The droma staggered through the forest, wearily following the scent of food.

Some time ago, his pack had gone through a shimmering light into this strange new land – with few predators and ample prey, they had bred in their new homeland. He had been among the first generation born in this new land.

Then the sickness came.

It had started out small – members of the pack would start wheezing, shivering and losing energy. The plague had only spread further and further… until most of the pack were sick. The very young and the very old were the first to die – and even the adults and older juveniles were left weakened and ravaged.

Because of this, most of this juvenile's pack had died – some from the illness, others devoured by the native predators in their weakened state – and the survivors had struck out on their own. The pack had dissolved. He did not know what had happened to the other survivors – and he did not have much time to worry. His own survival was the greater priority.

He had attempted to scrape out a living for himself – catching smaller animals and attempting to scavenge… but his hunting skills had been incomplete and he was still weak from illness.

If that had not been bad enough, he had faced threats from the enemy within.

When they had arrived in this area, they had not been alone – other packs of their kind had been present. When each had stuck to their territories, that would be of little concern… but now, with a territory going spare, the others had moved in. These new arrivals had not taken kindly to an interloper – and even less to a sick one – and he had been chased out.

Eventually, the trail ended – desperate with hunger, he had managed to climb a strange barrier, scale an eight-foot rock structure and jump over a strange, crackling wire to get at a dead hoofed creature. Eagerly he dived on it…

A hiss alerted him to another droma, an adult male standing before him. The juvenile went rigid – hunger had blinded him and he had failed to check for threats. Perhaps this had not been such a good idea after all.

Ordinarily, he would have limped off – he could never take this larger adult in a fight. However, hunger had emboldened him. He moved forward, in a desperate attempt to intimidate this larger droma… before, quite suddenly, he began to cough, wheeze and splutter, leaving sprays of spittle covering the male.

The male took a step back in confusion, before hissing and preparing to strike. Realising that discretion was the better part of valour in this case, the juvenile limped off into the night, seeking to find a meal elsewhere.

. . . . .

Duke shook his head at the oddness of what had transpired. He knew that others of his kind had recently appeared - he had heard their calls, smelled their scents… but he had never actually encountered any until now. His reasoning had been they kept away, he left them alone.

Whilst dromas were intelligent, most animals were capable of working out the body language displayed by both members of their own species and of others. And this juvenile's behaviour had been odd – there had been something wrong with him. His thinness, his wheezing and coughing was an indication of that, as had his desperation.

However, ultimately, his mind decided against thinking further – dromas were mostly not creatures of information. All Duke could have known was what he had seen for himself. Ultimately, this had been an odd and uneventful encounter – leave it at that.

. . . . .

Vince Gilroy sighed as he shone his torch around the exhibit, briefly picking up indistinct shapes moving in the dark.

The burly Australian had been hired as a temporary workman by Percival ostensibly so the park could open more smoothly (but in reality, so he could spy on what was going on)… . he had, however, decided to stay permanently – the surroundings were nice, he got paid nicely… and, honestly, whilst Drew was a bit of a knob, he was preferable to Percival.

With the Assemblers doing most of the building work in the park, some would wonder why human workmen were needed at all. However, the Assemblers could do a lot of things… but they were still robots at the end of the day – the rigidity of their programming left them with limits. And when that failed, it was up to humans. That flexibility was why, when it came down to humans or machines, humans generally won.

Having said that…

"Shouldn't one of Koshkin's lads be doing this?! What can we do when somethin' big, toothy and mean decides it wants us for supper?!"

At the thin Scouser's ranting, Vince rolled his eyes – if it did, him drawing attention probably wouldn't help. "Somebody has to do it, mate", he said, "Koshkin's lot can't be everywhere – and we're the closest". He snorted, "At least everything in here's vegetarian…" His "partner" rolled his eyes, "Sure… and how do we know it came out of there? Y'seen those bloody terror birds? Could burst our skulls like watermelons!"

Vince sighed. This was the Santa Cruz herbivore paddock – where the trunked camel-things, giant armadillos and huge sloths lived. They were asked to check if everything was alright – a CCTV camera had, apparently, picked up something odd. Since they were the closest, they were the ones sent to check it out.

Now, it was probably a false alarm – one of the little antelope things had somehow managed to find itself on the wrong side of the fence. They'd find it, call it in and keep an eye on it until someone came. Simple as. Of course, the thought of it being a Titanis was always at the back of his mind – after all, his fortune-telling skills sucked.

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from the undergrowth. Both men went rigid and Vince shined his torch up to the source of the sound. What he saw surprised him.

It was a bipedal dinosaur, about four feet long and two feet tall, covered in dark brown feathers, grading to white on the tip. It had three toed, taloned feet, the second of which was tipped with a large, sickle-shaped claws. Its tail was ringed with white plumes.

They knew what it was immediately – a droma. What that Denham guy had trained. And, from the look of it, it wasn't in great condition – its ribs were starting to jut out, it had been wheezing and a discharge was leaking from its nose. It wheezed exhaustedly at them, before limping off into the night.

The two looked at each other, mute with shock. Nobody, but nobody was gonna believe this.

Recap for everybody – in the chapter "An Anomaly", it is revealed that, courtesy of NOP activity, there are wild dromas in the land around Prehistoric Park – whilst the three that came through in that story were killed, more survived.

This isn't a Bus Crash, BTW – the mention of other packs in the area indicates that this is not necessarily the pack that came through in "An Anomaly" – and my headcanon is that it isn't. And it would certainly be anticlimactic if that were the case – the wild dromas around the park will be coming back at some point.

There was, originally, a sequence where it's offhandedly implied the dromas got it from a sick compy. Whilst there are compys running wild in the land around the park too – and we're going to be seeing them intermittently, too – I ultimately cut it… principally because it somehow added to the horror when it was kept mysterious.

The title, BTW, is a misnomer - the disease the droma had is significant and it's going to have big effects on Jack's arc in Phase Three. Don't say I didn't warn ya.

(Also, Vince Gilroy is named after Aussie cryptozoologist Rex Gilroy).