Chapter 40
Broken Sanctuary
"How are you doing there?" said Sarah, looking up at Ian's head with concern on her face.
"Oh, just fine, thank you," Malcolm sighed, staring contentedly down at her as if she was a mildly interesting television show on a Saturday evening. "You're very gentle, you know. Maybe you should have been a nurse."
"Maybe…" she agreed, trying to keep him distracted for as long as possible. Not that she needed to; Ian seemed to thoroughly enjoy being doped on the drug. She had the feeling that she could have severed his leg and he wouldn't have complained.
Gingerly, she loosened the knots of the cloth which bound his injured leg, trying not to move the bandage. The cloth had once been surgical white, but now it was sorry sight. A dull mixture of red, brown and green made from blood, dirt and detritus from the jungle. It gave off an unpleasant odor, which made me wrinkle her nose involuntarily.
It was important that they kept the wound as clean as possible, to help prevent the spread of infection.
Carefully, she took the edge of the bandage between her thumb and forefinger, and lifted it slowly into the air, pulling it away from the skin. Underneath most of the skin was clean and smooth, a sharp contrast to the rest of the leg which was dark and muddy, creating a band of cleanliness on his shin. But forming a circle fifteen centimeters wide was a series of punctures which ran horizontally across his leg. The flesh was torn and missing in places, creating a ragged look to the wound. Luckily, the bleeding had now completely stopped; the largest of the cuts were covered over with big scabs.
To Sarah, the cuts looked septic. Definitely infected; she had seen enough sick animals in the field to know that. The flesh was still red and almost healthy looking, as if the wound had just opened, but it was taking on a sickly looking green tinge. The skin around the wound was red too, and inflamed. Puffy, like somebody had padded the underside of his flesh.
"How is it? Am I going to live?" Malcolm asked casually, as if he was asking the time.
The honest answer was that she didn't know. She was sure he had contracted some infection or disease. She guessed that it was a tropical disease, maybe Malaria or something. She wasn't sure; she wasn't trained in this sort of thing. But there was something nagging in the back of her head; a hunch that this wasn't normal.
Instead, she gave him best smile and said, "You're going to be fine, Ian. Just a little infection; nothing antibiotics won't take care of."
Malcolm sighed, and shook his head fractionally, closing his eyes. "I wish that were so."
Sarah glanced at his face for a moment, the shadow of a frown forcing its way onto her features.
"What do you mean?" she said, prodding the area around the wound tentatively.
Malcolm gave a resigned groan of pain, but it sounded as if it was more out of annoyance than anything else. "You think I'd get sick in a place like this, by coincidence? Tim already gave me the antidote to the venom of that…thing."
"You sound like you know what's wrong with you," said Sarah, carefully pouring a trickle of water onto his leg, cleaning away the dirtiest places around the punctures.
Through half closed eyes Malcolm observed her for a moment, and Sarah felt odd, as if suddenly thrown into the spotlight, under scrutiny.
She had to smile. Of course he knew.
"Well?" she said, pulling a fresh strip of bandage out of her bag, and wrapping his leg.
Malcolm licked his lips, no longer looking at her. "Thirsty," he said absently, looking towards the gate at the front of the shed. Sarah pulled the knot of the new bandage tight, causing him to groan once more. She sat back for a moment, and observed her work.
Not bad.
"You want some water?" she asked, dragging her bag towards her.
No answer.
"Ian?"
Sarah looked up, but Malcolm's eyes had fluttered closed, and he was humming quietly to himself, in broken, weak tunes. She shook her head.
"Green, green, hoppy hop," said Malcolm, his eyes opening a fraction, stills staring towards the steel bars of the shed.
Harding stared at him for a moment. "What?"
It was getting harder and harder to separate his morphine-induced meaningless ravings from conscious thought. It was bad enough when he was lucid. Now he was drumming the concrete floor with his fingers, moving his head slowly from side to side.
"Ian."
A bird squawked outside, but she paid no attention. She had long grown used to it. It might have been the Microceratops that seemed almost omnipresent on this island. But it didn't matter; they were safe in here.
"Hoppity hop," he said again, his glazed eyes still on the gate.
"Damn it, Ian!"
"Hmm?" his eyes shifted to her for a moment, no hint of urgency within them.
"Will you please be quiet?"
Malcolm smiled weakly. "Sure, Sarah, but I think our friends want to play."
"That's nice," she said, plopping herself down onto her backside and leaning against a crate which sat behind her. She didn't even bother to try to understand what he was saying. She looked around the shed absently. It was now the middle of the day, and outside she could see the tree line shimmering in the heat through the thick window. But underneath the roof is was cooler, and almost comfortable. The floor was still damp from the storm the night before, aiding in cooling the shelter.
They both sat near the front of the shed, slightly off to the left, next to a large congregation of boxes, crates and supplies. Tires leaned against the wall, and coils of fencing wire lay stacked on the ground. They sat just within the shadow of the roof, the sunlight beginning in a clear line a meter in front of them. Near the back of the shed it was dark and gloomy; the
strip lights that had illuminated the building during the night had switched themselves off just after daybreak. But it still felt good to know that they were safe in here. She'd like to see some of the dinosaurs break through two feet of concrete.
The squawking came again, closer this time. Sarah got to her feet, and went towards the window that lay imbedded in the wall four feet from the entrance. It was small, and she hadn't seen it the night before. But she preferred looking through the window that going to the gate; the thick glass was more reassuring than the steel bars.
"Sarah?"
"Yes, Ian?" She looked out through the window, but saw nothing but the empty field which lay outside, and then the tree line a hundred feet or so away.
"Do you see them?"
She turned to look at him. He was pointing outside, through the steel bars of the gate. She stared for a moment, but saw nothing but greenery. "See what?" she said, exasperated.
"Hopping," he said.
"Ian…"
"Shh, shh," he wheezed. "Wait."
Sarah stood still, and stared again. She scanned the trees first. The canopy; she suspected he had seen the Microceratops jumping around in the branches. But she saw nothing. Then she moved downwards, to the dark spaces at the roots of the jungle. But all she saw was shadow.
She glanced at Ian, for a moment, eyebrows raised, but he merely nodded weakly back towards the gate.
She scanned the field of grass. There was nothing—a sudden movement. It was tiny, almost undetectable. She couldn't see where it had come from.
"What is it Ian?"
"Compies," he said simply.
And as he said it, she saw them. Ten feet from the gate, they stood in the grass, which came up to their long, S-shaped necks. They looked like green, featherless chickens to her. Even from a distance she could see their tiny black eyes, beady and unblinking. A few of the animals hopped up and down on the spot, but other than that they were still;
unnervingly so. She tried to count them, but it took over a minute as they blended so well with the surrounding foliage. Eventually she settled on a dozen or so. And all of them were staring right at her and Malcolm.
She had seen them before, on Isla Sorna, when she and Nick had raided Ludlow's camp. Not up close or anything, but she remembered that he had one in a cage on his desk. But then it had looked playful, and insignificant. The animals she saw before her now were…creepy.
And then something else struck her; they were easily small enough to fit through the bars of the gate. And as she watched, the Compies slunk forwards, the tiny heads weaving through the grass, the bodies still hidden.
She shivered, and backed up towards Malcolm.
She dropped to her knees next to her pack, and ripped the zip open, rummaging inside. She still had the tranquilizer gun with her; the others had left it for them, just in case.
But as she pulled it out, she wondered how she was going to hit them. They were obviously very agile, and the darts were far slower than ordinary bullets.
Where could they go? She wouldn't be able to take care of them all; she didn't have enough darts, even if she did manage to hit them with each shot, which was impossible in itself.
But they were only little; maybe she could just kick them away. They didn't look very strong at all.
As she watched the Compies emerged from the grass, one by one, coming to stand in the patch of mud which surrounded the shed for a few feet in every direction.
She could now see their entire bodies; less than two feet tall, with erect tails, lime green with a slightly darker striation pattern running along their backs. They were thin, the bony arms and legs more like sticks than anything else. The side ballooned outward with each of their breaths.
Sarah put the gun into the back of her waistband, and grabbed Malcolm by the collar. With her other hand she took her pack and swung it over her shoulder. Glancing back, she saw that there was only another forty feet behind her before the dark shadow of the back wall. She dragged him slowly
across the floor, his body making a muffled scraping sound as it bumped along over the concrete and crawling vines. She grunted with the effort, and watched helplessly as the first of the little Dinosaurs hopped through the bars of the gate with ease, stepping into the damp interior.
Sarah dropped Malcolm onto the floor, groaning, at the rear wall of the shed. It was dark back here; she hadn't noticed before just how dark it really was.
A second Compy stumbled clumsily through the gaps of the thick steel bars of the front gate, following the first. Then a third jumped through more gracefully. Through the bars she could see the others approaching.
They began squeaking and hissing at each other, their silence broken. Sarah guessed that they had been relying on stealth before. But now they seemed to sense that there was no escape for their prey. Sarah had to agree with them; there wasn't any way out. They were trapped in a concrete box.
So much for being safe, she thought.
There were now seven Compies in the shed, and more were coming through as she watched. The first of them stepped through into the shadow, and its eyes glowed brightly, like a cat's.
It was very freaky; the eyes didn't blink at all, and the glowing orbs of light slunk towards her, as the bodies seemed to blend in with the shadows in contrast.
All of the Dinosaurs were inside now. Two of them hopped lightly onto the conveyer belt which ran parallel along the left wall. The Compies fanned out, creating a solid line across the thirty foot span of the shed. Now the space in front of her was full of glowing sets of eyes.
She swung her pack from over her shoulder, and laid it on the ground. She whipped the tranquilizer gun from her trousers, and trained it on the closest of the animals, which was now only around twenty five feet from her.
The animals didn't react to the appearance of the weapon at all. Why would they? They'd probably never seen a gun before, just like all of the other Dinosaurs on the island.
Sarah glanced down at Malcolm. He seemed to be unconscious, or semi-conscious. Either way he simply lay on the ground, groaning in pain.
"Ian?" she whispered.
He didn't answer. He didn't indicate he had heard her. He simply sighed, and groaned again. His leg twitched, flopping around slightly on the hard concrete.
She was alone now.
A distant squeak made her jump. It hadn't come from any of the animals before her, who had once again fallen silent, and had paused for a moment.
She looked back through the fence, and any hope of escaping that she had drained out of her. Around twenty more green shapes were racing across the field outside towards the shed. She was far outnumbered, and trapped. The Compies already inside the shed turned back to her, and squeaked excitedly.
They were now only ten feet away from Malcolm's boot.
Taking careful aim, she pointed the barrel of the tranquilizer gun at the dark shadow just below the closest set of eyes, and squeezed the trigger.
There was a hiss as the dart soared from the end of the gun, and a low whine as it whistled through the air. A dull thud told her immediately that the dart had found its target.
The Compy screeched in alarm, and she saw the glowing pair of eyes disappear as the little dinosaur sunk to the floor, unconscious. She guessed that there was far too much anesthetic in the darts for an animal that small, and that they would almost certainly die, but she didn't care. The idea that the darts were as lethal as any bullet was oddly comforting. The problem was that he only had three darts left, which were slotted into a leather pouch dangling from the grip.
The other Dinosaurs looked apprehensive now, but only slightly. They seemed almost unperturbed by the fall of their comrade, and only seemed to have paused because of the strange sound made by the gun.
A few seconds later they turned back to Sarah, and began stalking forwards once more.
"Sarah."
She turned abruptly. Malcolm was trying to wave, but she could barely see his hand in the gloom.
"Ian?"
"The door," he breathed.
What door? There was only one door in this shed, and it was on the other side of those Compies; unreachable. Despite the fact that those little dinosaurs wouldn't stand a chance if she so much as kicked them, there were so many of them. She and Malcolm would be covered in them before they got anywhere near the gate if they ran for it.
She watched as several more Compies slunk through the bars, dashing forwards to join the others.
"I can't, Ian, the door's too far," she said, training the gun on the closest of the Compies.
The Compy suddenly leapt at her, with surprising speed and agility. It flew through the air as if it were light as a feather. Instinctively she pulled the trigger, but nothing happened; she'd forgotten to reload it.
She flung her arms up just in time, and the Dinosaur screeched as it collided with her open palm. She gripped it, and with all her strength flung it back towards the others, where it soared into two of its comrades, sending them scattering across the floor like bowling skittles.
The other Compies looked at their fallen for a moment, and then turned back to her, and squeaked, hopping up and down, as if she were playing a game with them.
"Sarah, the door," Malcolm repeated, his voice barely audible over the vocalizations.
"We can't Ian, it's at the other end of the shed," she said, breaking open the barrel of the gun, and inserting another dart with shaking hands.
"No," breathed Ian, "No, at the back."
"What?"
"Another door. At the back."
And then she remembered. Tim had said that there was another door at the back of the shed. That's how Tim and Wu were going to pick them up. It led to some sort of underground tunnel. She didn't like the idea of going into a dark tunnel very much, but anything was better than here.
She turned to the back wall, expecting to see a gleaming door waiting for her. But the wall was cloaked in darkness; she couldn't see a thing.
She ran to one corner, and hurriedly felt her away along the wall, her hands touching wet concrete, gripping hanging vines and creepers. No door.
She glanced over her shoulder as she neared the middle; the Compies had paused, their eyes following her as she exhibited this strange new behavior. If they had voices she would have guessed that they'd be laughing at her. She must look like a distressed animal trying to claw its way through the wall.
She turned back to feeling the wall. Less than ten seconds later her hands ran across a cold steel surface. She knocked on it with her knuckles, and it made a reverberating dong. She had found the door, she was sure of it. She felt with her hands, across, until she came to concrete again. She went back to the door, searching frantically for the handle. But she couldn't find it.
One of the animals squeaked behind her.
"Noise little bastards, aren't they?" mumbled Malcolm.
She looked over her shoulder, and saw that one of the Compies had hopped right up to Malcolm, and was staring at him inquisitively. Slowly, Malcolm raised his arm, and moved his index finger towards the Compies' head.
"Do you think he wants to play?"
"No, Ian, don't do that," said Sarah, moving towards him. But before she could take two steps the Compy leaps forward and promptly bit Malcolm on the tip of his finger.
"Oh," said Malcolm, a trace of shock on his voice, looking down dimly at his bleeding fingernail.
Sarah ran forwards and kicked the Compy viciously. It squeaked in alarm, but landed perfectly ten feet away, apparently unharmed.
The other Compies took a unanimous step forwards, seemingly encouraged rather than anything. Their prey was bleeding.
"I don't like them very much," murmured Malcolm, still staring at his finger.
Sarah ran back to the door, and began feeling for the handle again. But all her hands found was slick, cold metal. She reached down, and felt along the bottom, hoping to find a latch. And then he jumped up, trying t find one at the top. But there was nothing.
Suddenly she felt a small weight land on her back, small spiky protrusions sticking into her back. There was a Compy on her jacket, its claw digging in.
She flailed her arms for a moment, and the Compy squeaked. She felt something dig into her back, between her shoulder blades; it was trying to bite her through her clothes. She reached as far behind herself as she could, and her hand came into contact with a slender neck. She clamped down as hard as she could, and the Compy made a strangled gurgling. The claws instantly released her back, and she pulled it off her back and swung it over her head like a lasso. Normally she would have been appalled at treating animals this way, but not today. She threw it with for all she was worth at the wall next to the conveyer. It made a dull thud as it came into contact with the concrete, and it fell to leather of the conveyer belt, and didn't move again.
Satisfied, she turned back to the door, and felt the entire door with the flats of her palms. And then her right hand found it. A small, rounded recess built into the door. She put her fist into it, and found a handle. She pulled it, but it didn't budge.
She looked over her shoulder fleetingly, and to her terror saw that the Compies were almost around her ankles. Two of them already stood on Malcolm's legs, peering at his bandaged wound.
With a wrench she twisted the handle, and it slid sideways easily. For a moment, nothing happened, and then he removed her hand from the recess as her ears popped. The door made a plunk, and it sounded as if the door had been held against the wall by plungers. It swung forwards silently.
She peered into it for a moment, but saw only blackness.
This was no time to make sure it was safe. This was their only chance. She grabbed her pack, and threw it, watching as it soared through the doorway, disappearing into the dark.
Seizing Malcolm by the collar, she hauled him upwards, looping his left arm over her shoulder.
Malcolm groaned in pain, and weakly tried to move his injured leg out of the way as the two Compies on his leg fell to the ground, squawking angrily.
"Stand up, Ian," she said through clenched teeth.
"I can't," he mumbled.
"Ian. You have to stand," she said, dragging him towards the door.
The Compies swarmed around them, hopping up and down, snapping at her hands, chattering to each other in a frenzy.
She aimed the gun clumsily, and fired. The dart missed its target, and he heard a high whine as it bounced off of the concrete floor and soared off towards the front of the shed.
She staggered forwards, and one of the Dinosaurs leapt up at her face.
Not knowing what else to do, she head butted the tiny Dinosaur, and it fell backwards towards the floor. Furious, she swung her leg around, and knocked them back in great arcs.
Most of them hopped out of the way easily, but she caught at least half a dozen of them squarely in the torso.
They back off a little, but now her eyes had begun to adjust to the gloom, and she could see that there were several dozen Dinosaurs all around her.
She rushed forwards; only a few feet to the door. They were almost there.
She lashed out again with her leg, and knocked another three Compies away from her. Malcolm seemed to come to his senses suddenly, and she felt his weight on her shoulders lessen slightly as he began to walk forwards under his own power. He groaned in pain, and it seemed to be sapping up what little strength he had left to take this few steps.
"Go, Ian," she said, and pushed him forwards, towards the door, taking his arm of her shoulder. He almost doubled over, but staggered forwards, and caught the edge of the doorframe. Sarah dashed to the side, and grabbed a metal construction pole from a pile lying on the floor. It felt reassuringly sturdy in her hands, and she brandished it like a club.
She backed away, towards the door, and watched as Ian tumbled through it, into the darkness.
The Compies followed her, confident in their numbers. With a yell she surged forwards, and with a single horizontal swipe took out almost a dozen of them, sending them reeling across the shed.
The Dinosaurs backed off momentarily, and she used it to sprint back to the doorway, and stepped into darkness.
She could hear Malcolm's footsteps, intermingled with his coughs and groans.
She turned back to the open door, now the only available light, and leaned back through, pulling the heavy metal door towards her. As it swung closed, a single Compy hopped into view, standing in the doorway, preventing the door from closing. It's beady, glowing eyes surveyed her coldly, and it squeaked, as if it still believed they were playing a game.
"You little son of a bitch," she shouted, and swiped at it with her fist. As her hand made contact with the scaly skin she heard the clear crack shoot through the air, and as it was knocked back out of sight she knew that she had broken its neck.
With a grunt she seized the door, and pulled it closed. With another plunk it slammed shut, and sealed itself.
She was thrown into perpetual silence, and darkness. Cold, stale air filled her lungs.
"Ian?"
"Here," came his voice from below her.
She stepped forwards, feeling with her hands. Her thumb brushed a metallic surface in front of her, and she gripped it. A handrail. Her feet fell for a moment before they made contact with the floor again. She was on a staircase.
She descended gingerly, making her steps precisely, trying not to slip on the damp metal.
Malcolm coughed, a few feet away.
Her feet stepped down onto a soft, smooth surface, probably tarmac, and the handrail ended, her hand dropping to her side.
Her left boot bumped into something soft, and she nearly tripped. Bending over, and feeling with her hand, she felt rough cloth, tattered and dirty.
It was her pack.
With a flourish she unzipped it, and rooted around for a moment, until her hand folded around a metal tube. It was the torch they had found in the geothermal plant.
She clicked it on, and the darkness was suddenly thrown into sharp relief by the strong shaft of light which struck the ceiling.
Malcolm lay on the ground in front of her, panting.
Before her was what looked like an underground road, stretching off into the distance. The walls were jagged rock on both sides; the tunnel looked as if it had been dug in a hurry, or it hadn't been completed, the walls hadn't been smoothed. The ceiling was twenty feet above them, dripping with moisture.
On the other side of the metal door they could still hear the squawking of the Compies, and a scratching sound filled her ears as they scrabbled at the metal, trying to get through.
"You ok?" she breathed, crouching down beside Malcolm, who looked deathly pale under the glow of her torch.
"I've been better," he said lightly.
Sarah put her pack on, and tried to lift him up.
"Can't I rest a little longer?" he said, his chest rising and falling quickly.
"I'm afraid not," she said, pulling him to his feet, putting his arm over her shoulder again. "The others are going to try and pick us up, and they think we're in there. We need to go along this tunnel, towards the Garage."
"Why can't we stay here?"
"Because it's not safe here."
She didn't know why she said it, but she knew instantly that it was true. She had the nagging inkling that if the Compies wanted to get through, they'd get through. And she couldn't have that.