Chapter Fourteen

"You ever get over to Montana? North Dakota maybe?"

Perry sighed. The kind of sigh that someone makes when they are getting extremely fed up. He stowed the crate of supplies and sat on it for a moment, opening a fresh packet of nicotine gum and popping a piece in his mouth before crossing his arms.

"No and no," he said. Perry chewed the gum and looked like he was ready to find the nearest hole in the ground and crawl into it to escape Mort's persistence. Sam almost looked around the loading bay in search of one for Perry's sake. Mort just scratched at his hair.

"Maybe I'm going mad, but I just know we've met before," he said. He snapped his fingers. "You weren't on that job in Rwanda were…"

"For fuck's sake Mort, no!" Perry's face was beginning to morph from annoyance into anger, the volume in his voice rising to that point where patience had probably run out. "Stop with this will you? I've had it with your wittering's and wonderings. Ask me only once more and I swear to God I'm gonna punch you in the fucking face." Mort didn't look much troubled, but he made a face and turned away, hefting a crate of dried food ingredients. Perry huffed angrily, watching Merv come padding up to him with his tail wagging. Perry's anger did not subside. "And someone get this fucking mutt out of the way! Why doesn't he stay with England!?"

Merv's ears fell back against his head as Perry lunged at him, feigning a kick. It looked very convincing, and Sam felt his own anger bubble up in a protective surge.

"Hey! It aint the dog's fault!" said Sam, setting his own supply crate down and letting Merv come padding over to him. He ruffled the dogs ears.

"And who the fuck asked you, Summers? Eh?" Perry eyes were turning hard, his jaws chewing harder. He put another piece of gum in, huffing again. Sam could see he'd balled his fists. Took him a moment to realise he'd balled his own. His palm hurt. Sam had taken a step forward as well, towards Perry, ignoring that little flicker of pain in his knee.

"It isn't the dogs fault," said Sam again, his voice steady. He took a breath, knowing he was straying into the kind of territory he'd strayed into before. The last time he'd stuck up for someone else he'd ended up agreeing to come to this place. He ought to know better by now. Perry's forearms were squirming, the air between them taking a very sudden dose of tension. Someone whistled.

"My my, just look at all this testosterone." A woman's voice. A very pleasant voice. English too. The pilot Connie came sauntering into the loading bay, her husband and co-pilot beside her with his hands in his pockets and the kind of care-free swagger that seemed to accompany confident people. She smiled, teeth perfect and eyes glittering. She seemed a bit out of place in the gloomy and dilapidated Hell-hole that Sam was hating with each passing day. But he wasn't complaining.

Merv bounded over to her, licking at her hand and then circling her legs. She scratched his head, producing something from her pocket and quickly offering it to the dog. Merv's mouth flapped against her palm and his tail wagging went into over-drive. She looked at Perry and Sam.

"Getting a bit ratty chaps?" Connie gave them both a look that suggested she found the whole scene amusing. She leant over to her husband Matt. "I think they're getting a bit ratty." Matt chuckled, shaking his head as he moved to help with the rest of the supplies.

"Ignore her, lads,'' he said. "If there's one thing she loves, it's to wind people up."

"Only you, Matt Chiles,'' she said, kneeling down and playing with Merv. Perry snorted and rolled his eyes, drifting away from Sam and fussing with the heaviest crates they'd unloaded from the chinook earlier. Seemed hours ago now. Sam had been surprised when the chinook had not flown away after they had unloaded. He wondered how the pilots had got down here. Sam helped Matt start loading a crate onto a battered looking pallet trolley.

"How's it been going here then?" asked Matt. "Any trouble?" Sam pursed his lips, wondering what Matt's definition of trouble was. Probably different to Sam's.

"Nothing major,'' said Sam, making every effort to ignore those bones and skull from the other day. Didn't help he saw those empty eye sockets almost every time he closed his eyes. He was starting to wonder if he'd made a mistake though, with every passing day. Maybe he'd only imagined it when they drove through them. He shook his head, knowing he'd seen right but still trying to ignore it. There was that wishful thinking again.

"Well, sounds like that's the best you can hope for in a place like this,'' said Matt. He gazed about the loading bay. "Bit of a shithole isn't it." Sam snorted.

"You don't know the half of it,'' he said. Sam wasn't even sure he knew the half of it. Given that they were all secluded to only certain parts of the entire complex, the feeling of claustrophobia was nibbling at Sam day by day. Christ knew what was in the rest of the lab. Could be anything behind all the barricaded and locked doors that restricted them. It made everything worse. Near constant dark and oppressive silence during the day, coupled with the dull duties he got given, just made the whole experience a long way past miserable. Sometimes it was patrolling the corridors, armed with nothing but a flashlight and a two-way radio. Other times it was sat with Alejandro in the kitchens, assisting in peeling endless potatoes or other unexciting vegetables. Or, just like now, it was lugging crates, sacks and boxes of paraphernalia up and down stairs or into the bleak rooms where they passed the evenings. The ache in his body had subsided a few days ago, giving way to just a constant stiffness in his limbs.

It was far preferable to the news that in a couple of days' time though, some of Dr. Wu's White team, one of the I.T technicians and one or maybe two of Kurt England's Blue Team were headed back to that Aviary place. Which meant going back out there. Where the bones were. Sam had only the slightest hope it wouldn't be him that got picked. Surely not again.

As ever, Redgrove had not been happy. Sam had seen her smile only twice since they'd got here, and that was during a game of cards with that prick McCallister, Elliot and Valerie. Hadn't been much fun about her in that game though. Just a merciless smile of satisfaction when she'd cleaned McCallister out of whatever money they'd played for. The rest of the time she seemed to sit and watch them all with suspicion. Ever since that incident with the lab, and the very recent second instance of another name of someone popping up for no apparent reason, she had only become more like a furious headmistress, hellbent on punishing someone. It was all a bit strange. Or sinister, if you looked at it like Redgrove did.

She seemed to watch the women in the group the closest, Sam had noticed.

"So, you gonna tell me?" said Matt.

"Huh?" Sam blinked.

"The half of it? You went silent for a bit. Thought you were gonna give me the low-down on what this clandestine operation is all about here?" Matt looked at him expectantly. Sam just offered a sort of shrug.

"Sorry. Its just dark,'' said Sam, answering honestly. "And…" Matt perked up.

"And?"

"It's nothing,'' said Sam, wishing he'd not said anything. "It's just this place. Out there as well. It's…strange."

"Nothing wrong with a bit of strange,'' said Matt, raising his voice and looking pointedly at Connie, who had not missed a word. Matt was smirking, looking like he enjoyed nothing more than goading his wife.

"That's what I keep telling you Matt Chiles,'' said Connie, still playing with Merv. "Especially when you take your trousers off. Nothing to be ashamed of." Matt's smirk was wiped clean off his face, and Mort barked a laugh. Looked like Perry had even sniggered. Matt's ears were turning red.

"Very quick, Mrs. Chiles. Very quick indeed,'' said Matt with a note of playful and mock appraisal. He leant over to Sam, lowering his voice. "There's nothing wrong with my dick by the way. Just in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't,'' said Sam, not quite sure if this was actually all just banter or not. Matt chuckled though, raising his voice back up and looking at Connie and as he walked back for another crate.

"Keep going like that though dear, and I might just leave you here and pilot Mildred by myself.''

Connie just laughed. It was quite a lovely sound. Made Sam realise he'd not really heard the sound of happiness for a long time.

"You can barely handle one woman in your life,'' said Connie. "You wouldn't know what to do with that old girl as well." Matt laughed, another sound that made Sam feel a bit more human. The tension that was in the air earlier had been replaced with a feeling of good-natured humour. Oddly something that Sam had not felt for quite some time. Made him realise how lonely a life he'd tried to carve for himself in his pursuit of becoming a fire-fighter. Felt even odder to be feeling it for the first time here.

Matt helped Sam haul the pallet-trolley towards the loading bay doors that led to the dim corridors that would eventually take them to the service elevator they used to get the heavier equipment around. Sam's limbs gave him an unnecessary reminder of how stiff they were, a small bead of sweat forming near his temple and preparing to ascend down his face. Sam afforded himself a deep breath before he bent to the task. There was always the chance Redgrove would swoop in and dock him a horrifying amount of pay should she catch him not working for even a second. Connie came through the doors after them, almost skipping, with Merv beside her.

"Don't leave a lady behind, boys,'' she chirped.

"Why, have you seen one somewhere?" said Matt. Connie just pinched his ass and gave him a shove, smiling. She turned that smile on Sam, and he felt absurd to realise he had blushed slightly.

"Ah! Young Mr. Summers,'' she said warmly. Sam wasn't sure he liked being called young. Or maybe just by her. He again felt absurd for not wanting to seem a boy compared to the other men. Which was definitely absurd. He was twenty-nine and by no means a boy. Wasn't he? Connie patted one of the crates on the trolley. "We brought a gift for you. Somewhere in all this junk."

"A gift?" said Sam. "Wasn't a ticket on the next flight out of here was it?" He said it with a snigger, hoping they wouldn't detect the utter hope in his voice.

"You'll see,'' said Connie. "We are sticking around for a few days, so you have plenty of time to thank us."

"How come you're staying?" asked Sam, quite enjoying the notion of having the pair of them around.

"Just good sense to avoid flying back immediately,'' said Matt. "Too much back and forth in quick succession might get the authorities sniffing around. Or the wildlife, for that matter. Say, you seen any of them yet?" Matt looked genuinely hopeful. Sam just shook his head.

"No. The way everyone talks though, you'd think we'd see them every five minutes. Guess it's a big island."

"Or maybe they just don't want you to see them,'' said Connie. "Hey, what's down there?" She pointed down the corridor to the lab as they passed it.

"That's where the white coats go," said Sam. "Whatever they do in there, I don't get to see."

"Oooooooh,'' cooed Connie. "How very surreptitious. Secret labs, spooky buildings and enough muscly men to sink a battleship. Sounds like either a Bond film or a gay porno." She bit her lip, and Sam wasn't sure which idea she preferred. Connie Chiles seemed to be a different sort of mischief. Matt just rolled his eyes.

"Only in your dreams dear,'' he said.

"Or yours,'' she returned, grinning. And then they were chuckling together. Sam felt the sting of regret that he didn't have anyone in his life like that. Probably of his own making, though.

They trudged on through the corridors, stopping every now and then to deposit some of the supplies in certain rooms. Mort had been quite clear on what was going where. Sam found he was finding his way round without thinking these days, knowing just what needed doing or what had to be stowed where. Wasn't hard really.

Sam had just shut the door on the cafeteria, leaving Alejandro with a crate of ingredients to sift through, when Elliot and Hal came round the corner. Elliot's little eyes glinted in his big face, and Sam couldn't help but notice the shotgun over his shoulder or the big machete hanging from his belt.

"Howdy there folks,'' said Elliot, voice soft as ever.

"El,'' said Sam, nodding in greeting. Connie and Matt nodded in turn. "Everything alright?" Sam looked at the gun.

"Sure. Hal and I are on our way to the car, now that Mr and Mrs Chiles have kindly delivered our order. Gotta get that aviary lab online for Dr. Wu's team, as it looks like I drew the short straw and will be the ferryman. See you this evening." And then they were gone, and Sam felt a wave of relief.

He wasn't going back out there. No haunted bones or cold aviary lab waited for him. No vast island or mysterious horror stories to crowd in on him. Just the quiet depression of the dark lab here, which right now seemed like the winning lottery ticket. Funny how one decision can change your view on things. His mom would have said something like better the devil you know or whatever. Some old saying he had always ignored. Especially when he'd left home for good that time, intent on his own decision. He'd reckoned he was better off without the devil he knew then.

Sam found he was smiling, and went on smiling the rest of the day, trading barbs and fun insults with the pilots and playing with Merv. His smile grew wider when he found the gift the pilots had brought for him. A pair of boots. Just about his size and a bit scuffed, but they assured him they were waterproof and would be a hell of a lot more useful than the shoes he wore. Sam hadn't been sure what to say. It just helped make everything that followed better somehow.

The few hours he was assigned to watch the lab doors while the White team finished off in there for the day seemed like a peaceful reprieve from the manual labour. The evening meal, spent next to Alejandro and Pat Morgan, was like a five-star dinner. Even with Alejandro blabbering on about some sea bass dish he'd perfected years ago. Sam had even encouraged him to request the ingredients if he could so he could try it.

And when Elliot and Hal had returned during the meal, alive and well and free of any stories of haunted bones, it seemed easy to forget all about them. The only complaints the pair had was being a bit muddy and a bit dusty from crawling around the aviary lab and wiring it all up again. A far cry from supernatural terror. Or even prehistoric terror. Just another day it seemed.

The tepid shower he took later was like a remedy for the day's work and invigorated his sore arms. His knee had hardly troubled him either. Just the occasional spasm. Nothing worth even grunting about. And when England had given him the final patrol of the evening, when the place was at its darkest, most soulless and most terrifying, Sam had scooped up the flashlight and almost skipped his way from the common room. What were a few hours of peaceful solitude before turning in for the night? Perhaps this job wasn't so bad after all. Especially as Dr. Weaver and Connie had given him more than a lingering look earlier. And while he knew that's all it was, it wasn't unwelcome. Especially as he'd developed a bit of a habit of staring at Dr. Weavers ass when she wore that white sterile suit. Something about the way the fabric moved was just…pleasing.

The thought was enjoyable as he ambled through the darkness, finding the deepest shadows and corners less of a threat and more of a place he could move by himself and not feel the watchful and judgement eyes of Redgrove, or the annoying sneer of McCallister or the indignant demands of Dr. Wu as he strove for ever more results. And even though he would have got back on that chinook in a heartbeat given the chance, for the moment, everything just felt right. Or maybe, it was just tolerable.

The flashlight was unrequired as moonlight shone through the high windows as he strolled towards the lab entrance, turning a corner and almost feeling the need to whistle. Then Sam collided with someone.

A face thumped into his chest, the pinch of a shirt button being pushed into his skin a sudden shock. Sam got a mouthful of hair, the breath whooshing out of him along with a yelp of fright. Hands flailed at him, knocking the flashlight to the floor where it switched on and rolled away. Something else fell to the floor. Mad shadows danced around them and the flashlight rolled in a circle. Black and yellow flickering and fighting their way around the walls.

Someone screamed. Was it him? He wasn't sure. He might have growled something, swatting a hand at the person he was tangled up with. He got another mouthful of hair, and then the person was pushing him away, a half-hearted shove sending him back half a step. Not enough to make him fall, but enough for that spark of anger that sat inside him to ignite and course through him in a hot burst. Made his eyes go blurry for a moment. He'd balled his fists, ready to start swinging.

"Sam, stop, it's me. Jesus!" A woman's voice. Valerie? The breath and the anger caught in Sam's throat as he tried to swallow the confusion.

"Valerie?" he croaked, doing his best to unclench his fists. "What the hell are you doing down here?" Sam picked up the flashlight, turning the light on her. She squinted behind her curls, putting a hand up to shield her eyes from the light. Sam pointed it slightly lower.

"I was…" she started.

"Yes,'' said another voice now. A stern one. Redgrove. "Just what were you doing, Ms. Norton?" Redgrove appeared out of the dark like a spectre taking physical form. Her dark hair looked like an extension of the shadows around her, framing her hard face. Her footsteps seemed to echo with an awful lot of menace. Valerie had taken a step back, and Sam saw the slightest shake to her hands.

"It's not what it looks like," said Valerie, glancing at the lab doors behind her.

"And what exactly does it look like?" said Redgrove, coming to stand beside Sam now. Sam still wasn't sure if he was in trouble or not. "I will be utterly fascinated to hear what you have to say." Valerie's face looked a shade paler, as if she was fast realising it was her that was sinking into the deep shit. "Is it you? Are you our little mystery guest to the lab?" Redgrove's lip curled.

"No!" squeaked Valerie. It didn't sound very convincing. "Please! You must believe me!"

"What were you doing?" asked Sam, feeling like he needed to say something. Valerie held one hand up, palm out, as she fished on the floor for something. She swept up what looked like a report or file of some sort.

"I printed out some more documents,'' she spluttered. "I swear. Please!" She offered a kind of nervous laugh. "I'm not up to anything. I just…." Redgrove raised her chin and an eyebrow, snatching the file from Valerie's hand. "I just wanted to find out more about what happened here. All those years ago. The names that have shown up…they just seem too…"

"Yes?"

"Too coincidental. I don't think these names are glitches,'' said Valerie. She was breathing a bit steadier now. A bit calmer. A bit more convincing, somehow. Sam frowned.

"And what did you find?" said Redgrove.

"I don't know yet, but I found some old reports. Recommendations of some sort, about the Park on Nublar and the animals behaviour. I haven't read it yet. But it's written by that Marsden person. I thought maybe it would help."

A pregnant pause hung in the air between them all. Frown's of worry, distrust and outright confusion the only expressions on offer. Sam was chewing his lip. It felt like Redgrove might explode at any moment. He could almost feel her displeasure radiating from her like heat. Horrible heat he just wanted to get away from. Redgrove bent the file in her straining hands.

"Perhaps, in future, Ms. Norton, you ought to run your ideas of after-hours investigations by me or Mr England?"

"Yes! Yes of course! I'm so sorry! It won't happen again."

"Perhaps it should,'' said Redgrove sharply. "Perhaps anything you can uncover might prove useful."

"I…alright,'' said Valerie, the note of surprise in her voice.

"Please bring anything you find to me,'' said Redgrove. She looked at the lab doors with an intensity that suggested she was more than a bit obsessed with finding out what was happening with the damn lab's entry log system.

"I will. Thank you." Valerie fidgeted with her hands, looking like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to go or not.

"Don't think I won't check up on this though, or report it to Mr. England and Dr. Wu,'' said Redgrove. "Whatever is going on in this fucking place, I'll find out. Off you go."

Valerie nodded quickly and scuttled off, disappearing into the dark, leaving just Redgrove and Sam. Those baleful eyes slid up to his, her lips twisting into a shape that was impossible to read. Neither smile nor snarl.

"And you, Mr. Summers." Redgrove's eyes bore into his. Sam felt the beginnings of the indignation at the accusation that was surely coming his way. Worse was not knowing what to say to defend his innocence. "Good work. We need to keep a close eye on this area. Good thinking to patrol down here." She turned on her heel and stalked off, leaving him alone and wrestling with the confusing feeling of pride. Perhaps everything really was going right.

XXXXX

Everything was going wrong. Sam sat at the long table in the cafeteria room, staring at the wall opposite and wondered how on earth this all had gone so wrong. Again.

The chatter around him was distant, as if heard through a wall. He couldn't focus on anything. The food on his plate sat untouched save for a few pokes with a fork, and the coffee in his cup had long gone cold. Cold like the pit of his stomach.

All he actually managed to think about was the cruel twist of fate that had landed Elliot with a sudden illness and he with the task of driving to and from the aviary with Mort, Dr. Manning and Dr. Weaver. It wasn't fair. He was sure Elliot was thinking the same thing, having spent the night vomiting and nearly shitting himself. Nothing enviable about that. But here was Sam nearly shitting himself at the prospect of having to drive people out into the jungle. He wondered who on earth he could blame for the need to be going out there at all. But the answer was obvious. He should be blaming himself. Could have just said no. Could have just gone back to Mom and Dad, tail between his legs and started again. He really could use them right now. Not their prattling or constant fretting of course. But just having them around. That security. That safety net where he didn't have to worry about what came next or what decision to make. They never really made a bad one, now that he thought about it.

He gave his breakfast another poke, and looked over at Connie and Matt, down the end, smiling and nodding along with Dr. Morgan and Kurt England. Complete strangers to worry or regret apparently. The pilots were leaving tonight. They'd been here four days, helping out and making Sam feel as optimistic as he could. And now they were leaving, and he was staying, and heading out into that world out there.

Mad ideas of abandoning the others at the aviary and driving full speed to the landing zone flashed through his mind. Leaping onto the tail ramp in a dramatic escape or stowing away in a crate or luggage compartment and finding his way home from South America in a daring and bold adventure, full of challenges but free of haunted islands with nutcase scientists and elusive dinosaurs that may or may not be lurking beyond the walls, ready to tear him to pieces. The fantasies grew increasingly wilder.

Someone nudged him.

"Everything alright Sam?" It was Dr. Weaver. "Big day today. Did you get a good night's sleep?"

"Not since I set foot in this fucking pile of depressing shit,'' is what he wanted to say. Instead, he did what he always did. Smiling curtly and giving a small nod. Just couldn't not be that reliable image of stubborn resolution. "Yeah, great thanks."

"Well eat up then. We'll be leaving in an hour,'' said Dr. Weaver, swallowing down some coffee and not looking the least bit fazed by the idea of leaving in an hour. Sam felt like he'd been told the earth would explode in sixty minutes.

He wiggled his toes in the boots Connie and Matt had given him, trying to ignore the sucking dread in his stomach. Just wasn't going to happen. He took a long, deep breath and tried to push the worry aside. All he needed to do was drive there, get the white coats inside and underway and then drive them back at the end of the day. The drive took about ten minutes. Ten minutes was not a long time. They'd be safe at the aviary. Elliot had made sure of it. They just needed to get there and back again. And hope no possessed skulls appeared.

That image flashed in his mind, and the utterly unanswerable questions it brought with it threatened to break down the doors in his head and riddle him with the terror of what was out there. That being, he didn't have a clue what was out there. Dr. Weaver didn't look ready to leave him to his misery just yet though.

"You're lucky you get to come with us today,'' she said, brushing a strand of hair behind an ear. "You might well get to see the work I do. I could show you all sorts!" She was getting excited. Inexplicably excited. Sam felt as lucky as a toilet brush.

"Sounds good,'' lied Sam. It sounded awful. But Dr. Weaver was clearing moving up a gear.

"Now I know you're humouring me! But I'd love to show you how my research is going to be used! You won't believe what we are going to create." Sam was pretty certain he could see his reflection in the gleam of her eyes.

"Dr. Weaver,'' said Dr. Manning. That gleam left Dr. Weavers eyes, replaced with a bit of a dark look. It was hidden well, but Sam felt that feeling all too often not to recognise it. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'll decide on how we operate at the lab." Sam watched the small squirm in Dr. Weavers jaw.

"Of course,'' she said. She tapped the table's edge gently with her fingers before giving it a slight squeeze. Sam saw her knuckles turn white before she stood. "I'd best make sure I have everything. I'll meet you at the elevator."

A hand slapped down on Sam's shoulder. He looked up into Mort's pock-marked face.

"Come on Summers,'' he mumbled. "We got our own shit to shovel. Let's get the taxi ready."

The next hour passed horrifyingly swiftly, with Mort and Sam gathering two rucksacks of basic gear and supplies and waiting at the elevator for the two scientists. Even more horrifying was the second shotgun that had been strapped to the pack that Sam was in charge of. Mort had one slung over his shoulder, and he had complained about Sam having one, which Sam strongly agreed with, but Redgrove had been insistent on them both being able to have a firearm, as well as giving Sam the stern reminder to not do anything stupid. So here they were, tooled up and armed to the teeth, if you counted the machete's as well. Sam wasn't sure what they would be cutting and hacking, but he tried not to think about the possibility of being lost in the jungle.

The conflicting nag of leaving the building tickled at him again, making him utterly confused as to why he was so torn up about leaving what had felt like a prison. Just for a day though. That's all it was. Maybe Elliot would be back to full health by this evening and he would be off driving duty tomorrow. Driving that Mort had spent a great deal of the last hour trying to give him a crash course in what he called proper off-road driving.

Sam would have happily discussed the topic at length all day, but Dr. Weaver and Dr. Manning had appeared, suitably dressed for the adventure of a lifetime with their own packs and cases of equipment. Sam had to take a very deep breath as they all shuffled into the elevator, ignoring the very loud and echoing bang as the doors shut and the grinding mechanism kicked into life, taking him down, down towards the ground and the waiting outside world.

The morning daylight stabbed at his eyes as he and Mort edged out into the forecourt space of the wide alley where they kept the car, eyes wide for any sign of movement. Puddles of water were scattered about the ground, forming small little networks between themselves and reflecting the sky and building walls above. A dirty mirror for a dirty world. Just as silent though.

Bits of tree and jungle debris sat or tumbled gently across the concrete, clearly dislodged in the recent rains, left to rot and fall apart far from the jungles edge. A small branch with green leaves sat at the base of the car's windshield, which Mort promptly plucked off and tossed aside, keeping one eye on the treeline and his shotgun barrel up. Sam fished the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the car, opening the trunk and stowing his pack and those of the doctors. He briefly worried the shotgun strapped to his bag would go off and take his head off. He was quite surprised when it didn't. Perhaps not a little bit disappointed. With another deep breath he shut the trunk and headed for the driver's door.

"Strange idea to have these nets over the seats," said Dr. Manning, tugging at the netting over the upholstery. "You'd be forever getting things caught on them." Mort just shrugged as he dropped into the front passenger and couched his weapon.

"You remember the way?" he asked, raising a red eyebrow at Sam. Sam nodded, turning the engine over and feeling the SUV thrum into life. His mouth was dry, but he coughed it away and glanced at the women in the backseat before finding that willpower to move his hands and feet, and just like that they were rolling away from the expanse of the lab and towards the jungle.

They were amongst the trees and rolling back out into the daylight, passing into the first field of grass all too quickly. The same field of grass where they had first seen the bones. Sam couldn't stop swallowing the lump in his throat, certain he would see them in the road again with that skull perched on top, ready to great him with its hungry smile.

Except there was nothing. Just a clear way through the grass on the track and the signs in the dirt of the recent comings and goings of Elliot and Hal over the past few days. Nothing more sinister than the crows circling over-head, over to the left of the field.

They drove on, and Sam felt just the slightest bit of tension relax in his stomach, travelling to his hands and allowing his grip on the wheel to release. Just a fraction, but it helped. His palms felt slick with sweat, itchy too, and then his hands tightened.

There was a shape, over in the grass on the left, a stone's throw from the track. A big shape. Sam eased off the gas automatically, fearing God knows what and looking to see.

"Jesus,'' muttered Mort. "Someone's had breakfast today then."

Sam saw the big gaping slashes in the carcass, shining red in the sunlight. Horribly red. A stark contrast to the green of the grass. Something vaguely recognisable as a leg stuck up slightly at an angle, strips of meat hanging in tattered ruins from a bloody bone. A huge leg, Sam noticed, even without most of its flesh.

He wrinkled up his face, slowing the car as they drew parallel to the bloody mess. Sam felt like he was gawping. His first sight of a dinosaur, and it was dead and torn to bits. He felt a strange sort of disappointment, not really sure why. Maybe he'd expected to see a living one first, towering above him and filling him with awe. This made it still feel like they weren't out there. As if it was all a big ruse or hoax.

"SAM!"

Mort's voice snapped his eyes back to the road and he stamped on the brakes, the car skidding to a stop. Something stood in the road ahead, maybe ten metres away, looking directly at them. A lot closer than a stones throw. Sam really did gawp now.

It was a dinosaur, and despite never laying eyes on a living one, he knew it. The tail. The head. The strange hands at the end of its arms. There was simply no doubt any more, and everything he'd just been pondering went out the window. There was no awe. There was no wonder or any semblance of their existence being a ruse.

It stood on two legs, maybe the height of a man. A tall man. Its head tapered into a snout, a head unlike anything Sam had ever seen. No earthly reptile had ever looked like this. Nothing in any zoo or pet shop. Its legs rippled with the contours of muscle, while its arms were tucked close to its body, ending in three alarming large claws. Sam could see the points on each claw, the light catching the curving edge in a wickedly dangerous gleam. His eyes flicked to the huge slashes in the carcass to their left.

The dinosaur cocked its head to one side, just like a reptile, but the action was strange. Twitchy, and unsettling. It moved, taking two or three slow steps across the track, never once taking its eyes off the car. And Sam.

He noticed its colour now. A deep, deep brownish orange covered the top of its head and back, turning paler under its stomach and throat. Dark stripes crossed its back and tail. It took another step across the track, coming slightly closer, and then it made a sound.

Sam had never heard anything like it. It was like a shout of some sort, short and sharp. An animalistic bark, yet like no animal could ever make. Three times it called out. Three barks that made Sam grip the wheel tighter, almost completely under an unknown spell. Almost.

Either by instinct or maybe just the sheer need to do something, Sam eased on the gas. The car engine revved up slightly, rolling forward gently. Mort twisted in his seat.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck. Go easy Summers. Do you know what that is?"

"Of course I fucking don't!" hissed Sam. "But I don't like just sitting here while it looks at us."

"You'll like it a lot less if we piss it off. Don't get so close!" Mort voice was almost shrill, a nervous energy crackling off the man. There was a sudden clicking and Sam watched at Mort thumbed a few bullets into his shotgun, pumping the bit under the barrel in such a way it could have come straight out of a movie. "Just go slowly and maybe it'll move asi…oh fuck."

Sam became aware of a shape to his right, just outside Mort's window. It was another one, and from where it came Sam hadn't a clue. The size of it was alarming, and Sam knew there were much bigger ones out there. But even so, up close now, it was big enough.

The dinosaur stalked along the length of the car, tail bobbing as it walked and head ducking and twisting as it looked at the vehicle, or inside it, as if it was appraising it. Sam eased off the gas, keeping them still. Hoping it seemed less threatening to what were clearly very threatening animals. He glanced in the rear view, seeing Dr. Weaver looking tense but almost fascinated, a keen interest in her eyes. Dr. Manning looked similar, but maybe a fraction more concerned. Still far less than how Sam felt though. He swallowed again.

The second dinosaur was circling the car now, drawing close to Sam's window. He watched it in his side mirror, a mass of scales and claws coming closer and closer. He got a quick glimpse of its feet, noticing the enormous, curved claw that was tapping into the ground with every steps.

The snout came forward, snaking down to nudge at the mirror, and Sam clenched every muscle in his body as he looked into the yellow eye in the side of its head. The slit of a black pupil looked forward, and then slid round in the eye to look at Sam, right between the protective bars across the window. Right into Sam's eyes.

Blood was smeared across its mouth, glistening red and highlighting the gaps between its scales. Like a cracked riverbed. That eye bore into Sam for an eternity, looking through him. Made him feel cold. The pupil twitched, and then it focused beyond Sam. On Mort. Or rather, what Mort was holding it seemed. The dinosaur was studying the shotgun, Sam was sure of it. Studying it in a way that seemed impossible. As if it knew exactly what it was and what it could do. And then it snarled.

Its bloodied lips rolled back and Sam saw the teeth. Saw the rows of murderous points and felt the sheer menace of the animal, even through the window bars and the glass. He was acutely aware of how hard he was breathing, and everyone else of a sudden.

The dinosaur hissed, and then stalked around the front of the car, claws tapping and dragging at the bars or body work, drawing out a metallic squeal. Its colour was similar to the first one, which still stood ahead, quietly watching. The only difference was this one was slightly duller in colour. The orange less striking. The stripes slightly greyer. The animal turned, and the light caught a mass of scarring on its flank and neck. A hideous mass of scarring, just like Sam had seen in the books when he'd studied the results of deadly fires. It had almost put him off being a fire-fighter, seeing some of those injuries.

The puckered scars were pale and pink, melding with the scales and giving the animal a new level of menace. It stood in front of the car and hissed again, mouth opening wider. There was a curious gap in its teeth, where several were missing, and some were crooked.

"They must be full from the kill,'' said Mort. "Raptors would have attacked by now if they wanted to kill us."

"What are they doing then?" said Dr. Manning.

"I've no idea,'' said Mort. "My last time with these things they attacked first and didn't bother with the questions."

The scarred raptor stood up tall suddenly, snout pointed into the air and it made that horrible barking nose, like the first had done. Again and again, building and building in volume until it screamed at them, a high-pitched and throaty scream. Something was happening. The raptor put one foot on the bull bars at the front, hunching down slightly, and it barked again.

And then Sam saw the tails in the grass. Tails and heads popping up from near the carcass, muzzles red just like this one. More and more. At least ten. Must have been more. Sam didn't have a chance to count them.

The one in front padded around to Mort's door, looking in at him and flexing its claws. Mort twitched the shotgun up, and Sam was half expecting him to blow a hole in the window. The dinosaurs claws moved towards the door now, reaching out from its body. It seemed to happen in slow motion. Two fingers on its hand hooked behind the door handle, and Sam watched in stunned silence as a muscle flexed in its arm and the unmistakeably unique sound of a car door opening broke through the heavy silence.

"FUCK!" shouted Mort, yanking the door closed. The raptor outside hissed, and its snout banged against the window bars. Sam's hand moved on instinct, and he thumped down on the automatic door lock button on the central console. The sound of all the doors locking spurred Sam into action.

He slammed the gear stick forward and stamped on the gas. The SUV roared as the wheels spun in the dirt track and the car shot forward, the body of the burned raptor bouncing against the windows as they passed. Sam changed gears quickly, careening forward towards the raptor in the road. It screamed at them as it hopped to the side, claws raking the air and tail thrashing.

Sam had attempted to veer around it, but the car clipped the animal in the side and sent it spinning into the grass.

People were saying things. He couldn't be sure who, and he couldn't be sure what. A mix of voices making concerned yelps or fearful queries maybe, all drowned out by the thumping in Sam's ears.

He raced them into the trees, taking each bend quickly and bouncing them over the bumps and ruts of the road. The small stream they had to ford barely registered to Sam as he drove through it, the windows collecting a spray of muddy water. His eyes kept flicking to his mirrors and trying to ignore Mort twisting in his seat and that wobbling barrel of his shotgun.

The trees flashed by, sunlight from above the canopy stabbing at them like strobe lighting. They burst from the dim jungle back out into the light and Sam saw the aviary entrance building across the clearing. A solid structure had never looked so wonderful. The building loomed up, making Sam realise just how fast he was driving. Dangerously fast.

He skidded to a stop in a cloud of dirt, pulling up parallel to the doors and yanking on the handbrake.

"Let's go," growled Mort, unlocking his door and jumping out. "Come on, now. Now! Inside!"

The doctors behind Sam fumbled with their locks before scrambling out, each door slamming shut. Sam followed, blood still pumping in his ears and vision hazy. Even so, he darted for the trunk and hauled out all of their packs and equipment quickly, hands working nimbly. Mort was there, shouldering the bags and passing others to Dr. Weaver. Dr Manning had dashed for the doors, pushing them open as best she could.

Sam slammed the trunk shut, looking around into the open grassy clearing for any sign of pursuing dinosaurs. He was sure he heard something on the wind. Some sort of shriek. Could have been the doors that Dr. Manning was opening with Mort's help now.

Dr. Weaver had darted inside with Dr. Manning, and Sam dashed and helped Mort heave the doors closed. They clanged shut, and Mort yanked the locking bars and bolts home, each one sliding into its housing or thumping down into its locked position. Sam could hear him panting and was half expecting him to slump down. Sam certainly felt like he needed to. Instead, Mort hefted his shotgun and dashed for the spiral staircase, going up and sending a ringing clang with every step. He paused, ducking down and pointing at Sam.

"Help the doctors Summers. I'll be up here for a while. If you hear me screaming, well, you'll be on your own." He took a few steps until he was just a pair of boots. "And keep that shotgun close!"

Sam swallowed, hardly happy with the prospect of being on his own. He didn't have time to even ask what Mort was doing before the man had vanished. Dr. Weaver and Dr. Manning looked at Sam wide eyed, as if they expected him to know exactly what to do with a pile of bags and lab equipment. Mercifully, Dr. Weaver found her voice first.

"Do we still proceed, Dr. Manning?" There was a fearful look in Dr. Weavers eyes, but Sam detected it had nothing to do with the recent brush with those creatures out there. Dr. Manning frowned.

"I'm not sure. Perhaps we should radio back to Mr. England and Dr. Wu. Inform them of what just happened."

"They may tell us to return though!" said Dr. Weaver quickly. "We've risked too much to allow that to happen."

"I understand that Dr. Weaver. But our lives are in danger. We can't proceed with anything if we are dead." Sam did not like the sound of that one bit.

"Our lives have been in danger since we set foot on this island. A locked door has always been between us and the animals. We can't stop now, surely?"

"Is it, err, normal for dinosaurs to know how open doors?" said Sam, a bit uncertainly. The thought had troubled him, a lot more than anyone else it seemed. They looked at him blankly, as if what he had said was gibberish.

"I had heard they showed a high level of intelligence,'' muttered Dr. Manning. She glanced at the heavy doors behind them. "Perhaps we should not underestimate them. Yes, we should radio back."

"Those animals were just being territorial and inquisitive,'' said Dr. Weaver. "We shouldn't jump to any conclusions or put a stop to our work here after one little incident."

There was a difficult minute of silence between them all as Dr. Manning clearly wrestled with the decision. Dr. Weaver seemed most adamant about carrying on. And Sam's opinion tended to side with whatever meant not going back out where those things were. Dr. Manning reached for one of the bags.

"We should radio back," she said. "Inform them about the velociraptors."

Dr. Weaver looked like she was just about to say something before Mort appeared.

"I think it's alright,'' he called down. "They haven't followed us. I'll stay up here and keep watch, but you should be alright to carry on down there. I'd say no need to worry about radioing either. It'll only spook Redgrove and England. You know what they're like."

Dr. Manning did not look happy, but it seemed she succumbed to the temptation to let someone else make the decision in a moment of difficulty. It was always easier when someone else knew what to do.

"Come on then, Dr. Weaver. Let's get to work."

The next hour Sam spent twitching at every noise behind him as he brought the packs and lab equipment down the spiral staircase and into the cold and dim stone lab of the aviary. Coupled with having to check in with Mort every ten minutes out of fear the man had been silently devoured, the prickling presence of uncertainty and thinly veiled terror felt like something that was just out of sight, but very much there. But the only thing he ever found if he went up to the viewing platform where Mort was stood was a scene of calm and relatively serene beauty. The trees swayed in the breeze and the sun shone down with a pleasant warmth. There was simply no sign of any dinosaurs of any kind. Much like most of Sam's time here.

As if the encounter earlier had been a dream. Or nightmare. Sam couldn't quite get the image of that scarred dinosaur out of his mind. The way it had looked at him, and Mort, with such intensity. As if it was furious and they were to blame.

Still, angry dinosaurs of not, the hour passed without incident, and then another, and another. The day was trickling by with nothing more alarming than a sudden view of the river at the canyon bottom the lab overlook when the fog cleared for a moment as Sam walked along the rusty bridge network of the aviary. It was a long way down.

Dr. Manning and Dr. Weaver busied themselves within the lab, hardly appearing now that the small amount of lab equipment they had brought with them had been put in place. Elliot had done the heavy lifting it seemed, days earlier, preparing the lab with Hal and having everything the women would need to start. Sam caught a glimpse of Dr. Weaver in her sterile suit, carrying what looked like a large egg. He had to admit he was intrigued just how these people made dinosaurs, especially ones like those he'd seen. Perhaps he did want to know what work Dr. Weaver did. Or perhaps there was just something about her in that sterile suit.

The afternoon was wearing on, and Sam could see the shadows lengthening across the grass from the jungle across the clearing. He'd been taking a turn on the platform, keeping watch, and convincing himself it was just the shadows creeping from the trees and not a pack of dinosaurs. He almost fumbled and dropped his shotgun when Mort called out from below.

"Summers?!"

"I'm here. All ok?"

"That's what I was going to ask you, y'idiot!'' shouted Mort. "Yes. The docs are all done here for the day. If it's all clear, get your ass down here so we can get going. I hate this place."

Sam gave the area around the building one last look, fully expecting this to be the moment a horde of the damn things appeared. Still, just the gentle breeze and distant roar of the waterfalls on the other side of the canyon was the only company he had. He nodded to himself, and then headed for the steps, rubbing his knee and working his way down whilst making a very deliberate action of putting the safety on the shotgun like Mort had shown him.

They were there waiting for him, in the entrance lobby with packs shouldered and one chrome case in Dr. Manning's arms. Dr. Manning and Dr. Weaver were talking quickly with each other, the definite air of excitement and academic debate fizzing between them. Dr. Manning seemed quite pleased, but Dr. Weaver had that expression of restrained frustration on her face, a slight note of annoyance in her voice. All hidden within the cocktail of whatever gibberish they were discussing, but it was there.

Mort cut through all the waffle of proteins, enzymes and something about the eggs with a wave of his hand.

"Time to go then. Dr. Manning, do you have everything?" Mort raised his eyebrows. She looked a bit put out having been interrupted, but promptly nodded. "Let's get back quick then. Help me with the doors Sam."

Together, they pulled and lifted the door bolts, pulling the doors open and letting the golden light of the afternoon flood into the dim lobby. The swirling motes of dust were illuminated for a second before Mort marched through them, dispersing the display and dragging Sam in his wake. They took a moment to look around, shotguns raised, before Mort nodded. The four of them moved to the car, throwing their packs in the trunk and piling in.

Sam turned the engine on, eyes focused on the surroundings, checking his mirrors and anywhere else a dinosaur might suddenly spring from. He had a silly worry that one was hiding under the car. He rubbed at his knee as it gave a little flare of pain as he settled into a driving position, and then they were moving.

Sam navigated them back through the grass to the track, keeping at a steady pace and trying to grip the wheel enough to show his hands didn't have the slightest tremble. He glanced at Mort, who just gave him an encouraging nod. Made him feel a bit better. Dr. Manning was back speaking to Dr. Weaver now, the excitement in her voice difficult to ignore.

"…brilliant work today. Henry will be pleased. We'll take a closer look at the data tomorrow, and perhaps work to improve upon the formulas now that we know a bit more." Sam saw Dr. Weaver nodding quietly in the rear view, lips tight together. "It feels good, doesn't it?" went on Dr. Manning, tapping the edge of the chrome case on her lap with her fingers. "This work is cutting edge! I'll have such stories to tell my kids when we get back. They won't believe what their mom has done!"

"You got kids?" asked Mort. "Me too. How old are yours?"

"Seventeen and fourteen,'' said Dr. Manning. "Boy and girl. You?"

"A little boy. He's three." Sam's attention waned as the conversation turned to tedious back and forths between two parents sharing stories about their kids. Sam glanced at Dr. Weaver in the mirror and she rolled her eyes with a slight smile.

They passed out of the jungle and back into the field, the sun listing low in the sky ahead of them. It created a golden haze in the watery blue of the sky, the leaves on the trees catching the light on their edge. And the body in the grass.

Everyone stopped talking. They all saw it. It lay beside the road, tail out and curving slightly into the grassy verge. Its head lay at an angle, tongue poking out between the teeth and arms limp against its chest. Mort pumped his shotgun.

"Go steady Sam," he said, watching the body of the raptor. "Must be the one you hit. Good on you, bagging one of these fuckers." Sam hadn't thought he'd hit the animal that hard at all earlier, but it was all a bit of a blur now. He felt a strange pang of regret, like when you know you've just hit an animal of any kind. It was quickly forgotten as they passed the body slowly and Sam saw the teeth in that mouth. Maybe he'd done a good thing.

"Stop the car." It was Dr. Manning. Sam frowned in the mirror. "Stop!"

Sam found he'd stepped on the brake, slowing the car to a stop a few metres past the raptor. He glanced at it in the side mirror. Still very much dead. Flies were buzzing around it.

"What the hell is this?" said Mort, twisting round and looking far from impressed. Sam looked around them, hands twitching. There was no sign of any living dinosaurs. Just the dead raptor and the remains of their kill over on the right, which was now covered in crows. Dr. Manning was fussing with the case in her lap.

"I can get a sample." She produced a syringe, vial and scalpel from the case. "A tissue and blood sample would be nothing but a bonus for Dr. Wu's experiments back at base. This is a perfect opportunity. It'll take but a moment."

"Dr. Manning! I cannot allow this! Redgrove will have my balls if I let you out there!" Mort looked even less impressed.

"It'll take seconds Mr. Mortimer." She was already preparing her kit, as if this was all definitely going to happen.

"Jill…" said Dr. Weaver uncertainly.

"It's ok,'' said Dr. Manning. "I'll take responsibility should any questions be asked, or any balls taken." She looked at Mort pointedly.

"Fuck sake,'' growled Mort. "Hang on then. I'll come with you. If this take longer than a minute, then we are off. Got it?"

"Understood."

And just like that, the horrible sound of doors opening cut through the pregnant silence and Sam was watching Mort shuffle around the hood of the SUV and joining Dr. Manning as they crept back towards the corpse, shotgun panning around them in quick arcs. Sam could feel his pulse had picked up dramatically. Dr. Weaver had twisted in her seat, watching them out of the rear window.

Nothing happened. Mort and Dr. Manning reached the raptor, and in an agonisingly calm and deliberate way, Dr. Manning took her samples and drew the blood from the animal. As if there was no threat around them at all. Sam hadn't blinked as he watched them in the mirror. Mort was shooing an inquisitive crow away when it happened.

There was a blur of movement, and Dr. Manning stumbled to the side, away from what looked like the moving leg of the raptor. There was a yelp, or a scream, above the idling of the engine. Mort was shouting. In a flash, the raptor was kicking at Dr. Manning again, head twisting round towards her, mouth opening, and then snapping backwards as Mort blew a huge chunk out of its skull. The shot rang out so loud Sam hunched in his seat.

Hell broke loose as Mort starting yelling and heaving Dr. Manning up. Sam saw movement up ahead, a shape darting from the grass and dashing towards them, orange colour flashing in the green. He didn't know what to do. His hands shook violently. Dr. Weaver was twisting and shouting in her seat, fussing with her seat belt.

The raptor burst from the grass onto the road and sped towards Mort and Dr. Manning. A shot rang out and the raptor twisted as it ran, never slowing but letting out an ear-splitting screech as it ran past the car, slightly stumbling and slamming the rear door closed as it collided with it. Another shot rang out and the animal crashed into a heap in front of Mort. He pumped the shotgun and was yelling again. Sam saw blood on Dr. Manning's leg. A lot of blood, as well as a large flap of her pants fabric hanging loose along with a bit of skin. It looked like she was crying. Her face was white. And still Sam didn't know what to do. Mort might have been shouting his name.

There was another shot and Mort thumped down into his seat, yanking his door closed and pumping his shotgun like a madman. He was saying something, but the blood pumping in Sam's ears made it noiseless. He just watched Mort's mouth opening and closing.

Dr. Weaver was unbuckling her belt as Dr. Manning appeared at her door. Her hands, red now, fumbled at the bars and glass as she reached for the handle, leaving bloody smears along the window. Dr. Weaver slid across the seats, hands going for the handle to help. Only the door didn't open. Dr. Manning was yelling now, tears streaking her face.

"Dr. Weaver! Beth! Open the door!"

"I…I cant!" yelled Dr. Weaver, hands slapping, tugging and pulling at the door. "It won't open! Its jammed!" Mort was still shouting, and then pointing. Sam looked ahead and saw three raptors ahead, sprinting from the grass. Movement in the rear mirror. Two more, sprinting from behind. All closing in on the car and Dr. Manning. She was thumping on the window, the look of sheer panic and terror stuck on her face. Much like Sams.

"Dr. Weaver! Beth! Beth please for the love…Help me!...Help me!"

"Sam! Do something!"

"The door wont open! It's still stuck!"

"Sam!"

"Beth! Oh God! Oh fucking hell no!" Dr. Manning's shriek made the hairs on Sam's skin stand up as the raptors snatched her away from the door, dragging her into the grass. The breath caught in Sam's chest as he saw their heads going down, tails up, and then their legs and feet was digging into her. Digging, slashing, kicking. Sam saw an arm sticking up, half thumping uselessly against the side of one of the dinosaurs, fingers grasping and clawing at the air.

The raptors head were thrashing from side to side, and then Dr. Manning began to come apart in spurts of red. Sam tasted bile, clamped his mouth shut.

His knee spasmed and he hit the gas, his hands and feet completely out of his control but at least they were doing something. The SUV sped away from the carnage, leaving the frenzy in a cloud of dust. In the mirror, through his blurry vision, Sam saw one of the animals just stood to the side, watching them leave. The light caught the scars on its body.

The grasslands and jungle sped by, unnoticed by Sam. He just drove. All the while Mort yelled, putting his head in his hands and Dr. Weaver sat upright in the back, completely still and completely white. Her eyes were wide.

The Embryonics lab appeared, unnoticed by Sam. He just drove. Drove them back from the dirt track, onto the concrete and into the alley.

They were in the elevator, Mort dragging the door closed, not even bothering to get their packs. The mechanism crunched into life and lifted them, and still it went unnoticed. Sam just stared at the wall, blinking, hating the writhing feeling in the very pit of his stomach. He tried to swallow but it was like his throat had closed up. His jaw hurt. He tried again, couldn't, blinked again.

The door opened and the familiar gloom of the corridor welcomed them, along with the faces of Redgrove and Perry. Their expectant expressions changed to confusion. Redgrove starting saying something, and Mort was striding out, speaking back, all of it fuzzy in Sam's ears. Redgrove looked immediately furious.

Dr. Weaver shuffled out, arms crossed and holding herself as if she thought she might break into a hundred pieces. Sam watched them go. Perry stepped up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"You alright Sam?"

Sam looked at him, blinked, and then sprayed vomit all over the floor.