Chapter 13

Wreckage

Malcolm's eyes fluttered open in the gloom. His clothes were damp underneath him, and he felt numb all over. He was shivering slightly, vibrating on the ground. But he couldn't understand why. The air around him was hot, almost tropical. He found it hard to breath; the humidity was very high. It was like trying to breathe through a sponge. His breath was coming in ragged, rasping gasps.

His feet tingled softly. He was lying on his back in the grass. He felt a heavy weight on his legs, pinning them to the ground. He couldn't move. He licked his lips thirstily, running his tongue over his cracked lips. He felt a strange tickle in the back of his throat, and coughed harshly. He grunted as pain shot through his head. The world seemed to swirl around him. He breathed in sharply, and closed his eyes for a moment until it subsided.

There was a steady drone of cicadas all around him that filled his ears. Every now and then a frog would croak loudly, breaking the monotonous chirping.

His head was swimming; he was finding it hard to get a grasp on what was happening. He couldn't remember where he was, or what had happened. The last thing he remembered was giving a lecture in Santa Fe, lecturing that pesky group of eccentric students about the failure of Jurassic Park. He had no idea how much time had passed since then, and his memory of events since then were completely blank. But he could tell even from his limited knowledge of his surroundings that he was quite a way from the institute now.

His vision kept jumping in and out of focus, and the colours were smeared into a blur. He stared straight upwards in a daze, unseeing. He was finding it hard to stay awake, his eyes kept closing slowly, and it took him a moment before he could shake himself awake. He was so tired. All he wanted to do was to sleep a little more, just a little more. But he knew that he shouldn't go back to sleep. He didn't know why, he just knew. He tried just concentrating on his breathing, trying to soothe the pain in his head.

His body felt like it had been beaten all over, he felt bruised, and battered. He felt uncomfortable lying on the hard ground; his shoulder blades were aching with a dull pain. He tried to shift his position, but he found that he still couldn't move his legs. But why? He tilted his head slightly to look down at his body, and immediately wished he hadn't. Drumbeats of pain exploded in his head that ran from his forehead to his spine. He gritted his teeth and grunted. He closed his head for a few seconds, and lay there, panting.

A few minutes later he felt strong enough to look again. He opened his eyes slowly, allowing his brain to adjust to the light. He saw his torso sprawled out in front of him. His black shirt was torn and ripped in several places, but it looked ok. His arms hung limp by his sides, shuddering slightly as he continued to shiver. But he legs were nowhere to be seen.

His body seemed to end in an abrupt line around his waist, where a large piece of metal had fallen onto him. For a few panicked seconds he thought that he'd lost his legs, but then he remembered that his toes were tingling. He struggled for a moment, and tried to wiggle his toes. He could feel a tiny movement in his boots. He didn't know if the lack of movement was from injury or lack of circulation, but it didn't matter. He still had his legs.

Above him were broad, leafy treetops. They swayed gently in the wind, dancing peacefully. Dim rays of sunlight were filtering down through the foliage, giving the trees a mystical glow. Very little sunlight reached the floor of the forest, and he could make out very little in the darkness.

He squinted, trying to see through the arcs of sunlight which cut across the leaf litter. He had a vague picture of something large lying nearby. But he still couldn't move. He tried to sit up, to move his arms, anything. But all he could manage was a half hearted flop of his hands.

He listened hard, trying to hear anybody, anything, through the insect chorus of the jungle. There must be somebody nearby, somebody must know that he was here, and why he was here, even if he didn't. He listened for over a minute, straining to pick up the tiniest rustle, ignoring the pain in his head. He heard nothing. He took a slow, long breath, and sighed.

A bird gave a shrieking cry close by, shattering the relative quiet of the jungle, standing out sharply from the usual sounds of the jungle. An eerie silence followed, ringing harshly in Malcolm's ears. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears as his heartbeat rose rapidly. The sound has been high pitched, and elongated. It sounded unusual; he had never heard a bird that sounded like that. It reminded him of something, something that he couldn't put his finger on. He tried to concentrate, but his head was pounding steadily, and he felt dizzier than ever.

He frowned, and listened for it again. He tried to slow his breathing, desperate to hear it once more. He was certain that it meant something. But what was it?

An answering call came a few seconds later, even louder than the first, floating through the jungle from opposite direction of the jungle. Malcolm wanted to turn his head to look for the source of the sound, but he found himself too disorientated to move. He closed his eyes tightly, desperate to steady himself. This cry had been deeper, and more like the hoot of an owl. But it had been rasping, otherworldly. And then he realized that he had heard the sound before, over a decade earlier.

Malcolm's heart sank, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead as everything came rushing back to him. In his mind's eye he saw flashes, snapshots of his memory. He saw the InGen building reception, the conference room, the airstrip, the chopper and Isla Nublar. His breathing quickened as realization hit him. He saw the Pteranodons coming closer, and the howling wind, rushing all around him.

They had crashed. They had crashed on Isla Nublar. Now he understood why he couldn't move; a piece of the chopper must have fallen on him. He didn't know which part, but he was sure that he wouldn't be able to shift it by himself.

He couldn't believe it; he was stuck on this island, again. But what had happened to the others? Had they survived, like him? Had they been killed, or injured like him? Or had they already set off and left him to die? His mind was overcome with worry; he needed to know what had happened to Sarah.

He had to find out. There were dinosaurs around, he was certain of it. And he wasn't going to last long without help in his condition. Every muscle in his body wanted to keep quiet, to prevent avoiding attention to himself, but he knew that he needed to communicate. If the others were close by then they could help him up. His sat for a moment, and gathered his strength. He took long, calming breaths.

"Hello?" he croaked. His voice had been pitifully quiet, and he had barely heard it himself over the ceaseless chirping of the insects around him.

Another deep hooting answered him, cold and menacing in the silence. If he could move, he would have kicked himself. It was such a stupid thing to do.

But he still had to try again. He took a solidifying breath, and spoke again.

"Hello?" he said. This time he voice had been strong, and it carried a long way, easily audible. There was a sudden rustle of movement, and a scrabble of feet on metal. Or was it claws? A small part of him was sure that his attempts to communicate must have given away his position, and now he was going to die. Malcolm steeled himself for an attack, ready to use the last of his strength to fight for his life. But he had never felt weaker, and he wouldn't be able to put up much of a battle. He barely had the strength the lift his arms. The sound was growing louder by the second, coming straight towards him. But the sound didn't sound like the scratch of claws; it was a heavy, dull thudding, like heavy boots. Somebody had survived.

"Ian?" said a familiar voice. Sarah's head came into view, her face full of shock and relief. Her left cheek was sporting a large bruise, which looked swollen and tender. But other than that she looked unhurt and strong.

"Sarah," breathed Ian, fighting another wave of dizziness.

"Are you ok?"

"I've been better."

Sarah turned to look over her shoulder. Now Ian could hear another noise; somebody else must have survived.

"Henry, get over here! Its Ian, he's hurt!"

Wu's face swung into view next to Sarah, smiling. He seemed to have also escaped without any serious harm. He was liberally laden with cuts and bruises, but he looked fine. His eyes were warm as he grinned down at Malcolm.

"Ian," he said, "thank god.

"Could you get this thing off me?" said Malcolm, nodding slightly at the slab of metal that lay across his legs. Sarah didn't answer him. She was inspecting the metal on top of him, eyeing the object carefully, her eyes narrowed.

"What's wrong?" asked Malcolm.

"I have to check to see if your legs are alright. We might do more harm than good by moving it if you have a fracture or a ruptured artery."

She swept the metal with her eyes once again, her eyes darting around, checking the line where his legs ended and the object began.

"What is this thing?" Malcolm said, trying not to move his head as another shot of pain rang through his head like church bells.

"I think it's the left side seat section—"

Malcolm groaned as another wave of pain washed over him, making his eyes flutter rapidly. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, and saw spots of color dance over the inky blackness.

"What's wrong?" said Wu.

"My head," muttered Malcolm, closing his eyes tighter until the pain passed. He looked up at them weakly, and saw Sarah's expression.

"What?" he said.

"You may have suffered some other damage. You could have broken your back."

"But I don't feel anything in my back."

"There's no way to be sure of it."

"Well, I can't stay here; I suppose I look like a tasty treat lying here like this."

Sarah didn't return his smile, and continued to stare at him critically.

"Look, I can't stay here."

"But, we could do more damage."

"I'll risk it."

Sarah hesitated for a moment longer, and then nodded. She turned back to his legs, and stared at them.

"Can you feel your legs?""A little."

"Can you wiggle your toes?""Yes."

"Then you should be alright," said Sarah soothingly, running her hands over the rows of seats that lay over him. Her voice was calm, but Ian could hear the tension that she was hiding.

"Henry, could you help me here?" she continued.

Wu clambered over the pieces of crumpled metal littered around the floor and took position opposite Sarah. They looked at each other for a moment, and then crouched down. They put their fingers underneath the edge of the seats and lifted it just enough to get a firm grip on it.

"Ready?" said Sarah.

Wu nodded, tensed his arms, and took a deep breath.

"Ian, does this hurt at all?" she said, and lifted the metal object ever so slightly.

Ian felt a numbed movement across his legs, and the tingling in his toes increased.

"No," he said.

"Alright, he we go."

She nodded to Wu, and straightened her back.

"Three, two, one, lift!"

They both gave a great heave, and pushed off with their legs. The rows of seats gave a mechanic groan as they began to rise from the floor. Wu grunted with effort as they brought the seats up to chest height, and slowly began to move sideways, down towards Malcolm's feet. Ian felt a cold rush spread quickly from his thighs to his toes, as the blood rushed back into his legs. The tingling began to ease as the cold sensation filled his legs, allowing him to move again.

Sarah and Wu set the seat panel down carefully several feet away from him, which gave a dull thud as it hit the dry mud. They both turned to look at him, Sarah's face full of worry.

"Can you move?" she said.

Ian complied by turning his ankle joint around in a wide circle.

"Yeah, thanks. Now, could you get me up?"

Sarah hesitated. But Ian merely looked at her until she sighed and reached for his head.

She pulled him into a sitting position, and he groaned as another wave of dizziness overtook him. He took a deep breath, and pushed himself onto his knees.

"Take it easy," said Sarah, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Henry, could you grab his other arm, I want to get him sat down over there."

Ian felt Wu grab his other shoulder, and Malcolm slowly got to his feet. Sarah was pointing to a large boulder that lay on the ground a few meters away. Slowly he ambled towards it, supported Wu and Harding.

He flopped down onto the hard surface, and sighed. He felt a little better in his sitting position, and took a look around him.

He was in a small clearing in the forest, which he was sure must have been made by their less than elegant entry.

The chopper itself lay in pieces. The front end of the fuselage had managed to stay in one piece, but it looked like it had been put through a shredder.

A large hole had been torn out of the left section where the Pterosaur had attacked. The rest of the chopper was strewn around the ground. The rotors were twisted, and lay in the branches of a tree at the edge of the forest. The seating and the landing gear had been completely torn apart, with pieces of insulating foam and twisted fragments of metal all over the ground.

Sarah was rummaging in her rucksack in front of him, and Wu sat on a large piece of the fuselage, looking around in dismay.

"Who survived?" asked Malcolm.

"Well, you make five," said Wu slowly, still surveying the clearing.

"Who was it?"

"You, me, Sarah, Tim and the Pilot, who's back there tending to Tim."

"Is Tim alright?"

"Yes, he should be fine."

"Never again," muttered Guiterrez wildly, stumbling over the wreckage that lay strewn around the clearing. His shirt was torn in a wide arc at the shoulder, and his left hand had a large gash that ran across the knuckles. He walked slowly and carefully, breathing quickly.

"Marty?" said Malcolm, watching Guiterrez stumble into the clearing.

"Never again," continued Guiterrez, not looking over at Malcolm.

"Hey, Guiterrez!" called Malcolm.

Marty seemed to visibly snap out of his reverie, and turned to look for the source of the sound. He gave a yell of surprise, and his foot got caught on a piece of twisted metal. He tripped sideways and fell into a small pond of mud.

Malcolm couldn't help but laugh as Marty sat up spluttering, a look of genuine shock on his face.

"Malcolm?" he muttered, stumbling to his feet.

"Are you ok?"

"I, uh—Yeah, I think so," he said as he ran his hands over himself. He walked over to them, and sat next to Wu.

"Where the hell have you been?" said Sarah, bringing a small pocket light out of her rucksack.

"I woke up in the forest, and I've been walking around trying to find somebody."

"Did you find anybody from the other chopper?" Sarah said casually, shining the light into Malcolm's eyes, checking his reactions.

"No, nobody."

Sarah tucked her pocket light back into her bag, and straightened up, staring at Malcolm intently. She turned his head from side to side, inspecting his scalp.

Malcolm felt a lot better than before, but his head was still throbbing. Sarah had knelt down beside him, and was staring at him.

"How do you feel?" she said.

"Better. What's wrong with me?"

"I think you have a mild concussion. You should be alright, as long as you rest here a little while and drink some water. You look dehydrated."

She brought out a bottle of Evian, and pushed it into his hand.

"Drink," she ordered.

"But, I—"

"Drink"

Malcolm took the bottle with a shrug and took a look swig of water. He drank for a few more seconds, then handed the bottle back. He could already feel the liquid in his system, and his head began to clear.

"What did Mr. Murphy want us to do?" said the Pilot, coming around to join them. He took a swig of whisky from a hipflask that he had tied to his belt and sighed appreciatively.

Wu stood up and started walking over to the remains of the front part of the fuselage.

"Why don't we ask him?" he said.

Wu knelt down beside Tim, and attempted to rouse him. Sarah and Guiterrez were supported Ian, who was looking better by the minute. The pilot was close behind, looking slightly lost. Wu shook Tim's arm gently, until he gave a quiet groan.

The wound on his head was still bleeding, but Wu's makeshift bandage had almost stemmed the flow, and it had since begun to clot. The cloth was soaked through, and was deep red. Small tendrils of dried blood ran down the side of his face, converging and ending near his chin.

He stirred slowly as Wu continued to shake him, his eyes opening slowly. His pupils contracted and came into focus, and settled on the five of them, who were covered in mud and scraped all over. He frowned. He lifted his head and looked around the clearing. His face fell as he saw the broken remains of the chopper lying on its side, and turned his head to face them, his mouth open.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he murmured, looking at all of them in turn. He stared at them as if expecting them to tell him that it was all a dream. Nobody knew what to say, they just stood there, and waited.

"Oh shit! Not again," shouted Tim, getting to his feet.

"Whoa, you shouldn't be getting up just yet, you have a nasty cut on your head," said Sarah.

"Nonsense, I feel fine," said Tim, brushing her hand away irritably. He looked down at himself, inspecting his physical state for a moment. He reached up and touched the bandage on his forehead delicately, testing its severity. Then he turned to face them, looking shocked and angry.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded.

"The pterosaurs attacked the choppers, and we crashed," said Sarah.

"What about our escort?"

"The Pterosaurs got them too."

"Where did they land?"

"We don't know, they can't be far."

"Did they go down before or after us?"

"Before us."

"Then they should be south of here, we need to find them. We'll stand a better chance of surviving with them."

"Until we're rescued, right?" said Guiterrez, standing up.

Tim glanced up at him, and sighed. His hands were jumping in his lap, and he was breathing unsteadily.

"Nobody's coming?" breathed Guiterrez.

"Oh, they will," said Tim, "but not for at least a day."

"A day?" shouted Guiterrez.

"Keep it down, we don't want to draw attention to ourselves," said Sarah.

"Oh yeah, and we didn't make any noise at all when we came crashing through the canopy," said Guiterrez, laughing without humour.

Tim ignored him, and took a deep breath.

"We weren't due back in New York for at least sixteen hours. It'd take a few hours before they'd miss us. And by the time it'd take to assemble the necessary equipment to come and get us…"

Tim raised his arms helplessly.

"Shouldn't you have had them on standby, in case something went wrong?" Malcolm said.

"It was supposed to be a simple operation. We weren't supposed to be here for more than an hour. Our escort should have been more than enough."

"Obviously it wasn't."

"How are the Pteranodons here anyway?" said Wu.

"I have no idea," said Tim, kicking a stray pebble.

Malcolm straightened up, and looked at them all critically. He scowled, and got gingerly to his feet.

"I would have hoped that you would have worked it out by now."

"Please feel free to enlighten us," said Guiterrez.

"Evidently they arrived from Isla Sorna. I thought it was rather obvious."

Tim sighed.

"Of course; Sorna," he said.

"I was trying to tell you before it hit the fan, but it was too late," said Malcolm.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Would you have turned around if I did?"

Tim glared at him for a moment, and then his shoulders slumped.

"No, he said,"

"You allowed the Pteranodons to live on Sorna after they escaped their aviary?" said Wu incredulously.

"It was believed that they wouldn't be able to make the trip all the way to the mainland, so they were allowed to live."

"But you didn't anticipate a migration to another island, like here," said Malcolm.

"Of course not, this island is supposed to look like the surface of the moon."

"Guys, this isn't important right now," interrupted Sarah, "we need to concentrate on what to do now."

"We need to find the escort chopper," said Tim, standing up and grabbing his rucksack.

"If they're alive," muttered Guiterrez.

"If we survived, then there's a good chance that they did too. Now stop being so negative."

"And then what? Wait for rescue?"

"No, we complete the mission of course."

Guiterrez gave a small laugh, and stared at Tim, shaking his head.

"You're joking, right?"

"No. Look, the situation hasn't changed. The world still faces the most deadly disease in history. If we just hole up and wait for rescue, we'll have done all this for nothing. Plus, we can get to the visitor centre in around ten hours if all goes well, and we can call for help using the island's communications network."

"If all goes well?" said Guiterrez.

"Have you got a better plan?"

Guiterrez paused, and shook his head.

"Alright then. Everybody get ready, we'll set out for the others in five minutes," said Tim.

Which was how they found themselves, walking through the thick jungle. The drone of cicadas seemed to be even louder inside the confined spaces of the forest, and their movements seemed to be uncomfortably loud.

Wu was leading them, wielding a sturdy branch, hacking the foliage out of the way. It was slow work, as the branch was awkward to carry and swung slowly, but they made progress at a steady pace. He stopped every now and then to consult a pocket compass that he had brought with him.

Tim was stumbling along after him, cursing under his breath and scanning the forest around them. The cut on his head had stopped bleeding, but the bandage on his head was still dripping blood onto his face. He was careful not to let any of it fall onto the ground around him.

Malcolm was walking slowly behind Tim, supported by the Pilot and Sarah. He felt a lot better than before, and his head wasn't throbbing as much, but he still wobbled occasionally.

Guiterrez brought up the rear, frequently glancing over his shoulder. He was still in a state of shock after the crash, and he would jump at the snap of a twig.

They could hear the calls of the birds high in the trees, and occasionally a flock would explode out of the canopy. But they all knew that not all of the cries could be birds.

After a minute they heard a crashing sound off to their right. Twigs are branches were snapping, and the sound of heavy footsteps filled their ears. Everybody froze, and stared into the forest just beyond them. They couldn't see more than three feet before the ferns blocked their view. The crashing continued, coming closer. Wu tightened his grip on the branch he was holding, and moved to stand in front of the rest of them. Guiterrez came to stand next to him, and they both stood there, straining to see what was approaching.

Malcolm watched them, panting. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. If this was an approaching predatory dinosaur, then a branch wouldn't be much use. The crashing sound was now deafening,

"Over here," called a voice.

Everybody looked at each other in surprise, and turned back to the underbrush. Nobody dared speak. The ferns in front of them were shaking, and there was a grunting sound. There was a metallic clang, and then a brief silence. The blade of a machete swung into view with, slicing the thick leaves in front of them with ease. Wu had to jump backwards to avoid it, and lowered his branch, frowning. The ferns before them were parted in a swift motion, and a tall black figure emerged.

It was a man.

He was dressed in a black camouflage uniform, which concealed all of his body except for his hands and head. He wore heavy boots, which were made of tough leather. The machete he was carrying was as long as his arm. The blade was extremely sharp, and was scratched and battered from frequent use.

His face was young and handsome, with soft pale skin. He had a definite American air about him, and he smiled warmly. He was muscular and very tall, standing at least a head over Wu and Guiterrez. His short hair was spiked up, and his brown eyes sparkled. He looked completely uninjured, and lacked the layer of dirt that the rest of them had.

In a word; he looked cool.

A large assault rifle was slung over his shoulder, looking both reassuring and formidable. The leather strap strained against his chest as he breathed in and out. The weapon looked heavy, but he carried it easily.

A handgun hung in a safety holster at his side. The tip of the barrel was poking out of the bottom, and the grip protruding from the top.

"Thank god," he said in a southern drawl, "I thought I'd never find anybody."

"Who are you?" asked Tim.

"Major John Anderson, sir," he said.

"You're part of the escort?"

"Well, I was."

"Are you the only one that made it?"

Anderson stared at Tim, and nodded slowly.

"I'm afraid so."

"How did you survive?" asked Malcolm.

"Well, I didn't crash with the others."

"What do you mean?"

"One of those flying things grabbed me right out of the chopper, and flew off with me in its beak."

"Jesus," said Sarah, "I saw it throw you into the jungle. How did you survive that?"

"It was pretty hairy. I thought I was done for. But I got caught on a branch pretty high up. I saw my chopper go down a minute later. I climbed down and took a look around."

"Did you find the other chopper?"

"Yeah, I found it."

"And was there anybody else?"

John's eye twitched, and he sighed.

"No."

"We should take a look at it; there might be something we could use."

Tim made to walk past him, but Anderson held up his hand, blocking Tim's way.

"I wouldn't advise it, sir," he said slowly.

"What are you talking about?"

"It was…pretty messy. It'd attract unwanted attention."

Tim stared at him for a moment, and then nodded slowly.

"Well, it's better now that we have weapons," said Tim after a while. "But we need to get out of here."

"Where do you plan to go?" said Anderson.

"We're going to complete the mission, and then we can call for help."

John looked surprised for a moment, but quickly replaced his expression with a look of determination. He nodded briefly.

"Where to then?" he said.

"The visitor centre is north, around 8 miles away, we should head in that direction," said Wu, fishing his compass out of his pocket.

"Wait a moment," said Tim, "you're forgetting the power station. We have to get that online first before we go to the visitor centre."

"Oh, right," said Wu.

"Which way is that?" said Sarah.

"South-East," said Tim, checking his watch. He scowled as he saw the cracked face, and took it off. He threw it into the underbrush, where made a quiet thud.

Wu studied his compass for a few seconds as the needle settled, and then looked up, and pointed into the forest.

"That way," he said.

"Alright," said Tim, "let's go. Anderson, take lead."

"Yes, sir," murmured John, and moved up to the front of the line, his machete held high.

Wu shrugged and dropped the stick he was carrying; it was useless now.

Anderson began to cut the vines in front of them, hacking away at the foliage. And slowly they moved off into the jungle.