk to?"

Alan looked at her from the corner of his eye. "I have just the guy in mind."

"...You guys are about a mile east of the her right now. Not sure you want to get any closer, but, I've been wrong before."

Marianne braced against the vehicle's door with one arm, the other holding onto the phone as Lowry communicated with her from the Innovation Center. He'd been really nervous to talk to her, concerned that Masrani or Claire or even Wu and his daughter would tap into their conversation from the platform. She'd reassured him, multiple times, that Claire had asked them to find her nephews, and that there wasn't anything to be worried about.

She got the feeling that Lowry was worried about everything, though had sense enough to keep the information to herself.

Glancing over at Owen, they locked eyes for just a moment, the vehicle bouncing along the jungle floor as they edged through the foliage. They'd discovered the break in the fence, and she'd asked for the position of the Gyrosphere twice, but Lowry had seemed preoccupied with keeping tabs on the "unconfined asset," as he'd referred to it multiple times. She could still hear the emergency systems blaring messages over the phone, but chose to ignore it.

Her worry for Alan only increased thinking about the loose asset. "The gyro, Lowry? I need the position."

She could see that Owen was trying to laugh, but she rolled her eyes to indicate her frustration, before she shifted in her seat to consider Sophie, still asleep in the back and snoring lightly. She noticed Owen examine his niece from the rearview, for the fifth time.

Some of the girl's color had returned to her face, though she still looked tired and scared, even in her sleep. She'd repositioned to lay across the back seat, arms curled up under her head, as if she were in a terrified fetal position that was unmoving and unconscious. Instead, her chest rose and fall with gentle breaths, her snoring light as she dozed. Marianne was grateful the girl hadn't witnessed the trauma her and Owen had found in Valley, as she was certain the girl wouldn't ever recovery. Owen said she'd harbored a passion for dinosaurs, and Marianne hoped that would not change, despite the events.

Lowry seemed to register her statement this time, mumbling something about food and his worry he'd be caught slipping off to the vending machines. "Oh! The Gyrosphere position - right, right. Hold up. Vivian has those coordinates."

He was muttering nonsense into the phone now, and Marianne heard Vivian talking in the background noise, wondering who was on the phone.

Lowry told her it was Owen, as she instructed him to do. "It looks like...hm. That's weird. You're right on top of it, but it's in a restricted area of the park. No one goes out there except maintenance."

It didn't surprise Marianne. The wall had, at one time, been an effective barrier at keeping everything out of this area of the jungle. Marianne had simply assumed it was part of the perimeter, but she'd never thought it would be labeled as restricted. Most areas labeled with such an intrusive word either held secrets, expensive investments, or danger. She didn't like the prospect of any of them, being this far from the park.

She nudged Owen with her elbow. "He says we're right on top of it," she gestured to the phone.

The area was a small clearing, hardly bigger than a baseball diamond, with a thick canopy of trees. Sunlight beamed down in spottled dots on the jungle floor, trying to pierce through the canopy in an attempt to illuminate the earth below.

Owen's brow furrowed, slightly confused. He glanced around the small area of jungle they'd driven into, confusion continually mottling his features, until he froze, eyes cemented straight ahead. Marianne followed his gaze, her heart beginning to hammer harder, until she spotted what Owen was so intently looking at. Her breath hitched, and fear gripped her in her seat, pinning her into the leather upholstery. Her fingers instinctively dug into the door panel.

Owen put the vehicle in park, face hard as stone. Up ahead, they both watched the remains of a thoroughly destroyed Gyrosphere, smashed against a fallen tree and sitting abandoned. Parts and plexiglass were everywhere, and it looked as if the jungle beyond had been mauled by a monster, leaving trees and underbrush crushed and mangled in its wake.

It could only mean one thing: the animal had been here, with the boys.

Owen reached behind him for his Marlin rifle, and checked the chamber. Switching off the car, he left the keys dangling in the ignition, and shifted only slightly in his seat to face her in a cock-eyed position. His brow was furrowed and he was sweating, but he mostly looked driven by some unseen courageous force outside of the vehicle, because all Marianne could feel was fear, confusion, and a longing not to let him leave. She began to tremble, swallowing thickly.

Suddenly, Owen's hand was on her arm, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. Noticing her fear would not have been difficult, and when she looked back at him, she saw his features had softened into a look of compassion, and empathy. She still had the phone at hand, though it was pulled from her ear, Lowry jabbering into open air between them.

"You ok?" Owen asked, quietly.

Marianne immediately shook her head, no. "Owen...that thing was here," she swallowed a squeak of fear, "and Lowry said it was only a mile away. It can smell us from that far." Pinned further into her seat again, she closed her eyes for only a moment, hoping to make the horrifying images of the incident at the paddock go away from her thoughts.

He nodded his understanding, and took back his phone. Pressing it to his ear, he quickly ended the call with Lowry, and stuffed the device into the breast pocket of his vest. Gripping the rifle in one arm, he rested his other palm against her cheek, his finger loosely tousling the curls behind her ear as his thumb stroked her cheek, affectionately.

"It's ok," he reassured her, "A mile is still a long way. We have to find those boys, Annie." He used his nickname for her, before gesturing with a jerk of his head. "I want do a small perimeter check before we go. They might be hunkered down somewhere."

She nodded, understanding. "Right...right," she popped the latch on her door, and slipped out of the car, her feet colliding with the soft jungle floor.

Closing her door quietly, she stepped away from the car, moving towards the front of the SUV, Owen coming to meet her, rifle primed and already in position against his shoulder.

He held the weapon confidently, in a slow, crouched walk, advancing towards the dismantled ride. Marianne pressed in close against him, clinging to his vest with white knuckles. Her attention was everywhere at once; distracted by every move of the jungle. Her heart hammered blood into her ears so loudly that she feared she'd go deaf; her bones felt cold deep within her body. She felt sick, and hyped, and exhausted all at once, as if her emotions had been jammed into a blender and poured back into her body.

Owen quick-stopped, jerking to a halt. She fumbled against him with a muffled oof!, bouncing off his frame due to their collision. In an instant Owen reached out to stabilize her, his attention less than drawn from his focused aim - he was otherworldly, as if he were covert ops straight off the battlefield. He gripped her arm solidly, as if mutedly telling her to stay still.

She suddenly had flashbacks from their first meeting at the raptor paddock, where he'd somehow talked her over the gate and inside with him, where he'd been working on command exercises. Though they'd saved an employee's life, it had nearly been fatal for them - one iota longer of a second, and they'd have been killed at the hands of the pack. A shiver raced down her spine at the memory of the day, when she'd been so close to him on the ground, but it was quickly replaced with the haunting screams of the enraged raptors clawing at the gate behind them.

This wasn't so different, except she was twice as fearful as she had been, even huddling behind Owen as she was. His deep and rich smell, accompanied with the earthly tones of the jungle, helped her concentrate her breathing, and within moments of standing for what felt like an eternity, Owen patted her hand and motioned for them to press on, one slow and crouched step at a time.

She could feel his muscles twitch, even beneath his vest and clothes, as she hovered beside him. Her heart pounded desperately within her chest; sweat rushing down the full length of her spine as if it were a race to reach the ground. Her mouth felt heavy and as if it had been filled with cotton, and she couldn't breath past shallow, gasping squeaks. Her entire body was trembling; eyes cemented on the ride growing ever-closer, and within moments that felt like an eternity, her boots were crunching on broken bits of plexiglass.

Considering the broken plexiglass for only a moment, Marianne looked back to the sphere, which was bent inward and smashed thoroughly against a fallen tree. The frame was jagged and haggard, as if it had endured an under-over somersault through a minefield. It smelled terribly of blood, flesh, and death, mixed with another stench she couldn't quite place. She had to stop, turn her head away, and attempt to suck in air that wasn't laced with rancid stink.

Owen caught her eye. He had paused, glancing around the scene. He looked dismal and focused, his facial hair dripping with sweat, until he lowered his position and looked from the jungle floor to her. They locked eyes for a moment, until his flecked over to the left-in-shambles sphere, asking the silent question of 'any-signs-of-life?'

Edging closer with light steps, Marianne finally brushed her hand against the torn metal frame of the Gyrosphere, her eyes pinched shut as she fully stopped beside the ride. Gulping back a breath, she persevered through the smell, body trembling, before throwing open her eyes and peering into the crushed ball. Her heart skipped an excited beat, and she felt hope surge within her; fingers digging into the frame to steady her as she whipped around.

"They're alive!" she exclaimed, fastening her eyes on Owen. "The boys are alive!"

His face looked thoroughly conflicted as Owen hustled the rest of the way to her, Marianne reaching out for his arm as he arrived beside her. He slung the rifle over his shoulder, crouched, and examined the interior of the sphere, which was crushed and filled with plexiglass. Marianne immediately saw the source of the putrid stench, which was a pile of vomit on the floor of the right side.

"They aren't here," Owen said, disbelief shrouding his voice, "and there's no blood. They must've got out."

Unwilling to acknowledge how it was possible, since all the rides were secured during run time, Marianne dropped to a crouch beside him. "Do you think they got away?"

He shrugged a shoulder, stroking his stubbled chin with a hand. He stood, and hustled around the fallen tree, considering the scene before him. Marianne followed close behind, her eyes riveted to the deep claw marks and splintered remains of what had once been a substantial tree. She assumed it had gotten in the way of the raging animal, and had been reduced to splinters in the fight.

He sighed, which was a partial answer to her question. "I dunno. That thing is quick, and its tracking skills are off the charts. We can hope adrenaline got them far enough away, but I'm not optimistic at this point." He bent over and ran his hand across one of the deep gouges, shaking his head slightly.

Standing, he brought the rifle back around again and continued, "I wanna do a sweep. You stay here with Sophie - it'll be faster if I'm alone." Nodding her understanding, Owen left with a slight dip of his head, gesturing to the car. "Get inside. Less chance of your scent traveling around."

She nodded. "When will you be back?"

He checked his watch, flashing her the face of it on his wrist. "Three minutes. Time me. I'll be back."

She swallowed, "And if you're not?"

He gave her a quirky grin, leading her away from the tree. "If I'm not back in three minutes, get Sophie back to the park." He either heard her gut drop into her knees or saw the panic rise in her eyes, because he flattened his lips and raised his brows, noting her concern.

"Don't worry about me; I'm a Navy guy, remember?" was his quip.

She didn't appreciate the humor. "I don't care if you're Superman, Owen. I don't want to leave you out here."

He nodded his understanding. "I don't want you to either. Just stay calm, quiet, and I'll be right back. You got this, Annie." Again, using his name for her, Owen quickly closed the distance between them, kissed her forehead, and gave her forearm a reassuring rub before turning away. Readjusting his rifle, he hustled into the jungle on light feet, leaving her standing in the clearing next to the SUV.

She was glad he couldn't hear her whimper as she climbed back into the vehicle, carefully closing the door behind her. Sitting for a few moments, breathing steadily, haunting silence began to play at the corners of her brain. Marianne felt suddenly sick, and dazed. Closing her eyes, she let a blanket of darkness surround her, cancelling out any immediate panic that may have risen in her chest.

Within a few shallow and slow breaths, Marianne drifted into sleep.

The navigator beside him continually remained silent, eyeing her device with a cold and calculating stare. Sweat marred her features, which were still visible despite the extensive armor and gear required of all ACU operatives. Together, their steps were slow and hunched, rifles pointed in the air as Hamada continually scanned the area, watching for his units to signal him silently with hand gestures and motions.

The thing had changed course a few times, in jagged and seemingly ineffective route, until it had finally seemed content to make a steady trail north. It appeared to be stepping a perimeter, seemingly in a circle, now curving slightly northeast. Though not identified on the GPS, Hamada knew by memory that the area was fenced off for the Allosaurus, which would have probably explained the animal's erratic behavior, if he'd been thinking more intently on it. They were mere meters from it, though the thing hadn't even once been spotted.

Having made considerable progress, Hamada was apt to stop their steady approach, until his navigator stopped abruptly, neck craned down to study the iPad. Stopping, Hamada immediately signaled the units to halt with a raised fist, and quickly stepped to his navigator on the balls of his feet, attempting to cancel out any noise. In the distance, there was a screech of an animal, which jerked his attention, but not his ear.

She looked up at him, her mouth pulled into a tight frown. "What is it?" was his demand, which sounded more irritated than he was.

He noticed her swallow nervously, which was something she rarely did, as she was accomplished in her position and well regarded. Immediately, his concern spiked. Turning the iPad in her hand, she extended it to him, her gloved hand hovering over an empty spread of what was marked as terrain on the field map. He considered it for a fleeting moment, before popping a brow ridge and looking up at her.

Reading his silent demand, she inserted quickly, "She's dropped off."

Alarm punched him swiftly in the gut, almost causing Hamada to drop his weapon. "Dropped off? What do you mean dropped off?"

The very notion was unbelievable - animals simply didn't just drop off. The tracking system implanted within them from birth was virtually indestructible, and the software was maintenance almost daily; a demand of his own making. Unless they were severely damaged, there was no way they'd simply stop working. Combat was out of the question, because the animal's vitals had been fine, and it still wouldn't have warranted a drop off, only a ping for repair.

She wasn't so loose as to shrug, but her stance reaffirmed her statement. "She's off the grid, Hamada." The use of his last name cemented her concern.

Practically ripping the iPad from her grip, he began running some codes. He pinged the location; nothing. Tried calling for a service diagnostic; nothing. Tried for an activity report; nothing. Body temperature readout; nothing. Proteins; nothing. Anger beginning to raise to the brim of his patience levels, Hamada even tried overriding control and executing a kill switch for the probe.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

He almost whipped the device at his navigator. "Alright, call everyone in," he said with a growling rasp, "we're headed back to the transports."

"But, sir -"

He whipped up his hand, shaking his head. It was beyond protocol to be out in the area with a predator and a broken probe - and one this sophisticated? He wasn't about to take any chances. Signaling for a full retreat back to the transports, he watched his men move out in a wave of quick trots, hustling back the direction they came. Roughly a klik from their vehicles, it wouldn't be long before they'd arrive back at the park and they could do aerial recon.

He was about to high-trot himself when he heard the guttural roar to the west. Jerking to a stop, Hamada whirled around, aware of just how closely the animal's call had been. Ice began to lace his blood, and he couldn't help but notice that his men were moving much faster now; all around him, deathly silent, save for the movement of their gear and the crunch of jungle beneath their feet.

Motioning for his navigator to hand back the iPad, she did so, absorbed by compliance. Cancelling out coordinates for the Indominus, he punched in the ID for Allosaurus, and waited for a location readout. Unable and unwilling to compromise their position by calling HQ, he waited for the readout, and hoped his assumption had been wrong.

Instead, however, he began to feel the faint tremors of the ground beneath him, and knew that his initial concern had been right. The swaying trees and the panicked reaction of the jungle confirmed his suspicion, and he dropped the iPad as the trees came pummeling down around them, issuing screams from the units moving out in every direction; the Allosaurus rocketing into their small clearing, maw dripping with saliva, blood, and predatory hatred.