Disclaimer: John Hammond, InGen, Jurassic Park, Isla Nebular and Isla Sorna are all things that I have unconscionably stolen from Michael Crichton's novels Jurassic Park and The Lost World, as well as the movies of the same name. I have drawn on both forms of media (the books and the movies) for this story. It does not follow one or the other specifically… it is implied that John Hammond is still alive in this story, but I use dinosaur elements from the books… and a few that were in neither. None of the characters from Jurassic Park or Lost World, in either variation, appear in this story. Instead, I have chosen to plunk down a new set of characters on the island. The events described take place sometime between the Jurassic Park Incident and the San Diego Incident. Well, I guess that's all there is to say, except… enjoy the story.
Los Cinquo Muertes
Chapter 1: Survey
13
SPEECH TIME
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the survey team stopped again this time not to eat but to rest. The group displayed the trailers in the same semi-circle as they had at diner, with the jeeps completing the circle. Inside the circle, the restless charting team still talked and went on with their activities, either studying what they had gathered as info on the island during the day or preparing the foldable shelters for the night.
Contrary to diner, the conversations were kept low and subdued, and they rarely had more than three or four participants. P.J. and the soldiers (who had not yet addressed anybody else than P.J.) were discussing the tactical advantages and disadvantages of the terrain of the island. Benny was still in the Research and Machinery trailer, analysing the venom retrieved from the small animal. As for the creature, it was still in its cage, awake but motionless, frequently visited (from a reasonable distance) by members of the team.
Alice was sitting against a tree, listening to her Walkman, when her father sat down next to her. Uh-ho, she thought, speech time.
"So," said Richley, "How's it going?"
"Fine, dad."
"Look, I don't think you should have done what you did at diner. So don't do it again. It could be dangerous."
"Daaad, please, lay off. I'm not a little girl anymore. I can take care of myself."
"You could have been killed! We have absolutely no idea how poisonous that thing is!"
"I was in control of the situation the whole time," Alice lied. "It didn't surprise me, I surprised it. You have to learn that I'm not going to refrain from doing anything just because it could be risky!"
"Damn it, Alice, I don't want to lose you too!"
Alice was shocked. Her father very rarely spoke of her mother's death. She knew he still blames himself, even though there was no way he could have prevented anything. Alice was groping for words, trying to form a response but found herself unable to reply. Luckily, she didn't have to, because at that moment Benny came rushing out of the trailer, a vial in his hands.
"I got it! I got it! Tiny, I know what it is!"
"What's 'Tiny'?" asked Richley.
"Oh, um, well, Alice nicknamed the thing Tiny."
Richley simply shook his head.
Very soon the whole group had formed around Benny, eager to know whether the thing was inoffensive or whether they had been harbouring a killer. Richley, Ellis and P.J. were at the front of the wave. Benny addressed Richley but spoke loud enough so that everybody could hear.
"I was able to extract some of the venom and analyse it. It's a mild anaesthetic. If just one of those things bit you, you might feel just a little bit tired. So there's no danger there. Thing is, if it's a pack hunter, and I think it is, the bite of thirty of those creatures combined could knock you out so bad that you wouldn't even feel 'em pecking at you."
The team turned in unison towards the small beast in its cage with newfound respect. Then, Ellis spoke up:
"So these things are dangerous then. Were going to have to exterminated them before we bring people over here to settle."
"I wouldn't say exterminate," said Benny, who, as a biologist, was also an animal rights activist. "That would be genocide. Sure, we'll have to be careful about them now, but I'm sure we can find some kind of antidote that would permit the people of this island to not fall asleep after being bitten. And I don't think that these little critters would attack themselves to something that wasn't asleep."
"Well," interceded Richley. "That decision will be taken in the future. For now though, everybody carries a pistol and if they see any of those things, it's a shoot on site. Understood?" The group nodded. "Good. For now I recommend we all go to bed. We're going to have a busy day tomorrow, and I want everybody to be in top condition." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added: "And remember to seal your shelters."
"Yeah," P.J. muttered. "We don't want to 'rest in pieces' "
14
NIGHT TERRORS
A roaring sound stirred Richley from his sleep on their second night on the island. Bewildered by the sudden wake-up call, Richley looked around him in confusion. It took a moment before Richley recognized the flat, grey walls of the shelter. It was a small, enclosed metal box, whose flat surface was broken only by the four protruding bunks, two on each side. Everything, the bunks and the walls, could be folded so that all four shelters took only a few square meters of space in the Communications trailer.
From under him, Richley heard Benny mutter in a small, muffled voice:
"What? What was that? Who called?"
"That wasn't a phone, Benny," said P.J., rising from his bunk.
"It sounded more like some kind of animal," suggested Richley.
"Was prob'ly Folker snoring," mumbled the sleepy Benny.
"Was not. It woke me up too," said Folker.
Then the same sound, this time clearly an animal roar, came again. Almost in unison, the four men jumped from their bunks and opened the shelter's doors. Outside, the cool night-time air and a gentle drizzle greeted Richley. He could see that the occupants of the shelter in front of them, namely Alice, Ellis and Soles, had also exited their tent to see what the noise was all about. But except for each other, the team members could not see anything except the jungle.
The team slowly drew together, hoping that someone would be able to explain what had just happened. But no one could. So they turned back towards the forest, hoping to hear the sound again. Softly, Alice said to Benny:
"Nice Kermit the Frog pyjamas."
"Shut up," Benny answered, although Alice could not tell whether it was because Benny was irritated or if he was trying to hear something.
But the sound did not come again, and slowly, the explorers returned to their shelters for a night of restless sleep.
15
DISTRIBUTION
"Good morning, Tiny! And how are we today? Want some breakfast? Yes? Well, look what I got for you! Chips!"
Richley shook his head. He couldn't believe that Alice was talking to the beast. Pretty soon she would be asking if she could keep it as a pet! Richley yawned. He hadn't gotten much sleep after yesterday's incident. And in the few moments that he did manage to sleep, he was assaulted by dreams of a gigantic, roaring Tiny attacking his daughter.
It must have rained a lot last night because the terrain had become swampy. Mud stuck relentlessly to Richley's boots. He made himself a mental note not to sit on the ground for breakfast (canned beans).
As Richley chewed, he was approached by P.J. who said:
"Boss, I've got to tell you, that thing we heard yesterday really worries me. It takes something pretty damn big to make that kind of sound. There's nothing of that size written on the charts here," P.J. said, holding up the Costa Rican report on the islands of 1991. "But then again, Tiny and his species weren't written here either. So from now on, I'm asking that everybody carry a rifle. Here is yours."
And with that, P.J. handed Richley a rifle. Richley, who had his plate in one hand, his fork in the other and a mouth full of food, made a small head gesture to a nearby tree. Understanding, P.J. propped the rifle against the tree and walked back to the trailer. Richley had been the last one to get his rifle, but only because P.J. could not find him earlier. Then, he heard Alice calling him:
"Yo, P.J., how come I didn't get a rifle?"
She sounded both hurt and annoyed at the same time. Hurt if he had done on purpose not to give her one, annoyed if it had simply been an oversight. She felt her heart sink when he replied:
"For the same reasons you don't give a monkey an armed grenade."
"Hey, I've shot things before!"
"Yeah? Who?" came the smug reply. Frustrated, Alice stormed away.
16
MUD IN YOUR EYE
After breakfast, the team started moving again. This time, it was even more difficult to drive and clear the passage because the rainfalls last night made the ground muddy. On more than one occasion, a jeep or a trailer would get stuck in the mud, and the whole team would have to stop while P.J., the workmen and the soldiers tried to lift the vehicle out of the silt. The sides of the trailers, before a uniform white, were now spotted from the mud thrown upwards by the big wheels.
Ellis, riding in the same jeep as Richley, P.J. and Alice, pointed out to the team leader:
"If the ground becomes all muddy like this every time it rains, it could pose a serious problem in establishing a colony here. All buildings would have to be built deep in the ground, and transportation would be very difficult."
"Maybe not," answered Richley. "It could be that we arrived on this island during monsoon period. I would have to check the charts for that. And even if the ground conditions here are unstable, I'm sure there's a way to fix it."
"Besides," said Alice, "It's just a little mud. It can't hurt you."
Just then the jeep dipped suddenly into a mud hole, coming to a halt and splattering the occupants of the jeep with silt.
"I stand corrected," said Alice, wiping mud off of her face.
17
MOVING ON…
It took twenty minutes to get the jeep out of the mud hole. This, combined with other such incidents, slowed the group down considerably. It was about 1 p.m. and everybody was hungering for lunch. But since the corridor they were driving in was too narrow to stop, they moved on, hoping that they would reach the clearing soon. When they did, it was about two o'clock in the afternoon…
18
THE CLEARING
When, ahead of him, the jungle seemed to clear up, Richley was overjoyed. They all needed to stop to eat and stretch their legs. Finally, the front jeep burst out of the jungle. It rode on for as much distance that was necessary to let the other jeeps and trailers come out, and then came to a stop. Richley and the other followed suit and said hello to the sun, which they hadn't seen in quite some time. They all slowly disembarked, stretching, snapping bones and cracking knuckles. In front of them, they could see a portion of the clearing, grassland that went on for at least two kilometres before reverting back to jungle form. The high weeds that covered the plain reached up to right under their knees. Some sat, getting ready for dinner, others just stood and stared.
Folker was the only one who kept on walking right around the bend in the jungle. He wanted to see what the rest of the clearing looked like. Shortly after he became out of view to the rest of the group, they heard him cry out:
"What the hell is that?!"
As one the group stood up and jogged towards the spot where Folker had disappeared. They found him staring in amazement at what he saw before him.
In front of them was a small lake, about a few dozen meters across. The sides of the lake were bordered by tall pussy willows. The lake itself was clear limpid water, untouched by the pollution of mankind. Several lily pads floated on the surface of the lake. All in all, a very picturesque setting. However, it was not the lake that had shocked the charting group, but the animals that were drinking from it.
A herd of three-horned quadrupedal beasts were taking turns sapping up the water. They were about 9 meters from head to tail (literally), and stood as tall as an ordinary man. Their skin was coloured in various shades of grey. Its most prominent feature was, however, its head. The head started in a scissor like beak and ended in a bony, spiked neck frill. Above each eye, two large, well-developed horns protruded from its skin. There was a smaller horn on top of what passed for its nose. Occasionally, one of the beasts would emit a low bellowing noise to one of its companions.
The three-horns weren't these only creatures at the watering hole. There was also a single quadrupedal creature that seemed to be wearing armour. It was about 7 meters long and reached up to a normal man's shoulders. It sported the same pointed beak as the three-horns. Its entire backside was covered with ridged armour plated with small spikes on them. It's tail ended in a massive, bony club. Its skin was coloured in various shades of brown.
While others simply stared in awe, Benny biologist's mind automatically searched his memory and pulled out the species' names. The three-horns were Triceratops. The armour-plated creature was called Ankylosaurus. But, while one part of his mind recognized these species, another said it was impossible. After all, these things were dinosaurs. Creatures that had not been seen on the surface of the earth for sixty five million years. That's a hell of a long time!
All of the other members of the expedition, thought they did not remember the species' names, recognized them for what they were: creatures that were supposed to be extinct, yet alive and well in front of them.
P.J., like everybody else, recognised the dinosaurs, but his mind raced forward to the implications created by this discovery. If there are dinosaurs here, there must be more on the island. Tiny must also be a dinosaur. An entire prehistoric ecosystem, with herbivores like these things. And carnivores like Tiny. Carnivores. That though struck him and would not let go. Every ecosystem has its predators, and P.J. remembers the dinosaur predators he saw in pictures as being most ferocious beasts. This was a watering hole, where herbivores came in great numbers. And great numbers of herbivores would, of course, attract carnivores. Predators.
P.J. ran up to Richley, who was still staring dumbstruck at the drinking dinosaurs.
"Boss, we gotta get outta here. Now!"
"What?" whispered Richley, as if he was afraid that a loud noise might scare away the beasts, his eyes never leaving the prehistoric spectacle in front of him.
"These are dinosaurs, right? A dinosaur ecosystem. Does the word 'Tyrannosaurus' ring a bell?"
P.J. now had Richley's full attention.
"Are you saying that there might be one goddamn large meat-eating monster loose on this island?"
Richley question was answer fast enough, but not by P.J. From the distance, the same roaring sound as the night before was heard. But last night, that sound had been little more than a curiosity to Richley. Now, it was a death threat. The roaring rang out again, even louder this time, which meant that whatever it was, it was getting closer.
Every part of Richley was screaming at him. His instinct of self-preservation screamed at him, telling him to flee. His parental instinct screamed at him, telling him the get Alice away from this place. His sense of duty screamed at him to evacuate the team fast. But the following scream wasn't his.
The head of the soldiers was Corporal Meiller. He had overheard P.J.'s and Richley's conversation, and then put two and two together when he heard the roar. He spoke to the group for the first time since the start of the expedition. His voice was one that was used to giving orders and used to having those orders carried out.
"Everybody back to the jeeps, now!"
As if it had been them who had been addressed, the Triceratops suddenly stopped drinking, howled, and broke out into a frenzied run to the other side of the clearing.
The members of the team were all very bright, and it only took that little encouragement to send them rushing towards their vehicles. All sixteen humans present were running through the grass as if their lives depended on it. Which, Richley reflected, they might very well do.
"Everybody," screamed P.J., "Follow the animals, they know where to go."
During the mad race, Richley kept searching for his daughter. When he finally found her, he came up besides her and pointed to the second jeep. Alice nodded her agreement. As soon as Richley jumped over the jeep's door he started the car. As soon as he had assured himself that Alice and two other people were in (wouldn't want to leave anybody behind), he accelerated the jeep towards the other end of the clearing, the trailer cutting a clear trail in the high grass.
Out of their habit of protecting other people, P.J., two soldiers and Meiller automatically headed towards the last jeep, which, according to the directions of the sounds, was the one that was in the most danger. (The third soldier had fled in the first jeep; the dazed man would later get a stern reproach for this from the Corporal.) No one even bothered to open a door, they all simply leaped inside, with Meiller at the wheel. He started the car and accelerated, but nothing happened. The wheels on the jeep were turning, whipping the ground, but they weren't advancing. P.J., in the backseat, looked behind him and located the problem. One of the trailer's wheels had sunk in so deep into the mud that only the top emerged. P.J. threw himself on the jeep's attachment, which permitted it to carry a trailer. The trailer segment was attached to the jeep segment with several clamps. Working furiously, P.J. fumbled with the clamps, trying to get them open. There was about one left when he looked up towards the jungle. A massive dark shape of crashing trees was heading right for him. He unhooked the last clamp, and the jeep accelerated away. The hunter nearly fell off so sudden was the start.
And not a second too soon, for shortly after P.J. heard a massive crunching sound. The trailer's behind lifted into the airs and was shortly followed by the rest of the vehicle. Meiller swerved violently, narrowly avoiding the falling trailer as it crashed into the ground in an orgy of noise and broken glass. P.J., still on the jeep's attachment, climbed back into the car and looked at the beast that had been powerful enough to send the large trailer into the airs like a vulgar piece of paper.
P.J. recognised the beast from drawings he had seen during his life. Tyrannosaurus Rex, king of all hunters, largest predator to ever have stalked the Earth. It was twelve meters long and as high as several men standing on each other's shoulders. Running at a 20-mile-an-hour pace on its strong muscular hind legs, the creature inspired both fear and respect (though mostly fear) in P.J. and all who dared turn around to see their pursuer. His tail and small arms perfectly balanced the Tyrannosaurus. Rows of teeth as big as bananas decorated the creature's powerful jaws while the Tyrannosaurus' forward looking eyes only had one target in sight: the jeep.
"Holy shit!" cried out Soles, in the second jeep with Alice, Carlson and Richley. The occupants of the jeep stared in horror as the fourth jeep struggled to escape the Tyrannosaurus. Even Richley, intent on getting out of the clearing as fast as possible, couldn't help looking at the unfolding drama in his rear-view mirror.
Meiller cursed a blue streak as he attempted to get the jeep to go faster. The shift was at its maximum position, yet still the car went barely fast enough to avoid getting caught by the pursuing monster. There must have been some mud trapped in the controls. The soldier next to P.J. in the backseat unslung his rifle and aimed at the beast. The shot went wild, barely grazing the Tyrannosaur's flank. Thinking he might get a better shot, the soldier rose from his seat.
Just then the jeep hit a bump, and the soldier lost his balance. He fell but was able to hang on to the back of the jeep. P.J. was about to pull him up when the Tyrannosaurus swung down his massive head and clamped down his jaws. The soldier screamed in pain for his foot had disappeared into the beast's mouth. He lost his hold on the back of the jeep and hung by his leg from the creature's mouth. Then, as one would do to a popcorn kernel, the Tyrannosaurus threw his head back, sending the soldier into the airs, and then clamped his jaws on the poor man's body.
The bump must have shaken the mud loose from the gears because the jeep started accelerating away. The Tyrannosaurus, seeing that his prey had escaped, stopped running and settled down to eat his catch.
The jeeps drove on…
19
MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE RANCH…
The sand under his boots crunched lightly as he walked along the beach. To his right, the Pacific stirred lazily, sending slow waves lapping up the beach, only to fall back into the ocean, leaving behind a white trace of foam. There was just enough wind to give the air that salty taste, but not enough to make someone uncomfortable. It was, he reflected, an idyllic scene.
Darren Husser hated it.
The co-pilot kicked sullenly at the sand, stirring up a great brown cloud. He was a man of action, who lived in the here and now. This job of baby-sitting an empty plane while a bunch of scientists tried to hack their way through the jungle was not his idea of usefulness. He had joined the Air Force because he had thought it was where all the action was these days. Instead, he's stuck walking around on the beach while the Army boys get to go inland. Husser decided he hated irony too.
He kicked at the sand one more time before resuming walking, hands in his pockets. Before he could move on, however, something glinting in the sand caught his eye. Husser bent down and saw some kind of metallic object buried in the sand, which the sun had reflected off. Glad to finally have something to do, he began to dig around in the sand, slowly revealing the object. It didn't take long before he was holding a flashlight.
Husser figured that the Costa Rican workers who were here before them had left it there. He automatically tried to flick it on, but got no results. It wasn't surprising, really. The flashlight didn't look good. Its comfort grip had been removed, and there were reddish rust-stains on it.
"Yo! Darren! Get over here, incoming transmission," he heard the voice of the pilot, Linda Howshenski, call out.
"Okay!"
Husser jogged towards the plane, swinging himself into the rear sass without breaking his pace. He walked down the aisle until he reached the cockpit. Howshenski gave him an odd look and motioned to the flashlight in his hand with her chin. Husser shrugged, and put the flashlight aside.
The cockpit was equipped with all the latest technological gadgets, which include a video monitor. On the screen there was a display indicating an incoming message, which was 87% complete. Husser crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, waiting for the transmission to come in fully. Finally, the screen switched over to an image of General Samson, which looked just a bit choppy and had a greenish tint to it.
"This is just to let you know that your companion plane did not report in at San Diego base on time." The general's motions didn't look fluid on the screen, no doubt to interference caused by the distance the transmission had had to travel. "When we investigated, we eventually found debris on the surface of the Pacific, between San Diego and Isla Capula, on their flight path. We've found no survivors, but we haven't found any body parts or the black box yet. We're going to keep looking around in the wreckage and search the area for any survivors. I'm just advising you of this so you can double-check your own equipment, in case this was a problem with maintenance at San Diego. We are, of course, checking our own fleets. General Samson out."
The transmission ended and the screen went black. Howshenski and Husser glanced at each other uncomfortably. They hadn't known the pilot or co-pilot of the cargo plane, but nobody likes to hear of crashes, especially when they are pilots themselves.
"We're giving this bird a thorough rub-down before we take off again," Darren Husser finally said.
"You know it," she replied. A look of concern passed over her face, and she said: "Do you know where the survey team got their equipment appraised? Because if there is a problem at San Diego, and that's where they got it from, then they might get misreadings and malfunctions."
"I don't know where, but it couldn't hurt to check," Husser said, moving over to the radio. He flipped several switches to activate the radio on the survey team's frequency. "Carriage to Scout, Carriage to Scout, over." He waited a while, and then sent the message again. He turned to look at Howshenski, who simply shrugged.
"Maybe they don't hear it? After all, if they're on the move they won't be in the trailers themselves."
"Yeah, that's right. Or it's just interference."
"In any case," Howshenski said, "We'll give them the benefit of doubt. But if they still haven't answered in two days, I'm calling Samson and telling them to get the cavalry over here. Now, let's check out our plane, shall we?"