Dinosaur Island -1994- -

Somewhere on this island, there was a radio. Somewhere, a boat. And somewhere, the person—or people—who had murdered her father.

The jungle screamed again. The tyrannosaur answered.

She reached the beach just as the first one sank its teeth into her boot. She kicked it off, scrambled up a pile of driftwood, and watched as the little dinosaurs swarmed the shore below her, snapping at the air, their chirps rising to a frenzied shriek. Then, as suddenly as they’d appeared, they stopped. Turned as one. And fled back into the trees.

The tyrannosaur’s head snapped up. It turned, took two bounding strides, and vanished into the trees. Dinosaur Island -1994-

SPECIMEN LOGS – 1987-1989

Not a dinosaur.

Lena heard the footsteps a second later. Somewhere on this island, there was a radio

She pulled open the first drawer.

A human being, killed by another human being.

She ran. They ran faster.

Lena knew the name. Everyone in paleontology did. John Hammond had been a showman, a billionaire, a laughingstock—the man who’d tried to build a dinosaur theme park in the 1980s, only to have his “living attractions” die in transit or escape into the wild. The project had been shut down by 1988. Lawsuits had buried him. He’d died in ‘92, penniless and disgraced, still insisting that his failures had been “operational, not conceptual.”

The main compound.

She walked through the gate.