Claire and Owen wandered across the prairies for hours. It wasn't until the sun had begun to set that they saw the first sign of civilization. It was a quaint little ranch like one might see in an old wood etching. There was a large log cabin, a barn, a broken-down tractor, several wide fields, and a rickety old fence surrounding it all. The entrance was a sight to behold; the archway was made of rusted iron, or at least some kind of very sturdy metal, and the letters above the gate read "Badger Ranch". Claire proceeded to read these words out loud, at which point Owen made a snarky remark about how he could read it on his own. She retorted with a comment that she was too tired to remember, and they proceeded to have an argument over something trivial before agreeing to calm down and decide on a course of action.

After a few minutes of halfhearted bickering, they came to the conclusion that the only suitable option was to speak with whoever lived on this lonely patch of land, unaware that this would prove to be one of the worst decisions since pretty much anything InGen had come up with.

They limped over to the lonely shack, tired and worn. Owen lifted his fist wearily and knocked on the door. It wasn't his muscles that completed the action: he let gravity do most of the work. His exhaustion was quickly forgotten when an old, grizzled man appeared at the door with a shotgun in his hands.

"Whaddayer want?" he asked, pointing the barrel at Owen's face.

"Oh god!" Owen gasped, "Look, we don't want any trouble. Our plane crashed-"

"And I suppose you want to stay here for the night?" the man grunted.

Claire pulled Owen away gently.

"Um, no. We just want directions to the nearest town, if that's alright . . ." she said evasively.

The man scanned them both with eyes like coal. His mouth twitched slightly under a thick, silver beard.

"You can stay," he muttered, lowering his weapon, "I just don't want no cattle rustlers on my property. They steal livestock, you know."

Claire smiled.

"Oh, you're a farmer?"

The man shook his head.

"Naw, I don't have no cows. No horses either. Just my badgers."

Claire narrowed her eyes.

"Badgers? . . ."

Suddenly, a ball of fur scuttled up to her and started growling savagely. She shrieked and jumped backwards, nearly falling off the front porch. Buried deep in the tangles of the animal's matted coat were two beady, black eyes and a foaming mouth. The badger turned to Owen and started clawing at his pantleg.

"Pay no attention to Muncher," the old man chuckled, "He has rabies, but I wouldn't worry 'bout it unless he punctures your skin."

Owen was sweating profusely, trying to strike a balance between being polite and kicking the crazy animal away from his leg. The man seemed oblivious to his plight, however, and tipped his hat back casually.

"Name's Barnaby."

Claire flinched as he spat chewing tobacco on her shoe.

"I don't take too kindly to strangers who show up 'round these parts. Spec'ly dem queers."

Owen leaned backwards.

"Uh . . ."

"But you two look like the straight type, so I s'pose I can let you stay the night. It's gettin' late, and I dun wanna miss my program, so you'll have to just head on up to the guest bedroom and settle down without botherin' me. I don't think none o' my badgers are in there right now."

He shoved them through the door before they could protest.

"You can make a call in the morning. The phones only work when the temp'ture goes over ten outside, anyway."

He dragged them across the front entranceway and herded them through the living room, past an illuminated television set. Claire nearly choked when she saw footage of Isla Nublar on the screen. Barnaby snorted and looked at the images with disgust.

"Did y'all hear that dem dinosaurs got loose? It's Satan's work, I tells ya! The whole thing's a government conspiracy to make us believe that the dinosaurs actually existed."

Claire's eye twitched.

"You . . . You don't believe in dinosaurs?"

Barnaby laughed very loudly. Owen flinched as a few droplets of spit landed on his face.

"Coursn't! The Bible du'un mention no dinosaurs."

"Yeah, but it doesn't mention cats either," Owen muttered under his breath.

Barnaby didn't seem to notice his comment. He appeared to be half deaf, so it wasn't surprising. Instead of replying, he simply ushered them up to the guest room. When they were inside, he pointed to the twin beds.

"This is where you'll be sleeping. The bathroom is down the hall, so don't be poopin in my good sheets."

Claire laughed, but then she realized that he was serious. She let her giggling trail off awkwardly.

"Now, y'all go to sleep," Barnaby grunted, "My program is on soon, and I wanna see what happened to those people at the dinosaur park. They deserve whatever they get, those minions of Satan. I tells ya, if I were to run into one of them, I'd blast their head off with my shotgun."

Claire looked like she might wet herself. Luckily, Barnaby wheeled around and smiled before slamming the door shut.

"Goodnight!"

And then he was gone.

***TSJWFEW***

Vivian lifted her head as her prison was illuminated by the light of an open door. The woman with purple hair dragged a long stick across the bars of the neighboring cells, making a hideous racket. When she reached Vivian's prison, she stuck the rod between two bars and rattled it back and forth. Vivian shrunk away and placed her front feet over her ears. With a deep sneer, the woman dumped a bucket of oats into a feeding trough and slid it through a small flap near the bottom of the cage.

"Are you hungry, you big, fat horse?"

Vivian blinked.

"I'm a dinosaur."

The woman rolled her eyes.

"I know. I was being condescending."

Vivian sighed.

"Okay. Whatever."

She stuck her face into the feeding trough and began to lap up the oats. The purple-haired woman watched her with a deep frown.

"Aren't you the least bit upset that you're a hybrid dinosaur?"

Vivian shook her head.

"No. I'm being rescued."

"By whom?" the woman laughed.

"Lowery. He's coming to find me. He won't be alone. He'll call the cops."

The woman cackled cruelly.

"You really think he can help you?"

"No. That's why he'll call the cops."

The woman smiled and leaned forward, pressing her face between the bars.

"No one can save you. You're all alone, and you're going to die."

Vivian licked up the last of her oats.

"Sure. Okay. Do you have any more of these?"

The woman stood up straight and crossed her arms.

"You're the worst prisoner ever."

Vivian snorted angrily.

"Look, I've been through a lot. If you're not gonna bring me more oats, please find something better to do. I really don't want to talk right now."

The woman chuckled and skipped away. Vivian flinched as she slammed the door shut. Once again, the room was completely dark. The wind whistled shrilly as it blew through the cracked stone walls. The breeze washed over Vivian's back. She shivered and lay down on the cold cement floor.

"Please hurry, Lowery," she whispered, "I don't think I can hold on for much longer . . ."

***TSJWFEW***

Owen rolled over in bed and sighed. He couldn't get to sleep. Maybe it was the uncomfortable mattress. Maybe it was the blaring television set downstairs. Most likely, it was the picture of Jesus hanging near the foot of his bed. Something about the painting really creeped him out. The artist had chosen to draw the prophet's teeth in an unnaturally straight position, almost like someone had inserted comedically large dentures into his mouth. One of his eyes was slightly off center, yet he stared at Owen like a poorly-painted hawk. Of course, Owen was beyond questioning the artistic taste of this strange, badger-loving man, but it was terrifying, nonetheless.

Owen sighed and turned to face the other bed.

"Claire?" he whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Are you awake?"

"No, I'm talking in my sleep, dipshit."

She rolled over and looked at him sadly.

"Owen, this place gives me the creeps . . ."

"Are you being watched by the Jesus painting too?"

Claire shook her head.

"I'm more concerned with Mary over there . . ."

She pointed to an equally terrifying picture of the Virgin Mary, who had unintentionally large lips and a unibrow.

"This place is creepy, Owen. I don't feel safe. I think Barnaby is insane."

Owen shrugged.

"Lots of people are insane. We only have to deal with him until morning."

Claire bit her lip.

"We might be in danger."

Owen reached over the gap between their beds and touched her shoulder.

"Everything is going to be okay. What could possibly go wrong overnight?"

Claire frowned.

"We're in an isolated area with a man who hates dinosaurs and happens to be insane. I'm a woman who was actively involved with the institution he despises, and I could become a dinosaur at any moment. Do the math."

Owen let his arm drop.

"It's okay, Claire. These kinds of people are all talk and no action. I had a friend whose aunt was a creationist, and nothing bad happened."

"Was this aunt also a lunatic? Did she own a rabid badger?"

"She had a terrier with kidney stones . . ."

Claire sighed and rolled onto her back.

"Something's terribly wrong with this man. I'm getting a real bad vibe from him. He strikes me as the kind of guy who has a skeleton or two hidden away in his basement."

Owen shook his head.

"You're being paranoid."

"He said he wanted to shoot my head off, Owen!" Claire whispered furiously.

"Well, not you specifically . . . Kind of . . ."

Owen bit his lip as he heard Claire sniffling. Slowly, he got out of bed and lay down beside her.

"Claire, it's going to be okay."

She squeaked.

"No, it isn't! We're stuck in the middle of nowhere with a crazy person and the only other living being we can trust is a magical wing-lady who hasn't even shown us a sign for at least five hours."

Owen ran his fingers through her hair.

"Shhh. Things will get better. We've been through worse . . ."

Claire shook her head.

"No. What happened at the park . . . that was normal compared to this. At least we had the dinosaurs on our side."

Owen frowned.

"Yeah, but most of them were trying to eat us."

Claire swallowed the lump in her throat.

"That's not what I . . . Look . . . The thing is . . . I don't know how to say this . . ."

She took a deep breath.

"I can understand them. Sort of."

Owen scratched his neck.

"You can understand dinosaurs? I guess that makes sense. What did my raptors say?"

Claire shook her head quickly.

"No, no . . . It doesn't work that way. I can only understand herbivores. I hated being around them, because they reminded me of what I was."

Owen wrapped his arms around her.

"But you're not really a stegoceratops . . ."

Claire closed her eyes tight. Tears trickled down her face.

"It doesn't matter what I am. I have to go through every day knowing that it's out of my control. If something sets me off, I'm totally defenseless. I'm nothing more than an animal."

"You're much more than an animal."

"Try saying that when I'm a dinosaur," Claire laughed bitterly.

Owen laced his fingers through hers.

"I'll gladly say that when you're a dinosaur, because no matter what you are, you're still you, and I love you."

Claire didn't reply. Owen looked away, but found that both Jesus and Mary were staring at him. He winced and turned back to Claire.

"What did the dinosaurs say to you?"

Claire shook her head.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Owen nodded.

"Okay. I won't make you. Anyway, if you're really worried about Barnaby, we can sneak out the window-"

Claire laughed.

"Owen, we have nowhere to go."

"You could fly us somewhere."

After a brief pause, Claire's face hardened.

"Owen, I'm not your chauffeur. This is a serious problem, and we are not going to treat my condition like it's something that can be conjured up to get us out of trouble."

She continued to glare at him angrily until she realized that two horns were emerging above her eyebrows. She squeaked in fear and tried to push them back into her head. This only made them grow faster. Owen's eyes went wide.

"It's alright, Claire. Calm down. I'm sorry," he whispered quickly.

Claire continued to breathe in short gasps. Owen ducked out of the way as a horn grew dangerously close to his face.

"Claire . . ."

She was sprouting a tail. Owen put his hands on her cheeks and looked into her eyes.

"Claire, you can control this. Don't let it take you. Focus on me, okay?"

She whimpered. He kissed her half-formed beak.

"Just focus on me . . ."

He stared into her eyes intently. She stared right back. Slowly, the transformation subsided. The horns were sucked back into her skull, and her tail disappeared as well. She sighed with relief and placed her forehead on Owen's chest.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. You did nothing wrong. I shouldn't have upset you."

Claire shook her head.

"It's been a long day for both of us. Things will look better in the morning."

Owen smiled and ran his hand down her side.

"I'd better get back to my own bed. Something tells me that Barnaby would freak out if he thought we . . . you know . . ."

Claire chuckled.

"Yeah. We'll have to wait until we get home for that . . ."

Owen hadn't been expecting a remark as open as the one she gave him, but he had to admit, he was feeling a little better now that he knew the exact status of their relationship. He kissed her one last time before slinking back into his own bed and wishing her a good night's sleep.

They smiled warmly at each other as they dozed off, separated only by the bedside table. Eventually, Owen's eyelids grew heavy, and he began to drift into a gentle slumber. Before he could fall asleep, he heard Claire whispering to him once more.

"Owen . . ."

"Mhm?" he hummed.

"Run, Claire."

His nose twitched in confusion.

"What?"

"That's what the apatosaurus said to me. 'Run, Claire'. She knew my name."

Owen took a deep breath.

"I guess they're smarter than we thought."

"I guess so."

***TSJWFEW***

Downstairs, in the kitchen, Barnaby dialed a very long number on his phone. He held it up to his ear, keeping an eye on the hallway.

"I think these are the people you're looking for, Ms. Spurr. What do you want me to do with them?"