"Where are we going?" James asked quietly, following never more than two paces behind Billy—the leader of the two-man team.
James had learned quickly that Billy, though polite, quite and sometimes too intelligent for his own good, was a strict leader. One had to keep up with him at all times, had to be prepared for anything at any time and must act smart. He liked to say, "Stupid is as stupid does." And Billy was not fond of stupid in any sense of the word.
"We're checking out the compound to note the degradation and then heading off to the bone yard," Billy mumbled, chin tilted down for the time being as he watched the GPS screen to make sure they were on track.
His partner nodded, looking back over their shoulders. James was about a foot taller than Billy, a bit more muscular than and not nearly as smart (though not dumb either) as his leader. He had dark brown hair, so dark it looked black which was buzzed and coming in now as a tennis ball-type fuzz that prior to coming to the island—his wife had loved to touch. She had begged him not to go, but it was the chance of a lifetime.
Billy wondered why the men at InGen employed James. He was a part-time artist, part-time geologist. His knowledge of rock types and rocks couldn't help anyone on the island, unless there was a rock handy to throw at a starving raptor. A smile crept over Billy's chapped lips as he imagined how a raptor may react to being hit in the noggin with a rock.
"What's at the bone yard?" James pondered aloud.
The men crested over a ridge, revealing the man-made valley beneath where the overgrown, decrepit compound lay. Billy grinned, stuffing the GPS into his back cargo-pant pocket and hopped down to a landing with the aid of an exposed root.
"The bone yard, seen from the satellite images is a weird feature on the island whether the predators oddly collected before death. The goons back in the lab on the mainland want to know why the predators collected at that location," the photographer explained, smiling now with bright teeth gleaming.
For a moment James thought he resembled a raptor.
Something that Billy didn't realize until much later than expected, was that the clearing in front of the compound was absolutely trampled. Last time he was on the island, the expanse before the compound was overgrown with foliage at least up to his waist. Now, there was a clear trail straight through the valley. He removed the camera from its bag and screwed on a lens, lifting the camera to his eye.
Gazing through the view finder he took photo after photo of the compound, then turned the lens down to the ground where he captured even more images of the mass of footprints beneath them. Large prints, small prints, tiny prints—all prints of herbivores for sure, the only herding animals on the island.
James smiled, "Migratory path?"
Billy shrugged, "Island is a little small for migration, but that seems like the only legitimate cause."
The compound's doors hung off the hinges: one remained in the frame, the windows so covered in water spots and mold that the cracks—sure to be in the glass—were hidden; the other door was gnarled opened outward with jagged metal jutting from the upper hinge, the handle twisted completely off, the glass broken. The shards of glass crunched dully under the moss at the entrance. Entering the lobby, Billy's heart began to race in his chest.
Images of the last time he was in the compound flashes hotly in his mind. "This way!" Run, run from the raptor 'cause it's coming for you. You'll be a meal if you don't get away. Alan, shit! He's with the dumbass tile guy. Run, run, run. Hide. Yes, a cage to keep it out. Yes! No… a cage to keep us in! Fuck! "Push!" That's right! Push, push, push. Faster, harder! Lock it in, yes! Run, run! Run! "Billy-"
"Billy!" James called out.
Billy was suddenly aware of where he was, that he wasn't in immediate danger and that James' sweaty hand was on his forearm. He looked down and gulped, feeling his heart ebb as it slowed to a normal pace. His eyes fluttered still until he rubbed them with the back of his hand. Only the weight of the camera hanging around his neck provided any comfort.
"I'm fine," his hand moved to James' middle finger, plucking it and lifting the clammy hand from his forearm, "Really."
James nodded and turned back to the desk, now a mound of mold, intertwined ivy and foliage. He stepped back, lip curling as a harmless snake slithered across a knot of vines.
They stalked deeper into the compound, the vines and foliage having long since rotted the heart of the building, making it absolutely unlivable. The incubators were in even worse condition than they had so many years ago; each little egg shell was filled with a mossy, soggy looking soup that moved with a sickening number of larvae from some unknown insect or amphibian. The large tubes that once housed dinosaur fetuses were absolutely filled with algae, the liquid a murky green slime that made James gag. Billy turns to look at his partner and laugh, remembering how it felt to photograph the nursery 12 years ago.
He shot more photos, making sure to try and get as close to the same position as his other images were taken a dozen years before. It wasn't hard to remember—the adrenaline from the situation jogged his memory.
Billy led the geologist through the same hallway, spying the vending machines, one of which still had the broken front. The hole was larger than Billy remembered and when he inspected it closer, dried blood tipped the glass shards. Torn candy bars still sit perched against the wire coils in the machine. He sighed and pulled a rock-hard Snickers bar from a coil, tossing it to the floor.
James wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to look towards the entrance of the compound where a great horn sounded. "Symphony?"
The photographer rolled his eyes, "Didn't you do a little research before coming?"
The geologist frowned and shook his head as Billy rushed past, lifting the camera eagerly. The call of the great Parasaurolophus boomed out in a harmonious melody now, at least a dozen great bests lumbering across the clearing. James walked up behind Billy and gasped, his eyes growing wide as each beast at least 20 feet tall walked by.
Billy lifted the camera, "Research, James." He laughed and snapped photo after photo.
Each barrage of snapshots caught the hadrosaurs as they moved gracefully through the overgrown parking lot of the compound. The largest, most colorful male presumably moved at the front of the herd, his horn and duck-bill wildly decorated with vibrant hues of orange, red, purple and speckles of what appeared to be a Caribbean blue color. The photographer marveled at the beasts, shaking his head in disbelief as he admired the formation. Alpha male at the front, two slightly smaller creatures behind him, fanning out in a slight diamond pattern that must have been females—their colors were earthy and muted. Even smaller juveniles—about the height of a school bus—strode behind the females, about four or five of them. These juveniles were backed by another male, possibly one growing to the age where he'd compete for alpha position in the herd. At the center of the diamond pattern were a number of young-ings, early juveniles that had yet to grow into their horns which were awkwardly large for their stubby heads. Their bodies were no bigger than a small Mini-Cooper.
Billy crept down the stairs, snapping photo after photo of one infant that had a gash in its tail so large that he wondered how it could've survived whatever had attacked it. It waddled, crying out to its mother that must have been at the head of the heard with the alpha male.
"This isn't a good situation," Billy murmured to James who remained inside, hiding inside of the lobby.
As if on cue, the infant Parasaurolophus collapsed in the middle of the clearing. Billy stood motionless. He didn't hear or see anything that came out and gutted the infant. He frowned and lifted the camera, twisting the lens to zoom in. Only then was a spear revealed, pinning the infant by the throat to the ground.
His jaw went slack, "What the fuck?"