Chapter 7

Isla Sorna

Manic drove to the airport, the lights of San Francisco disappearing behind them. It had taken Snively and his crew almost twenty-four hours to finish all of the equipment, twelve hours too much on Manic's account. He had an uneasy feeling about this trip, Malcolm wasn't very good at giving information, as if the whole thing was just outlandish.. And Hammond, well, all Hammond gave him was a check. Like he stated to Malcolm, he wouldn't be going if it wasn't for the check, that and Rouge Harding.

Manic knew who Rouge was of course. She had ordered and helped design countless vehicles and field equipment for her studies in Africa, and other places. He had known her for a few years, and respected her for her go to attitude and the ability to get down to work right away, while at the same time, always seeming laid back and at ease. Therefore, as the years went by, Manic even came to consider her a friend. Rouge had gone ahead of them to Costa Rica, so what? It did not bother him. Then Malcolm showed up, stating they needed to push ahead in schedule, skip the testing, it was an emergency. Malcolm was a stone mask, but even then, his unease was clear, slipping through cracks. Now Manic wasn't so sure if Rouge was safe anymore.

Malcolm sat in the passenger seat. He looked back at the Explorer behind them. Where Snively was driving. "Snively doesn't like the fact he has no idea what's going on, care to tell me to set him at ease." Manic spoke up.

Malcolm shrugged, "I could, but you wouldn't believe me. You'd probably turn the car around if I did."

"Try me, you might be surprised how much I believe."

Malcolm smirked then, "That's what I said to Big Hammond, six years ago. I thought I could handle anything he threw at me." His face went solemn, "Turns out, I had to see it for myself before I actually believed in what he was doing?"

Manic sighed, well that made everything feel better. "So you can't tell me?"

"I'm sorry; I just don't know how to explain it."

There was a beeping alongside him. Manic pulled out his little black Envoy, radio pager. A light was flashing. He flipped up the screen, and handed it to Malcolm. "Read it to me."

"It's from Miles," Malcolm said. "Says, 'Have a good trip. If you want us, call. We'll be standing by if you need anything.' And he gives a phone number."

Manic felt a pang of regret. The kids had wanted to badly to come. They had worked hard, and were excited for the trip, and all he did was shut them down. He had noticed Ex's longing upon hearing Rouge Harding was going to be there. And could he blame her? There wasn't too many people better to have as a child hero as Rouge Harding. Ex had chosen wisely.

Manic laughed half-heartedly. "You got to love those kids. They never give up." The he frowned, as a thought occurred to him. "What's the time on the message?"

"Four minutes ago," Malcolm said. "Came in via Netcom."

"Okay. Just checking."

They turned right, toward the airport. They saw the lights in the distance. Malcolm stared forward gloomily. "It was very unwise for Rouge to go rushing in like this. It's not the right way to go about it."

Manic shrugged, "She'll be fine, and so will we, as long as we get the right island."

"We will," he said.

"Which one was it again?"

"Isle Sorna,"

They drove a moment in silence. "Who else besides us knows about the island?" Manic asked.

Malcolm said, "Well, with Hammond out of power. Jack Ludlow now knows about it. And I'm sure he'll try to do something too." He paused, "And, well,"

"What?" Manic asked.

"Have you noticed anyone following you lately?"

Manic flinched, "I have actually. A hedgehog, I saw him a few times while I was teaching at the school. Then I realized he was following me. He started to show up around the time Hammond hired me to make equipment."

Malcolm nodded, "So it seems someone was trying to find out about the island before Hammond informed us. Because I also had someone following me for awhile, he disappeared a few months ago though. I think he went to study you."

"But you didn't know anything about the island, did you?"

"No, I thought there was only one, but it makes more sense now to have two islands."

"So, there might be someone else on the island? Besides us?" Manic asked.

"I hope not," Malcolm said, "Let's hope for now, we're on our own."

There was a drenching downpour in Puerto Cortés. Rain drummed on the roof of the little metal shed beside the airfield. Dripping wet, and rather irritated, Manic stood and waited while the Costa Rican official went over the papers, again and again. Manic already, what was it? Roger, Rodríguez, yes that was it. He was just a kid in his twenties, wearing an ill-fitting uniform, terrified of making a mistake.

Manic looked out at the runway, where in the soft dawn light, the cargo containers were being clamped to the bellies of two big Huey helicopters. Snively Carr was out there in the rain with Malcolm, shouting as the workmen secured the clamps.

Rodríguez shuffled the papers. "Now, Señor Thorne, according to this, your destination is Isla Sorna…."

"That's right."

"And your containers have only vehicles?"

"Yes, that's right. Research vehicles."

"Sorna is a primitive place. There is not petrol, no supplies, not even any roads to speak of…"

"Have you been there?"

"Myself, no. People have no interest in this island. It is a wild spot, rock and jungle. And there is no place for a boat to land, except in very special weather conditions. For example, today one cannot go there."

"I understand," Manic said.

"I just with that you will be prepared," Rodríguez said, "for the difficulties you will find there."

"I think we're prepared."

"You are taking adequate petrol for your vehicles?"

Manic sighed. Why bother to explain? "Yes, we are."

"And there are just three of you, Dr. Malcolm, yourself, and your assistant, Señor Carr?"

"Correct."

"And your intended stay is less than one week?"

"That correct. More like two days: with any luck, we expect to off the island sometime tomorrow. But we'll radio our ride if we need more time or if we're ready."

Rodríguez shuffled the papers again, as if looking for a hidden clue. "Well…"

"Is there a problem?" Manic said, glancing at his watch.

"No problem señor. The Director General of the Biological Preserves signed your permits. They are in order…" Rodríguez hesitated. "But it is very unusual, that such a permit would be granted at all."

"Why is that?"

"I do not know the details, but there was some trouble on one of the islands a few years ago, and since then the Department of Biological Preserves has closed all the Pacific islands to tourists."

"We're not tourists," Manic sighed.

"I understand that, Señor Thorne."

More shuffling of papers.

Manic waited.

Out on the runway, the container clamps locked in place, and the containers lifted on the ground.

"Very well, Señor Thorne," Rodríguez said finally, stamping the papers. "I wish you good luck."

"Thank you," Manic said. He tucked the papers in his pocket, ducked his head against the rain, and ran back out onto the runway.

Three miles offshore, the boat broke through the coastal cloud layer, into early-morning sunlight. Waiting in the helicopter cockpit of the lead Huey, Manic could look up and down the coast. He saw five islands at various distances offshore – harsh rocky pinnacles, rising out of the rough blue sea. The islands were each several miles apart, undoubtedly part of an old volcanic chain.

He pressed the speaker button. "Which is Sorna?"

The pilot pointed ahead as he prepped the chopper for takeoff. "We call them the Five Deaths," he said.

"Isla Muerte, Isla Matanceros, Isla Pena, Isla Tacano, and Isla Sorna, which is the big one farthest north."

"Have you been there?"

"Never, señor. But I believe there will be a landing site." He explained as the helicopter lifted off the boat.

"How do you know?"

"Some years ago, there were some flights there. I have heard the Americans would come, and fly there sometimes."

"No one else?"

"There were Germans once, but that was since…..I do not know. Many years ago. The World War. But this time, there were Americans that came."

"When was that?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps ten, twelve years ago."

The helicopter turned north, passing over the nearest island. Thorne Manic glimpsed rugged, volcanic terrain, overgrown with dense jungle. There was no sign of life, or of human habitation.

"To the local people, these islands are not happy places," the pilot said. "They say, no good comes from here." He smiled. "But they do not know. They are superstitious Indians."

"Is that why the boat driver was nervous?"

"Yes, he will not stay near those islands. He will be nearby with a satellite phone. He said to call, and he will come with the boat and the helicopters."

Now they were over open water with Isla Sorna directly ahead. It was clearly an old volcanic crater: bare, reddish-gray rock walls, and eroded cone.

"Where do the boats land?"

The pilot pointed to where the sea surged and crashed against the cliffs. "On the east side of this island, there are many caves, made by the waves. Some of the caves go all the way through the interior, and a boat can pass through at certain times. But now in the weather as you see it now. There is also a river going through the island that comes out into the sea, but the boats do not go in there."

"How come?"

"Rumor from the natives, that boats go in there." The pilot explained, "And they not come out."

Manic thought of Rouge Harding. She was on that island somewhere. Malcolm wasn't the only one nervous about the island. The natives and the government were too.

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

"I have a job tomorrow that will take all day." The pilot said, "I will not be available till the day after tomorrow. But on that day we will be on the boat waiting for your call."

The helicopter approached from the west, rising several hundred feet, moving over the rock cliffs to reveal the interior of Isla Sorna. It appeared just like the others: volcanic ridges and ravines, heavily overgrown with dense jungle. It was beautiful from the air, but Manic knew it would be dauntingly difficult to move through the terrain. He stared down, looking for roads.

The helicopter thumped lower, circling a small plain on the exterior of the island a low mist covered the area, masking it with a white blanket. Manic saw no buildings, no roads. The helicopter descended toward the jungle edge.

"Because of the cliffs," the pilot explained, "The winds are very bad. Many gusts and updrafts. There is only one place on the island where it is safe to land." He peered out the window. "Ah. Yes. There."

Manic saw an open clearing, overgrown with tall grass.

"We land there," the pilot said.

Snively Carr stood in the tall grass of the clearing, turned away from the flying dust as the two helicopters lifted off the ground and rose into the sky. In a few moments they were small specks, their sound fading. Snively shaded his eyes as he looked upward. In a forlorn voice he said, "When're they coming back?"

"When we call them," Manic said. "But they'll be waiting the day after tomorrow for us. Hopefully we will have found Rouge by then."

"At least, we'd better," Malcolm said.

And then the helicopters were gone, disappearing over the horizon. Snively stood there with Manic and Dr. Malcolm in the clearing, enveloped in the morning heat, and deep silence on the island.

"Kind of creepy here," Snively said, pulling his baseball cap down to cover his eyes.

Snively Carr was twenty-four years old, raised in Empire City. Snively was dark haired- though only five hairs remained on his head. His physique wasn't really to die for. He was shorter than most people, leveling in height with most anthros. His nose was a little on the big side, and his eyes were too large. But Snively had a talent – Manic would have said, a genius – for mechanical things. Snively could build anything, and fix anything. He could see how things worked, just by looking at them. Manic had hired him three years earlier, his first job out of community college. It was supposed to be a temporary job, earning money so he could go back to school and get an advanced degree. However, Manic and Snively had become friends. Moreover, Manic had long since become dependent on Snively. And Snively, for his part, was not very interested in going back to the books.

At the same time, he hadn't counted on anything like this, he thought, looking around him at the clearing. Snively was an urban kid, accustomed to the action of the city, the honk of the horns and the rush of the traffic. The desolate silence made him uneasy.

"Come on," Manic said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "let's get started." They turned to the cargo containers, left by the helicopter. They were sitting a few yards away, in the tall grass.

"Can I help?" Malcolm asked, a few feet from them.

"If you don't mind, no," Snively said. "We'd better unpack these ourselves."

They spent half an hour unbolting the rear panels, lowering them to the ground and entering the containers. After that, they took only a few minutes to release the vehicles. Snively got behind the wheel of the Explorer and flicked on the ignition. There was hardly any sound, just a soft whirr of the vacuum pump starting up. Manic said, "How's your charge?"

"Full," Snively said.

"Batteries okay?"

"Yeah. Seem fine."

Snively was relieved. He had supervised the conversion of these vehicles to electric power, but it was a rushed job, and they hadn't had time to test them thoroughly afterward. And though it was true that electric cars employed less complex technology than the internal-combustion engine – that chugging relic of the nineteenth century – Snively knew that taking untested equipment into the field was always risky.

Especially when equipment also used the latest technology. That fact troubled Snively more than he was willing to admit. Like most born mechanics, he was deeply conservative. He like things to work – work, no matter what – and to him that meant using established, proven technology. Unfortunately, he had been voted down this time.

Snively had argued for backups. He didn't trust the electrical panels or the batteries. He had argued for a little gasoline generator, just in case. And he had always been voted down. Under the circumstances, Snively did the only sensible thing: he built in a few extras, and didn't tell anybody about it.

He was pretty sure Manic knew had done that. But Manic never said anything. And Snively never brought it up. But now that he was here, on this island in the middle of nowhere, he was glad he had. Because the fact was, you never knew.

Manic watched as Snively backed the last Explorer out into the clearing where the sunlight would strike the panels on the top of the car to charge.

Manic climbed into the first trailer, and backed it out. It was odd to drive a vehicle which was so quiet; the loudest sound was the tires on the container. And once it was on the grass, there was hardly any sound at all. Manic climbed out, and linked up the two trailers, locking them together with the flexible steel accordion connector.

Finally, he turned to the motorcycle. It, too, was electric. He rolled it out of the trailer through the ramp exit, and towards the Explorer. He lifted it onto brackets, hooked the power cord to the same system that ran the vehicle, and recharged the battery. He stepped back, "That does it."

Snively stood in the middle of the clearing, staring and crater walls on the other side of the island. They looked forbidding and harsh. "Why would anyone ever come here?"

Malcolm was leaning against the first trailer he smiled. "To get away from it all, Snively. Don't you ever want to get away from it all?"

"Not if I can help it," Snively said, "Me, I always like a Pizza Hut nearby, you know what I mean?"

"Well, you're a ways from one now."

Manic returned to the back panel of the trailer, and pulled out a pair of heavy air rifles. Beneath the barrel of each hung two aluminum canisters, side by side. He handed one rifle to Snively, showed the other to Malcolm. "You ever seen these?"

"I've read about them," Malcolm said, "From Sweden?"

"Right. Lindstradt air gun. Most expensive rifle in the world. Rugged, simple, accurate, and reliable. Fires a subsonic impact delivery dart, containing whatever compound you want." Manic cracked open the cartridge bank, revealing a row of plastic containers filled with straw-colored liquid. Each cartridge was tipped with a three-inch needle. "We've loaded the enhanced venom of Conus purpurascens, the South Sea cone shell. It is the most powerful neurotoxin in the world. Acts within a two-thousandth of a second. It's faster than the nerve-conduction velocity The animal's down before it feels the prick."

"Lethal then?"

Manic nodded. "No screwing around here. Just remember, you don't want to shoot yourself in the foot with this, because you'll be dead before you realized you've pulled the trigger."

Malcolm nodded with an impressed smirk, "No antidote?"

"No. But what's the point?" Snively said. "There'd be no time to administer it if there was."

"That makes things simple," Malcolm said, taking the gun.

"You do know how to shoot a gun?" Snively asked, "Right?"

Malcolm smiled again, "Quite well actually."

"Just thought you out to know," Manic said. "Now let's find Rouge."

Shadow climbed into the second Explorer with Thorne as Snively took the first one. The radio clicked a moment later, "You sure you don't want me to get the high-hide set up?" Snively asked.

"No," Thorne replied, "We need one of the Explorers for that. We have the low-hide set up, and besides we're all going. It's not like we're staying here."

Thorne handed Malcolm a round disk, with a green line rotating around it, an occasional green dot would flash on the screen as the line passed over as certain point, "It's a radar," Thorne explained, "It's tracking Rouge's satellite phone."

Shadow looked forward and Snively, who was leading the caravan, "Can Carr see it?"

Thorne nodded, "Yes, it's on his dashboard, both cars have one, but you're holding the portable one." He started the car and followed after Carr.

In a few moments, they had left the clearing behind, and were now moving through dense jungle. Thorne's panel lights flashed: the vehicle switched to batteries. There wasn't enough sunlight coming through the trees to power the car anymore. They drove on.

"How you doing, Doc?" Carr said. "You holding charge?"

"Just fine, Snively."

"He sounds nervous," Shadow pointed out.

"Just worried about the equipment."

"The hell," Carr said, "I'm worried about me." He paused slowing the car down slightly, "Hey guys, I think I just found a road."

Although the road was overgrown and in poor condition, they made good progress. After about ten minutes they came across a small stream, with muddy banks. Shadow spoke up, "Slow down, the radar says we're close to Rouge."

The first Explorer started slowly across the stream, then stopped. Snively rolled down his window, "Hey what's that?" he pointed.

Shadow and Thorne quickly jumped out of their car, crossing the stream over to a large root sticking out of the ground. They heard the distant cries of what sounded like birds. Shadow glanced back frowning.

"Birds?" Thorne asked.

Shadow shook his head, no.

Snively walked over and leaned down, picking up a strip of cloth out of the mud. It was dark-green, with a strip of leather sewn along one edge, "It looks like a piece of back-pack."

"May I see that?" Shadow asked. He took the strip of cloth and held it up in the light. He fingered the torn edge thoughtfully.

Snively stared at the muddy bank. He bent over again. "Here's another piece of cloth. And another. Seems like the pack was ripped into shreds, Doc."

Another bird cry floated toward them, distant, unworldly. Shadow looked off in the distance, trying to locate its source.

"Does it belong to Rouge?" Snively asked.

Thorne glanced at the radar in Shadow's hand, "No, her signal is a little father up stream. Maybe two or three miles."

Snively shivered, "Then let's get going, I don't like it here."

Manic was uneasy. He was beginning to understand how Snively felt. He had an uncomfortable sense of isolation, being in this faraway place with untested equipment. The discovery of a shredded backpack made it worse. Someone else had come before them, and apparently didn't last long.

The road continued steeply upward through the dark jungle for the next fifteen minutes. Inside the car, it grew uncomfortably warm. Sitting beside him, Malcolm said, "Air conditioning?"

"I don't want to drain the battery."

"Mind if I open a window then?"

"If you think it's alright," Manic said.

Malcolm shrugged. "Why not?" He pushed the button, and the window rolled down. Warm air blew through the car. He glanced back at Manic, "Nervous, Doc?"

"Sure," Manic scoffed, "Damned right I am."

The road swung right, then left, following a series of switchbacks as the terrain became steeper. Ahead of them, the first Explorer turned left, going higher up the road. "I don't hear anymore of those weird bird sounds," Snively said. He sounded relieved.

Finally the road flattened out following the stream But the jungle was still thick, they couldn't see much. They came to a Y intersection. In the crook of the Y was a faded wooden sign, pointing both directions. To the left, the sign said "To Swamp." To the right was another arrow, and the words, "To Site B."

Snively said, "Guys which way?"

"Go to Site B," Malcolm said, "Rouge's signal is that way."

They had only driven a minute or so, when the smell of sulfur became strong in the air. "It is volcanic," Manic said.

"Yeah, but that active," Snively said, "In fact, I'd say that – holy shit!" Snively's brake lights flashed on, and his car slammed to a stop.

Manic had to swerve, scraping jungle ferns on the side of the car just to miss him. He pulled alongside the other car, and glared at Snively. "Snively, for Pete's sake, will you-"

"It's Rouge's backpack!" Snively interrupted.

They rushed out of there cars, Running to the stream where the brown and muddy backpack lay on the bank. Malcolm kneeled over it, digging through it quickly and pulling out the satellite phone.

Malcolm looked around worried, "Rouge!" he called.

Snively quickly joined in, "Rouge!"

"Rouge Harding!" Manic called.

Malcolm frowned, "How many Rouges' do you think are on this island?" he asked, before calling out again, "Rouge!"

Snively walked ahead a bit, "Roug-" he stopped suddenly, gasping softly.

Manic glanced over, "Snively what's wrong?"

But Snively wasn't listening. He was staring straight forward, his mouth open wide. Manic turned fully to look.

Directly ahead, the trees along the road had been beaten down, creating a gap in the foliage. They could see all the way from the road across the entire island to the west. But Manic hardly registered the panoramic view. Because all he saw was a large animal, the size of a hippopotamus, ambling across the road. Except it wasn't a hippopotamus. This animal was pale brown, its skin covered with large plate-like scales. Around its head, it had a curving bony crest, and rising from this crest were two blunted horns. A third horn protruded above its snout.

"Y-you know what that is?" Snively said, breathing in shallow gasps.

Malcolm stood, "That's a triceratops," he said. "A young one, by the looks of it."

"Y-young?" Snively stuttered. Ahead of them, a much larger animal now crossed the road. It was easily twice the size of the first, and its horns were long, curving and sharp.

"Yes," Malcolm said, "Because that one is probably its mom."

A third triceratops appeared, then a fourth. There was a whole hear of creatures, ambling across the road. They paid no attention to the vehicles as they crossed, passed through the gap, and descended the hill, disappearing from view.

Only then was the trio able to see through the gap itself. Manic had a view across a vast plain, with a broad river coursing through the center. On either side of the river animals grazed. There was a herd of perhaps twenty medium-sized, dark-green dinosaurs to the south, their large heads intermittently poking up above the grass along the river. Nearby, Manic saw eight duck-billed dinosaurs with tube-like crests rising above their heads; they drank and lifted their heads, honking mournfully. Directly ahead, he saw a herd of stegosaurus, making their way up the hill. The triceratops herd moved slowly past the stegosaurs, which paid no attention to them. And to the west, rising above a clump of trees, they saw a dozen long, graceful necks of Apatosaurus, their bodies hidden by the foliage that they lazily ate. It was a tranquil scene – but it was a scene from another world.

"Malcolm," Manic whispered. "What is this place?"

And we - ladies and gentlemen - are offically on the island! Let the awe and wonder commence! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, let's hope we find Rouge in the next one ;)

See you soon!