Chapter 49

Truth and Betrayal

"You better start talking," Guiterrez said as he pattered down the wooden steps into the basement of the Safari Lodge into darkness. His footsteps creaked loudly on the boards. His feet touched bottom, and as he took a few steps into the dark space his shoes made deep echoing sounds on the floor.

"Talk about what?" Tim said.

"Where to begin," Anderson said over the radio. He was outside, patrolling the fences. Guiterrez had kept the door unlocked for now, which he found oddly unnerving, considering the armed soldier and twenty foot electrified fence between him and anything else. They had been at the lodge for well over half an hour without any real incident. As far as they could tell the lodge was still in pretty decent shape, and was secure to a tee. It was by far the healthiest looking building on the island; it had hardly aged at all in the harsh environment. It looked just as it had been left over a decade earlier, bar a few cobwebs.

They hadn't seen any sign of the Raptors since they chased Anderson and Guiterrez through the gate. Apart from the occasional sound of their snarls, they were nowhere to be found. The fact that there weren't visible prayed on Guiterrez's mind; as far as he saw it there were two things that they were doing. Either they were ambushing them again, and waiting for them to come back out, or they had gone somewhere else on the island. He hoped that they hadn't gone after Malcolm or Sarah.

"I'm not sure what you're getting at…" Tim began.

Guiterrez scoffed to himself as he flicked the light switch in the basement, the strip lights above snapping on with a flash, illuminating the room.

"You've been lying to us since you first asked us to come here. You knew the risks, but you came here anyway!"

"To save lives!" Tim said.

"You told us that the Velociraptors were dead," Anderson said calmly.

"I didn't say that in so many words," Tim said, "I said that we didn't know where they were."

"That's as good as. You didn't seem too surprised to see our little lizard friends."

There was a moment's pause.

"I had an inkling," Tim said finally.

There was a crackle, and Guiterrez heard Wu laugh from the genetics lab. "An inkling? I'm going to say that you've known longer than I have."

"You knew as well?" Guiterrez said, frowning as he looked at the interior of the basement. It was full of shelves and stacks of supplies, doused in cobwebs. It looked to him like a derelict miniature supermarket. He walked forwards slowly, picking up a short round tin, and blew the dust away quickly, lifting his head out of the way of the dust cloud.

Pork and beans.

"Yummy," he said to himself, putting it back down.

In all, the basement covered the entire area that the lodge did, and to him it looked like it might extend further. The walls were made of thick concrete, and it looked like every space available contained some form of supplies. There were batteries, radios, lights, water, food, fuel canisters, and even medical supplies.

"I didn't know for sure," Wu was saying, bringing him back to the conversation, "But I knew there was something odd going on."

"Okay, so you both lied," Guiterrez said, casting aside a large streak of cobwebs as he strolled down one of the isles. "But that doesn't explain how the Raptors are even still here. You said that you've been scanning the infa-red data from the satellite passes of the island for the last decade, and you haven't seen a trace of the Raptors. So you tell me, genius. How are they still here?"

Tim sighed over the radio, and they heard him still typing in the control room. "By now I think I can say with moderate certainty that the most likely explanation for that is that they use the subterranean tunnel grid to get around. They can move anywhere they want underground undetected."

"Why would the grid keep them off the IR scans?" Anderson said. "EM waves can penetrate that far with reasonable accuracy."

"True," Tim said. "But the tunnels are lined with two feet of concrete for stability."

Guiterrez nodded to himself as he stopped in front of a stack containing soap, and more tins of food. He picked up a bar of soap, nodding to himself and made to turn away, but stopped. His eyes wandered down to the tins of food. He paused for a moment, and then picked one of them up, and read the label, holding it up to the light.

"Spaghetti bolognaise," he read. He licked his lips, and felt the sudden ache of hunger in his stomach. He looked around for an instant, and grabbed two more tins, and took the bundle of supplies back towards the flight of stairs.

"So then, what, they nest underground?" he said into the radio.

"Not necessarily," Tim said. "They can move freely, undetected. But the tunnels would be cold. I'd say that they've been changing their nesting sites periodically over the years above ground somewhere on the island.

"And there was just not enough concentration of IR signatures to filter them out of the background," Anderson said.

"Exactly," Tim said.

Guiterrez shook his head as he emerged in the atrium, the bright light from the chandelier illuminating the dust which had accumulated on his body in the short time that he had been down in the basement.

Guiterrez looked around for a moment in the silence of the lodge, and felt a shiver creep up his spine as he moved silently on the thick carpet towards the small kitchen. He found it just as he had seen it a few minutes before; small, cluttered and utilitarian. He glanced around quickly, and then he spotted a small microwave near the back.

He smiled to himself, and then dropped the bundle on the tabletop. He opened cupboards until he found a few bowls, and he lined them up. Guiterrez opened a few of the cans of spaghetti, and dished it out. It looked pretty good to him; this stuff lasted forever. He put a plate into the microwave, and turned it on. There was a building whir, and the plate began to spin rhythmically under a harsh yellow bulb.

Guiterrez grinned, and turned, heading back into the atrium, and crossed the hallway, towards the bathroom, grabbing the bar of soap on the way out.

He opened the door quickly, and glanced around, and approached the sink, smiling. He ran the tap, and began slowly cleaning his face, looking at his disheveled face in the mirror.

"One thing I still don't understand," Anderson said coldly.

The sound of typing came over the radio, either from Tim in control or from Wu in genetics, or both.

"What's that?" Tim said.

There was a pause, during which time Guiterrez had time to decide that they were all thinking of exactly the same thing.

"What's wrong with Malcolm?" Anderson said slowly.

Guiterrez nodded to himself, scrubbing a patch of blood from his wrists with the thick bar of soap in the running water.

Tim paused for a moment. "What do you mean?" he said casually.

Guiterrez couldn't help but smirk at Tim's outfaced lie; he was pretending that he didn't sense what everybody else did.

"He means," he said into the radio, putting the plug in the sink and running the hot water, filling it up, "Why is he sick?"

"He was bitten by the Dilophosaurs," Tim said simply, "And they're venomous."

"But you said that the antivenin that you gave him counteracts the poison. Shouldn't he be fine by now? It's been over a day."

There was silence for a moment, and Guiterrez twisted the tap, turning off the water, and dipped his face into the water for a moment, and then came up, and rubbed his eyes. The cooling sensation of the water evaporating on his face was soothing, and the feeling of cleanliness was luxurious.

"He also might have had an infection from the wound he sustained from the attack," Tim said in response. His voice was course, as if the conversation annoyed him.

"I've seen his wound," Anderson said, "And seen dozens of infected wounds as well. If he's got one, it's not bad enough to put him down that much, that fast."

Tim responded immediately. "Now that's not true, there are plenty of infectious—"

Tim stopped at his last word, and fell silent for a moment.

"Tim, I wouldn't stall, you owe them answers," Wu said calmly.

Guiterrez frowned. "You seem to know just as much as Murphy does," he said, "So why don't you just tell us all about what's going on Henry?"

"Because," Wu said, "I'm busy."

"Haven't you finished uploading the data yet?" Tim said. "We need to get out of here soon if the San Juan fleet is on the way."

"I have," Wu said, "But I'm uploading some other things too before we leave."

"What?" Anderson said in disbelief.

So that's how it was, Guiterrez thought. All of this death, all of this danger, and they were still treating it like their little island which they owned where there was no threat from their creations. Nevertheless, there was something out of place; the fact that Wu would do that seemed out of character.

"Hey, don't blame me," Wu said, "It was Edgar's idea. Thank him for the stall."

That explained it, Guiterrez thought. There had never been any reason to trust that son of a bitch, and he wasn't about to start now. Why would he care about the data anyway? He didn't have anything to do with the mission at all. He was just tagging along because without them he was lizard food.

"Excuse me gentlemen," Edgar said smoothly, "But I think we've been led off of our conversation's course."

"Thanks, Jack," Tim said, "Thank you very much."

"Don't mention it," Edgar said.

Despite himself, Guiterrez grinned, washing his face.

"Murphy, damn it, stop stalling us. You know what's wrong with Malcolm, and you're going to tell us if I have to come over there and beat it out of you," Anderson said.

"Don't forget that I'm your employer," Tim said warningly.

"Not here, not now," Anderson said. "This is survival, and there is a man in that jungle that might die. And you seem to know what's wrong with him. My suspicion is that you've known for quite some time, actually. And I'd really like it if you'd share it with us."

"I don't see how it helps our situation right now…"

The sound of Anderson's rifle cocking loudly in the radio stopped Tim in his tracks. "Please," Anderson said. "If you don't tell us, and he dies, it's on you."

There was a long silence, during which Guiterrez dipped his hands into the water whilst he waited, forming a pool in his cupped hands. He crouched down towards the sink as he heard Tim take a long sigh, and he slapped the water onto his face lightly.

"Okay," Tim said.

"What is wrong with him?" Anderson said.

Tim inhaled sharply. "Ian Malcolm has the DX Virus," he said.

Guiterrez gripped the sink with his hands, and looked into mirror, staring back at his own face, his eyes full of shock.

Wu typed at the console, finishing the transfer of GAP files onto the second hard drive. It had taken a lot of time, as the files were distributed throughout the system, scattered to aid in their security. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, to stop all of the data being taken at once during the unlikely event of a hack, to give them time to detect it. But in their time constraint, and the threat of the Raptors, it was distasteful.

"How could this happen?" Anderson said over the radio.

"How do you think?" Tim said. "I'd assume that the Dilophosaurs are infected. Most likely to be infected as the low scavengers, as they feed off a lot of carcasses. Dilophosaurs aren't much higher up the food chain. They'd be the next most likely to carry the virus out of the entire population on the island. When they bit him, they transferred the virus."

"But I thought that the virus killed you after a few days," Guiterrez said. "Malcolm started getting sick immediately."

Wu spoke into the radio as he typed. "The first report of the virus we received showed that the effects of the virus took several days to make an appearance, and almost a week to kill the host, yes," he said. "But last week a man was brought into a hospital in Costa Rica; by our estimates he had come into contact with a carcass washed up from one of the islands just a few hours earlier. He was dead within minutes."

"Why so fast?" Edgar said, looking concerned.

"I'd say it would be because the virus mutated into a more deadly strain after it managed to jump species."

"How long does Malcolm have?"

"The virus isn't deadly in all cases, but it all really depends entirely on the individual."

Wu could hear Anderson and Guiterrez bickering and expressing their disapproval about being kept in the dark. But then Anderson stopped them in their tracks.

"The Raptors are back," he shouted over gunfire, "Tim I need you to get on the camera's and pulse the fences!"

"Right," Tim said hurriedly.

In the background of the radio they could hear the sound of gunfire, shouts, and screaming Raptors, coupled with electronic sizzling. Wu felt that at the moment that he had more important work to do. Tim could deal with them and answer their questions. With a twist of his wrist, he flicked the radio off, and continued typing.

"You nearly done?" Edgar said, facing the glass pane, looking down into the hatchery idly.

"Pretty much," Wu said, flicking his wrist.

Edgar nodded behind him, his face out of view.

"How do we get out of here, assuming the Raptors don't come back here?" he said.

Wu turned around, and sighed. "I'd assume that we'd get into the Jeep that Guiterrez and Anderson brought over here, and we'd drive it on over to the Safari Lodge, pick them up. We lay down suppressing fire until we leave the area, at which point I'd predict them to stop chasing us, as this is their territory. I mean, they haven't attacked us before now, and I'm pretty sure they knew we were here. They only came for us once we approached this vicinity. After that, we can go and get Malcolm and Harding from the maintenance road in the jungle. Then we head for the helipad and wait for pickup."

Wu stopped, and stared at Edgar's back, waiting for a reply.

Edgar simply nodded.

"Sounds good; great actually. So good in fact that I think you've done quite enough thinking for all of us."

Wu frowned, but shrugged.

"I haven't done that much really."

"No, really," Edgar said, turning around to face him, "I couldn't have done anything without you."

"What do you mean? You're just tagging along; you've done nothing to aid this expedition."

Edgar smiled. "Well, not yet. But I think that now's my time to shine. Hand me that drive, would you?"

Wu stopped, and inhaled deeply.

He stepped into between Edgar and the data drives, looking at his face. He looked him up and down; he realized that Edgar was a good head taller than he was, and was much younger. And then he saw the pistol glinting in Edgar's hand.

He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"What are you doing?" he said.

"My job," Edgar said quietly. "Look Doc, there's no harm in it. All I want is the GAP data. You can keep your cure, and nobody has to get hurt. Give me the GAP data, and I'll be on my way."

Wu stared at him for a moment, his stomach flipping over in his abdomen. "Wait," he said, "You can't leave, there's nowhere to go."

"I've got a freighter waiting for me at the Eastern Dock of the island. Once I get there, I'll take our data back to headquarters and goddamn, I'm a rich man."

"You'd have to walk all the way there."

Edgar smirked. "Oh no, I'm taking the Jeep."

Wu's mouth parted as he felt his heart begin to beat faster. "We'll be stranded here. You're going to leave us here?"

Edgar shrugged. "I've seen you guys get out of tighter spots before. Now move Doctor; I need to get out of here before the Raptors stop attacking the lodge."

Wu stood in his way, refusing to move. It was hopeless; there was no way he could stop him from leaving. All he could think of was to stall him. But Edgar wasn't going to wait.

Edgar surged forwards, and gripped Wu's shirt. With a tug of his shoulder, he threw him sideways. Wu felt himself fly bodily through the air, and slam into the large glass paned wall, stars exploding before his eyes. He turned on his feet, looking up at Edgar, who had turned away, and was unclipping the hard drive, and slipping it into his pocket.

Wu groaned, and surged to his feet, running forwards. He crossed the distance within seconds. But before Wu could even raise his fist, Edgar turned around, and raised the pistol to eye level, aiming it at his face. Wu froze, sighing.

Edgar smirked. "Sorry Doc," he said.

With a crack he snapped the pistol upwards and down onto his head. Wu cried out in pain as his knees buckled. A dull blackness descended rapidly over his eyes as he hit the ground, and he lost consciousness.

Guiterrez pulled the spaghetti out of the microwave, frowning, and took a bite. His face cleared for a moment in pleasant surprise as the familiar taste swept through his body. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste for a moment.

He cocked his head; the gunfire had stopped.

"Anderson, are they gone?" he said, heading back into the atrium.

"Just left, a moment ago," said Anderson, sounding confused.

"You hungry?" Guiterrez said, opening the door.

He pulled the heavy wooden door open a crack, and slipped outside into the dying light, descending the small flight of stairs. Anderson stood near the gate, looking out through the trees, his rifle aimed ahead of him.

"Here," Guiterrez said, handing him the plate and a fork. "Tastes pretty good. You need to eat if you're going to be our lookout."

Anderson took the food, and looked down at it for a moment. He inhaled the odor, his eyes closing, and then shrugged, taking a bite.

"Thanks," he said. "You not having any?"

"There's more inside, I'll go cook it in a minute," Guiterrez said, looking around.

The ground on the other side of the fence had been torn up, and he could see dozens of small circular holes in the grass where bullets had impacted the ground. Most noticeable of all was the fence in front of them, which had been bent slightly out of shape, and was beginning to look charred.

"Can you hold them?" he said.

Anderson paused, and then nodded slowly. "As long as we're out of here soon. Two of them are pretty injured now, one might be dead."

"Do you think they'll come back?"

"Probably—"

Anderson stopped as a whooshing sound drifted over to them. They both looked up as the sound of crackling gravel filled their ears. And then, in the distance, the Jeep rolled out along the road, heading away from the visitor centre.

"What the hell?" Guiterrez said.

Anderson cursed. "Son of a bitch," he growled.