He turned.
Yes.
He was where he wanted to be, in the hatchery: beneath infrared lights, long tables, with rows of eggs and a low clinging mist. The rockers on the tables clicked and whirred in a steady motion. The mist poured over the sides of the tables and drifted to the floor, where it disappeared, evaporated.
Grant ran directly to the rear of the hatchery, into a glass-walled laboratory with ultraviolet light. His clothing glowed blue. He looked around at the glass reagents, beakers full of pipettes, glass dishes . . . all delicate laboratory equipment.
The raptors entered the room, cautiously at first, sniffing the humid air, looking at the long rocking tables of eggs. The lead animal wiped its bloody jaws with the back of its forearm. Silently the raptors passed between the long tables. The animals moved through the room in a coordinated way, ducking from time to time to peer beneath the tables.
They were looking for him.
Grant crouched, and moved to the back of the laboratory, looked up, and saw the metal hood marked with a skull and crossbones. A sign said CAUTION BIOGENIC TOXINS A4 PRECAUTIONS REQUIRED. Grant remembered that Regis had said they were powerful poisons. Only a few molecules would kill instantaneously. . . .
The hood lay flush against the surface of the lab table. Grant could not slip his hand under it. He tried to open it, but there was no door, no handle, no way that he could see. . . . Grant rose slowly, and glanced back at the main room. The raptors were still moving among the tables.
He turned to the hood. He saw an odd metal fixture sunk into the surface of the table. It looked like an outdoor electrical outlet with a round cover. He flipped up the cover, saw a button, pressed it.
With a soft hiss, the hood slid upward, to the ceiling.
He saw glass shelves above him, and rows of bottles marked with a skull and crossbones. He peered at the labels: CCK-5 5 . . . TETPA-ALPHA SECRETIN . . . THYMOLEVIN X-1612. . . . The fluids glowed pale green in the ultraviolet light. Nearby he saw a glass dish with syringes in it. The syringes were small, each containing a tiny amount of green glowing fluid. Crouched in the blue darkness, Grant reached for the dish of syringes. The needles on the syringes were capped in plastic. He removed one cap, pulling it off with his teeth. He looked at the thin needle.
He moved forward. Toward the raptors.
He had devoted his whole life to studying dinosaurs. Now he would see how much he really knew. Velociraptors were small carnivorous dinosaurs, like oviraptors and dromaeosaurs, animals that were long thought to steal eggs. Just as certain modern birds ate the eggs of other birds, Grant had always assumed that velociraptors would eat dinosaur eggs if they could.
He crept forward to the nearest egg table in the hatchery. Slowly he reached up into the mist and took a large egg from the rocking table. The egg was almost the size of a football, cream-colored with faint pink speckling. He held the egg carefully while he stuck the needle through the shell, and injected the contents of the syringe. The egg glowed faint blue.
Grant bent down again. Beneath the table, he saw the legs of the raptors, and the mist pouring down from the tabletops. He rolled the glowing egg along the floor, toward the raptors. The raptors looked up, hearing the faint rumble as the egg rolled, and jerked their heads around. Then they resumed their slow stalking search.
The egg stopped several yards from the nearest raptor.
Damn!
Grant did it all again: quietly reaching up for an egg, bringing it down, injecting it, and rolling it toward the raptors. This time, the egg came to rest by the foot of one velociraptor. It rocked gently, clicking against the big toe claw.
The raptor looked down in surprise at this new gift. It bent over and sniffed the glowing egg. It rolled the egg with its snout along the floor for a moment.
And ignored it.
The velociraptor stood upright again, and slowly moved on, continuing to search.
It wasn’t working.
Grant reached for a third egg, and injected it with a fresh syringe. He held the glowing egg in his hands, and rolled it again. But he rolled this one fast, like a bowling ball. The egg rattled across the floor loudly.
One of the animals heard the sound-ducked down-saw it coming and instinctively chased the moving object, gliding swiftly among the tables to intercept the egg as it rolled. The big jaws snapped down and bit into it, crushing the shell.
The raptor stood, pale albumen dripping from its jaws. It licked its lips noisily, and snorted. It bit again, and lapped the egg from the floor. But it didn’t seem to be in the least distressed. It bent over to eat again from the broken egg. Grant looked down to see what would happen. . . .
From across the room, the raptor saw him. It was looking right at him.
The velociraptor snarled menacingly. It moved toward Grant, crossing the room in long, incredibly swift strides. Grant was shocked to see it happening and froze in panic, when suddenly the animal made a gasping, gurgling sound and the big body pitched forward onto the ground. The heavy tail thumped the floor in spasms. The raptor continued to make choking sounds, punctuated by intermittent loud shrieks. Foam bubbled from its mouth. The head flopped back and forth. The tail slammed and thumped.
That’s one, Grant thought.
But it wasn’t dying very fast. It seemed to take forever to die. Grant reached up for another egg-and saw that the other raptors in the room were frozen in mid-action. They listened to the sound of the dying animal. One cocked its head, then another, and another. The first animal moved to look at the fallen raptor.
The dying raptor was now twitching, the whole body shaking on the floor. It made pitiful moans. So much foam bubbled from its mouth that Grant could hardly see the head any more. It flopped on the floor and moaned again.
The second raptor bent over the fallen animal, examining it. It appeared to be puzzled by these death throes. Cautiously, it looked at the foaming head, then moved down to the twitching neck, the heaving ribs, the legs. . . .
And it took a bite from the hind leg.
The dying animal snarled, and suddenly lifted its head and twisted, sinking its teeth into the neck of its attacker.
That’s two, Grant thought.
But the standing animal wrenched free. Blood flowed from its neck. It struck out with its hind claws, and with a single swift movement ripped open the belly of the fallen animal. Coils of intestine fell out like fat snakes. The screams of the dying raptor filled the room. The attacker turned away, as if fighting was suddenly too much trouble.
It crossed the room, ducked down, and came up with a glowing egg! Grant watched as the raptor bit into it, the glowing material dripping down its chin.
That makes two.
The second raptor was stricken almost instantly, coughing and pitching forward. As it fell, it knocked over a table. Dozens of eggs rolled everywhere across the floor. Grant looked at them in dismay.
There was still a third raptor left.
Grant had one more syringe. With so many eggs rolling on the floor, he would have to do something else. He was trying to decide what to do when the last animal snorted irritably. Grant looked up-the raptor had spotted him.
The final raptor did not move for a long time, it just stared. And then it slowly, quietly came forward. Stalking him. Bobbing up and down, looking first beneath the tables, then above them. It moved deliberately, cautiously, with none of the swiftness that it had displayed in a pack. A solitary animal now, it was careful. It never took its eyes off Grant. Grant looked around quickly. There was nowhere for him to hide. Nothing for him to do . . .
Grant’s gaze was fixed on the raptor, moving slowly laterally. Grant moved, too. He tried to keep as many tables as he could between himself and the advancing animal. Slowly . . . slowly … he moved to the left. . . .
The raptor advanced in the dark red gloom of the hatchery. Its breath came in soft hisses, through flared nostrils.
Grant felt eggs breaking beneath his feet, the yolk sticking to the soles of his shoes. He crouched down, felt the bulge of the radio in his pocket.
The radio.
He pulled it from his pocket and turned it on.
“Hello. This is Grant.”
“Alan?” Ellie’s voice. “Alan?”
“Listen,” he said softly. “Just talk.”
“Alan, is that you?”
“Talk,” he said again, and he pushed the radio across the floor, away from him, toward the advancing raptor.
He crouched behind a table leg, and waited.
“Alan, Speak to me, please.”
Then a crackle, and silence. The radio remained silent. The raptor advanced, Soft hissing breath.
The radio was still silent.
What was the matter with her! Didn’t she understand? In the darkness, the raptor came closer,
“. . . Alan?”
The tinny voice from the radio made the big animal pause. It sniffed the air, as if sensing someone else in the room.
“Alan, it’s me. I don’t know if you can hear me.”
The raptor now turned away from Grant, and moved toward the radio.
“Alan . . . please . . .”
Why hadn’t he pushed the radio farther away? The raptor was going toward it, but it was close. The big foot came down very near him. Grant could see the pebbled skin, the soft green glow. The streaks of dried blood on the curved claw. He could smell the strong reptile odor.
“Alan, listen to me. . . . Alan?”
The raptor bent over, poked at the radio on the floor, tentatively. Its body was turned away from Grant. The big tail was right above Grant’s head. Grant reached up and jabbed the syringe deep into the flesh of the tail, and injected the poison.
The velociraptor snarled and jumped. With frightening speed it swung back toward Grant, jaws wide. It snapped, its jaws closing on the table leg, and jerked its head up. The table was knocked away, and Grant fell back, now completely exposed. The raptor loomed over him, rising up, its head banging into the infrared lights above, making them swing crazily.
“Alan?”
The raptor reared back, and lifted its clawed foot to kick. Grant rolled, and the foot slammed down, just missing him. He felt a searing sharp pain along his shoulder blades, the sudden warm flow of blood over his shirt. He rolled across the floor, crushing eggs, smearing his hands, his face. The raptor kicked again, smashing down on the radio, spattering sparks. It snarled in rage, and kicked a third time, and Grant came to the wall, nowhere else to go, and the animal raised its foot a final time.
And toppled backward.
The animal was wheezing. Foam came from its mouth.
Gennaro and the kids came into the room. Grant signaled them to stay back. The girl looked at the dying animal and said softly, “Wow.”
Gennaro helped Grant to his feet. They all turned, and ran for the control room.
Control
Tim was astonished to find the screen in the control room was now flashing on and off. Lex said, “What happened?”
[picture]
Tim saw Dr. Grant staring at the screen, and gingerly moving his hand toward the keyboard. “I don’t know about computers,” Grant said, shaking his head.
But Tim was already sliding into the seat. He touched the screen rapidly. On the video monitors, he could see the boat moving closer to Puntarenas. It was now only about two hundred yards from the dock. On the other monitor, he saw the lodge, with the raptors hanging down from the ceiling. On the radio, he heard their snarls.
“Do something, Timmy,” Lex said.
He pushed SETGRIDS DNL, even though it was flashing.
The screen answered:
WARNING: COMMAND EXECUTION ABORTED (AUX POWER LOW)
“What does that mean?” Tim said.
Gennaro snapped his fingers. “That happened before. It means auxiliary power is low. You have to turn on main power.”
“I do?”
He pushed ELECTRICAL MAIN.
[picture]
Tim groaned.
“What are you doing now?” Grant said. The whole screen was starting to flash.
Tim pushed MAIN.
Nothing happened. The screen continued to flash.
Tim pushed MAIN GRID P. He felt sick to his stomach with fear.
MAIN POWER GRID NOT ACTIVE/AUXILIARY POWER ONLY
The screen was still flashing. He pushed MAIN SET 1.
MAIN POWER ACTIVATED
All the lights in the room came on. All the monitor screens stopped flashing. “Hey! All right!”
Tim pressed RESET GRIDS. Nothing happened for a moment. He glanced at the video monitors, then back at the main screen.
[picture]
Grant said something that Tim didn’t hear, he only heard the tension in his voice. He was looking at Tim, worried.
Tim felt his heart thumping in his chest. Lex was yelling at him. He didn’t want to look at the video monitor anymore. He could hear the sound of the bars bending in the lodge, and the raptors snarling. He heard Malcolm say, “Dear God. . .”
He pushed LODGE.
SPECIFY GRID NUMBER TO RESET.
For a frozen interminable moment he couldn’t remember the number, but then he remembered F4, and he pressed that.
ACTIVATING LODGE GRID F4 NOW.
On the video monitor he saw an explosion of sparks, sputtering down from the ceiling of the hotel room. The monitor flared white. Lex shouted “What did you do!” but almost immediately the image came back and they could see that the raptors were caught between the bars, writhing and screaming in a hot cascade of sparks while Muldoon and the others cheered, their voices tinny over the radio.
“That’s it,” Grant said, slapping Tim on the back. “That’s it! You did it! ”
They were all standing and jumping up and down when Lex said, “What about the ship?”
“The what?”
“The ship, ” she said, and pointed to the screen.
On the monitor, the buildings beyond the bow of the ship were much larger, and moving to the right, as the ship turned left and prepared to dock. He saw crewmen heading out to the bow, preparing to tie up.
Tim scrambled back to his seat, and stared at the startup screen.
He studied the screen. TeleCom VBB and TeleCom RSD both looked like they might have something to do with telephones. He pressed TELECOM RSD.
YOU HAVE 23 WAITING CALLS AND/OR MESSAGES.
DO YOU WISH TO RECEIVE THEM NOW?
He pushed NO.
“Maybe the ship was one of the waiting calls,” Lex said. “Maybe that way you could get the phone number!”
He ignored her.
ENTER THE NUM13ER YOU WISH TO CALL OR PRESS F7 FOR DIRECTORY.
He pushed F7 and suddenly names and numbers spilled over the screen, an enormous directory. It wasn’t alphabetical, and it took a while to scan it visually before he found what he was looking for:
VSL ANNE B. (FREDDY) 708-3902
Now all he had to do was figure out how to dial. He pushed a row of buttons at the bottom of the screen:
DIAL NOW OR DIAL LATER?
He pushed DIAL NOW.
WE’RE SORRY, YOUR CALL CANNOT BE COMPLETED AS DIALED.
{ERROR-5981}
PLEASE TRY AGAIN
He tried it again.
He heard a dial tone, then the tone of the numbers being automatically dialed in rapid succession.
“Is that it?” Grant said.
“Pretty good, Timmy,” Lex said. “But they’re almost there.” On the screen, they could see the prow of the ship closing on the Puntarenas dock. They heard a high-pitched squeal, and then a voice said, “Ah, hello, John, this is Freddy. Do you read me, over?”
Tim picked up a phone on the console but heard only a dial tone.
“Ah, hello, John, this is Freddy, over?”
“Answer it” Lex said.
Now they were all picking up phones, lifting every receiver in sight, but they heard only dial tones. Finally Tim saw a phone mounted on the side of the console with a blinking light.
“Ah, hello, control. This is Freddy. Do you read me, over?”
Tim grabbed the receiver. “Hello, this is Tim Murphy, and I need you to-”
“Ah, say again, didn’t get that, John.”
“Don’t land the boat! Do you hear me?”
There was a pause. Then a puzzled voice said, “Sounds like some damn kid.”
Tim said, “Don’t land the ship! Come back to the island!”
The voices sounded distant and scratchy. “Did he-name was Murphy?” And another voice said, “I didn’t get-name.”
Tim looked frantically at the others. Gennaro reached for the phone. “Let me do this. Can you get his name?”
There was the sharp crackle of static. “-got to be a joke or else-a frigging ham operator-omething.”
Tim was working on the keyboard, there was probably some kind of a way to find out who Freddy was. . . .
“Can you hear me?” Gennaro said, into the phone. “If you can hear me, answer me now, over.”
“Son,” came the drawled reply, “we don’t know who the hell you are, but you’re not funny, and we’re about to dock and we’ve got work to do. Now, identify yourself properly or get off this channel.”
Tim watched as the screen printed out FARRELL, FREDERICK D, (CAPT.).
“Try this for identification, Captain Farrell,” Gennaro said. “If you don’t turn that boat around and return to this island immediately, you will be found in violation of Section 509 of the Uniform Maritime Act, you will he subject to revocation of license, penalties in excess of fifty thousand dollars, and five years in jail. Do you hear that?”
There was a silence.
“Do you copy that, Captain Farrell?”
And then, distantly, they heard a voice say, “I copy,” and another voice said, “All ahead stern.” The boat began to turn away from the dock.
Lex began to cheer. Tim collapsed back in the chair, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
Grant said, “What’s the Uniform Maritime Act?”
“Who the hell knows?” Gennaro said.
They all watched the screen in satisfaction. The boat was definitely heading away from the shore.
“I guess the hard part’s finished,” Gennaro said. Grant shook his head. “The hard part,” he said, is just beginning.”