Jurassic Park: Chaos Theory

Okay this is my long in the making sequel to Michael Crichton's original JP novels. I have strived hard to stay as true to novel canon as humanely possible. Please feel free to suggest improvements or critique on my plot/writing style.

Also some hints of what to expect in this work...

Spoiler:

Okay here's the first chapter...


Gandoca leaned against the boat’s rail, staring out at the jungle. It had been several hours since Senor Dodgeson’s jeeps had disappeared into the surrounding trees, with still no sigh of their return. Today’s heat was much augmented by the humidity of the jungle, and Gandoca was perspiring heavily. More then anything, he was growing impatient for something, any sign of the men.

He looked over his shoulder to see the other fishermen. All of them local riffraff, men he’d called at the last second from the surrounding docks. But he’d needed a crew badly, especially after Dodgeson had been so generous… He wiped his brow with the back of his hand as he leaned away from the rail. Taking an exaggerated sigh, he shook his head in frustration.

He didn’t like being out here, on the five deaths. Dieguito was no fool; he’d heard what the locals had said about those islands for years, that they were a place to be avoided. And yet… he looked out in the jungle, and saw and heard nothing. Diego had said there were only birds here…. but really it was an almost eerie silence around the landing spot.

Something was just off about this whole place, and he didn’t want to stay here any longer then he had too. The fishermen were getting nervous too, barely even coming out of the cabin. Superstitious idiots, those gringos would never have given Gandoca all the dinero if this place had been the least bit dangerous would they?

He smiled a bit, at this momentary thought of the money. The others didn’t know, and they would never know. This was one hell of a windfall, and damned if he let a near perfect opportunity like this go to waste. No way in hell was right. If he played this right, his whole life would change in an instant.

It was probably already afternoon, by the way the heat was going. The sunwas already starting to sink in the sky, and he knew soon there would be a cold chill. It was getting dangerously close to the deadline the Senors had detailed, and Gandoca didn’t have a good explanation for that. He didn’t have any idea of what would happen should they hypothetically not show up.

There was a murmur over in the cabin, and he looked up. One of the fishermen had approached him suddenly, a concerned look on his face. “Four O’ clock, four o’ clock”, the man was saying. Ah, so it was quite obvious, and Gandoca should have seen it coming sooner, but the others in the cabin were starting to worry about time too.

Gandoca could sympathize; he didn’t want to be on this damned Island when it got dark. Would the silence continue? He had no idea, but didn’t really want to stick around to find out. He was concerned though, since if Dodgeson didn’t come back, no grande payday for Gandoca.

“Hold up,” he muttered. “Just give them another half hour, they’ll be here soon I think.” He didn’t want to let his worry show on his face, though he wondered how obvious it was. “Just wait…” he said trying to think of a stalling tactic. “I have to take a leak out in the bush, give me a half hour okay?”
He took the man’s dismissive wave as an okay. “Five o’ clock is final.” Sure, sure, it’s got to be Five O’ clock somewhere he could do that.

Gandoca turned around and unlocked the ramp off the boat. As he walked off and into the ground of Isla Sorna for the first time, he looked around for someplace inconspicuous. Okay so maybe he didn’t have to take a leak. He just wanted to get one look around before they left. He knew the government didn’t like people visiting the islands, so this might be his only chance. Something interesting to tell the grandkids at least.

He took one last look at the boat before ducking into the brush. Immediately it was apparent that this jungle was denser then he’d imagined. He continuously had to swipe away branches from his face and step over roots that threatened to trip him up. Also he was soaking wet from the minute he stepped inside the foliage.

Gandoca hadn’t thought to have so much trouble here; after all he’d considered himself a sturdy man all his life. He was thirty-two years old, right in his prime and he’d taken Dang good care of himself to remain that way. Still, this climate seemed to be attempting to push him. He already had a layer of stubble across his face, as he hadn’t shaved in three days. Truth was he was just too damned tired those days to even care.

More to the point, it was only so far that this damned jungle he could go he realized. As he went on, it seemed to be getting thicker and thicker. Just no end to this stuff. It seemed that the deeper one went in, the harder it got to pass. He wondered vaguely how his cousin Diego was faring in this mess.

That’s right… Diego was supposed to be on this island too, but he’d left the other day. Not a single peep from him since. Ungrateful bastard, if he’d just been able to contact him somehow then Dieguito might actually have talked him out of going to in this damned jungle. It was a hellhole of a mess that was what it was.

He swatted away another branch that viscously had slapped his face, and suddenly blinked as he stepped out into the daylight. He had to readjust his eyes to the brightness of it all, and he had to shield them. Grasping blindly he felt his hands grab something soft.

A red rag of, just hanging from the branches of the nearby brush. Gandoca didn’t question this at all, but took it to wipe his face and hands with. By this point Gandoca was bleeding a bit from the many cuts he had sustained in the underbrush. He thought vaguely that now would probably be as good a time as any to turn back.

He checked his watch, about four thirty. No way in hell did he want to get stuck here. Dieguito absentmindedly held on to the dirty scrap as he took a few more paces in the clearing. And then he looked up.

What he saw took his breath away. There was no other way to describe it. Right there in the middle of the clearing were four trees, almost forming a box formation. In the center of these was a huge dugout in the shape of an oval, with what seemed to be underbrush lining every side.

His interest piqued, Gandoca cautiously walked forward, until he could see inside. Three ovoid white objects…reminding him for the entire world like… He blinked again in surprise. No it could not be… that was impossible!

He quickly looked to his right and left, trying to detect any traces of movement. The silence of the jungle seemed to have been placed as if it were a stifling blanket. Nothing moved in the brush, not even a birdcall…

He looked in his hands, let the clothing scrap fall slightly. Biting his lower lip, he leaned down and wrapped the cloth around one of the eggs. Lifting it, he was surprised to find how heavy it was.

Nothing the locals had said resembled anything like this scene, which greatly disquieted Gandoca. He should have heard of something like this. Softball sized eggs don’t just appear in the middle of the jungle on a deserted Island.

Backing slowly away from the nest, Dieguito realized that he was sweating. His watch read twenty minutes, and he didn’t know…

He glanced back down at the egg. Dang, he decided. If Dodgeson really wasn’t coming back, there was going to be no payment. This might be the next best thing after all. He swallowed hard, knowing he was probably going to have to run.

One to make the boat, two to beat whatever had laid this thing. He dove back into the jungle with an alarming speed, fear giving him legs.
This time the brushes whipped him even harder, but he kept on going.

The silence was deafening him now, pressuring him on all sides. Still, he clutched the egg close to him as he ran. He could hear something in the near distance… a break in this deathly silence.

The roar of the boat motor as the captain started the engine. It seemed to pierce the jungle in such a terrible way, being everywhere at once. More sweat broke out on Doca’s face, as he increased his speed.

Finally he broke through again, seeing the boat. Lucky…it seemed they were just about pulling the anchor up as he did so. Son of a bitch…talk about timing. He yelled at them to lower the ramp, even as he quickly ran up to it.

He felt so much relief getting up that ramp and falling against the railing. He nearly dropped the egg in his stupor, but he caught himself in time. He glanced at the other fishermen, all staring at him.

One two three… “Hey where did the other guy go” He asked to nobody in particular. They only pointed out into the jungle, saying something about going to look for him in the jungle.

Dammit… Gandoca thought that would delay things even more. “Just wait…” he said, seeing the last of the anchor go up. “Give it another ten minutes for him.” He hadn’t needed one of those incompetents to try and fetch him, especially when he was quite capable of taking care of himself.

Five O’clock Dodgeson… he hoped that the man would be here in time.
While the boat idled he went back to the galley, and grabbed his pack.

Taking the egg, he unwrapped it from the cloth and put it in. He made sure to grab as many napkins and extra clothing he could find to cushion it as much as possible.

Then he walked back out to the rail, cursing under his breath. Dang them, he was perfectly fine on his own. Ten minutes were up it seemed… he looked out for any sign of Dodgeson…

Then the silence broke once more, sending chills down his spine. The engine had started and the boat was moving now, but that was not the disturbing part…

The forest seemed somehow alive…in a way that it hadn’t before. He felt his mouth suddenly go dry as he tried to comprehend this. Every bone in his body was telling him that…

The boat had already reached the bend when he heard it properly. What would stay with him forever, whenever he thought about Isla Sorna.

A roar burst through the jungle something both bloodcurdling and primeval, like it belonged to another age. Gandoca was so shocked that he dropped the rag in surprise.

Maybe just as well, for he walked backwards into the cabin he didn’t notice the scrap fluttering in the breeze before being lost in the river.
Diego’s torn shirt.

I really like this so far. Nice work

0.0 Holy Jesus, that's big!! I dont think i've ever written a chapter that long, EVA!!! Please continue!!!!!

Okay here is my second chapter of the story. I hope you enjoy it!

The Village

(Circa 1996)

It was the relentless hammering of nails that had woken the hunter up. He used to think he could have slept through anything life threw at him until fairly recently. Especially not anything in this Dang village could have disturbed his rest like this. The man stared at his coffee in a daze, trying to make sense of his tiredness and failing.

It made no Dang sense. He’d been up at the crack of dawn on countless hunts against the most deadly game imaginable. He’d stared death in the face and laughed, watching the eyes of the true predators stare right back. Those days he would trek twelve hours in hundred-degree weather with a full pack carrying a shitload of Dang tourists through the Savannah. Yet in all his life, nothing had disturbed Robert Muldoon more then the drumming of the nails this morning.
He looked around at the rest of the bar, everybody falling into their morning patterns already. How could they not hear it? Maybe they heard but chose to ignore it was what they did. After all in a village this small, everybody knew his neighbor quite well. Probably even down to their Dang family history too. So if they stayed out of arguments, there would be no animosity in the village.

Muldoon considered this as he attempted to force more of the coffee down his throat. Really vile stuff. He knew they made it locally because there was really no way to make the commercial stuff taste this bad. He might as well be drinking canned Crap for all the flavor this had. He stood up from his table, and kicked the chair to the side.

As Muldoon walked up to the bar, he dumped the rest of the coffee in the trash can. He slammed the empty mug on the bar, calling the bartender over.

Dang that guy was quick, already knew exactly what he wanted.
“Your usual sir?” The man said, scrambling already to the back of the racks. Muldoon nodded, absentmindedly.

Reaching into his pocket he grabbed a few coins out and threw them on the table. “Good man, Jophrey”, he said without thinking. Taking the drink the bartender had set for him, he turned in his barstool to face the crowd.

Not that much life in here this time of morning, but that was pretty much to be expected. “So Jophrey,” he said because he was bored. “Why’d he have to start today? I thought that Dang asshole wasn’t due to start for another week?”

Jophrey just shrugged, quickly shuffling the coins off of the bar and into his pocket. “People speed up I guess, it’s normal.”

Muldoon took another swig of the whiskey. “The hell it is.” It was still pretty bad, but it did take the edge off of the coffee and that was all that mattered. At least here in his middle years, when he was starting to get cranky.

He shook his head, Dang fine stuff, even if it did taste like piss. He spoke half to the village, half to himself and a third to the bottle. “I wish I knew how to quit you.” He chuckled, setting the Whiskey down on the counter.

“Well, if the Dang fool won’t listen to no man, maybe he’ll listen to me.” He said loudly, “Where he at? I want to talk to him!” Muldoon had been in this Dang village for six months, but still hadn’t gotten the lay of the land.

Ah hell, retirement was a bitch, or so they said anyway. He slowly got down from the barstool, needing to stabilize himself with the edge of the bar.

“Never go near the place myself,” Jophrey said in a low voice, almost a whisper. Right by the edge of the jungle, I’m told. People go in there deep enough,they hear owls hooting in the daytime. It’s not natural.”

Superstitious asshole, Muldoon should have known really. “There’s nothing scary, no boogeyman and I’m going to prove it.” He was feeling really better know, since the whiskey was making its way through his system.

“Geddatta my way,” he mumbled, as he nearly crashed into the nearest table trying to walk out the door. “Gonna have a talk with him, tell him that in this country…”

He squinted as he suddenly burst out into the daylight. He could hear the hammering louder now; it was coming from the western side of the village. Ah hell, he knew something like this was going to come sooner or later.

It was that much of a walk, and he pinpointed the location pretty easily just following the noises of construction. From the sound of it the Asshole had rounded up at least four more chumps to help him out with his thing. Fine, Muldoon thought, taking another swig of the Alcohol.

There could be ten dozen of them there and that wouldn’t affect him that much. With his free hand he tilted his hat downwards, so that it shaded his face. Crap was about to go down, kids leave the things at home.

The workmen were going up and down the hill, like ants from a hive. Muldoon staggered a bit, as he tried to ascend, even though this was the jeep trail. He was sweating a bit, wondering why it was like this. Back in Africa he could have done this with no effort whatsoever, and be ready to run when over this.
He blamed this Dang jungle; the humidity was getting to him here, even though he wasn’t even in the shade of the trees. Especially his knees, but that shouldn’t matter that much because he was almost over the ridge now. How the hell did Jeeps even get up this piece of Crap, four wheel drive?

As Muldoon crested the ridge the sound of hammering grew louder until it filled his ears. He dropped the whiskey bottle in disgust, watching only halfheartedly as it rolled down the hill, off the side of the road.

Turning back, he saw what all the fuss was about. “Mother of God,” he muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth with his anger. Of course, the asshole had to do it today, of course. Why not tomorrow?

At the very summit of the hill there was a large barn still obviously in the beginning phases of construction. The only way you could tell it was supposed to be a barn though, was because the huge doors were already cut and set to one side. What else could it honestly be?

“All right,” Muldoon growled as he walked around the perimeter of the building. “Where is he? I just want to talk with him!” He was more than a bit agitated, though it was hard to tell how much of that was the liquor talking.

“What’s all the ruckus now?” That seemed to come from somewhere above him, and as Muldoon looked up, he saw one of the workmen up on the platform. “If you’re looking for Gandoca he’s in the house.”

Muldoon turned around, sure enough there was a medium sized house not five paces away from where he stood. Crap, he thought, the man doesn’t even have the brains to oversee his own operation.

Storming angrily over to the house, Muldoon knocked on the door as hard as he could. He wanted to break the Dang door down that was how angry he was right now.

“In a second!” He heard a door slam somewhere in there, as if in a hurry. Well as long as the man got his ass into gear, Muldoon would only give him half a piece of his mind.

Door opened, and a tall Hispanic man stared back out at him. Crap, not even like the guys from this village. Looked like he was from the coast or something. Muldoon just had that feeling, maybe from the way he was standing or something.

“Sorry,” the man said, “I was just a bit busy.” He leaned a bit in the doorway, breathing heavily, as if he was very tired.

Well if that don’t make two of us. Muldoon thought to himself, shaking his head. “What the hell is up with your little shop class project?” He just was about ready to vent on this little asshole for making such a big ruckus.

“Whoah woah,” Gandoca put up his hands to try to calm him down. “Why don’t you just sit down by the side out there and I’ll be out in a minute.”

Muldoon squinted, seeing the man’s hands were bleeding just a bit from the side. Well it was good to see the man was actually getting off his ass and working instead of just leaving all the work to the chumps outside.

“Hell no,” Muldoon was absolutely firm now. “I’m not going to take any crap from a guy that can’t even do basic yard work.” He did step backward a bit, just in case the guy actually wanted to come out and clear things up a bit.

“Oh this…?” The man actually seemed a bit disturbed, as if seeing his bloody hands for the first time. “I was just feeding the birds is all, Dang thing wouldn’t take the food.” He wiped his hands across his shirt, as if he were too distracted to care.

“You know what?” Muldoon muttered to himself. “Can you just can it for today at least?” He was quite tired by now, and he could feel the effects of the liquor starting to wear off.

The hangover would probably be too much for him, even now.
“Just save this Crap for tomorrow if you’re going to do it at all.”

Gandoca shrugged, as if exasperated. “Whatever you say, Senor,” he didn’t sound all that enthusiastic about it either way. “Just call me back in the morning when you’re over your hangover.”

Smartass, Muldoon thought to himself as he walked away. He decided to just come back the next day, give him the same piece of his mind. At least that’s what he was thinking just before his foot stepped on something hard while he was heading towards the road.

His first thought was that he’d stepped on the bottle and broken it, but that was impossible of course. Muldoon had seen the Dang thing rolling all the way to the bottom of that hill, so there was no way in a million years…

He looked down, blinking again. The shock caused him to lift up the hat brim all the way to the top. Maybe no way in a million years… but maybe in Sixty-five million years.

Robert Muldoon bent down and removed the broken ovoid fragment from the mud. If he hadn’t stepped just right there he would’ve never noticed it too.

He took a deep breath, taking a furtive look back at Gandoca’s house. Yes the door was closed all right.

Carefully he put it into his jacket pocket, being careful not to crack it. Amazing what brought back memories, and in a place like this.

Something clicked in his head. The barn, the hands, it made sense now. It really all fit perfectly. But he was the only one who knew…aside from Gandoca.

But why do anything about it now? A slow smile crept over his features as a thought struck him. This could be the cure to his slump, the feeling he couldn’t shake ever since retiring to this dump.

It might take a while for this to pan out, if it did at all. But Muldoon would be ready for it. After all, he was a hunter; the wait was merely one part of it. The best part of all as an experienced guide like him could well attest too.
He wasn’t going to bother this guy tomorrow oh no. Just let him think he’d forgotten and that it was all suddenly okay now.

Muldoon turned back to look at the barn before heading down the hill. He knew there was no way in hell that asshole was a farmer, no way in hell. In a way that actually thrilled him, one last squeeze of energy from that liquid courage.

The wait…
It was time to live dangerously.

Okay so here is Chapter Three of my novel canon fanfiction. I worked real hard on the lecture part. Much credit for helping me on the lecture goes to user Dinos4ever. Thanks for the help!

Anyways, I hope you'll like the new chapter.

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Berkeley

(Circa 2001)

Dr. Marty Guitierrez cleared his throat as he grasped both edges of the podium. It had been a long time since he’d last been invited to speak before an assembly. No two ways about it, he was definitely more nervous now then he’d been in a while. He could feel the sweat dripping down his brow as he stared out at the crowd.

Every eye in the room seemed to be focused on him, waiting for him to begin the lecture. As they should, tickets to this little guest spot weren’t all that cheap, although Marty had fought with the administrators about that.

More of this damned ‘budget cuts’ that every university seemed to be fussing about these days. It didn’t make all that much sense really, especially when the school president got paid that high.

But then again… what did a visiting scholar really know about those things? Marty put on a smile for the crowd, as he cleared his throat again. “Thank you all for coming today, I would first like to extend my thanks to the president of UC Berkeley for this wonderful and really unexpected invitation…” He blanked out to most of what he was saying, because it was just rote procedurals.

Marty was pushing forty these days, and had never really expected to be invited as a guest speaker. Hell, they barely appreciated him over there at Yale those days; budget slashing after budget slashing… He rarely even had a chance to complain about it too. Or rather he would, and they would have his paycheck on the table when he went to go talk to them.

“Now what I’d like to talk to you today is a very relevant topic in the news recently. Only recently has it gained much scholarly attention, and I consider that an unfortunate situation. There is a wealth of material that still lacks serious scientific consideration, and possibly many new discoveries to come. But first… we come to the crux of the matter.”

He flipped the button for the PowerPoint slide to begin. Using his laser pointer, he illustrated to the audience two large images of huge boa python. It must have been about seven feet long and it was feasting on the remains of a deer. Above the animal a sign could be read ‘Disneyworld five miles.’ Marty smiled despite himself at seeing that, a bit blunt perhaps but this was the way he always liked to start off his lectures.

Get them uncomfortable a bit first, but then start thinking about it. That was the only way to gauge people’s interest in anything. By getting them to talk and be open about it first. “Invasive species such as this Boa Python lurk on the very doorstep of America, within highly populated areas. Yet for the most part we fail to notice them, or consider them to have a negligible impact at best. However, this mode of thinking may in fact be erroneous, outdated… and maybe dangerous.”

He turned away from the slide, to face the crowd again. “When invasive species are introduced into a new environment, it disrupts the balance of the ecosystem. The food chain may be disoriented, or disrupted altogether.” He wiped the sweat from his brow and took a small sip of water. “What I postulate is that those invasive species find their own niches in the ecosystem, and that’s the secret of their success.”

He turned to the slide again, but this time it showed a mass of toads across a lawn. “Australian Cane toads, originally brought in for pest control did a wonderfully excellent job at that. However, they were a bit too successful, and their numbers have skyrocketed. They now have become as much of a pest as the ones they were sent to eradicate.”

He let a small smile cross his face as he faced the crowd. “This second
example I believe shows how successful invasive species can be at finding niches in the ecosystem. That brings me to another point in my discussion here. A very important one that I hope you all remember after you leave.”
“The ecosystem does not have an unlimited amount of capacity for all these different niches. Each one serves its own purpose in the biology of the biome. The inhabitants of the area specifically evolved to fill these niches, as did other species. What eventually happens here is that there is a co-dependence relationship will eventually arise between various species. Of course a marriage of convenience, but it underscores how interconnected the ecosystem is.”

“Disrupt one chain or link in the ecosystem, and you will affect others.” He paused again to clear his throat. He hadn’t done this much talking in a while. It seemed he was progressing nicely, which was surprising considering that this ‘guest lecture’ was pretty much ripped from his lectures back at Yale. Well, what the folks don’t know won’t hurt them.

“Due to these co-dependent relationships, if the flower dies or is displaced, what happens to the bee?” He shook his head as if to underscore his point. “If the niche is being filled by another animal, the best alternative one can hope for is of a slow and gradual transition, over millions of years. Yet, even in this situation there are still co-dependent relationships that cannot survive the pace of events.”

He switched the PowerPoint slide, moving on to the next image. “Now see here the effects of this niche filling. Because even in one niche there may be characteristics of that species that other species have specifically adapted to. So if an invasive species takes over that niche, the other species in the region will have to quickly adapt to this. Of course it is quite possible that the new niche will be of a sort that is incompatible with the
surrounding ecosystem. When this occurs, extinction rapidly follows.”

Marty only turned halfway to the slide again, as the screen revealed the image. He frowned, that hadn’t been the one that he’d put in last week…well he had given the PowerPoint to the tech guys to set up for him before he came there. It was conceivable of course that there had been some changes made but…

Behind him he could hear the audience murmuring a bit. He stole another glance at the slide. The image showed a sandy beach, an all too familiar stretch of beach. Marty frowned again, but it was not the locale that was bothering him. On the southeast corner of the picture right up against the waves…was that not… a bloated and indeterminate carcass?
Marty turned around, noticing the audience was really starting to fidget now. Well at least he wasn’t the only person that had been more then a little discomforted by it. But for a different reason altogether. He decided to redirect attention, by continuing the lecture.

“Now it stands that this is the likely result of such rapid niche displacements in the ecosystem. Now the time interval to constitute such a rapid displacement does not have to be of the extremely short scale of merely years. In geologic time this pace can even include intervals of time that have generally been accepted as enough time for small evolutionary changes to occur.” He smiled as he saw that the audience was starting to sit up straight, as they anticipated where he might be going.

Meanwhile he discreetly switched the PowerPoint off. He would have a word with whoever messed with it later… “In the fifty thousand years since Homo Sapiens first learned how to master tools he has become the dominant species on the planet. He lives on every continent, in all habitats and ecosystems. He has dominated the planet,terraformed even the most inhospitable areas to his will. There is no logical reason that Humans live in some of the areas that they do, when clearly the human body is to frail to survive unaided.”

“But I will bring up a point about invasive species here. They usually thrive first in the areas that they are most acclimated to, but that is not when the population explosion happens. No, breeding increases as populations are forced to struggle to survive and bring up their numbers due to inclement losses. Thus a new or invasive species will see a surge in population in an unfamiliar environment, because it is struggling to cope.”

He let this seeming non-sequitor sink into his audience for a second. “Just think about it, did Humanity experience a population boom in the savannahs of Africa? Of course not, because we weren’t being evolutionary challenged enough. It was only ten thousand years ago, when humans started clustering together that populations started to increase.”

“It happened so rapidly and radically that we never even really stopped to question what the secret to our success was. Human tool use gave mankind dominance over all other species on earth in that time. The Neolithic revolution changed the face of the planet, as man took even the fate of other animals, and changed their evolutionary paths. For the first time in 15 billion years, an animal had arisen that was capable of doing this.”

He grinned again, because he was near the crux of his speech. He always enjoyed it every single time, never got old. “But here’s the thing, if a species gets too far out of its habitat, the ecosystem will not just sit back and allow him to dominate. No, there were be an equally fast attempt by another creature to adapt to these sudden changes, to survive.”

“It doesn’t even have to be a native species that adapts this quickly to an intrusion. It may also be another invasive species as well. When invasive species from different original habitats collide, there may result in a clash for that specific niche. In essence its very success of the invasive species may now threaten its very survival.”

He leaned forward to take the microphone out of its holder. “But Humanity has existed for fifty thousand years of tool use. Ten thousand remaking the world in its image. And yet a challenger has yet to appear to confront us. I ask you all the question on everyone’s lips.” He took a deep breath as he said it.

“Is that challenger already among us? I highly doubt it, considering how vigilant we as a species are in eradicating all threats to our existence. Hell, we rigorously seek out and destroy these strains of bacteria or virus that may pose a threat to our existence.”

Marty shook his head as he quickly checked his watch. Almost time to wrap up here, just the main point to go. “I say that man will eventually produce his replacement in due time. We spend all our energies creating the perfect drug, engineering the perfect dog, whose to say we might someday introduce a species even more suited to supplant other species then we are?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure.”

He waved to the crowd, not even looking back as they broke into scattered applause. Yeah, people tended to do that a lot in his lectures it seemed. But that didn’t matter all that much now, because he really needed to have a word with the tech guys right now.

The minute he got backstage, Marty saw the president of UC Berkeley talking with two other men. Both seemed ill suited for an academic setting, and for a fleeting moment, Marty wondered if they might have gotten lost on their way to Silicon Valley.

Before he could say anything about the slide though, the man turned to him.
“Dr. Guitierrez! Just the man I wanted to see right now. Great speech by the way, I’m sure the halls of the staff lounge will be buzzing by tomorrow.”

Marty took that to mean Who the hell invited you? Which was what was probably meant by that generic greeting nine times out of ten. He nodded noncommittally. “Glad you liked it”, he said. “Care to tell me who these guys are?” He was probably going to be introduced to them anyway, though he could have cared less.

“Howard Rossiter,” the tall bearded man next to the president said, reaching to shake his hand. He gestured to the other man, who was of medium build and looked uncomfortable in the suit. “And this is my associate, Ed James.”

Marty shook their hands, wondering why the hell those guys were even talking to him. He just wanted to get to the faculty lounge, get a cup of coffee and be prepared for the flight home.

“Actually don’t go anywhere,” Rossiter laughed. “I had a proposition for you, based on what the president was just telling me.” The man turned to the president expectantly. “Something about how you desired to work in Costa Rica again but couldn’t get a grant through.”

Marty nodded, it had been difficult getting a permit these days. The board would ask him if he already had a backer lined up and when he’d said no he was rejected each time. The process was very strange, as if they were intentionally making it harder.

“Well, I would be very interested in backing you, both me and my associate here. We would be very happy to finance a grant for you Dr. Guitierrez.”

Marty took a breath, what was their game? “Sorry but I don’t really know who you are, what foundation or institution are you backed by?” Marty had been burned before in the past, so he just wanted to make sure these guys were the real deal.

The other man, Ed James spoke up before his associate could. “We represent the Lewis Dodgeson Memorial trust. This foundation is set up to further the research and study of Saurian reptiles.”

Marty paused a second, wondering if that was truly an interesting choice of words. He’d never heard of it but there was always the off chance he’d been out of the loop. “How much would you be willing to fund?” A simple question, mainly to gauge how serious these guys were, if they were playing him he could find out relatively fast.

“As much as you need Dr. Guitierrez. The only stipulation set up in the grant is that you need to leave for the field research within the space of a year.”

Marty nodded thoughtfully, that amount of time gave him something to work with. He would probably need about six or seven months just to get everything he needed together and that was if he set up right away.

On the other hand… this opportunity might not ever come again. He looked at the UC president, who only shrugged. “Rossiter…” Marty said, a smile breaking out over his face.

“Have you got yourself a deal."

So everybody...the fourth chapter. I hope you all like it as much as I enjoyed writing this! Also feel free to leave your comments and questions!

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Palo Alto

The stereo blared out crappy rock and roll, but most of it was drowned out to the sound of the road. The man let the wind whip his hair as he made a turn down the winding street. Map propped up against the dashboard, cold fries on the passenger seat. He shook his head as he checked the mirror again to make sure that no one was about to pass him.

Shawn Baxter ran his hair through his head, as he bit down on his cigarette. He didn’t know where he was going, and frankly he didn’t care. However, it would’ve been nice to be given proper directions for once. The odometer had been punched before he’d left, and it was already racking up forty miles.

All Dang day, Baxter had been running across town. Just because one man couldn’t even get the street address right, funny how the smallest error seemed to add up. At first he thought he’d got the right address, but didn’t recognize the sign on the building. ‘Biosyn Headquarters’ or some Crap, he already forgot.

Anyways Baxter had immediately called the phone number Dr. Guitierrez had given him in such a case as this. No answer, why he’d nearly thrown the Dang thing out the window when it tried to send him to the answering machine.

He looked again in the mirror, shaking his head at what he saw reflected back. Twenty-five years old, barely out of college and ready to get his first internship. Helped on the grad school applications too, but those doctorate programs were tough as hell to get into.

Baxter bit his cigarette harder, causing the stub to crack off in his fingers. Casually he threw it in the back and grabbed some cold fries. God they sure were
awful when they were cold, almost like the big fast food restaurants designed them that way. Would’ve ordered a hamburger but he’d been a dollar short at the window. Ah hell, that was the way life was, and you had to roll with the punches.

Dr Guitierrez had told him this would be an easy errand, mainly because he was too busy these days. Man was all worked up about this trip he was going to take, but no one else on the faculty seemed to know about it. Like it was some kind of top-secret Crap or something.

Baxter shook his head and sighed as he reached the stoplight. Why hadn’t he just gotten an easier internship? He’d thought about working part-time but it seemed no one even wanted to hire a patty flipper anymore unless they had industry experience and a degree. Then what the hell use was…?

He took his cell phone from his pocket intending to call them again. No one was going to waste his time in this city, term was almost over and there was about a million other things he’d rather be doing at the moment. End-of Term Projects, job interviews… the list ran on and on. Well he would get to these things as soon as he was through with this bullshit.

Baxter started to dial the number, but froze. In his anger and impotent frustration he’d forgotten to take the phone off of silent! He saw at least 11 missed calls on the list at least from what he could see… and the most recent call was still going…

“Hello?” He nodded as he received the instructions at the other end of the line. “Yeah, yeah.” He started the car again looking at his map. “Sure I can make it.”

He slapped the phone down and threw it on the passenger seat.

An hour later he pulled in to the parking lot of Marie Callenders. It seemed Dr. Guitierrez’s backers had a change of plans at the last minute. Gave him bad instructions or something. Baxter would fix that sure enough; give them hell for what they were worth.

“I already have a party I’m waiting for”, he said to the waitress just as she was about to try to seat him at a table. He followed her as she led him to the other side of the restraunt, where a table was set up against the wall.
The man sitting there didn’t look like much of anything to Baxter.

Skinny, scrawny and wearing a cheap suit. Didn’t offer to shake hands either. Baxter sat down as the waitress asked him what they wanted.

The other man spoke up. “Just a coffee for thanks,” He gestured to Baxter, “So what do you think you’ll have?”

Baxter shook his head, and watched the girl leave. Then turning to the other man he cleared his throat. He didn’t really want to waste his time, just get this over with so he could leave. This place was a dump really, never would have stepped foot in it on his own time.

He put his elbows on the table, tilting his head to the side. “Dr. Guitierrez told me that you guys had some last minute things that you needed to discuss. Unfortunately he couldn’t make it so he sent me to pick things up.”

The other man chuckled at Baxter’s introduction. “Good kid. The name is Ed James. I actually asked him to meet here because the permits for the research expedition are finally cleared. I have them here in my suitcase as well as the specific instructions on how he should fulfill the fine print of the grant.”

Baxter shook his head. Of course there was going to be fine print… did Dr. Guitierrez really think that these institutions sponsored free trips to Costa Rica? “Yeah, can we make this quick?” He said trying to speed things up a bit. “I got a date tonight and if you don’t mind maybe I can just grab the permits and get out of here…?”

He was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress bringing the coffee. The other man thanked her and took a sip as she walked away. “Ah, this coffee has been awful for the last five years.” He said, almost as if he was reminiscing. “Sure you can take them and leave them kid, I just got a question.”

Baxter had almost been about to shake the man’s hand and ask for the permits, but something stopped him. “What?” He asked, finally. It couldn’t be that big of a deal really it was probably some casual comment on what his major was or…

“You’re that kid right?” Ed James said as he took another sip of coffee. “I heard Marty invited a grad student to fill in the free assistant slot the fund provided.”

“So what if I am?” Baxter felt himself taking his hand and setting it on the table. “If it’ll look good on my postdoctoral application, then of course I’m going to take it.”

James nodded, and set his coffee aside. “It’s hard out there being a student isn’t it?” He shook his head sadly. “Student loans, graduate school applications and financial aid of course.”

Baxter felt the guy starting to get on his nerves. Just give me the suitcase, he thought. What was this guy some kind of Dang psychiatrist?
“So Shawn” James grinned, finally bringing the suitcase out from under the table. “Here’s what you wanted right?’

Baxter grabbed for it, but he felt resistance as James suddenly leaned on it. He looked at the other man’s eyes but was met with only one reply.
“Open it, its not locked.” Baxter was beginning to think Dr. Guitierrez needed to do a good job of screening those people. He stared at the lock and with some initial reluctance opened the latch.

The contents were rather mundane, just a bunch of what seemed like rather mundane papers and the permits right in the corner. He did notice what seemed like a latch on the bottom. He stared at it, swallowing a bit.

“Is everything in order?” James said, rather nonchalantly. “Actually, that’s your suitcase I have right there.” He lifted another suitcase up from below the table and opening it right next to the first.

Same contents as the first one, except there was a cell phone inside. Baxter picked it up and frowned. It was the exact kind of phone Dr. Guitierrez always used when he was talking with the grant agency over some detail of the expedition.

“Grad school sure is expensive as I’ll say again Mr. Baxter.” James said, keeping his voice as level as he could. “Open the compartment on your case, see what I mean.”

Holding both ends of the suitcase Baxter took the latch and lifted it. The base of the suitcase shifted a bit, and he could see that there was another level inside. Removing the first base, he set it to the side and swallowed again as he looked inside.

He’d never seen that much money in his entire life. He picked up one of the bills and flexed it in his hands, almost as if testing it to see if it was real. It was a full five minutes before he found his voice again.

“The hell is this?” Shawn said, shaking his head. “This much cash, you want something from me.” He crossed his arms, determined to have an explanation.

“Well if Dr. Guitierrez had showed up by himself, I’d have just given him the first case.” James said, “However, since you came alone, I have a business proposition for you.”

Baxter perked up, though he couldn’t deny his thoughts were flooded with the money. “You want me to report something on the expedition for you right?” He chuckled. “Should’ve known, more then just a foundation right? You need an expedition there for some reason you’re not telling him.”

James lifted his arms and shrugged. “You have it half right kid, half right. See this phone in Marty’s case? I need you to switch it with his real one. We managed to clone all the numbers and information off of his old one, not an easy task let me tell you. Re-routes certain sensitive numbers to our lines. We’d appreciate it if you don’t say anything about that to him.”

Baxter picked up the phone and turned it over. It certainly didn’t look any different, though he saw no reason at all why it should. However, it was a tempting offer but something was still gnawing at his sides.

“Nobody offers this amount of money just for a phone exchange.” He knew that questioning the offer might be bad but he still had to be completely sure. Nothing came for free in this world, and he knew it. If he had to throw a free tuition away just to clear his mind then he could do that as well. “What’s the catch,” Baxter said, leaning across the table.

James finally let a real smile cross his face for the first time since Baxter had sat down. “Though you’d say that,” he said. He leaned over again and took a small canister out of his own suitcase.

It had the small biohazard label, but Baxter could see trace marks of refrigeration on this. He watched James carefully open it and slide the specimen out on the table.

“Careful boy, it’s fragile”. James handed it to Baxter and allowed him to inspect it at his leisure.

Baxter turned it around and around, examining it. His master’s thesis was going to be on herpetology so he recognized the texture of the skin right away. How mottle it was…how grainy. “Some kind of lizard,” he said finally. “But if I didn’t know any better I’d say it was a bird.”

James looked around even though the Marie Callender’s was deserted. He leaned low to the table and whispered in a low voice. “What if I said it was neither a reptile or a bird?” His smirk was maddeningly enigmatic.

Shawn Baxter sighed and handed the specimen back. “Don’t play mind games with me, just tell me why this is so Dang connected with the trip.”

James looked like he wanted to hold back for a second but just decided to say it. “There’s been some… reports in the region of anomalous animal activity. Strange carcasses on shore, mysterious animals appearing in mountains….” He shook his head. “However, it’s sporadic really, no one ever seems to come up with conclusive proof. When questioned the natives proclaim it to be the work of the Chupacabra or the hupia.”

Baxter shook his head again. “So your grant sent Dr. Guitierrez and me halfway across the world to capture Bigfoot?” He had heard of some crazy things in his life but this was starting to become unbelievable. Still the money was the only thing that kept him seated at the moment.

“Thought you might say that,” James said. “But on one condition, the money is delivered electronically upon your return to the United States. We also need evidence that Dr. Guitierrez was completely unaware of the specific details of your meeting with me the entire time.”

“This is a load of horseshit,” Baxter said, standing up from the table. “Thanks but no thanks Mr. James.”

“Wait,” Ed James had stood up as well. “Say we double your money, same conditions.”

Baxter turned around slowly, his heart beating fast. “I might have to reconsider my options then.” He sat back down. “So what is it that you really want me to do?”

James sat back down as well. He smiled, that Charming Smile.

“But first it helps if you know the basics. Ever heard of a company called Ingen?”

Dang, your chapters are always really long But this is a very good fourth chapter

What Klausi said

Okay here is the fifth Chapter in my fanfic. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please feel free to leave any comments or critique on my work. Thanks for reading! This fanfic can also be found at JPLegacy but is usually posted here the day after its posted there.

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Carter


Outside, the clouds were gathering, and the breeze was beginning to get stronger. The trees swayed with the wind, and the scent of the sea wafted in from the distant shore. There was a storm coming, and everyone in the village knew it. Whether today, or tomorrow it would come no one particularly cared.

Dr. Roberta Carter sighed as she walked back to her tent. It had been a long day at the makeshift clinic today. Even though the population of the village was small, it seemed every day that there was a new batch of problems that the people here came up with. Like it was some kind of competition or something.

Not just the normal ailments either, especially since this was Costa Rica. All sorts of exotic diseases appeared in these people, nothing like she’d trained for back in Chicago. She shook her head again as she passed her jeep parked in front of the tent. Hell no, it had been a long day and she was just too damned tired to think of anything else right now.

As a young med student just finishing up at County General, she’d had her choice of hospitals she’d wished to match to. However, the day-to day stress of the hospital had never really impressed itself upon her and she had quickly grown discontent and disillusioned. Instead Carter had opted to take a year off to Costa Rica for her first year as a licensed doctor. To say she hadn’t been prepared for that was quite the understatement indeed.

But this wasn’t Bahia Anasco, and this village was nowhere near the shore. Still being back in the country brought back some memories that she’d rather forget, that had never really left.

Opening the flap to her tent her first thought was maybe she still had a beer or two left in the case. Everything had to be flown in this Dang village so it was hard to get a good drink without the exorbitant prices at the bar. Hell, everyone here probably owed that bar man favors at this point. Not Carter though, she’d been a professional long enough to know that owing something to other people was the worst idea possible.

However as she looked inside she swore. There was a man sitting on the chair right beside her cot, his hand wrapped in a tattered shirt. She’d told the locals again and again that she didn’t make house calls unless it was serious. Hell, if it was serious there probably wasn’t much she could do anyway…
“Listen,” she said placing her pack on the cot. “It’s getting late and I’m Dang pissed so maybe you could get out-“ She stopped as the light shone on the man’s hand, and she could see it was covered in blood.

He turned to face her and Bobbie Carter instantly recognized him. He was that man that lived on the hill near the barn. The locals generally avoided talking to him, considering him somewhat of an outcast. She’d barely spoken to him in the month or two since she’d arrived here, barely seen his face.
In this light, Carter could tell that the man had once been heavyset, but had lost weight either due to fatigue or exhaustion. He was from a nearby village everybody said, had arrived here not five or six years ago.

She sat down on the cot, gestured for him to do the same. “Senor Torres,” she said, for that was his name. Gandoca Torres, the strange man on the hill. “I can’t help you unless you sit down.”

The man sat down, and extended his arm to her. It was still wrapped up in the cloth, and Carter carefully began to unwind it. She had already turned on her electric lamp so that she could see well in this dim light.

The wound had not been cleaned very well, and it was only the fact that this man had thought to cover it up that it wasn’t contaminated more. Still, Bobbie could easily see that the rags of the shirt were darkly stained and not just with blood. It smelled of something fetid, she couldn’t quite place it. It smelled familiar, but not quite.

As Bobbie took each strip of cloth off, she looked at the man’s face. Still, there was no emotion, even though she knew the wound must be very painful. This much blood… She shook her head, wondering if her field kit would be enough.

Probably not, she thought as the last strip fell to the floor. The light highlighted the full extent of the wound for the first time. There was a large gash across the back of his hand, blood-obscuring most of her view. However, she could see that some bone had been exposed, although thankfully it hadn’t pierced it.

She bit her lower lip, knowing that action had to be taken quickly. Signaling to Torres to stay seated, she quickly took out the disinfectants and cloths from her pack. Setting them on the cot, she went to work cleaning up the wound. She was careful to only clean the area around the wound and not risk aggravating the wound itself.

Daubing the area with Gauze, she wondered how the man could stay so still. It was like this didn’t even faze him. As the blood was wiped away, Carter frowned. Alongside the current wound she could see many scars on his hand, leading on to his upper arm. Some recent, but others looked as if they had been there a long time.

All of them bore the same signature pattern, of the wound.
As she carefully got the stitches ready, her mind was racing. Maybe it would be a good idea to ask him how he got these scars. But then again, if he barely spoke to the locals what were the chances he would talk to a white woman, a stranger in his country?

In the hospital she’d had her share of difficult patients. The residents just told her to listen to them, see what their problems really were. The hardest ones weren’t the ones that would talk the loudest though; they were the ones who wouldn’t talk at all.

Slowly she turned to look him in the eye as she threaded the first needle in. She could hear the rain pouring outside and the wind rustling through the trees. She could hear the sound of the approaching helicopter, once again coming in a stormy night. But this time it could wait, the more urgent matter was here and now.

The man did not even flinch as the needle drew in and out of his skin. Dr. Roberta Carter had not seen anything like it. Her need to know got the better of her. “Los Sa Raptor?” Didn’t know why she’d said it, but it was a long shot. At the very least this didn’t look like any tool accident she’d seen.

For the first time the man spoke, and in his eyes Roberta Carter saw exhaustion that was beyond his years. He was gaunt, now that she put her
finger on it. “No, Senora.” Torres shook his head emphatically. “Los Pajoros.”

Carter was confused, she knew a little bit of Spanish but she didn’t really see how that made sense. “Hupia?” She asked just taking another shot in the dark, although this was a very long one.

The man’s jaw hardened, as if he was suddenly exasperated with her. “The birds,” he said, speaking in English for the first time. “I was feeding the birds.”

Well if that was the story he wanted to stick too…Roberta Carter took a deep breath and looked back down. The stitching was complete, a rough job but it would do for the moment. Taking a pair of scissors, she cut the loose thread and let go of the hand.

She knew that often patients would deny that anything was wrong with them. They usually had the option of calling in psychiatric consults for those, but this was out in the field. She met someone that didn’t want to be helped, there wasn’t all that much she could really do.

“All done,” she said, reaching for the bandages and some more gauze. “Now I just need too…” She frowned again as she saw the man was gathering his rags again.

Before she could say or do anything he was standing up. “That’s fine for right now Doctor,” the line came harder to her ears then the tapping of the rain outside.

“Wait,” she said ineffectually, “the wound might get infected or open up again-“

Torres held up a hand and shook his head. “I think I have it under control, thank you very much.” Nodding to her once, he walked out of the tent and vanished into the night.

Carter lifted the flap again, wondering if she should go after him. Normally she would never let a patient walk out like that, but something told her not too. He was probably going back to his barn, or maybe the bar, which was where everybody in this village spent all their time anyway.

As she was wondering what to do, she felt the wind increase along the way. Against the night she could see the helicopter leaving, meaning it had already dropped off its passengers. It rapidly disappeared out of sight over the trees.

A familiar figure was running through the rain towards her, and she recognized it as Robert Muldoon. The ‘Other American’ in this place as she called him sometimes, he was almost as much of a recluse as Torres was.

However, he’d opened up to her a little during her stay, if only because she was the only American around for fifty miles. Carter didn’t know how much of it was because he was just a lonely old man, if you could call fifty years that old. He was mostly full of the same sort of stories that were supposedly used to impress women younger then himself. Tales of living dangerously on the African plains and facing lions with a pocketknife….

But if you ignored that, he was rather harmless. She still didn’t know why he felt he needed a fence around his house in an isolated village like this… Her thoughts were distracted by the realization of what he was saying.

Muldoon had reached the tent and she realized that he was just barely catching his breath. Even though the landing site had just been out across the way, it hadn’t actually been that far. She waited a minute for him to regain his composure so he could tell her the news.

“People,” Muldoon said, shaking his head and breathing heavily. “Research group. An older guy and a kid- forgot the kid’s name.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Anyway they just arrived. Americans by the look of them. Thought maybe we should go to meet them together.”

Bobbie slightly rolled her eyes at that last statement but she did admit her curiosity was piqued. “Okay, just a second.” She ducked back inside and got her jacket, the one with the hood. Hurriedly putting it on, she went back out. “I’m ready,” she said, walking down the way.

She could see the landing site now, two figures walking towards here. They were carrying backpacks and she could see that yes one was definitely older then the other.

In the clearing behind them there were several larger parcels, presumably their lab equipment. They would probably go back for them later after they found a spot. Carter shook her head; she didn’t envy anyone trying to set up camp in this Crap.

Their paths met and the two parties each slowed to a stop. Roberta Carter removed her hood, feeling the rain pouring down her head but she didn’t care. What mattered was seeing the man.

“Dr. Roberta Carter,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m a medical doctor, here for Doctors Without borders.” She took a look at the man; he was closer to her age, maybe in mid-thirties. Hispanic with a trace of stubble about him.

Thunder boomed in the distance, as she froze in mid-sentence. The man wasn’t looking at her though, but staring straight at Muldoon. The glint of recognition in his face.

The silence that followed was pronounced, broken only by the sound of the pouring rain. Bobbie’s gaze shifted between the newcomers and Muldoon, unsure of what to say or do.

Muldoon broke the silence, reaching forward to clasp the other man’s hand.

Shaking his hand vigorously, he smiled, pearly whites glowing against the dark.

“Marty Guittierez you son-of-a-bitch.” The words came terse and measured. “What the hell are you doing here?”
__________________

Brilliant! Keep it up!

Great stuff Sickle!

Really good work again!

So here is Chapter Six! I plowed through this chapter faster then I expected, but tell me what you think. Here's where it really starts getting interesting, or at least I think so myself. Hope you enjoy it!

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The Bar

Marty Guittierez allowed himself to relax a bit as he put his beer down. Random chances dropped from the sky as often as summer rain, and that was what all this would boil down to. Random chance. He had to stop reading too much into everything, or he would never get anything done at all. He sighed and shook his head wondering what the probablilities for it.

One in a million, one in a billion? No… it was random after all. A man he’d met long ago would’ve called it chaos in action, but Marty had never really bought into all that. Surely fate wouldn’t twist itself so cruelly, or so strangely? He had no clue, but set his drink away from him.

It had been two days since the arrival in the village, and they were still setting everything up. He’d told the kid to just dump everything in the clearing behind the doctor’s tent, which was where they would set up. Half of this Crap was learning how to work in the field yourself, as Baxter would no doubt learn in time. Guitierrez just hoped the kid wasn’t wasting time and was actually setting up the instruments. This was serious business, and a very serious trip.

Marty looked out to the rest of the bar, seeing the people file in. It was his first time in here, and word seemed to have spread fast throughout the village. Hell, for these past two days he could barely get anything done with setting up camp because everyone came to see the new Americans. Now that he was here, Marty knew his little bit of peace and quiet was likely gone.

Turning to the bartender, he remarked “Whats the story on the other americans?” He knew he had to tread cautiously here, because of these people. It hadn’t been easy; he’d been caught badly off guard. Just so Dang unexpected.

He noticed a gaunt man sitting next to him on the bar table, hand wrapped in bandages. Guitierrez gave him a look, and the man turned away. Holding his drink closer to himself.

Guitierrez was about to say something when he noticed who’d just arrived in the bar. Frowning, he got up, and was almost at the door when the man moved to block him.

“What’s the matter?” Muldoon said, smiling almost paternally. “You seem tense, on edge really.”

Guitierrez’s mind raced, trying to think of something. Clearly he should’ve never come to the bar in the first place. Too Dang public.

“Are you drunk?” He hissed under his breath. “I’m not supposed to even know you.” He tried to move past again but was blocked.

Muldoon placed his hand almost affectionately on Guitierrez’s shoulder. “I’m shocked and hurt, I really am.” He sighed as if he’d come a far distance. “To see a man again for the longest time, and he just brushes me off.”

Guitierrez thought to himself. He’s definitely been drinking. He could smell it on the other man’s breath. Must have a stockpile of the harder stuff that the bar didn’t even carry. He bit his tongue, because he knew he would betray himself if he said what he really wanted to say.

“That was a long time ago, “ he said. Turning around he headed back to the direction of the bartender. Clearly the man wasn’t going to allow him to leave so he might as well stay in here. Didn’t mean he had to talk to him.

Sitting back down he noticed the gaunt man got up. Said something to the barman about having to go feed the birds. Guitierrez shrugged, as he picked his beer back up. Turning to the barman he asked if there was a back exit.

The barman started to say something but Marty motioned for him to be quiet. Muldoon was still watching him, or was he? He held his drink in midair sort of uncertain, until he realized that Muldoon’s eyes followed the gaunt man.
He allowed himself to breath a sigh of relief as the two left, Muldoon waiting a couple of minutes to follow the other.

Or at least he was breathing well until the woman came in. Dr. Carter, he faintly remembered that name. She didn’t seem to ring any bells in his memory, though something was telling him that it probably should. He had no idea what that feeling was like some sense telling him to wait.

She entered the bar, and walked right up to the stools where he was at. Ordered a beer, then only pretended to notice him then. Marty scoffed a bit inside, the commonest tactic ever. But it worked.

“So sort of research are you planning on conducting here, Dr. Guitierrez?” She asked as she took a drink. For some reason Marty felt himself not wanting to drink any more and put his beer to the side again.

It wasn’t that he was bad with women, hell to the no. It was just that he didn’t usually like to have distractions in his work. With the only other American for miles maybe being that old fart Muldoon… he could sort of understand.

She was about thirty-two, maybe thirty-four by his guess. Her blond hair was cropped short just at the shoulder, and her bangs wisped over the edge of her face almost to her mouth. She kept pushing her glasses up every time she took a drink.

It looked liked she’d been rummaging though her baggage to try to find a halfway decent outfit for this meeting. Same way it was with all women. Planned up to the hilt. Marty decided that he would just play it casual, cool and professional. Did that explain why he was fidgeting in his seat? Quit it, he mentally told himself.

“I’m actually here on a grant,” He said a bit more quickly then he’d thought to. “I’m on sabbatical at Yale right now, doing research for a scholarly paper.”

There was an awkward pause as he realized he still hadn’t answered her question. She nodded, sympathetically, as if she understood. “Doctors Without Borders just showed up at County General one day out of the blue. Signed up without really thinking about it.” She gave him a friendly smile as she moved her bangs bang to the side over her ear. “I was actually here once, not to far from here actually.”

“You don’t say…” Guitierrez felt like he wanted to leave, but there was something keeping him in his seat. “Actually I’m here to document certain reptiles indigenous to the region. Basilisk lizards and iguanas. I’m going to be studying their habits and role in the ecosystem.”

“That’s cool,” she said. She pushed her glasses in to keep them from slipping off the bridge of her nose. “Say how about we drink to that?” She took a few crumpled dollars out of her pocket. Seemed like they’ve been creased in preparation for this day. Dropping them on the bar she gestured to the barman. “Get him whatever he wants.”

Guitierrez smiled at her, and then pretended to scan the racks. In his head he was wondering where the exit was. Maybe he could just feel the sound of his own heart beating. Maybe he’d just drunk too much. Something told him maybe it was all of these things together.

Absentmindedly, he picked out one, and it was only when the man put it in front of him that he discovered he’d taken the hard scotch.

“You like your drinks stiff, don’t you Dr. Guitierrez,” Roberta laughed in an off hand sort of way. “Just to let you know, if you ever need anything during your stay.” She sort of leaned over grasping her drink while smiling at him. “How long did you say you were going to be here?”

Marty took a drink, then put one hand to his head like he had enough. “Just about a couple months I think,” Really that was the truth and all that the grant had covered, even with minimal equipment on his part. Nodding to her, he got up trying to smile but not really succeeding.

“Well I got to go,” he said, slowly backing away still clutching the scotch. He noticed her face fell just a bit because they both understood the reason why. Out the corner of his eye, Marty’s heart skipped a beat. He saw a backdoor, just the one he’d been looking for.

“Well…” Roberta sighed as she lifted her drink one last time. “Well, I don’t know… maybe we can do this again some other time?”

“Wait…” he said, trying to just let her know it wasn’t like that. He stopped himself, knowing that he probably already said too much.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I understand.”

Marty grunted noncommittally, and hurriedly pushed the door open. Feeling the cold night air upon his face he leaned against the outside wall for what seemed like the longest time. He took a few deep breaths, feeling like the worst man alive.

He took a few more drinks as he walked along the outside wall, shaking his head. The drink was getting to him a bit faster then he’d thought it would. At the least Marty wouldn’t sleep well that night or at all. Seems like the five minutes he’d snuck away from helping the kid set up had turned into an hour.

Calamity of his head, he felt cranky like ten stiffs. He felt vaguely bad about leaving her back in the bar. He knew that if he went in to apologize she would pretend not to care, maybe give him the cold shoulder.

Ah hell, he’d just let his nerve take him again. Maybe she’d just thought to introduce herself to the new guy, and he’d read it the wrong way. Maybe so, maybe so. But he doubted he’d get a second chance.

His nose wrinkled a bit as he noticed the smell all of a sudden. Right at the back of this bar it seemed they dumped all their garbage out, huge pile right there. Only way no one noticed it seemed was because there was a large grove of trees just beyond.

He started to walk around the trash heap but something caught his eye. He blinked, looking suspiciously at the bottle hoping it was the cause for what he was seeing. Marty rubbed his eyes again. Just to be sure. It was definitely not the damned bottle.

He threw it to the floor as he took a cautious step closer. In the dim light from the bar he could barely make out the form crouching by the edge of the trash heap. It was about the height of his knee, and he could see its mottled green skin from here.

It was about four feet long, and two feet high, and even just guessing from here Marty could tell it wasn’t fully-grown yet.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear an owl hooting but that was in the back of his mind right now. Standing in front of him was something the like of which he’d only ever seen dead. He remembered long ago two separate times on two separate beaches… once alone and one with that other fellow…

The light illuminated the animal, and he could see it clearly now. There was no mistaking it, even as it ignored him. Still eating off the trash heap, probably never ventured out of the trees before.

It was a dinosaur, a goddamned dinosaur. Marty had been hoping that the rumours of survival in the mountains had been only that, but it didn’t seem to be the case. It didn’t seem to be the same kind as the one on the beach but he couldn’t be sure.

Leaning against the outer wall, he held his breath as not to give his position away. He bumped into a shovel leaning against the side, and barely managed to catch it before it fell.

The animal turned to face him, standing up for the first time. Bipedal, he said to himself, noticing that its legs looked muscular. Or at least developing anyway.

Marty hadn’t taken any paleontology classes, not even as electives in his senior year. But he had done some research of his own after his visit to Costa Rica ten years ago…

It seemed like a dream, the animal didn’t even notice him as he approached silently. Marty wasn’t even aware himself that he was holding the shovel until it was raised over his head.

By then it was too late to do anything about that as it came down. The animal was caught by surprise and stunned. Marty swung again and again.

Panting heavily, he dropped the shovel on the ground, against the prone form of the animal. It’s neck had been broken by the severity of the blows, and its eyes were glassing over.

He picked it up, and it was not heavy. Cradling it in his arms, he tried to figure out what to do. Obviously he had to hide it somewhere. This was beyond the scope of his trip.

All he’d wanted was to pass this trip without incident. Looking down at the dying animal, Marty hoped that the animal was alone or at least not recurring in this area.

Hell if they were the villagers would’ve spotted them already he told himself. This was another one of those one in a million chances. Something panged at him again… then what had Dr. Carter been? Shut up, he told himself again, what’s past is past.

He thought about hiding it in his tent, but that kid could scarcely be trusted to keep a secret like this. Last thing he wanted was the Costa Rican Government here, interfering. No Marty could take care of this very well on his own.

He set it down in the shade of the trees, watching its chest silently heave up and down. Slowly and carefully, he covered it with trash until it looked like a natural extension of the pile. That should do for now.

Marty set the shovel aside and was about to go back in the bar when he felt a shiver down his spine. The owl hooted again, this time closer to him.

And somewhere in the distance he heard a scream.

Really good written again, nice chapter

Great chapter Sickle

Anyway I have to thank everyone who has been patient enough to read the fanfic for the past six chapters. Also a big thanks to all those who have sent comments in! Here is chapter Seven...in all it's glory.
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The Barn

The cool night breeze felt refreshing against his face as the man walked up the hill. The day had been as long as any other he could remember, and just as tiring in his estimate. His hand throbbed with pain, but he closed his eyes, willing himself to let go if it. Gandoca Torres had dealt with worse in his time and this new inconvenience would go the way of all flesh in due time.

He closed his eyes as he crested the hill and came within sight of his house. He went in the door, and just stood there for a moment. Leaning against his dresser he grabbed his journal out and opened it to the latest entry.

He scrawled something it, remembering what he’d seen when he was in town last week. He could hear the cries of the birds outside, the fowl cackling and cawing in the night. They would never shut up it seemed, never.

Sleep was elusive to him, and rest was something of a foreign stranger to him. It was something from a distant land. He wondered how people went about their daily routines. Normal people that was.

His eyes were deeply bloodshot, and his brow was furrowed. He felt so tired as he slammed the journal shut. He felt like maybe he needed a drink, but maybe later. A nightcap before bed might be the perfect thing.

He turned to the kitchen cabinet, looking to see if there was anything for later. There was that bottle of bootleg Mexican beer that had cost him a bit more then he had been figuring on… He took that out and placed it on the counter.

Torres stalked through the back door to find himself right next to the chicken coop. The birds moved away from the feed tray as he approached. They seemed to part like the red sea at the sound of his footsteps.

He bent down and grabbed two chickens by the throat. In their frenzy they pecked at his hands and wrists. Torres grunted and stepped back over the fence.

Walking along, he tightened his grip on the chickens. Pausing he leaned against the side of the house to wring the necks of the chickens. It took barely a moment before they stopped struggling and went limp.

He continued walking at a brisk pace, towards the barn. Reaching the ladder, he tucked the fowl under his arm and began to climb.

He was getting a bit old to be climbing those things and he could feel it in his bones. However it was the only way to get in, to do his daily duty. He just took a breath and shook his head.

As he reached the top, he threw the fowl onto the loft. Pulling himself up, he just let himself sit down for a second to catch his breath. Maybe he could find someone else to do this… but he didn’t really know if anyone else on Earth could.

It had been a rough six years or so. More then he had ever expected. If he had known then what he knew now he would never have attempted it. But now he guessed this was his new duty. The obligation he’d held in his hands was beyond anything in the world.

It was beyond an obligation at this point. Something no one could even know or understand. Or maybe even begin to. And that was all right with him, because they didn’t have to. And he didn’t particularly care.

He picked up the fillet knife he always kept near the stairs. He took the nearest chicken and began gutting it over a bucket that had been placed directly near the knife. He watched, almost detached as the blood and guts poured into the bucket.

In the barn the only source of light was the hatch that led to the stairs outside. He could see the stars sparkling, and the moon was very bright tonight as well. It made him feel slightly better, if only for a very brief and interminable moment.

Then he looked back out into the darkness, out beyond the loft. Through the dim light, he knew just three feet beyond where he lay was a wooden ladder leading down from the edge of the loft. It was about an eleven to twelve feet separating the loft from the floor of the bar.

He repeated the process with the other chicken and saw that both of the buckets were now saturated with blood. Feeling along the edges, he found the cigarette lighter in his pants and lit it. He walked over to the edge and the corpses of the two chickens over, hearing them crash onto the floor.

Using his lighter as a guide, Torres carefully walked right over to where the bale of hay was. He took the pail, and gingerly dipped it over, grasping it tightly. He shook it just enough so that all the blood and guts washed over the hay and drenched it a good amount. God, it smelled terrible, but then again it always did.

Sighing, he wiped his brow with his forehead as he prepared to set the pail down. He listened for a while but could detect nothing noticeable. That was okay, some nights it was quiet here, and when he would come again in the morning there would be nothing left, not even bones.

He started to get up, but he heard a noise. But it wasn’t coming from down on the barn floor. Torres realized with a tinge of fear that it was coming from outside. He walked over to where the hatch was, seeing the ladder shake.
Someone was coming up…he drew in a breath with fear and anticipation. But before he could do anything, a shape blocked out the dark night. Torres took a step back and raised his lighter to identify him.

It was the American, raising himself up to the loft from outside. He stood tall, his hat almost brushing the roof. He took a step forward, his face illuminated against the flame. His face half in shadow, Torres could see with a shiver that the other man was smiling.

“Senor Muldoon…” Torres broke off feeling his voice choke. “What are you doing here?” He felt naked, there was blood all over his hands and stained all over his pants. He felt he knew what Muldoon was doing here but…

The other man lifted his hand, and the flash of metal caught off of the flame. “I came here to fix an error that’s been in the making a long time.” His smile was almost a leer in against the shadow. “I let you have your time, to play with your pet.”

Torres felt the fear rise in his belly as the other man spoke. No…it was not possible, it couldn’t be possible. He shook his head, his heart beating a million miles an hour. “I won’t let you.” He said, breathing heavily. He took a step towards the other man, his eyes focused on the gun.

“Feeling lucky?” Muldoon laughed derisively, walking right past him. “This here is hollow point. Blow right through whatever you got.” He peered down into the blackness, and Torres couldn’t imagine what he was expecting to see.

“Listen,” He said at last. “Maybe you’ve made some sort of mistake…” However he didn’t have time to finish that though because Muldoon whirled around in a split second.

“A mistake?” The other man shook his head, his eyes dancing. “ No. Every part of the hunt must be meticulously planned. No mistakes can be made or will be permitted.” The man held the gun up, demonstrating to Torres. “Modified for maximum penetration. One shot to the skull should be all I need.”

By this time, Torres had let his pail fall from his grasp. It resounded with a clang and rolled on the floor. “You don’t have to do this…” He said to Muldoon. “Just leave me be.”

Muldoon just laughed in his face. “Of course I have to do this!” He grabbed Torres’s hands all of a sudden and held them up to the light. “Feeding the birds my butt. Not a scratch on you?” He let go with a derisive snort. “So that’s why I must do this tonight…” He let the hammer back on his gun. “It’s for the good of everyone.”

Well, it seemed the time for talk was over. Taking a deep breath, Torres lunged for the gun. He grabbed hold of Muldoon’s arm and attempted to wrest it from his grip. In the process, the lighter fell from his hands and faded out.
He was struggling with the other man in the pitch darkness, and he couldn’t see what he was doing. He was putting forth his strongest effort, and straining all of his muscles, but to seemingly no avail. It was not even a question of strength here…

He twisted and turned, trying to wrench the gun free, but felt himself being overmatched. He felt like maybe he should let go, and did so. Unfortunately, just as the older man had decided to violently jerk him to the side.

Gandoca Torres fell eleven feet straight down into the hay pile. He groaned as he felt his back tack the impact of the fall. It had been lucky, having his to cushion the impact.

Looking up, he could see the other man staring down at him, lighter in hand. It illuminated the whole floor, and he could see the ladder as well. Torres started to get up, when he suddenly stopped.

By the dim light, he could see clearly that he was covered in blood head to toe, because this was exactly where he had so carelessly dumped the bucket out to. He cursed his carelessness, thinking how much of a pain in the butt…
He was about to call out to the man above, when his words died on his lips. The left wall of the barn seemed to flicker and fade in the light, and he squinted as he realized what he was seeing.

The light was poor, but he could easily see the vague outline of the animal as it approached. It was about nine feet tall, give or take. A master of camouflage, one would never know it was there unless you looked for it. Even then…

The two bony horns atop the head usually gave it away, or so he had concluded in the many times he’d sat and watched high above in the lift. They had been the reason for the nickname he’d given it in the first place, their resemblance to that master of cunning himself…

“Los Cuernos” he muttered to himself, so softly he could barely hear. “Los Cuernos que terroice…” He thought to himself as he felt the oh so soft footprints approaching.

He felt the animal’s muzzle against his side, feeling familiar though he hadn’t physically touched it in the past three years. He’d raised it from an egg…. Tentatively, he reached out and touched it. The skin felt scaly and pebbly to his touch.

Looking up, he could see Muldoon staring in a mix of horror and fascination. Torres knew the animal’s full outline would be visible from up there, where the other man could see it in its full grandeur.

He bet there was not another animal like it in the world. As the animal bent down, he realized that it was sniffing him. He took a deep breath as he realized that he was completely covered in blood.

Well, he should have seen something like this coming from a long time ago really. As he lowered his hand, he suddenly felt something cold and clammy. It was like….

Torres looked own in the dim light, too see what the matter was. Touching his chest, he felt extremely lightheaded. Maybe it was the fall. Or maybe it was the fact that his liver was slowly dripping down the hay stack.

In the light, he could see what the animal held in its maw… his own flesh. The bite had been so quick; he barely had time to register it.

Looking up, he could see the lighter flicker and flare out. By its dying light, the shape silhouette against the night seemed to be darker then ever.

For one brief, fatal instant, Gandoca Torres saw the animal in full profile. One never got to fully appreciate it… It truly was a majestic creature.

The Carnotaur lowered its head; slavering jaws open wide and Torres opened his mouth to scream.

As always, great chapter, man! Keep it up

Geat read, as usual

Another great chapter!

Here's Chapter 8. Have fun reading!
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Event Horizon

The scream seemed to permeate the night air, chilling him to his very bones. Marty Guitierrez stepped away from the door, feeling his fingers trailing along the outside edge. He squinted in the darkness, trying to make out where the sound was coming from. However, there was no follow-up, just the cool wind of the night blowing against his face.

He wondered if he should go back in the bar, maybe have a drink. He was imagining things wasn’t he? The only thing that stopped him was maybe Carter would be in there…

Instead, he walked slowly around the corner of the building, careful to step around the pile of leaves. Through the dim light of the bar, he could see the patrons leaving for the night, staggering on listlessly to their homes.

He thought maybe he should get around to checking the kid’s progress on the station. Dang kid better not be slacking off, or Guitierrez was going to give him hell. Might give him hell anyway because of the crappy mood he was in.

He had almost crossed the way when he saw a man running in the darkness. Muldoon, and it looked like he wasn’t going to stop. Marty tried calling out but the man just ignored him, ran right past without so much as a glance.

Marty shook his head, figuring he was probably drunk. Man would wake up in the morning, worst hangover of his life. He reached the tent; saw that at least some stuff had been set up in his absence.

Good, maybe he wouldn’t dock his grade when it came time to assess the quality of the help. He went into the tent and grabbed a flashlight from a nearby chair. Flicking it on, he looked around to see what had been done.

Kid was fast asleep, in one of the hammocks they had already set up. Marty shook his head, and went over to his own cot. Setting his pack in, he fished his cell phone out, just needed to check on something.

He just had a tick about it, more nervous then anything really. Had to call the university every week of the expedition, just to check in. Joked that the insurance people made him do it. But it was just him.

With a look back at the kid, Marty stepped outside to make the call. He looked about at random rather bored and disinterested in everything around him. The number was already dialed and the phone was ringing, and he was just tapping his feet waiting for the line to connect.

Until he stopped, because his flashlight had picked up on something… he crouched down to make it out more. There… there it was. Muldoon’s shoe print, but what was that in the heel…

The flashlight illuminated a speck of red, and Marty’s fingers touched the dirt cautiously. It was still warm and wet, though he had no idea whether it was Human or not. Lifting the light up further, he could see the footprints trailing off into the distance, up a hill.

Taking a few tentative steps forward, Guitierrez could see each step had a bit of the same red drops in it. He shook his head, wondering what exactly he’d got into now. This wasn’t exactly his concern, the last thing he wanted right now but…

Even as he heard the tinny voice on the other end of the phone, Marty slammed it shut. He stalked back to the tent, swearing under his breath. Stuffing the phone in his pants pocket, he gruffly awoke the kid.

“Wha?” Shawn muttered in the darkness, clearly at a loss to the urgency of anything in particular. “Do you have any idea of what time it is old man?”

Marty didn’t even care, just grabbed his pack. He knew time might be running short, and he didn’t want to have to go find Dr. Carter. Hell, even in a life or death situation, he didn’t want to have to explain himself running into her tent at Eleven at night.

No, whatever he was going to have to do tonight was going to be just him, hundreds of miles away from anything. He didn’t think that Muldoon had it in him to harm someone… but a drunk man was certainly unpredictable.

He didn’t look back, but he could hear the kid stumbling out of the ten after him. Marty shone the flashlight on the ground, following the steps back in reverse at a brisk pace. He could feel the sweat beading off of his forehead, and he shook his head in anxiety.

The prints came down a hill, as Marty looked up. He remembered vaguely that there was some sort of recluse that lived here, or at least the barman had told him before. Was that who the blood belonged too?

Suddenly that scene in the bar seemed to take on a new meaning. What reason had Muldoon really followed the other man out? Marty wasn’t going to ask him personally that was for sure. Could wait until morning when he had the rest of the village behind him.

As they climbed the hill, the first thing he saw was a large and imposing barn. Silhouletted against the black of night, it seemed to fill his whole world. The breeze at his back seemed to increase, and he could see the trees swaying with the sudden gust.

To his left he saw dimly what must have been the other man’s house, but that did not interest him at the moment. The prints were coming from one place, he could see as he drew nearer. Two sets of prints going towards the barn, one going back.

Marty’s felt his mouth crease into a hard line, as he continued walking. Looking back briefly, he could see the kid staring at the barn. Couldn’t blame him, really, he was unnerved by the presence of the large structure.

He almost missed it in the dark, because the footprints were becoming harder to see in this dirt. He held his breath, as the flashlight swung back, to the side of the barn.

He could barely see it; it was well hidden against a bale of hay. There was a rickety ladder, which seemed to go up. Maybe to a loft, Marty wasn’t sure. He turned to Baxter, handing him the backpack.

“Stay right here,” he said wondering just how his voice could be so calm. “If you hear me call for help, don’t go in. Just run into the village. Find Dr. Carter, and tell her to get some of the villagers here.”

Baxter took the pack, putting it on his back. He looked doubtfully up at the loft, and shook his head. “It’s crazy, going up there by yourself.” The kid paused, and took a breath. “At least can you wait until I can get someone from the village down here?”

Something inside Marty told him not to let the kid do that. There must be a reason why this guy was a recluse in the first place. “Just stay right here,” he said, “see anything, hear anything, go knock on the door of the house.”

He turned back to the ladder, and put his foot on the first rung. Grunting, he put the flashlight in his mouth, as he climbed up. If he were only five years younger… he could have done this much easier… The ladder was rather poorly constructed as well, considering the crappy resources that must be available here.

He wanted to wipe the sweat off his brow while he was climbing, but found it was impossible to do that but still maintain his grip. He gripped the top rung, and pulled himself over the side.

Spitting the flashlight out of his mouth, Marty quickly grabbed it and switched it on. The high beams reflected the loft around him, illuminating the small space, revealing the cramped space.

Immediately he saw the edge of the loft, with another ladder leading down to the barn door. He cautiously crawled over to the edge, careful not to get to close. Scanning with his flashlight, he stopped again as he saw a pool of blood right on the edge of the loft. It was dripping off of the edge, a bucket lolling slightly to the side.

Slowly Marty peered over the edge, trying to get a glance. He leaned forward on his elbow, angling for a better view. However, his elbow slipped, and he involuntarily let go of the flashlight. It fell to the floor below with a soft thud.

“Dang,” Marty muttered under his breath, as he held tight to the edge in the darkness. He took a look back, and could barely see the entrance to the loft in this night. Scrambling to his knees, he felt around, clutching his hand on something small and metallic.

Click. A small flicker of flame brought the darkness alive again, although its range was very small. He could see it was old and beat up, meaning it probably had very little light left in it.

He held it in front of him, as he very cautiously scrambled over to the ladder. It was a rope ladder this time, swaying unevenly in the night breeze. Marty shook his head as he began his slow descent.

The bottom of the barn was about ten feet or so from the loft, and he could discern a very rank smell. It hadn’t been evident from up there, for reasons he didn’t fully understand. Maybe it was the way the hay was structured or something.

He exhaled sharply, pulling his shirt over his mouth with his free hand. Halfway down he jumped, landing hard on the ground. The smell was worse then ever, and even in this dim light, he could tell where it was coming from.

It was a large bale of hay, and even from here, Marty could tell it was directly below where he had been leaning. Frowning, he cautiously walked over to it, keeping the light in front of him. It seemed there was some object on the pile, covered partly with hay…

He moved to brush them aside with his free hand. He soon wished he hadn’t, as he pulled his shirt down and gasped in horror. His throat was immediately dry in an instant, and he felt for a terrible instant of how alone he was.

It was the man from the bar… he grimaced. Torres lay with his mouth opened, and his chest disemboweled at the gut. The intestines were dripping down the sides of the bale, now that he could see in the light. Flies obscured the actual wound, but he could tell the point of entry must have been deep.

There were a few other wounds, such as the right arm was torn off right at the joint. Bone sticking upward, as if the man had been trying to stave off the inevitable in those final moments.

Marty closed his eyes and looked away. There was nothing to be done here. He took a few steps back, and almost stumbled. Looking down, he could see it was a shallow depression looking like…

Marty’s breath was once again taken away, almost distracting him from the body. He took out his cell phone in a second, flipping it open and scrolling down the functions. He couldn’t get a very good picture in this light…but he wasn’t about to go scrawling through the mud to try and find the flashlight.

At least not now, definitely not now. He took a quick snapshot of what he
saw, making sure to save it. Silently, he put it back in his pants pocket to look back at the body. Something struck him as not quite right…

Some detail he was overlooking possibly? It was way too quiet in here, and he didn’t like it. He thought maybe he should go back; get some other people down here as well. Slowly, he began backing up towards the rope.

He could hear the sound of his breath in the barn. The sound of his sweat hitting the floor. He knew in that instant, that Muldoon was not involved. At least not responsible for that level of damage to the body.

Taking one look back, Guitierrez’s nerve failed him. He dashed over to the rope ladder, and started climbing.

The silence broke over him like a wave as he set the first foot down on the rung. He froze again as he heard the unmistakable sound of something shifting in the darkness. He could hear whatever it was sniffing the air, as it woke from whatever ungodly bed it lay.

Marty bit his lip, as he slowly and carefully as he took hold of the next rung. A loud coughs, hacking like a mad dog near the bale of hay. He closed his eyes as he heard the unmistakable sound of bones cracking.

That was absolutely it, if he continued like this; he would be a nervous wreck. Marty grabbed the rungs with both hands, letting the lighter fall to the floor. He winced as it made a very obvious clanging sound on the floor.

As soon as he felt the thing stirring at the sound, Marty started going faster. It was terror born of the unknown, of whatever might be lurking down in the darkness.

He was almost at the top now, almost at the top. He let himself relax, as he slowly reached for the edge.

And nearly fell. Only his strong grip on the rope with his other hand saved him from falling. Looking down he could not see what was wrong, only that the rope was twisting and turning. Something was tugging at it, trying to make the rope snap.

Trying to get at him. In horror, Marty saw the rope beginning to snap as more strain was put on it. He felt his grip slipping, gasping as he saw the fibers beginning to fray. He only had one hand free now, and he could feel his grip slipping.

No… he imagined he felt hot breath against his legs, as they struggled to keep their foothold. He flailed wildly with his other hand, reaching for something, anything to hold on to.

The rope snapped just then, and Marty was now dangling off of the edge with only one hand. But he felt that one slipping too. He felt a presence at the bottom, just waiting for him to slip and fall.

He struggled to get up, just as he felt something brush against his legs. Looking up, he was certain that he would fall. The dark shadow rose, surging up from the blackness, and he kicked out in vain.

Suddenly out of the darkness, he felt a hand wrap around his grasping arm. It was pulling him, but he couldn’t quite get over the edge, no matter how he tried.

Somewhere outside the moon was coming out of the clouds, and the light shone briefly through the loft entrance. Baxter’s face was visible out of the gloom, grunting with perspiration.

Marty had no time to think, for suddenly something hard and uneven brushed his feet. He kicked roughly against it, found brief footing. It surged up again, and he used that momentum to propel himself upwards.

Quickly, he rolled away from the loft edge, and stood panting in the gloom. He saw the kid breathing heavily as well, shaking his head. Marty gave him a nod, “thanks,” he muttered under his breath. Maybe the kid had some use after all.

He realized that he had come this close to dying, but from what he still could not tell. It had been too dark in there to see anything really, but what mattered was that he had seen something.

The kid went down the ladder to outside first, and Marty followed. Even though he knew he was safe, he had never gone down a ladder so fast before. His heart was still pounding a million miles an hour, as if he couldn’t believe it was real.

Leaning against the side of the barn, Marty took the cell phone out of his pocket. He wiped perspiration with his free hand as he took a good look at the picture he had taken in the light.

He took a deep breath, as the image was revealed. A deep impression in the mud, looked like tracks he had seen so long ago…on a beach so far away. But bigger, much bigger. Too large even to be from an animal such as that behind the bar.

He knew this represented trouble, though he was not sure how deep he was in it yet. If any word of this got out to the Costa Ricans… he knew they would not take a chance with this Crap.

No, Marty had to call someone he could trust, someone who wouldn’t hang up the phone immediately. He dialed the number, mentally waiting for it to pick up. “C’mon, c’mon,” he said to himself. No answer, well…

He thought about the picture, well maybe that would be a better option, maybe just write a little note about where it was taken. That sounded like a better plan, at least to him.

With his mind made up, Marty sent the message to Richard Levine.

Great work!

Nice chapter, man

I rike dis a lot, Pickle! Nice verk!

The door slammed behind Richard Levine in the empty apartment. He sighed
Okay everybody here is Chapter 9 of my fanfic. Sorry it's so late everybody, but I had a busy weekend. But I hope the newest chapter is to your satisfaction. Thanks to everybody who's read this far!
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Levine

The door slammed behind Richard Levine in the empty apartment. He sighed as he set his pack down carelessly on the couch, before sitting down. There was a peculiar sense of exhaustion about him, as if he had spent weeks without rest. His hair was disheveled and unkempt, and his stubble was dangerously close to forming a beard.

He sat down at the table, brushing aside the note from his housekeeper with a detached, distracted demeanor. Slowly he began to eat his soup, and as he did so he dwelled on the past week. The appetite really wasn’t there anymore, not like in the old days. Back when he actually felt like doing something, and not going through the motions of life. When he’d had the strength and reserves to really enjoy his work.

The staff meetings were draining all the life from him, and he could feel it in his head. Those people had no sense of humor, none at all. It didn’t help either that he was the youngest person in the boardroom either, not one bit. His Confucian quotes seemed to fall on deaf ears, and you could almost hear them tapping their fingers in impatience. Levine wasn’t cut out for this Crap, he never had been.

Supposedly there were things expected of him, which he’d only just begun to find out. Had to do with him getting older, out of that ‘phase’, or so the board had called his career as a world famous Paleontologist. Apparently being the heir to a hugely successful toy company was more important then that. Maybe that would interest some people, but not Richard Levine.

He looked up, staring at the far end of the room. Through the open door at the other end he could see his desk, with the INGEN computer still nestled on it. Still hadn’t thought to throw the Dang thing away, even though it had long past its usefulness. It was obsolete anyways, since a modern monitor was hooked up to the hard drive, and could handle the more complex tasks in a more efficient fashion.

He wondered how the network was doing; he hadn’t had that much chance to check up on it these days, considering he had been stuck in meetings. Malcom had been number one on his contacts, to call him when there was anything interesting coming up. That number had not rung in three or for months. It seemed to him that it was fading out of his memory, even the image of the other man.

He was losing his will to eat anymore-just thinking about all this Crap, and with a frustrated sigh, he stood up. Taking his half empty dish, he dumped it in the sink and grabbed his pack off of his couch. Looking at his watch he judged it was about eight or nine hours until the next meeting. Some Crap about the marketing campaign for the new line of Becky dolls. Levine shook his head, thinking of what he’d like to say to them…

He was just about to head off to bed when he stopped. There was just something that made him stop, after all this was a wider gap between meetings then usual. He might as well log in, check his e-mail. Hell, maybe take a look at the network. He hadn’t heard anything in the news, so he was certain that the connection should still be there. At least he hoped so.

He slung the pack over the chair and turned the computer on. It didn’t take all that long to warm up, but while he waited he went to the kitchen and got himself some coffee. Probably a bad idea if he was planning to take a nap later, but for now he felt like he would fall asleep without it. That was a really bad habit to get into, but he couldn’t think of a better way to keep himself awake at the moment. He was just too damned tired to care about anything, or almost anything at the very least.

Levine sighed as he took a sip of his coffee while scrolling down his emails. The usual reminders from the board of course, all unread. One or two from Malcom, dated a week or so ago. However the subject line was about academia, noting vague theories about how chaos would affect the Island. Way too deep for him, though personally he always thought the answer would turn out to be something simpler.

There was that email he’d sent three weeks ago to Grant. Even persuading Malcom to contact the guy hadn’t gotten him to open up. Levine couldn’t blame him of course; the man probably wanted nothing to do with another Island, and all the responsibility that entailed. Well that was it for his messages, so Levine decided it was time to check the network.

He opened up another window, waiting for it to load. The connection seemed to take a bit longer then usual, though he couldn’t remember since it had been at least a month since last time. He had to wait for the live feed to load on his computer, and for the signal to process. It was worth it though, the perfect way to feel better about himself after a shitty day like today.

Levine loosened his tie and took off his jacket coat, draping it over the chair. Rolling up his sleeves, he took another sip of his coffee. He watched the feed slowly come onto live mode, and a prompt came on screen. He smiled, typing in the password the kid had wrote down so long ago. Sitting back, the screen then prompted him for which camera he’d like to access.

There were ten or twelve different cameras in all, in past times Levine had spent hours just staring at them and making observations. However, he was too busy now, and life was intruding in his work. It was a Dang shame, but that was the way it had turned out for him. He was only interested in one camera today, clicking on the one that indicated the river valley. He took a quick glance at the sticky note attached to the side of the monitor. ‘River Valley observe… ‘ He shook his head, a tired sigh escaping his lips.

The monitor came into focus now, and he could see the camera’s point of view. He had long speculated where exactly the tree the camera was located was on, but he suspected it might be somewhere he had passed. The view was similar to the one from the high hide, where he’d looked over the long grass. Except now it was five or six years later.

He sat up, as the feed began again. It was quite a picturesque scene indeed, the river flowing lazily between the valley and the long grass. Like a scene from a Lost World…unspoiled by humans. He allowed himself a wry smile knowing the irony in that though. Against the riverbank, there lay a large slumped carcass, the bones of its mammoth ribs bleaching in the sun. Levine frowned again, and typed in the command for the camera to narrow its focus.

He could see clearly that the body had not been disturbed; in fact there were no broken bones that he could see. The animal had died by the riverbank, its head sticking out of the grass, familiar crested skull shining in the sun. Parasaurolophus Walkeri, Levine thought to himself and it was odd how detached he seemed. A vanished giant, seemingly alone in the field and defying time.

He examined the bank of the river, knowing the soft mud would betray any prints. Frowning again he grabbed his pad and a pen. He scribbled down ‘Three months’ and stuck it to the side of the monitor. That was odd…bad news indeed. But he should have expected it really. Why had he expected any different? This result was no different then the past three months.

Hell, he had watched the Parasaur die on live feed, expecting predators to move in any second. A day, then a week, finally three whole months. He leaned back in his chair as he contemplated what this meant. No predation on the carcass, not even scavengers. No scavengers meant no corpses taken by predators… no predators meant there was a lack of prey… He hsook his head finally, unwilling to believe until he had seen.

He scrolled through the other cameras, wanting to see something that wasn’t there. His eyes did not betray him though, as he saw no sign of other animals, none at all. He closed his eyes shaking his head. The island was free of sign, except for the corpse at the river. What did it mean? If there was anything that would take his mind off of the board meetings this was it.

He was about to get up, shaking his head in silence. Was that it? Levine wondered idly. It had been a folly, a glorious one but one destined to failure. The Island was dead. Isla Sorna was dead, and there were no Dang dinosaurs on it now. Nothing lived and breathed from sixty-five million years. He thought to himself that he would continue logging onto the network, if only to confirm this.

Now it was time for a nap, to get ready for the board meeting tomorrow. Levine got up from the chair and was about to log out when the phone rang. With an exasperated sigh, he reached over the chair to see who was calling. It was a text message actually; maybe it was from the board… He paused as he saw the sender, and the subject line. It was enough to make him sit straight down, and right up in that chair.

Marty Guitierrez hadn’t heard from that butthole in years. Mainly he’d been trying to avoid talking to him. Especially after he heard the whole story of his involvement once they’d gotten back safely from Isla Sorna. To sit there with a straight face and claim it was just an Iguana… He shook his head at the audacity of the man. The sheer baldf-aced audacity of it all. Marty sure had guts lying to his face like that with no pause whatsoever.

The message came with an attachment so he decided to open that first, maybe read whatever Marty wanted him to know later. He took another sip of his coffee while the picture loaded. He almost dropped the cup when it did. He felt a lump in his throat when he saw the date and timestamp on the photo. What was this… he couldn’t even begin to process it.

A footprint, a Dang footprint in shitty light. Like it was taken in a building or something. But the obvious characteristics where there. Even in the bad lighting, he could tell what had made it. Not the exact species of course, but it was obviously a large therapod, perhaps a medium size carnivore. Maybe seven or eight feet tall judging from the size of the print. He shook his head as he enlarged the picture on his phone just to be sure. Yes, there was no mistaking what he was seeing.

Attachment read “Levine…don’t know if I can trust you with this but… What is this?” That was it. No description of location or anything. Levine felt a rising sort of dull anger building up in him, biting his lip and shaking his head futility. After all this time, the denial and the lying the man just came forward like this.

He didn’t know quite what it meant though. Had Marty discovered Isla Sorna? He certainly hadn’t detected any signs of human presence on the network cameras but he should have. Regardless he had a way to find out, and in a few short minutes Levine would know exactly where this came from.

Being the heir to a multimillion-dollar company sometimes held its perks. For example, he was able to finance the latest technology for his office, coupled with the most cutting edge software. Placing the phone on the desk, he grabbed a cable from the jumbled mess under the desk. He then used it to connect the phone to the hard drive.

Minimizing the network window, Levine opened up another application. He selected the option to transfer call data, and waited a few seconds. Every phone call had to be directed from somewhere, and even when using a Sat phone, those waves could usually be directed back to their point of origin. Thus, he was not surprised when the program gave him his answer almost instantaneously. But the answer was not what he had expected at all. Not in Sixty-five million years.

The signal was coming from the mainland, in some Crap-piss little village in Costa Rica. About five or ten miles inland he wasn’t sure. Anyway he clicked again and downloaded the co-ordinates to the village to his phone. He was almost about to exit, when another window popped up. Levine scratched at his stubble as he read it. Apparently Levine hadn’t been the only recipient of the call, even though his name had been the only one on the sender.

It was called ‘signal hijacking’ or whatever the hackers said nowadays. Where someone could fix a phone to send the message to another unlisted number as well, regardless of the sender’s intent. He frowned, his brow furrowing against his unkempt hair.

“Dang it!” he said, even though no one could hear him in the empty apartment. He knew what this meant, that this picture was no longer confidential. He bit on his lip again, shaking his head. Before he knew it he was already standing up, feeling alert in an odd way that he hadn’t been just a half hour earlier. He looked down at himself, still clad in business attire.

That message had been sent six hours ago. He thought to himself. Six hours. He ran his hands through his head, knowing he would almost certainly miss the board meeting. Ah to hell with them, this was more important. Besides, this was what he’d trained for his whole life. It was calling him again, Costa Rica. Once again he would face the beasts of nightmare.

Once again. He grabbed his phone as he headed for his closet. No use going to Costa Rica in these nice clothes. The number of his travel agent was on speed-dial. “Yes, hello.” He paused. “When’s your next flight out to Costa Rica?”

It was buried in his closet, but he found it again, his binoculars. Clutching them to his chest, he wondered what he was getting himself into. Maybe he should contact Malcom… no. He had a dread certainty that the other someone was already well on their way. Levine knew what he had to do. It was dreadfully simple, yet the most frightening prospect ever.

Richard Levine would have to go alone.

Good chapter again, man! Well done.

Okay here's chapter five of my story. Once again thanks to all those who have read it for the entirety of its run so far! Thank you for your loyal readership!

Muldoon


Robert Muldoon sighed as he leaned back in his chair. He watched the rain streaming past the barred windows and gurgling somewhere up in the gutter. The storm had come swiftly in the night, with no warning whatsoever. In the distance he could hear the thunder crackling, the lightning flashing for a second against the window frame. Then all was silent again, for a few precious seconds.

Muldoon closed his eyes, clutching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He slowly eased the crust that had built up after those nights sleep, and looked away from the window. He was sitting upright in a chair, his feet resting on an end table. In his arms was cradled a SPAS-12 shotgun, his right hand was clutching the stock, and his left, the barrel. He held it tight to his chest, as if he was afraid of losing it.

As he sat up, he knocked over the liquor bottles and shotgun shells that littered the end table. His mouth was parched and dry, and his eyes were bloodshot. It had been a sleepless night, one plagued with night terrors and insomnia. He got up from the chair slowly; still hanging on to his gun like it was some kind of comfort. He felt a calamity in his head, he felt like a stiff. He felt his eyes unable to focus, his gaze wandering around the room. It felt so different, although that could just be because of the drink.

He felt his legs buckle slightly under him, as he tried to maintain his balance. Muldoon let go of the gun as he raised his hand to steady his head. He tried to remember, but it was all a haze. He had come back to his compound screaming and yelling, but the rest of it seemed lost in a haze. Last night… he bit his lip and scratched his stubble as he racked his brains. All that came to mind was a half muddled light, shining in the proverbial darkness. He couldn’t make it out, only that it seemed so bright, and what had appeared had been so utterly beyond what he had been expecting.

He felt a sense of loss, as if he had failed somehow in a way that he didn’t understand. His head was still throbbing, and he thought that maybe he needed something to clear it up a bit. Aspirin maybe, or something a bit stronger for this hangover. That was right, just something to clear the head a bit, make him remember what exactly made him gulp down four bottles of cheap Mexican beer. He knew it had to be something bad. Normally on his worst days he only could get down two and a half.

Grasping the gun by the pistol grip, he leaned onto the wall with the other hand. Slowly, he staggered his way to the door, which lay half open propped up with a chair. He raised the gun slightly, feeling his palm sweat as he looked to each side. The hall was empty, and he could see the muddy tracks of his boots leading out to the main exit. He wondered vaguely if he had bothered to close the door, and then remembered that the door shut automatically after each person entered, the way he’d planned it.

All the precautions of an old man, he thought to himself with a wry shake of his head. He turned to go to the medicine cabinet, when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Old habit forced him to act quickly, raising the gun as he drew in his breath. Only his practiced hand paused a very second before he hit the trigger, preventing him from shooting out the monitor on the opposite wall. He let himself relax, but only for a second. There was a blinking red light, just flashing on and off. Crap, it was sort of giving him a headache, since it was reflecting right in his eye. The light had one purpose he knew, to inform him there was somebody at the gates.

Crap. He thought, as he walked the opposite direction. He didn’t really feel like receiving any visitors, at least not this late in the morning. Muldoon set the gun down in an alcove along the wall, and draped a blanket over it. Sometimes he thought he was being too careful, and other times he thought he was not nearly careful enough. He passed by the coat rack on the way to the door, and he grabbed the hat he’d left there, it was still a bit damp from last night.

He opened the door, turning down the brim of his hat so that he would not catch the rain on his face. Looking up, Muldoon closed the door behind him with the back of his hand. The yard was a complete mess, mud everywhere due to the onslaught of the storm. He walked gingerly on the concrete slabs leading outward from the door, as he made his way to the gate. He could see his visitor, and inside he couldn’t help smirking a bit. So at long last the man decided to come and talk to him, when he tried to pretend he didn’t even know him. Oh how the mighty have fallen, he thought in that moment.

Leaning up close to the fence, he was careful not to touch it. With the rain coming down this hard, frankly he was surprised that there wasn’t an electrical short somewhere. Well, he’d learned from the past, and the fuse box was inside, insulated from the rain. Still, the water would be a natural conductor of electricity, and anyone touching this would be subject to ten thousand volts. So Robert Muldoon simply stared with bloodshot eyes at his guest, Marty Guitierrez. Dang, if there were an award for unexpected appearances, this man would win first place. He thought it was best to get to the point, and quickly too.

Given how hard the rain was coming down, Muldoon wasn’t that surprised the other man was wearing a slicker, which was plainly not his size. “Nice day isn’t it?” He cracked, finding it impossible to resist. “So what brings you out here today,” he said levelly, trying to straighten himself out. He started walking a bit to the side, towards the entrance to the gate. After a second, he saw Marty follow him, their eyes locked as they walked.

“It’s not exactly time for pleasantries is it Robert?” There was a haunting familiarity in there that rubbed him the wrong way, and he found his grin disappearing off of his face. “There’s something I want to talk to you about, what happened last night for instance.”

Muldoon closed his eyes again, raising his head so that the rain could fall on his face. It felt cool to the touch, and he could taste the humidity in the air. He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. “I wish I could tell you that Marty, I really do.” The plain fact of the matter was that where last night was concerned, Muldoon was drawing a blank. The events of eight hours ago simply did not exist in his memory.
“But there’s absolutely nothing that I remember…”

“Really?” Marty seemed to withdraw into himself, as if he was thinking. “Because I really need to know. What happened in the barn last night?” He was walking a bit faster if anything, forcing Muldoon to quicken his pace as well. He found his mouth drawing into a hard line, as some part of him started to remember…yes he had been in the barn last night but…”what happened in the barn last night?”

He looked ahead through the pouring rain, biting his lower lip as he walked on. He could see the gate now, the only real entrance and exit to the compound. They would be there in a matter of seconds, and he would make up his mind then. After all, the situation wasn’t that dire…was it? “It’s contained,” he said without really knowing why. “It’s stable, the situation is stable… it can’t get out.” He didn’t know why his throat was dry when he said that, or why he suddenly found that he stopped walking.

They were face to face now, staring at each other from opposite sides of the gate. Muldoon looked down, seeing the protective cover for the handprint entry. His arm started to raise, but he looked back at Marty, feeling a sense of anticipation. “Is it stable?” He found himself blurting out, a bit quicker then he’d expected. He found his heart beating very fast now, though he felt he didn’t want to know the answer.

“I don’t know what when on between you and that man Muldoon, but he’s dead now.” The words seemed to reberate through his head, and he felt himself taken aback. If there was ever anything to get someone sober in two seconds, there was it. “He’s dead and his guts are all over the floor of the barn.” Marty stopped a second, shaking his head. “You know how this looks don’t you Robert? You were the only person there with him last night.”

Without consciously noticing it, Muldoon’s hand slipped into the hand scanner, and he heard a dull ‘beep’ indicating the authorization. The gate slowly began retracting to the side, although Muldoon didn’t move. He could have but he didn’t, just stared ahead feeling like he couldn’t breathe. He felt a surge of anger inside him, something just needing to get out. “What are you going to do about it then?” he said, feeling a bit of confidence rising inside him. “Shitty little village like this, you can do absolutely nothing about that, right?”

Marty Guitierrez raised his head, and Muldoon was surprised at how tired he seemed. “I wish that were the case Robert,” he said at last. “Actually I don’t know how they found out but…the Costa Ricans are here.”

Muldoon froze in an instant, the sort you remember everything in. The memories of last night flooded in, and it all seemed to come back too fast. He couldn’t deal with it, and he was forcing his brain to process the events one at a time. “But how…” he found himself moving without consciously thinking about it, grabbing Marty by the arm and just walking on. It wasn’t that far to go, and the other man didn’t struggle or put up a fight. He just let himself be led on by Muldoon to the edge of the clearing.

Like Gandoca, Muldoon had built his compound on a hill, but his was slightly smaller, although he could see the whole village from here. He stopped when he came into view of the clearing, shaking his head. “Get down,” he said to Marty, more out of practiced sense then any real threat. He looked out, craning his neck but at the same time trying to remain inconspicuous. He could see the helicopter in the clearing near the bar, even through this rain. It was getting ready to leave he saw, and there were three figures standing beside it.

“They arrived before dawn,” Marty said in a whisper beside him. “Said all non-essential personnel had to leave the village immediately.” He leaned forward a bit for a better look. “Said the doctor, and the barman could stay, but nobody else. “ Muldoon gave him a funny look, wondering why…it didn’t fit. Only three people…”Also said I could, since I was the first responder, they need me to show them the scene after they evacuate everyone.”

So that was it…Muldoon looked to his left, and saw a slow line of beat up trucks exit the village in a morose parade. He thought vaguely of people who had lived there all their lives, just get kicked out one day when the authorities come knocking. That didn’t sit well with him, not in his gut. He felt his fists clench, he wasn’t sure what to do about that or even if he could do anything.

“Three of them,” he found himself repeating like a broken record. “Did you get what they looked like?” Something was bothering him about the operation. The Costa Ricans would never send an operation this small for something this large of a scale. He watched the last few trucks disappear down the bend and out of sight. He wondered where they were even going, probably they themselves didn’t even know.

“They were dressed in Camouflage gear and are armed with Machine guns,” Marty said. “I think… I didn’t get a good look at their leader though. He kept his back to me, and his subordinate told me everything. Then the other one, some chick started yelling at me so I decided to leave until the evacuation was over.”

Muldoon was silent for a second. “I’m only going to say this once Marty.” He turned his head to face the other man and his face was hard and tired at the same time. “Those guys aren’t Costa Rican. It’s just not how they do things.” He shook his head. “But….” He was thinking and he knew because he finally remembered last night, it had all come back to him. And he knew from the look on Marty’s face that they both knew what he was going to say next.

“Right,” Marty said. “I’m going to go down to them, show them the barn.” He started to get up, but Muldoon only got up halfway. “I’m not going to tell them you’re here but I recommend you get ready, because what’s coming might be bad.”

Muldoon grabbed the tree trunk, pulled himself up and nodded. “Might be bad? Marty there’s a whole shitstorm this way. Only question is if these guys have the training to handle it.” Something was bothering him, the same question that had bothered him last night and these past five years. “I don’t know what’s in there though. It’s big, but I don’t know what it is.”

Marty gave him a look, breaking the unspoken code of silence for the first time in ten years. “Raptor?” He had heard enough of the Nublar incident to know he should be worried if there was one of them here.

“No…” Muldoon’s eyes were distant, and he took a deep breath. “I thought it might be…for the longest time.” He turned away from Marty and started walking back towards the compound. “You go down there, alone. Get the kid to safety and the doctor too. When the shooting starts…”

Muldoon looked back at his compound, mentally picturing the barn in his mind. Too big for a raptor, besides it would’ve climbed that ladder. A Dilo? It was possible but….He just did not have the information right now.

“I’ll be there,” he said, and started walking back to the compound.

We reach chapter 11. Wow...25,000 words so far. I don't even think this is the halfway point at this moment in time but i would like to thank everyone who's stuck around to see it to this far. Thank you from the bottom of my heart..
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Chaos Theory

Guitierrez walked down the hill in the pouring rain, swearing under his breath. He’d half expected Muldoon would react that way, overdramatize everything. Of course in the hearings nearly ten years ago, he’d sort of gathered that impression of the man Completely drunk of course, Marty wondered if there was ever a moment that man was sober. It was sad to see the disengration of the man, and it was probably for the best that the man was going to hide out in his compound until this storm blew over.

The wind whipped in his face, and his brow was drenched in rain. He knew that the village was empty now with the exception of maybe five or six people. Maybe eight at most. He was wondering where they had all gone, the ones that remained at least. In the five or six days he’d been here, he found it was an unnatural quiet walking down the path and seeing and hearing nobody besides himself. Well, there were always the sounds of the jungle,

But even today the jungle seemed quiet, almost as if a great swell had descended. Marty had been in a hurricane before, and this was the same feeling you got in the eye of the storm. He quickened his pace, walking past the bar. Still nobody, he wondered were they had all gone. Maybe he would be able to get the kid away from the scene. He knew why the doctor had been allowed to stay, in case of… inconvenient accidents. Well, Crap happened and he knew it but…

He reached the end of the path, right in front of his tent. Whipping aside the front, he saw… nothing. “Crap,” he muttered under his breath and looked around. The kid was gone, he wondered vaguely where. “Crap,” He swore again under his

breath as he burst out the other end of the tent. The hood of this slick was really impairing his vision, and even though the rain was really coming down in buckets now, he took it off. Immediately, he found he could see better, even if his head and shoulders were immediately drenched.

Somewhere thunder boomed, and he could see a lone figure standing in front of him. Man at the base of the hill smoking a cigarrete in the rain. Cupping his hands so as to shield the flame. Marty approached cautiously, noticing the machine gun cradled over his shoulder. If what Muldoon had said was true… “Hey!” Marty called out, through the rain to catch the man’s attention. He could see a bit beyond, where there were fresh footprints on the muddy hill. The one that led up to the barn…

“Hay is for Horses,” The man replied, taking his cigarette out, and blowing out the smoke into the deluge. He looked up at him, and in that moment Marty saw something in his eyes that made him step backward. It was an almost feral glance, with viscous intelligence behind it. The man smiled at him nodding his head upward in the direction of the barn. “A little bird told us where the party is,” a wry laugh disturbed pouring rain.
“Listen, “ Marty began, “you have what you guys came for just let me leave in peace okay-“ he heard the gun cocking, and sweat dropped down his brow. It mixed with the rain, and was soon indistinguishable. The man only nodded his head upwards, indicating that Marty should go up. Didn’t leave him with much choice did he… He shook his head at the man, and began walking. Behind him he heard the man follow.

As he ascended he saw the rest of them gathered near the barn. The barman was ascending the outside ladder, presumably to act as some sort of lookout, Marty had no idea. He saw Dr. Carter standing against the sidewall, her medical bag at the ready. He nodded to her; she gave him a cold glance. Well, he figured, there’s nothing longer then a woman’s memory. He wondered if she had any idea what they were about to face here. Maybe she would be looking at him a little differently then.

There was another one of the armed soldiers (mercenaries?) well if Muldoon was right that was a possibility. Only it was a woman this time, hair a dark brown. She scowled at him, and motioned with her gun for him to move to the side. Marty just shrugged, taking the space beside Dr. Carter. He noticed Carter step slightly to the side as he approached, but figured that was probably about right.

He turned his head, and a scowl of his own escaped his lips. The kid was over there, walking in his direction. Directly behind him was a man he’d recognize on sight anywhere. The very man who had funded his research expedition… It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Baxter had told them it was in the barn. Dang kid, should’ve waited for him to come back, instead of going off on his own. He would’ve done something about it too, except for all these armed people.

Now the man was approaching him, his two armed associates taking up positions on opposite sides from the barn door. Marty watched Ed James stop at the lock to the barn door, almost as if he was contemplating it. But only for a second, before he stepped back. Waiting for a signal. All three of the newcomers had their guns aimed towards the opening, and nobody was moving a muscle. It reminded Marty of some movie he’d watched a long time ago, and dimly he wondered what was going to happen next.

He got his answer soon enough, after Baxter passed him. The kid started to protest some excuse, but Marty wasn’t having it, armed men or not. “Next time wait for me butthole,” he said, not exactly under his breath. Maybe he shouldn’t have left Muldoon’s compound after all, if he was going to be trapped like this. He thought that maybe it might be worth it to make a run for the jungle, but how far away from civilization was it?

“Mr. Guitierrez?” Marty turned his head at the sound, only to hear a crack. A gunshot, he thought wildly, feeling his chest out of instinct. No, he turned his head, to see that the lock was on the floor, shattered into two pieces. “Mr. Guitierrez, I believe we need your assistance.” It was James calling him, across the downpour. Marty could see it now, that the other man’s head was completely free of helmet or hat. The man was grinning at him, it seemed like a horrific leer through the pounding rain.

Marty knew what he needed to do, without the man having to remind him. He grimly walked to the doors of the barn, now with only a plank keeping the doors locked. He grunted as he shifted his weight to accommodate the heavy beam. Stepping back under the weight, he turned sideways and dropped it on the ground.

Then Marty Guitierrez walked back to the doors, grasping the twin handles. He felt the hinges creak, as they hadn’t been open in how many years? He couldn’t even begin to guess, and frankly he did not want to.

He grunted again, a sigh escaping his lips, as he pulled outward. The doors only resisted slightly before they gave way. He glimpsed the blackness within, and could almost feel it staring back at him. It was a void, for some reason seeming darker then when he’d actually been inside. It occurred to him vaguely that this might be a good time to move. His legs helped him, jumping to the side of the door. Just in time too, for he could see the mercenaries getting closer.

Up where he supposed the loft was, he saw a fragile beam of light. It was sweeping the floor, he knew looking for any sign of motion. But there was nothing, but Marty knew there was only one way to be completely sure. From the look in James’s eye, he knew that as well. Marty hung on to the edge of the door, hesitant to peek into the barn, but his curiosity driving him mad. He could only watch as the three of them went into the barn, he knew…searching. There would be a pause of course; they couldn’t afford to harm such a rare specimen. They would be switching for tranquillizer rounds right about…

Marty took that chance to dash across the front entrance. It would all be over, maybe in two or three seconds. He paused halfway, waiting for the shots that never came. It was odd though, seeing the searchers illuminated against the lights, trying to look in every nook and cranny. In the corner of his eye, Marty saw Baxter and Carter noticing his jumpy behavior. He held out a hand to reassure them, everything was going to be all right. After all… it would be taken care off in five seconds and he could go back to normal. Keep telling yourself that Marty, he thought.

He wasn’t a fool. Three people with machine guns. Practically no witnesses in the entire village and an operation illegal as hell. He knew how this could end, but he didn’t want it too. Hopefully they would be happy with what they had and just leave. Money had bought Marty’s silence before; it could buy it again for all he knew. He saw them coming out, a bit faster then he’d expected. He frowned, something was wrong. Something was more then a little off here…

“There’s nothing here,” Ed James said in a scarily calm voice as he stepped out into the rain. “Your boy led me on.” He shook his head, and Marty took a careful look at the gun. He was trying to gauge if it held tranquilizer rounds or bullets. Best to act cool, stay calm. He would know, perhaps in a matter of seconds or minutes.

“I swear there was something in here…” Marty’s words died on his lips, and he felt his throat dry up. He blinked, trying to comprehend what he was seeing, but his words and his imagination was failing him. He stepped back a pace, not even looking at James. Or rather…

“”Hello? Have you gone deaf?” James took a step forward and paused. Marty knew he sensed it too, that something was wrong. Very wrong indeed. From inside the barn the odor of foul carrion wafted into his nostrils, and Marty wondered how long the carcass had remained intact. Long enough for the animal to get hungry when it wasn’t fed at its appointed time? Perhaps… And who said how it would react to its cage being opened?

The barman’s light was like a beacon, lighting through the darkness of the barn, onto James. Marty was reminded of a prism, how when light shot through one end, it came out different. It was…. he was seeing something very like that here. The darkness behind James was not completely solid, he realized to his mounting horror. No, he’d most definitely seen something move, something out of place. He took another look back at Carter and the kid, motioning for them to get out of here.

By now it had gone completely silent, not even the grunts were making any noise at all. One by one they turned very slowly, James being the last of them all. He gasped audibly as the light swung back up. The darkness seemed to take on an odd shimmer, as the light swayed back and forth. Finally, it stopped altogether, as a low growl came from the barn.

Immediately everyone stepped back a bit, even the kid and Carter. The light beam also stopped right where it was, frozen in place. Marty could hear the mercenaries checking their magazine capacities quickly, preparing to fire. He waited for a long moment… but nothing came. He let out a deep breath, wondering for a second. Would the growl repeat itself, was it just a trick of their imaginations? He found himself tightening his fists, hoping against hope against hope…

The growl came again, and something walked out of the shadows. No one could tell what it was right away, mainly because it was translucent against the gloom. But everyone could see it, tell that it was big. Massive even. The light was shimmering off of its frame, but even from here Marty could make a crude guess as to size. Seven or eight feet…that was just a crude estimate.

“Shoot it!” He could hear the yells, seeming to come from far away now. “Shoot it!” The sound of three guns going off at once almost deafened him, and for a second he couldn’t see what was going on through the glare. However he stepped forward again, seeing the rounds that were falling down. One of them rolled over to his feet that were the sheer force the rounds were being ejected. He saw what it was… a dart. The kind you used to tranquilize Alligators, he suspected. But that meant…

That the dosage was probably too small, all it would do was make it angry. As he realized that of course he heard a yell from above him. James was looking at his gun in anger, and frustration, throwing it down before running in his direction. Marty could barely move, before the other three followed suit, though he noticed the woman was merely firing over her shoulder at this point.

The thing was now plainly visible, and with a shudder, Marty realized he recognized it. Not by name but by sight. On a deserted beach with Levine watching it go up in flames… The thing was hideous beyond his imaginings, the two horns seeming to mock his imagination and disbelief. I exist, it seemed to be telling him, I exist and you don’t!

He didn’t even stop to take off his slicker at this point, just ripped it off. He figured it would drag him down too much. He saw to his left the Kid making a run for the man’s house, and the Doctor sort of frozen in fear. Looking behind him, Marty saw the massive dinosaur turn its head towards him. Roaring, a loud unearthly sound that filled his ears with the years of pain and rage and hate. It was gaining on him, and he really had no time at all to really process it.

Nothing about the animal’s appearance registered with him at all. It was large and scaly and had horns. That was it. Panic had taken over, adjusting his eyesight so he only saw the important things. That, and it was gaining on him.

He tried to turn for the house as well, and he almost made it. Somewhere in the rush and bustle, things had gotten a little knocked around. Namely that seemingly insignificant wooden beam. His foot betrayed him, sending him stumbling off to the side. He let loose a gasp, flailing his arms desperately trying to keep his balance. But the gambit failed, and fell, just as the Carnotaur ducked its head in a side sweep. It missed, sweeping the air where his torso would’ve been just a second earlier.

However, his right leg caught a glancing blow, the force being enough to send him toppling over to the side. Marty Guitierrez had a rough landing, falling down on his face. Daze he looked up, seeing the large bulk of the animal going past him. Seemingly oblivious to the shouts of the mercenaries, it was heading for the surrounding forest. He felt his head swimming, finding it hard to focus. With a great effort, he turned himself on to his back.

The mercenaries passed him without stopping, and looking back he saw them disappear into the jungle as well. Looking down he saw his leg, a huge gash right in the side. He tried to move it… almost certainly broken. It made him feel dizzier just doing it…he felt like he just needed to close his eyes, let the pain go away. The fever was breaking down over his head, as he laid his head back down. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was Dr. Carter running towards him, Medical bag in hand.

Me being new and all. I just finished reading everything and I have to say this is well put together. Excellent work Sickle! Congrats.

Here is Chapter 12 of the story so far. Somehow the chapters have been getting longer as it progressed, though I'm not sure how that happened. Hopefully this has been to the betterment of the story, and I do hope that is the case. Thanks to everyone who has read so far!

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E.R.

In the immediate seconds following the attack Roberta Carter was numb with shock. When the animal had charged out of the barn she felt some part of her brain refusing to acknowledge the thing. It was just utterly beyond belief, beyond her imagination, yet unabashedly real. It was just there, and bellowing into the night sky. Her ears filled with the sound of guns firing and people running… and somehow she couldn’t find it in her to move. Like her feet had been frozen to the spot right there and then. She wanted to do something anything run and hide she didn’t know.

Only that the abomination was roaring into the night sky, defying the fact that by right something like it should’ve been extinct 65 million years ago. It was amazing how one could be looking directly at it but not be able to process it, not be able to remember what it looked like five seconds later. It was more the presence of the beast. There was a feeling of relief when it completely ignored her but continued on its path. Quickly looking to her side, she noticed the kid was frozen too. Well that was understandable…

Looking back she was just in time to see Marty running from the creature. For a while it looked like he was going to get away but then that beam…wincing as the man was whipped into the air, she took a step forward. The animal wasn’t looking in her direction, only roaring some more. Now the firing was resuming again, but slower. It was circling them, as if anticipating a move or something. Finally one of the mercenaries got too close she suspected, and it charged at them.

Lucky man got to the side just in time. But the beast didn’t stop going, just kept charging right into the trees. The men right after it, disappearing into the underbrush, which swallowed them up rapidly. It was only a second or two after, but already Carter felt the will go back into her legs. Seeing Guitierrez get on his back she could see the extent of his injuries. Luckily she had her medical bag in hand, when she had basically been forced by the mercenaries to assist in case of any injuries. But that wasn’t important right now, not at all. She ran blindly to his side, biting her lip when she saw his head slump back. Not here, not now, she thought to herself. “No!” she shouted, knowing that they were a long way away from any sort of civiliation. By road… she didn’t even want to think about it and all the cars were surely gone by now right? Yes this was a very bad situation out here in the rain in a shitty village in the middle of nowhere.

When she reached his side she knelt down to assess his condition. Feeling for a pulse she put her finger to the side of his neck. Very faint…very faint. Turning her head she looked at the wound. Completely covered in mud but she could tell it was bad. There was nothing she could do for it out here in the elements though, especially not with this goddamned rain coming down like a hurricane. She needed to get him to a hospital and fast, or at least if she was back in Chicago she would’ve said that. Now, the best she could hope for was somewhere dry they could do the basics and hope the man would live.

Looking up she saw the kid just standing there, and a little off to the side she saw the barman coming back into the clearing. “Well don’t just stand there… come and help!” She quickly assessed as to where to take him. Obviously it was a goddamned miracle the man hadn’t died of shock already. There was the barn but she didn’t like that reek that was coming from it. Also that was where the animal had come from so she didn’t even want to think about what sort of Crap might be in there. Down to the village was possible the only question was whether it might be too risky to move him so far in his state.
Something caught her eye as the men ran towards her. Of course she thought to herself that strange hermit who owned the barn lived near here didn’t he? That meant that was his house just behind them the whole time. That solidified it for her, which was the only place they could conceivably take him. Looking up again she smiled a bit as they finally reached her side. The kid’s face was pale, and she sort of knew his pain…it looked bad on your record when your supervising professor died or got injured. Well wasn’t that just perfect, and everybody felt the pain together.

“I need you guys to help me lift him,” she said stepping a bit away from Marty’s prone form. She winced a bit; trying not to look at that leg, she knew it was going to get infected most likely, and that would be nasty. “You grab the legs and I guess you take the body,” she said just randomly assigning each of them a job. Of course she knew she couldn’t lift either side, but she could do more about the situation then either of them right now. “Quickly, before it comes back,” she said wiping the rain out of her face. A quick, nervous look at the forest, she thought she could hear a distant roar but was that her imagination? Best not to leave those things to chance really.

She observed as they lifted the prone body of Guitierrez, the barman handing her the flashlight beforehand. That was good, it was still relatively early in the day but come night they might need it. As they walked nobody spoke the mood was relatively somber almost as if it was physically weighing everyone down. It really shouldn’t be raining that much she knew it wasn’t the right time of the year or something. But it was something of a relief to watch the rain wash all the mud and crap off of Marty’s prone form. Well not all of it but most of it and that was the main thing for right now.

The house was just ahead, she ran ahead a bit, tried the door. Opened pretty reasonably for the moment, though nobody seemed to be at home. She hadn’t seen him in the mandatory evacuation, and briefly she wondered where he might be. Well for now that wasn’t important, the patient was. She shined her flashlight inside, moving to the right as the men walked through the door. It seemed in an okay state, not perfect. Like someone had just up and left leaving everything in this state.

Now that they were all in the house, she slammed the door behind them. Taking off her rain slicker, she tossed it off into the corner. Pausing to wipe her glasses on her shirt, she directed the men as to where to place Marty. She thought of the bedrooms, but realized she needed a solid surface to work with. Maybe later if he came through but for now she needed something like…

She saw the kitchen table, though there was a ton of crap on it. Like the man had never cleaned, or hadn’t had a chance too. Thankfully no rotten food, but there were dirty plates all over the surface of the table. “Over here!” She called out, gesturing to the table. It was just the perfect size and width to lay Marty’s body on…. She thought for a second, and started pulling the chairs out of the way. She could tell the men were getting sort of tired and she knew they needed to set him down fast. Taking a breath she started just throwing all the crap to the floor. There was surprisingly a lot of it, so she just threw it under the tabe so it wouldn’t interfere with her work.

Stepping back, she motioned that it was okay to put Marty on the table now. They did so, and his prone body was limp and slack as they let go of him. Dr. Carter immediately knew that she needed to do a couple things first, and so she drew up to of the other chairs close up. Sitting in the first, she placed her bag on the other. Looking up at the men she shook her head. “He’s in shock right now… “ She pointed to the barman, “You go to the bedroom, get a pillow or something to prop his head up with.” Not looking to see if he did or not she turned to the kid. “You…” she tried to think, looking back at the wound. “Go to the sink, fill a pitcher, bowl or glass of the largest size you can find with water and come back here.”

As he went as well, she felt the pulse again. Still faint, though at least he was breathing. The injuries seemed to be mostly centered around his leg now, she could see because someone had turned on the light somehow. There was still a shitload of mud on his leg, and she looked around for something to wipe it off with. Luckily she noticed something rolling on the floor under the chair. That roll of paper towels she’d knocked off while clearing the table. Ducking down she grabbed it and ripped off a few towels, placing the rest on the same chair as her medical bag. She tried to daub as much of it as she could, but there was a lot if it frankly. About ten or fifteen crumpled up paper towels hit the floor, before she was halfway satisfied.

“I got it…” the kid began, nearly scaring her half to death. Nodding, she turned around and grabbed the pitcher of water from him. Carefully, she dipped some more paper towels in the water and gently daubed it over the area. Still not as clean as she would like it, but it was probably as clean as it was going to get. She needed to wash it out but to do that… She shook her head, looking up as the barman came back with the pillow. As he placed it under Marty’s head, Carter had an idea. “You,” she said to the barman, “Go back to the bar, and get me some of bottles of liquor. I really don’t care which, beer, whiskey, Champagne whatever. Just do it!”

She watched him go, as if in a daze. He took the flashlight, before she had a chance to say anything. Well if it made him feel any better, man hadn’t said jack Crap and neither had the kid. Probably the stress and mental shock had rendered them numb. Understandable but all the same they had a patient to attend to here, and back in Chicago they never let their personal trauma interfere with the care of a patient. She was a doctor now, processing events not as a bystander or witness, but as a caregiver. If this man died, it would be on her, regardless of anything she might feel towards him.

“You,” she said to the kid in a more authoritative voice. “Go get a kitchen towel or rag or something, like a used shirt.” She watched him stumble off to the bedroom again as she continued to clean the affected area. Gently she sort of splashed the water onto the upper leg, being careful not to douse the leg. Next she set the towels and the water down, and stood up. She grabbed both ends of his torn pants leg, and ripped it down the middle, and to the side just ripping out the entire pant leg at the knee. Now at least she could see the wound a bit better. She made a split second diagnosis, determining what could be the best fix for this. Obviously the man needed a tourniquet; otherwise he was likely to bleed out. Fast too, because he was starting to wake up she saw.

Not completely, the concussion had been too sudden for that but he was starting to move slightly. She couldn’t have that; he might fall off of the table. But she only had one extra set of hands here, the kid to thank. She saw a belt hanging off of a chair across from her and grabbed it, just the thing she needed to tie a tourniquet off. It would be really nice if she had alcohol as well to clean this wound more but this looked to be as good as it was going to get until the barman returned. She grabbed some of the longest strips of pant leg that had fallen onto the chair, and brought it again to Marty’s leg. Right there, two to three inches above the wound itself.

Carter tied them tight, turning her head to face the kid. Still pale and scared as hell, he was standing there like a man who had no idea what the hell to do. “Get over here and hold him steady!” She called out, realizing that she needed Marty to be still, or as much as they could get him while she put the Dang thing on. She motioned for him to get on the opposite side of the table and hold his leg and the body so that Marty couldn’t move around too much. She could see the man already starting to groggily mutter things, a sign of a return to alertness perhaps? Anyway she knew from experience that he would probably freak the hell out when he awoke to see that he was bleeding. Hell, anyone would.

She slipped the other end of the belt around his leg, and grabbed it to make a simple loop. Then Dr. Carter pressed tightly on the rag bandage, so it wouldn’t slip. She could feel the sweat running down her face, her glasses fogging up under stress as usually happened in times like this. She looked up at the kid then down at Marty again. Threading the belt quickly through the buckle she pulled it as far as it would go. She wasn’t all that surprised in retrospect to see Marty immediately react with a howl of pain. Well if there was doubt about it before, he was definitely one hundred percent awake now.
He started to move, trying to get up. “You’ll strain yourself,” she said, brushing the bangs out of her glasses. “Don’t let him get up yet,” she said knowing that too much strain on the muscle could inflame the injury. She looked away, grabbing her medical bag and quickly rummaging through it. In the corner of her eye she could see him struggling with the kid, trying to sit up straight. Dang fool, yes he was…. She had it here somewhere didn’t she…oh there it was, no it wasn’t. The bag was a colossal mess; Carter didn’t know how many times she’d sworn to get a new one.

She saw Marty getting up now, pushing the kid away, but still she couldn’t do anything to stop it. She knew that sometimes when patients were in pain they reacted impulsively, and failed to think rationally. Now before he got off the table… actually he had one leg off already, and was trying to push himself off. Without the other man they’d never get him off the floor. There was no time literally, no time to be indecisive she knew then. Her hands closed on a syringe just as the man got up, arms heading out towards her. Ducking, she took hold of his shirtsleeve, pulling it almost to the elbow. Then she quickly bit the safety cap off of the syringe, and injected the full amount of morphine right into his arm.

Well that might’ve been too much, the dosage called for it to be administered slowly, and in carefully measured amounts. But it seemed to have an immediate effect, as she felt Marty’s body slump away from her, falling backwards. Luckily the kid caught him, and together they were able to maneuver the man back onto the table. That was a relief, she thought to herself, shaking her head. For a second there she hadn’t been sure how it was going to go but… The dosage for everybody was different, but this would likely keep him sedated for several hours, or long enough for her to actually get some real treatment for the man. Because looking at the wound again, she knew that they had only just barely managed to staunch the wound; this was only a temporary solution at best.

Turning to the kid again she sighed. “I need you to go back down in the village, and get my jeep.” She felt in her pockets fast, realizing with a pang that she must’ve left it in the tent in the confusion of the evacuation. “Well the keys should be right in the car under the seat.” She knew that they needed to get Marty to a hospital, and right now she figured that her jeep would be the only way to get that done. She watched the kid nod to show he understood and begin to leave. “If you see Jophrey while you’re down here tell him to hurry up.” It had been at least ten minutes since the barman had left, he should be back by now.

As the door slammed, Dr. Roberta Carter ran her fingers through her hair and began to nervously nibble the fingers of her right hand. She was over her head here and she knew it. The injured man on the table…mercenaries with guns… and a huge prehistoric monster running amok outside… she wondered how she had managed to remain so calm and collected.

Act like I know what I’m doing, she thought. Trust me, I’m a doctor

Another great chapter, Sickle! Loving this fic