When it came, the roar of the dinosaur seemed frighteningly close. Hammond spun so quickly he fell on the path, and when he looked back he thought he saw the shadow of the juvenile T-rex, moving in the foliage beside the flagstone path, moving toward him.
What was the T-rex doing here? Why was it outside the fences?
Hammond felt a flash of rage: and then he saw the Tican workman, running for his life, and Hammond took the moment to get to his feet and dash blindly into the forest on the opposite side of the path. He was plunged in darkness- he stumbled and fell, his face mashed into wet leaves and damp earth, and he staggered back up to his feet, ran onward, fell again, and then ran once more. Now he was moving down a steep hillside, and he couldn't keep his balance. He tumbled helplessly, rolling and spinning over the soft ground, before finally coming to a stop at the foot of the hill. His face splashed into shallow tepid water, which gurgled around him and ran up his nose.
He was lying face down in a little stream.
He had panicked! What a fool! He should have gone to his bungalow! Hammond cursed himself. As he got to his feet, he felt a sharp pain in his right ankle that brought tears to his eyes. He tested it gingerly: it might be broken. He forced himself to put his full weight on it, gritting his teeth. Yes.
Almost certainly broken.
In the control room, Lex said to Tim, "I wish they had taken us with them to the nest."
"It's too dangerous for us, Lex," Tim said. "We have to stay here. Hey, listen to this one." He pressed another button, and a recorded tyrannosaur roar echoed over the loudspeakers in the park.
"That's neat," Lex said. "That's better than the other one,"
"You can do it, too," Tim said. "And if you push this, you get reverb."
"Let me try," Lex said. She pushed the button. The tyrannosaur roared again. "Can we make it last longer?" she said.
"Sure," Tim said. "We just twist this thing here."
Lying at the bottom of the hill, Hammond heard the tyrannosaur roar, bellowing through the jungle.
Jesus.
He shivered, hearing that sound. It was terrifying, a scream from some other world. He waited to see what would happen. What would the tyrannosaur do? Had it already gotten that workman? Hammond waited, hearing only the buzz of the jungle cicadas, until he realized he was holding his breath, and let out a long sigh.
With his injured ankle, he couldn't climb the hill. He would have to wait at the bottom of the ravine. After the tyrannosaur had gone, he would call for help. Meanwhile, he was in no danger here.
Then he heard an amplified voice say, "Come on, Timmy, I get to try it too. Come on. Let me make the noise."
The kids!
The tyrannosaur roared again, but this time it had distinct musical overtones, and a kind of echo, persisting afterward.
"Neat one," said the little girl. "Do it again."
Those damned kids!
He should never have brought those kids. They had been nothing but trouble from the beginning. Nobody wanted them around-Hammond had only brought them because he thought it would stop Gennaro from destroying the resort, but Gennaro was going to do it anyway. And the kids had obviously gotten into the control room and started fooling around-now, who had allowed that?
He felt his heart begin to race, and felt an uneasy shortness of breath. He forced himself to relax. There was nothing wrong. Although he could not climb the hill, he could not be more than a hundred yards from his own bungalow, and the visitor center. Hammond sat down in the damp earth, listening to the sounds in the jungle around him. And then, after a while, he began to shout for help.
Malcolm's voice was no louder than a whisper. "Everything looks different . . . on the other side," he said.
Harding leaned close to him. "On the other side?" He thought that Malcolm was talking about dying.
"When . . . shifts," Malcolm said.
"Shifts?"
Malcolm didn't answer. His dry lips moved. "Paradigm," he said finally.
"Paradigm shifts?" Harding said. He knew about paradigm shifts. For the last two decades, they had been the fashionable way to talk about scientific change. "Paradigm" was just another word for a model, but as scientists used it the term meant something more, a world view. A larger way of seeing the world. Paradigm shifts were said to occur whenever science made a major change in its view of the world. Such changes were relatively rare, occurring about once a century, Darwinian evolution had forced a paradigm shift. Quantum mechanics had forced a smaller shift.
"No," Malcolm said. "Not . . . paradigm . . . beyond "Beyond paradigm?" Harding said.
"Don't care about . . . what . . . anymore .
Harding sighed. Despite all efforts, Malcolm was rapidly slipping into a terminal delirium. His fever was higher, and they were almost out of his antibiotics.
"What don't you care about?"
"Anything," Malcolm said. "Because . . . everything looks different . . . on the other side."
And he smiled.
Descent
"You're crazy," Gennaro said to Ellie Sattler, watching as she squeezed backward into the rabbit hole, stretching her arms forward. "You're crazy to do that!"
She smiled. "Probably," she said. She reached forward with her outstretched hands, and pushed backward against the sides of the hole. And suddenly she was gone.
The hole gaped black.
Gennaro began to sweat. He turned to Muldoon, who was standing by the Jeep. "I'm not doing this," he said.
"Yes, you are."
"I can't do this. I can't."
"They're waiting for you," Muldoon said. "You have to."
"Christ only knows what's down there," Gennaro said. "I'm telling you, I can't do it."
"You have to."
Gennaro turned away, looked at the hole, looked back. "I can't. You can't make me."
"I suppose not," Muldoon said. He held up the stainless-steel prod. "Ever felt a shock stick?"
"Doesn't do much," Muldoon said. "Almost never fatal. Generally knocks you flat. Perhaps loosens your bowels. But it doesn't usually have any permanent effect. At least, not on dinos. But, then, people are much smaller."
Gennaro looked at the stick. "You wouldn't."
"I think you'd better go down and count those animals," Muldoon said. "And you better hurry."
Gennaro looked back at the hole, at the black opening, a mouth in the earth. Then he looked at Muldoon, standing there, large and impassive.
Gennaro was sweating and lighthearted. He started walking toward the hole. From a distance it appeared small, but as be came closer it seemed to grow larger.
"That's it," Muldoon said.
Gennaro climbed backward into the hole, but he began to feel too frightened to continue that way-the idea of backing into the unknown filled him with dread-so at the last minute he turned around and climbed head first into the hole, extending his arms forward and kicking his feet, because at least he would see where he was going. He pulled the gas mask over his face.
And suddenly he was rushing forward, sliding into blackness, seeing the dirt walls disappear into darkness before him, and then the walls became narrower-much narrower-terrifyingly narrow-and he was lost in the pain of a squeezing compression that became steadily worse and worse, that crushed the air out of his lungs, and he was only dimly aware that the tunnel tilted slightly upward, along the path, shifting his body, leaving him gasping and seeing spots before his eyes, and the pain was extreme.
And then suddenly the tunnel tilted downward again, and it became wider, and Gennaro felt rough surfaces, concrete, and cold air. His body was suddenly free, and bouncing, turning on concrete.
And then he fell.
Voices in the darkness. Fingers touching him, reaching forward from the whispered voices. The air was cold, like a cave.
"-okay?"
"He looks okay, yes."
"He's breathing. . . ."
"Fine."
A female hand caressing his face. It was Ellie. "Can you hear?" she whispered.
"Why is everybody whispering?" he said.
"Because." She pointed.
Gennaro turned, rolled, got slowly to his feet. He stared as his vision grew accustomed to the darkness. But the first thing that he saw, gleaming in the darkness, was eyes. Glowing green eyes.
Dozens of eyes. All around him.
He was on a concrete ledge, a kind of embankment, about seven feet above the floor. Large steel junction boxes provided a makeshift hiding place, protecting them from the view of the two full-size velociraptors that stood directly before them, not five feet away. The animals were dark green with brownish tiger stripes. They stood upright, balancing on their stiff extended tails. They were totally silent, looking around watchfully with large dark eyes. At the feet of the adults, baby velociraptors skittered and chirped. Farther back, in the darkness, juveniles tumbled and played, giving short snarls and growls.
Gennaro did not dare to breathe.
Two raptors!
Crouched on the ledge, he was only a foot or two above the animals head height. The raptors were edgy, their heads jerking nervously up and down. From time to time they snorted impatiently. Then they moved off, turning back toward the main group.
As his eyes adjusted, Gennaro could now see that they were in some kind of an enormous underground structure, but it was man-made-there were seams of poured concrete, and the nubs of protruding steel rods. And within this vast echoing space were many animals: Gennaro guessed at least thirty raptors. Perhaps more.