The Range Rovers rolled out of view. A few minutes later, a massive wooden gate in the distance slowly opened and closed.
What lay over there? I wondered. Having rarely ventured outside, I made mental comparisons to the Magic Trolley leaving Mister Rogers' house. Perhaps my imaginary dinosaur friends and the Ninja Turtles lived beyond that gate?
I sighed, leaning against the glass. My nostrils fogged the thick panes.
Dark clouds slowly settled over the island. Patches of lightning dotted their undersides as rumbling began.
"The storm clouds are gathering, but I'm still having a good time..." I sang to myself. I smirked a little as I thought about the time Hammond had taught me that little ditty.
Rain spattered down on Geoffrey's head. Winds fiercely whipped through the palm trees surrounding the building. Geoffrey moaned, loping over a hill. The radio crackled with CB chatter about getting into storm shelters and securing this or that thing. A lot of technical stuff I didn't understand...needed to be...technicalized.
The gloomy clouds came nearer, the skies darkening. I thought about how tornadoes could destroy very secure looking objects, wondering if it could also shatter windows that resisted flying ottomans and Nintendos.
Also, would the building fly up into the air and drop down in Munchkinland?
Darkness fell, the rain coming down in sheets. Rivulets of water formed interesting patterns on the glass...on both sides. It seemed part had been improperly sealed. A steady drip drip drip behind me indicated a fault in the roofing construction.
Remembering Father's favorite saying, I scoffed. "You spared no expense."
I propped my chin up on the backs of my claws, watching herbivores standing stupidly in the rain like cattle. You could barely seem them now, but I had good night vision, and some of the flood lamps cut swaths through the dark.
Chunk. Some kind of loud mechanical clamping noise. The security devices beeped.
I glanced back at the observation room, but saw nobody coming through the doors. They just swung open on their own accord.
"Ghosts!" I cried, crossing my chest like I'd seen people do in movies.
But then I remembered watching Scooby Doo and The Hound of the Baskervilles, and thought maybe it wasn't a ghost. "Gang, it looks like we got a mystery on our hands," I muttered to myself.
I crept up to the door to the observation booth, now swinging outward. "Hello?"
No response, and I didn't see any Munchkins holding the door open. I gently nudged the door wider, wandered in to take a look around.
I'd seen the place enough times from the outside to not get overly excited. The only thing I found maddening: All the stuff Hammond forgetfully left in the room, and the trash can.
I stomped up to the bench, examining the vinyl cushion. The pad smelled of starchy pants, and Hammond and Wu's butts. As a dinosaur, you notice these things.
Reading glasses. I tried putting them on my head, but the brittle things snapped, lenses clattering to the floor.
A baggie of carrots and celery. Ick. I threw them across the room.
A half consumed package of Cheetos. They never let me have Cheetos. I dumped the contents into my mouth, rolling them over my tongue. Really didn't have good food mashing teeth in my mouth.
Salt and fake cheese, some kind of corn substance. I don't think I was supposed to eat the Mylar bag they came in, it didn't taste very good.
I nibbled a half eaten Clif Bar, spat it out.
A book on P.T. Barnum, several portions underlined and circled. I had a pristine copy in my cell, didn't care for that one myself.
A couple manila folders full of financial reports. I'm fairly certain if I understood accounting, I could have built up a case for embezzlement and fraud, but, you know, dinosaur.
I tipped over the trash can, checking out the smelly items inside the bag. Wasn't intentionally trying to make a mess, but nobody ever made me do chores, either, so didn't know how unpleasant I made things for Sanitation.
Flat Mountain Dew, rotten sandwich, banana peel, egg shells, peanut shells...the stuff I found did not taste good. Well, except for the M&M's.
I found a couple interesting things in there. A plastic badge on a lanyard with a big letter T on it, and a remote control with a broken button.
The lanyard didn't fit my neck, of course. Lucky for me, Hammond encouraged me to explore different hobbies like painting and the fashioning of jewelry, so I had a pretty necklace to clip the badge to. Wearing it made me feel rather spiffy, like an actual park employee.
The lights flickered. The doors clicked and beeped.
I gasped again. It seemed the "ghosts," or whatever it happened to be, didn't like me squandering my newfound freedom. I quickly darted back into the observation booth, grabbing the security door just seconds before it snapped back to the closed position.
I carefully stepped into the next room, propping the door open with my tail.
The corridor reminded me of Doctor Who's TARDIS interior, gray walls with lighting behind a bunch of white Frisbee things. Um, that's where the analogy ends, actually. They'd built it rather cramped and narrow.
A few yards ahead of me, another security door came swinging toward the closed position. With a startled cry, I bolted forward.
Too late. It locked shut the moment I got there.
Click! The door I'd come through also snapped shut, the force of the mechanism sending the broken remote skidding across the floor like a hockey puck.
Trapped! Boxed in like those large cages they put me in for transport. I shrieked and beat on the door, but it had been designed with me in mind.
I took several calming breaths. All right, Al, I thought. You're not one of those dummies down in the paddock. How would a person get out of this?
They had an intercom system on the wall, but what would I say? "Hey, I'm a dangerous dinosaur trapped in that little space outside my cell. Could you please let me out"? Nope, not the greatest idea, unless I'm starving or something.
I sighed, turning over the badge in my claws.
Hmmm...
Having seen people do similar things before, I waved the badge over a little black box on the wall. "Open Sesame Street."
Nothing happened. Its tiny light stayed red, possibly explaining why the badge had been thrown away.
As a "zoo animal," I had nothing but time, so I waved the badge again, pretending to be a staff guy. "Hey, I'm a person. I'm coming into work!"
I swiped the badge. "Open up, I'm a human!"
"Abri la puerta." I passed the plastic card by the scanner again. "I want a pork chop."
The door was not bilingual.
"Open up, it's the police!"
It didn't recognize my authority. I waved the badge again and again.
Beep! Click! Beep!
Power fluctuation or temporarily working badge, I still don't know, but whatever I did seemed to work. The door popped open, allowing me out into the building.
I never had the luxury to look around the hallway beyond the security gates. Generally I got shot full of tranquilizer any time they wanted to move me. A couple times I did actually see the area, but I had a shock collar on and they made sure to rush me back into my cell right away.
Lots of security doors. Windows overlooked rooms full of computers and lab equipment, scientists poring over microscopes, test tubes and paperwork. I ducked out of sight when one of them looked my way.
I came across a little employee lounge. Vending machines, water cooler, coffee and hot water machines, a couple couches and posh chairs. A Galaga arcade game bleeped in the corner, the Earthshaker pinball machine playing tinny instrumental rock music.
The television played the classic movie channel I always watched in my cell. Ivanhoe again? I pointed the broken remote at the screen, pushing the plus button.
TV-4? It seemed I'd been denied a channel. The one in my cell only went from 1 to 3. I had to watch this.
In addition to the vending machine, they had a Mr. Coffee. I poured myself a cup, seating myself on a white couch. The wooden legs broke beneath me. I sighed in frustration, gazed at the CRT monitor.
The Prisoner with Patrick McGoohan. They hadn't allowed me to watch shows of this kind. At the time, I didn't know why.
I certainly sympathized with the character: A man gets very angry with somebody behind a desk, and a villain in a tophat fills his house with knockout gas, abducting him to a weird little town.
I sipped from the cup as I watched the actor being chased by a weather balloon. No one ever let me drink coffee. They said it was "bad for me."
Yuck. I sprayed the tasteless beverage in disgust.
I would have kept watching the show, but then the power went out.
A minute later, a woman shined a flashlight in my face and screamed.