Michael Crichton - The Lost World

In the center of the room was a little island with a computer cash register, a microwave, and a coffee maker. The microwave door hung wide; some animal had made a nest inside. The coffee maker was cracked, and laced with cobwebs.

"What a mess," Malcolm said.

"Looks fine to me," Sarah Harding said. The windows were all barred. The walls seemed solid enough. The canned goods would still be edible. She saw a sign that said "Restrooms," so maybe there was plumbing, too. They should be safe here, at least for a while.

She helped Malcolm to lie down on the floor. Then she went over to where Thorne and Levine were working on Arby. "I brought the first-aid kit," she said. "How is he?"

"Pretty bruised," Thorne said. "Some gashes. But nothing broken. Head looks bad."

"Everything hurts," Arby said. "Even my mouth."

"Somebody see if there's a light," she said. "Let me look, Arby. Okay, you're missing a couple of teeth, that's why. But that can be fixed. The cut on your head isn't so bad." She swabbed it clean with gauze, turned to Thorne. "How long until the helicopter comes?"

Thorne looked at his watch. "Two hours."

"And where does it land?"

"The pad is several miles from here."

Working on Arby, she nodded. "Okay. So we have two hours to get to the pad."

Kelly said, "How can we do that? The car's out of gas."

"Don't worry," Sarah said. "We'll figure something out. It's going to be fine."

"You always say that," Kelly said.

"Because it's always true," Sarah said. "Okay, Arby, I need you to help now. I'm going to sit you up, and get your shirt off…"

Thorne moved off to one side with Levine. Levine was wild-eyed, his body moving in a twitchy way. The drive in the Jeep seemed to have finished him off. "What is she talking about?" he said. "We're trapped here. Trapped!" There was hysteria in his voice. "We can't go anywhere. We can't do anything. I'm telling you, we're all going to d - "

"Keep it down," Thorne said, grabbing his arm, leaning close. "Don't upset the kids."

"What difference does it make?" Levine said. "They're going to find out sooner or - Ow! Take it easy."

Thorne was squeezing his arm hard. He leaned close to Levine. "You're too old to act like an asshole," he said quietly. "Now, pull yourself together, Richard. Are you listening to me, Richard?"

Levine nodded.

"Good. Now, Richard, I'm going to go outside, and see if the pumps work."

"They can't possibly work," Levine said. "Not after five years. I'm telling you, it's a waste of - "

"Richard," Thorne said. We have to check the pumps."

There was a pause. The two men looked at each other.

"You mean you're going outside?" Levine said.

"Yes."

Levine frowned. Another pause.

Crouched over Arby, Sarah said, "Where are the lights, guys?"

"Just a minute," Thorne said to her. He leaned close to Levine. "Okay?"

"Okay," Levine said, taking a breath.

Thorne went to the front door, opened it, and stepped out into darkness. Levine closed the door behind him. Thorne heard a click as the door locked.

He immediately turned, and rapped softly. Levine opened the door a few inches, peering out.

"For Christ's sake," Thorne whispered. "Don't lock it!"

"But I just thought - "

"Don't lock the damn door!"

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry."

"For Christ's sake," Thorne said.

He closed the door again, and turned to face the night.

Around him, the worker village was silent. He heard only the steady drone of cicadas in the darkness. It seemed almost too quiet, he thought. But perhaps it was just the contrast from the snarling raptors. Thorne stood with his back to the door for a long time, staring out at the clearing. He saw nothing.

Finally he walked over to the jeep, opened the side door, and fumbled in the dark for the radio. Ills hand touched it; it had slid under the passenger seat. He pulled it out and carried it back to the store, knocked on the door.

Levine opened it, said "It's not lock - "

"Here." Thorne handed him the radio, closed the door again.

Again, he paused, watching. Around him, the compound was silent. The moon was full. The air was still.

He moved forward and peered closely at the gas pumps. The handle of the nearest one was rusted, and draped with spiderwebs. He pulled the nozzle up, and flicked the latch. Nothing happened. He squeezed the nozzle handle. No liquid came out. He tapped the glass window on the pump that showed the number of gallons, and the glass fell out in his hand. Inside, a spider scurried across the metal numerals.

There was no gas.

They had to find gas, or they'd never get to the helicopter. He frowned at the pumps, thinking. They were simple, the kind of very reliable pumps you found at a remote construction site. And that made sense, because after all, this was an island.

He paused.

This was an island. That meant everything came in by plane, or boat. Most times, probably by boat. Small boats, where supplies were offloaded by hand. Which meant…

He bent over, examining the base of the pump in the moonlight. just as he thought, there were no buried gas tanks. He saw a thick black PVC pipe running at an angle just tinder the ground. He could see the direction the pipe was going - around the side of the store.

Thorne followed it, moving cautiously in the moonlight. He paused for a moment to listen, then moved on.

He came around to the side and saw just what he expected to see: fifty-gallon metal drums, ranged along the side wall. There were three of them, connected by a series of black hoses, That made sense. All the gasoline on the island would have had to come here in drums.

He tapped the drums softly with a knuckle. They were hollow. He lifted one, hoping to hear the slosh of liquid at the bottom. They needed only a gallon or two -

Nothing.

The drums were empty.

But surely, he thought, there must be more than three drums. He did a quick calculation in his head. A lab this large would have had a half-dozen support vehicles, maybe more. Even if they were fuel-efficient, they'd burn thirty or forty gallons a week. To be safe, the company would have stored at least two months' supply, perhaps six months' supply.

That meant ten to thirty drums. And steel drums were heavy, so they probably stored them close by. Probably just a few yards…

He turned slowly, looking. The moonlight was bright, and he could see well.

Beyond the store, there was an open space, and then clumps of tall rhododendron bushes which bad overgrown the path leading to the tennis court. Above the bushes, the chain-link fence was laced with creeping vines. To the left was the first of the worker cottages. He could see only the dark roof. To the right of the court, nearer the store, there was thick foliage, although he saw a gap -

A path.

He moved forward, leaving the store behind. Approaching the dark gap in the bushes he saw a vertical line, and realized it was the edge of an open wooden door. There was a shed, back in the foliage. The other door was closed. As he came closer, he saw a rusted metal sign, with flaking red lettering. The letters were black in the moonlight.

PRECAUCION

NON FUMARE

INFLAMMABLE

He paused, listening. He heard the raptors snarling in the distance, but they seemed far away, back up on the hill. For some reason they still had not approached the village.

Thorne waited, heart pounding, staring forward at the dark entrance to the shed. At last he decided it wasn't going to get any easier. They needed gas. He moved forward.

The path to the shed was wet from the night's rain, but the shed was dry inside, His eyes adjusted. It was a small place, perhaps twelve by twelve. In the dim light he saw a dozen rusted drums, standing on end. Three or four more, on their sides. Thorne touched them all quickly, one after another. They were light: empty.