K
elly Curtis listened to the sound of the shower. She couldn't believe it. She stared at the muddy clothes tossed casually on the bed. Shorts and a khaki short-sleeve shirt.
Sarah Harding's actual clothes.
She couldn't help it. Kelly reached out and touched them. She noticed how the fabric was worn and frayed. Buttons sewn back on; they didn't match. And there were some reddish streaks near the pocket that she thought must be old bloodstains. She reached down and touched the fabric -
"Kelly?"
Sarah was calling to her, from the shower.
She remembered my name.
"Yes?" Kelly said, her voice betraying her nervousness.
"Is there any shampoo?"
"I'll look, Dr. Harding," Kelly said, opening drawers hastily. The men had all gone into the next compartment, leaving her alone with Sarah while she washed. Kelly searched desperately, opening the drawers, slamming them shut again.
"Listen," Sarah called, "it's okay if you can't find any."
"I'm looking.
"Is there any dishwashing liquid?"
Kelly paused. There was a green plastic bottle by the sink. "Yes, Dr. Harding, but - "
"Give it to me. It's all the same stuff. I don't care." The hand reached out, past the shower curtain. Kelly handed it to her. "And my name is Sarah."
"Okay, Dr. Harding."
"Sarah."
"Okay, Sarah."
Sarah Harding was a regular person. Very informal and normal.
Entranced, Kelly sat on the seat in the kitchen and waited, swinging her feet, in case Dr. Harding - Sarah - needed anything else. She listened to Sarah humming "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair." After a few moments, the shower turned off, and her hand reached out and took the towel on the hook. And then she came out, wrapped in the towel.
Sarah ran her fingers through her short hair, which seemed to be all the attention she gave to her appearance. "That feels better. Boy, this is a plush field trailer. Doc really did a great job."
"Yes," she said. "It's nice."
She smiled at Kelly. "How old are you, Kelly?"
"Thirteen."
"What is that, eighth grade?"
"Seventh."
"Seventh grade," Sarah said, thoughtfully.
Kelly said, "Dr. Malcolm left some clothes for you. He said he thought they'd fit." She pointed to a clean pair of shorts and a tee shirt.
"Whose are these?"
"I think they're Eddie's."
Sarah held them up. "Might work." She took them around the corner, into the sleeping area, and started getting dressed. She said, "What are you going to do when you grow up?"
"I don't know," Kelly said.
"That's a very good answer."
"It is?" Kelly's mother was always pushing her to get a part-time job to decide what she wanted to do with her life.
"Yes," Sarah said. "Nobody smart knows what they want to do until they get into their twenties or thirties."
"Oh."
"What do you like to study?"
"Actually, uh, I like math," she said, in a sort of guilty voice.
Sarah must have heard her tone, because she said, "What's wrong with math?"
"Well, girls aren't good at it. I mean, you know."
"No, I don't know." Sarah's voice was flat.
Kelly felt panic. She had been experiencing this warm feeling with Sarah Harding, but now she sensed it was dissolving away, as if she had given a wrong answer to a disapproving teacher. She decided not to say anything else. She waited in silence.
After a moment Sarah came out again, wearing Eddie's baggy clothes. She sat down and started putting on a pair of boots. She moved in a very normal, matter-of-fact way. "What did you mean girls aren't good at mathematics?"
"Well, that's what everybody says."
"Everybody like who?"
"My teachers."
Sarah sighed. "Great" she said, shaking her head. "Your teachers…"
"And the other kids call me a brainer. Stuff like that. You know." Kelly Just blurted it out. She couldn't believe that she was saying all this to Sarah Harding, whom she hardly knew at all except from articles and pictures, but here she was, telling her all this personal stuff. All these things that upset her.
Sarah just smiled cheerfully. "Well, if they say that, you must be pretty good at math, huh?"
"I guess."
She smiled. "That's wonderful, Kelly.
"But the thing is, boys don't like girls who are too smart."
Sarah's eyebrows went up. "Is that so?"
"Well, that's what everybody says.
"Like who?"
"Like my mom."
"Uh-huh. And she probably knows what she's talking about."
"I don't know," Kelly admitted. "My mom only dates jerks, actually."
"So she could be wrong?" Sarah asked, glancing up at Kelly as she tied her laces.
"I guess."
"Well, in my experience, Some men like smart women, and some don't. It's like everything else in the world. She stood up. "You know about George Schaller?"
"Sure. He studied pandas."
"Right. Pandas, and before that, snow leopards and lions and gorillas. He's the most important animal researcher in the twentieth century-and you know how he works?"
Kelly shook her head.
"Before he goes into the field, George reads everything that's ever been written about the animal he's going to study. Popular books, newspaper accounts, scientific papers, everything. Then he goes out and observes the animal for himself. And you know what he usually finds?"
She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
"That nearly everything that's been written or said is wrong. Like the gorilla. George studied mountain gorillas ten years before Dian Fossey ever thought of it. And he found that what was believed about gorillas was exaggerated, or misunderstood, or just plain fantasy - like the idea that you couldn't take women on gorilla expeditions, because the gorillas would rape them, Wrong. Everything…just… wrong."
Sarah finished tying her boots, and stood.
"So, Kelly, even at your young age, there's something you might as well learn now. All your life people will tell you things. And most of the time, probably ninety-five percent of the time, what they'll tell you will be wrong."
Kelly said nothing. She felt oddly disheartened to hear this.
"It's a fact of life," Sarah said. "Human beings are just stuffed full of misinformation. So it's hard to know who to believe. I know how you feel."
"You do?"
"Sure. My mom used to tell me I'd never amount to anything." She smiled. "So did some of my professors."
"Really?" It didn't seem possible.
"Oh yes," Sarah said. "As a matter of fact - "
From the other section of the trailer, they heard Malcolm say, No! No! Those idiots! They could ruin everything!"
Sarah immediately turned, and went into the other section. Kelly jumped off the seat, and hurried after her.
The men were all clustered around the monitor. Everyone was talking at once, and they seemed to be upset. "This is terrible," Malcolm was saying. "Terrible!"
Thorne said, "Is that a jeep?"
"They had a red Jeep," Harding said, coming up to look.
"Then it's Dodgson," Malcolm said. "Damn!"
"What's he doing here?"
"I can guess."
Kelly pushed through to get a look. On the screen, she saw foliage, and intermittent flashes of a red-and-black vehicle.
"Where are they now?" Malcolm said to Arby.
"I think they're in the east valley," Arby said. "Near where we found Dr. Levine."
The radio clicked. Levine's voice said, "Do you mean there are now other people on the island?"
"Yes, Richard."
"Well, you better go stop them, before they mess everything up."
"I know. Do you want to come back?"
"Not without a compelling reason. Inform me if one arises." And his radio clicked off.
Harding stared at the screen, watching the Jeep. "That's them, all right," she said. "That's your friend Dodgson."
"He's not my friend," Malcolm said. He got up, wincing in pain from his leg. "Let's go," he said. "We have to stop these bastards. There's no time to waste."
T
he red jeep Wrangler rolled softly to a stop. Directly ahead was a wall of dense foliage. But through it they could see sunlight, from the clearing beyond.
Dodgson sat quietly in the car, listening. King turned to him I I about to speak, but Dodgson held up his hand, gesturing to him to be silent.
Then he heard it clearly - a low rumbling growl, almost a purr. It was coming from beyond the foliage ahead. It sounded like the biggest jungle cat he had ever heard. And intermittently, he felt a slight vibration, hardly anything, but enough to make the car keys clink against the steering column. As he felt that vibration, it slowly dawned on him: It's walking.
Something very big. Walking.
Beside him, King was staring forward in astonishment; his mouth hung open. Dodgson glanced back at Baselton; the professor was gripping the seat with white fingers, as he listened to the sound.
A shadow moved across the ferns directly ahead. judging the shadow, the animal was twenty feet high, and forty feet long. It walked on its hind legs, and had a large body, a short neck, a very big head.
A tyrannosaur.
Dodgson hesitated, staring at the shadow. His heart was pounding in his chest. He considered going on to the next nest, but he was confident that the box would work here, too. He said, "Let's get this over with. Give me the box."
Baselton handed him the box, just as he had done before.
Dodgson said, "Charged?"
"Batteries arc charged," King said.
"Okay," he said. "Here we go. Exactly the same as before. I'll go first, you two follow, and bring the eggs back to the car. Ready?"
"Ready," Baselton said.
King did not answer. He was still staring at the shadow. "What kind of a dinosaur is that?"
"That's a tyrannosaurus."
"Oh Jesus," King said.
"A tyrannosaurus?" Baselton said.
"It doesn't matter what it is," Dodgson said irritably. "Just follow the plan, like before. Everybody ready?"
"Just a minute," Baselton said.
King said, "What if it doesn't work?"
"We already know it works," Dodgson said.
"There's a rather curious fact about tyrannosaurs that was recently reported," Baselton said. "A paleontologist named Roxton did a study of the tyrannosaur braincase, and concluded that they have a brain not much different from a frog's, although of course much bigger. The implication was their nervous systems were adapted to motion only. They can 't see you if you stand still. Stationary objects become invisible to them."
Are you sure about that?" King said.
Baselton said, "That was the report. And it makes perfect sense. One can't forget that dinosaurs, for all their intimidating size, were actually rather primitive intellects. It's quite logical that a tyrannosaur would have the mental equipment of a frog."
"I don't see why we're rushing into this," King said, nervously. He stared forward. "It's much bigger than the other ones."
"So what?" Dodgson said. "You heard what George said. It's just a big frog. Let's get it done. Get out of the fucking car. And don't slam the doors."
George Baselton had felt quite good and authoritative, recalling that obscure article from the journals. He had been in his accustomed role, dispensing information to people who lacked it. Now that he approached the nest, he was astonished to notice that his knees had begun to tremble. His legs felt like rubber, He had always thought that was a figure of speech. He was alarmed to realize it could be literally true. He bit his lip, and forced himself under control. He was not, he told himself, going to show fear. He was the master of this situation.
Dodgson was already moving ahead, holding the black box like a gun in his hand. Baselton glanced over at King, who was deathly pale and sweating. He looked on the verge of collapse; he moved forward slowly. Baselton walked alongside him. Making sure he was all right.
Up ahead, Dodgson gave a final glance back, waved to Baselton and King to catch up. He glared at both of them, and then he stepped through the foliage into the clearing.
Baselton saw the tyrannosaur. No - there were two! They stood on both sides of a mud mound, two adults, twenty feet high on their hind legs, powerful, dark red, with big vicious jaws. Like the maiasaurs, the animals stared at Dodgson for a moment, a dumb stare, as if amazed to see an intruder. And then the tyrannosatirs roared in fury. An incredible, bellowing, air-shaking roar.
Dodgson lifted the box, pointed it at the animals. Immediately, a continuous, high-pitched shriek filled the clearing.
The tyrannosaurs roared in response, and lowered their heads, extending their necks forward, snapping their jaws, preparing to attack. They were huge - and they were unaffected by the sound. They started to come around the mound, toward Dodgson. The earth shook as they moved.
"Oh fuck," Kin said.
But Dodgson stayed cool. He twisted the dial. Baselton clapped his hands over his cars. The shriek became higher, louder, ear-splitting, incredibly painful. The response was immediate: the tyrannosaurs stepped back as if they had received a physical blow. They ducked their heads. They blinked their eyes rapidly. The sound seemed to vibrate in the air. They roared again, but weakly now, without conviction. A terrible screaming came from inside the mud nest.
Dodgson moved forward, pointing the box in the air, directly at the animals. The tyrannosaurs backed away, looking into the nest, then to Dodgson. They swung their heads back and forth rapidly, as if trying to clear their ears. Dodgson calmly adjusted the dial. The sound went higher. It was now excruciating.
Dodgson began to climb the mud mound of the nest. Baselton and King scrambled up, following him. Baselton found himself looking down into a nest with four mottled white eggs, and two young babies that looked for all the world like scrawny oversized turkeys. Anyway, some kind of gigantic baby birds.
The two tyrannosaurs were at the far end of the clearing, held away by the sound. Like the maiasaurs, they urinated in agitation. They stomped their feet. But they did not come closer.
Over the ear-splitting shriek of the box, Dodgson shouted, "Get the eggs!" In a daze, King stumbled down into the nest, grabbing the nearest egg. He fumbled it in his shaking hands; the egg flew into the air; he caught it again, and lurched back. He stepped on the leg of one of the babies, which screamed in fear and pain.
At this, the parents tried to come forward again, drawn by the infants cries. King hastily clambered out of the nest, ducked away through the foliage. Baselton watched him go.
"George!" Dodgson shouted, still aiming the box at the tyrannosaurs. "Get the other egg!"
Baselton turned to look at the adult tyrannosaurs, seeing their agitation and their anger, watching their laws snap open and closed, and he had the sudden feeling that sound or no sound, these animals would not allow anyone to enter the nest again. King had been lucky but Baselton would not be lucky, he could feel it, and -
George! Now!"
Baselton said, "I can't!"
"You dumb fuck!" Holding the gun high, Dodgson began to climb down into the nest himself But as he started, he twisted his body - and the battery plug pulled out of the box.
The sound abruptly died.
In the clearing, there was silence.
Baselton moaned.
The tyrannosaurs shook their heads a final time, and roared.
Baselton saw Dodgson go rigidly still, his body frozen. Baselton also stood still. Somehow, he forced his body to stay where he was. He forced his knees to stop trembling. He held his breath.
And he waited.
On the far side of the clearing, the tyrannosaurs began to move toward him.
"What are they doing?" Arby cried, in the trailer. He was so close to the monitor his nose almost touched the screen. "Are they crazy? They're just standing there."
Beside him, Kelly said nothing. She watched the screen silently. "Want to be out there now, Kel?" Arby said.
"Shut up," Kelly said.
"No, they're not crazy," Malcolm said over the radio, as he stared at the dashboard monitor. The Explorer lurched down the trail, heading toward the eastern sector of the island. Thorne was driving. Sarah and Malcolm were in the back seat.
Sarah said, "He should be trying to put his sound machine together again. Are they really just going to stand there?"
"Yes," Malcolm said.
"Why?"
"They are misinformed," Malcolm said.