Michael Crichton - The Lost World

Through the windows, the animals stopped throwing themselves against the glass. She heard the sound of scraping metal, from over by the door, and then saw that the raptors were dragging the motorbike away from the trailer. They were hopping up and down on it in fairy. It wouldn't be long before they punctured the tires.

"Ian," she said. "We have to do this fast."

"I'm in no rush," he said calmly.

She said, "What kind of weapons have you got here?"

"Weapons…oh…I don't know…" He sighed. "What do you want weapons for?"

"Ian, please."

"You're talking so fast," he said. "You know, Sarah, you really ought to try to relax."

In the darkened trailer, Kell was frightened, but she was reassured at the no-nonsense way Sarah talked about weapons. And Kelly was beginning to see that Sarah didn't let anything stop her, she just went and did it. This whole attitude of not letting other people stop you, of believing that you could do what you wanted, was something she found herself imitating.

Kelly listened to Dr. Malcolm's voice and knew that he would be of no help. He was on drugs and he didn't care. And Sarah didn't know her way around the trailer, Kelly did; she had searched the trailer earlier, looking for food. And she seemed to remember…

In the darkness, she pulled open the drawers quickly. She squinted, trying to see. She was sure she remembered one drawer, low down had contained a pack marked with a skull and crossbones. That pack might have some kind of weapons, she thought.

She heard Sarah say, "Ian: try and think."

And she heard Dr. Malcolm say, "Oh, I have been, Sarah. I've had the most wonderful thoughts. You know, all those carcasses at the raptor site present a wonderful example of - "

"Not now, Ian."

Kelly went through the drawers, leaving them open so she would know which ones she had already checked. She moved down the trailer, and then her hand touched rough canvas. She leaned forward. Yes, this was it.

Kelly pulled out a square canvas pack that was surprisingly heavy. She said, "Sarah. Look."

Sarah Harding took the pack to the window, where moonlight shone in. She unzipped the pack and stared at the contents. The pack was divided into padded sections. She saw three square blocks made of some substance that felt rubbery. And there was a small silver cylinder, like a small oxygen bottle. "What is all this stuff?"

"We thought it was a good idea," Malcolm said. "But now I'm not sure it was. The thing is that -"

"What is it?" she said, interrupting. She had to keep him focused. His mind was drifting.

"Nonlethals," Malcolm said. "Alexander's ragtime band. We wanted to have - "

"What's this?" she said, holding up one of the blocks in front of his face.

"Area-dispersal smoke cube. What you do is - "

"Just smoke?" she said. "It just makes smoke?"

"Yes, but - "

"What's this?" she said, raising the silver cylinder. It had writing on it.

"Cholinesterase bomb. Releases gas, Produces short-term paralysis when it goes off. Or so they say."

"How short?"

"A few minutes, I think, but - "

"How does it work?" she said, turning it in her hand. There was a cap at the end, with a locking pin. She started to pull it off, to get a look at the mechanism.

"Don't!" he said. "That's how you do it. You pull the pin and throw. Goes off in three seconds."

"Okay," she said. Hastily, she packed up the medical kit, throwing the syringe inside, shutting the lid.

"What are you doing?" Malcolm said, alarmed.

"We're getting out of here," she said, as she moved to the door.

Malcolm sighed. "It's so nice to have a man around the house," he said.

The cylinder sailed high through the air, tumbling in the moonlight. The raptors were about five yards away, clustered around the bike. One of the animals looked up and saw the cylinder, which landed in the grass a few yards away.

Sarah stood by the door, waiting.

Nothing happened.

No explosion.

Nothing.

"Ian! It didn't work."

Curious, one raptor hopped over toward where the cylinder had landed in the grass. It ducked down, and when it raised its head, it held the cylinder glinting in its jaws.

She sighed. "It didn't work."

"Oh, never mind," Malcolm said calmly.

The raptor shook its head, biting into the cylinder.

"What do we do now?" Kelly said.

There was a loud explosion, and a cloud of dense white smoke blasted outward across the clearing. The raptors disappeared in the cloud.

Harding closed the door quickly. "Now what?" Kelly said.

With Malcolm leaning on her shoulder, they moved across the clearing in the night. The gas cloud had dissipated, several minutes before. The first raptor they found in the grass was lying on its side, eyes open, absolutely motionless. But it wasn't dead: Harding could see the steady pulse in the neck. The animal was merely paralyzed. She said to Malcolm, "How long will it last?"

"Have no idea," Malcolm said. "Much wind?"

"There's no wind, Ian."

"Then it should last a bit."

They moved forward. Now the raptors lay all around them. They stepped around the bodies, smelling the rotten odor of carnivores. One of the animals lay across the bike. She eased Malcolm down to the ground, where he sat, sighing. After a moment, he began to sing: "I wish in the land of cotton, old times there are not forgotten, look away…"

Harding tugged at the motorcycle handlebars, trying to pull the bike from beneath the raptor. The animal was too heavy. Kelly said, "Let me," and reached for the handlebars. Harding went forward. Without hesitating, she bent over and put her arms around the raptor's neck, and pulled the head upward. She felt a wave of revulsion. Hot scaly skin scraped her arms and cheek. She grunted as she leaned back, raising the animal.

"In Dixie land…duh-duh-duh-duh…to live and die in Dixie…"

She said to Kelly, "Got it?"

"Not yet," Kelly said, pulling on the handlebars.

Harding's face was inches from the velociraptor's head and laws. The head flopped back and forth as she adjusted her grip. Close to her face, the open eye stared at her, unseeing. Harding tugged, trying to lift the animal higher.

"Almost… " Kelly said.

Harding groaned, lifting.

The eye blinked.

Frightened, Harding dropped the animal. Kelly pulled the bike away. "Got it!"

"Away, away…away down south…in Dixie…"

Harding came around the raptor. Now the big leg twitched. The chest began to move.

"Let's go," she said. "Ian, behind me. Kelly, on the handlebars."

"Away…away…a-way down south…"

"Let's go," Harding said, climbing on the bike. She kept her eyes on the raptor. The head gave a convulsive jerk. The eye blinked again. It was definitely waking up. "Let's go, let's go. Let's go!"

Sarah drove the motorcycle down the hill toward the worker village. Looking past Kelly, Sarah saw the Jeep parked at the store, not far from the gas pumps. She braked to a stop, and they all climbed off in the moonlight. Kelly opened the door to the store, and helped Malcolm inside. Sarah rolled the motorcycle into the store, and closed the door.

"Doc?" she said.

"We're over here," Thorne said. "With Arby."

By the moonlight filtering in through the windows, she could see the store looked very much like an abandoned roadside convenience stand. There was a glass-walled refrigerator of soft drinks, the cans obscured by mold on the glass. A wire rack nearby held candy bars and Twinkies, the wrappers speckled green, crawling with larvae. In the adjacent magazine rack, the pages were curled, the headlines five years old.

To one side were rows of basic supplies: toothpaste, aspirin, suntan lotion, shampoo, combs and brushes. Alongside this were racks of clothing, tee shirts and shorts, socks, tennis rackets, bathing suits. And a few souvenirs: key chains, ashtrays, and drinking glasses.