by David Lewman
WWW.JURASSICWORLD.COM
© 2018 Universal Studios. Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios and Amblin Entertainment, Inc. All Rights Reserved.Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, 1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019, and in Canada by Penguin Random House Canada Limited, Toronto. Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
rhcbooks.com
ISBN 9780525580744 (hardcover)
ISBN 9780525580768 (paperback)
Ebook ISBN 9780525580775
v5.3.1
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Contents
Cover
Copyright
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
We altered the course of natural history. This is a necessary correction.
—Dr. Ian Malcolm
Just off the coast of Isla Nublar, a small submarine cut through the dark ocean waters, heading toward the abandoned Jurassic World lagoon. The dinosaur theme park had been closed for years and was in a state of sad disrepair. The two men operating the sub had orders to retrieve an important sunken object.
Above the surface of the water, no stars shone in the night sky. Rain poured down.
Inside a guard station at the surface next to the lagoon, a technician worked the controls that opened the lagoon’s algae-covered steel gates and spoke into a mic. “Where are you, Marine One?”
“We’ve just passed the gates,” the sub’s pilot answered.
“Roger that,” the technician said. “Air One, clear for takeoff. Begin tracking.”
Behind him, a helicopter lifted off into the sky. “Copy that,” said its pilot. “Tracking on.” As the technician watched, the helicopter flew over the lagoon, tracking the sub.
Inside the cramped quarters of the sub, the two men were sweating. “Relax,” the pilot said to the man beside him. “Anything here’d be dead by now.”
The sub’s bright floodlights lit up bleached white bones on the bottom of the lagoon. ”There she is,” the pilot said. “The Indominus Rex.”
He steered the submarine right over the dinosaur skeleton. The other man operated the sub’s robotic arms, grabbing a rib bone and sawing it off.
“Air One, specimen collected,” the pilot radioed. “Sending to the surface.”
“Copy that,” the helicopter pilot radioed back.
As the men in the sub sent the bone up in a sealed glass tube attached to an inflatable balloon with a flashing red beacon, a huge and ominous shadow passed silently behind the submarine and her unsuspecting crew.
The rib bone broke through the surface of the water and bobbed in the rough waves. The men in the helicopter spotted the beacon, opened the copter’s door, and snagged the bone using a mechanical claw lowered from a long cable. “Land One,” the helicopter pilot radioed to the technician in the guard station, “we’ve got what we came for. We’re coming back for you.”
“Roger that,” the technician said. “Marine One, I need to close the lagoon gates. Clear out of there.”
“Understood,” the submarine pilot said. “We’re heading out. Stand by.”
But at that moment, a massive silhouette appeared in the water. The man who’d worked the robot arms peered through the submarine’s cockpit window. Suddenly, he saw a gigantic eye!
In the helicopter, the submarine’s signal flickered out on the instrument panel. The pilot looked puzzled. “Marine One, confirm your position. We lost your signal.”
But there was no answer.
The helicopter landed near the guard station. Then…
BOOOOM! The ground shook. Leaves fell from the trees. “What was that?” the pilot asked, alarmed.
In the guard station, the technician spoke into his headset, starting to sound a little frantic. “Marine One, I’ve gotta close the lagoon gates. Confirm you’re out.” Silence. “Can you hear me, Marine One? Confirm your position!”
In the helicopter, the crew members spotted what had caused the loud boom. They frantically waved their arms, trying to get the attention of the technician. But he couldn’t hear them over the sound of the helicopter. Finally, he noticed that they were pointing behind him.
He turned around just as lightning flashed, illuminating a massive Tyrannosaurus rex looming high above him, her colossal head and razor-sharp teeth just feet away! ROOOAAAWWRRR!
Terrified, the technician ran toward the helicopter, but it was already taking off. “Throw him the ladder!” shouted one of the guys in the copter. A rope ladder unrolled from the helicopter. The technician grabbed it and climbed as the helicopter rose.
CHOMP! The T. rex bit the rope ladder below the technician! The rope went taut. It was a tug-of-war between the T. rex and the helicopter, with the technician caught in between.
“Cut it!” yelled a crew member. “Let him go!”
Other crew members started unhooking the ladder. “No, wait!” screamed the technician.
SNAP! The rope ladder broke where the T. rex had grabbed it with her teeth. The technician held on, dangling from the upper half of the ladder as the helicopter started to fly away.
The technician breathed a sigh of relief. That had been close, but now he was safe—
WHOOOSH! A Mosasaurus, one of the largest reptiles to ever hunt the seas, roared up out of the lagoon with its gigantic mouth wide open! CHOMP! The Mosasaurus engulfed the screaming technician!
The chopper flew safely into the night sky. Its crew members stared as the Mosasaurus crashed back down into the water.
With the Indominus Rex bone locked in a high-tech metal container, the helicopter flew away over the mountains. The Mosasaurus leapt out of the water and plunged back into the inky depths. SPLASH!!! Then she whipped her huge tail and swam through the lagoon’s open gates into the ocean.
She was free.
Of course I think that we should allow our beautiful dinos to be taken out by the volcano.
—Dr. Ian Malcolm
Three years later…
A television news report showed a smoking volcano. An anchorwoman’s voice said, “Isla Nublar, the former site of the ill-fated theme park Jurassic World, now faces a new threat. Its volcano, long thought to be dormant, has recently become active. Geologists predict an extinction-level event will soon kill off the last dinosaurs known to exist on the planet. And that has raised a serious debate on the floor of the Senate today. Should the United States government step in and rescue these creatures, or should we allow the dinosaurs to once again become extinct?”
The picture on the TV switched from the volcano to a man leaving a government building. Ducking reporters’ questions, he covered his face with his hands. “Former Jurassic World scientist Dr. Henry Wu, stripped of all credentials after being found guilty of bioethical misconduct, refused to comment,” reported the anchorwoman.
The TV was on in the office of the Dinosaur Protecti
on Group, but the volunteers there were too busy to watch it. They talked on the phone, tapped away at computers, and painted protest posters with sayings like “Save the Dinos” and “They were here first!”
A soft chime from across the expansive room signaled the arrival of the elevator. The old, prewar doors began to open, but then stopped halfway. Inside the elevator was Claire Dearing, who precariously balanced a tray of coffees in one hand and shoved the elevator doors open with the other.
Claire crossed the room and deposited a cup of coffee on the desk of Zia Rodriguez, a tattooed Paleoveterinarian in her late twenties who spoke into her headset, trying to raise support for the Dinosaur Protection Group’s efforts. Since patience wasn’t her strong suit, Zia wasn’t the world’s greatest fund raiser, and her latest potential donor was slipping through her fingers.
“Yes,” she said with an exhausted sigh, “but your vocal support would send Congress a clear message that dinosaurs are living creatures with real emotions who don’t deserve to be abandoned.”
Claire put down the tray of coffees. She knew that Zia’s talents were in caring for dinosaurs and not talking on phones, so she motioned for Zia to hand over the receiver, and once she did, Claire was immediately in her element.
“Hi, Congresswoman Delgado. My name is Claire. I’m the lead organizer here,” said Claire as she moved around the room seeing to other matters while talking on the phone at the same time. She was a multitasking maven, applying corporate management skills for good.
“Our mission at the Dinosaur Protection Group is to secure funds for a safe, natural habitat for these creatures,” said Claire, before stopping abruptly and listening to what was being said on the other end of the line.
She took a deep breath. “Yes. I am the same Claire Dearing who was the operations manager at Jurassic World. And yes, I do feel responsible for what happened there. That’s why I’m here doing what I’m doing now.”
Continuing, Claire stole away to a private corner of the office. “Do you have kids, Congresswoman? Well, your kids—an entire generation—have grown up in a world where dinosaurs exist. And now they’ll have to watch them go extinct. Again. Unless people like you make a difference. Literally you. Right here. Right now.”
Claire waited for the Congresswoman to answer. When she did, Claire breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Thank you,” before hanging up the phone and moving back to handing out coffees.
She eventually found herself at Franklin Webb’s desk. Franklin barely looked at Claire when she set down a cup of coffee. The focused twenty-four-year-old was much more comfortable with computers than people.
Claire took a look at his screen and saw a video of herself giving a talk to a class of children. “How many views do we have?” she asked.
“Two or three,” Franklin said.
“Million?” asked Claire, surprised.
“Ha! No. Two or three hundred,” answered Franklin, leaving Claire to deflate like a balloon while he continued. “The kids are cute, but the video’s boring. The attention span on the internet is seventeen seconds. You have to do something more than just make a good argument.”
Claire thought on this. “Okay, how do we get their attention?”
“I don’t know.” Franklin shrugged. “Put a guy in a T. rex suit on a motorcycle or something.” Claire gave him a doubtful look. “They don’t teach viral marketing at MIT,” he said. “I’m doing my best here.”
Claire looked around the room at all the idealistic young people depending on her. “We’re running out of time,” she said.
“It’s on,” Zia said, referring to the TV.
On the screen a man in a suit was speaking outside a government building: “The committee will not recommend any legislative actions regarding the de-extinct creatures on Isla Nublar. This is an act of God, and while…”
Claire stopped paying attention to the TV and allowed the man’s voice to trail off. She knew what this meant, and said as much to her team of volunteers, “They’re all going to die…and no one cares.”
“We do,” Franklin insisted.
As Claire smiled at Zia and Franklin, her cell phone buzzed. She answered it. “Hello? Yes, this is Claire Dearing.” Suddenly, her expression changed. Her look and her voice became excited. “Yes, I’ll hold!
With all due respect, Senator—the almighty is not part of this equation….
—Dr. Ian Malcolm
Along the northern coast of California, waves crashed on a rocky shore. A black car made its way up the coastal highway, heading for a massive stone mansion set in a forest of redwood trees. The mansion was called Lockwood Estate after its owner, who had invited Claire to come see him. She’d left the office immediately.
Claire peered out the window of the limousine, looking up at the towering gates. She was full of hope that Sir Benjamin Lockwood would help the Dinosaur Protection Group save the dinosaurs.
Once inside the mansion, Claire waited in a reception hall to be led in to see Sir Lockwood. Scanning the painted portraits hanging on the walls, she recognized John Hammond. As she leaned in for a closer look, a voice behind her said, “John Hammond, the father of Jurassic Park.”
Claire turned to see a man in a dapper dark suit smiling at her. “Hello, Claire. I’m Eli Mills.” They shook hands. “I work for Mr. Lockwood, running his foundation. Your park, Jurassic World, was Mr. Lockwood’s favorite place. Better than he and Hammond ever imagined.”
“They must have been quite the team,” Claire said.
Speaking in a Scottish accent, Mills said, “ ‘A dreamer and a philanthropist, limited only by imagination.’ That’s my John Hammond imitation. It’s terrible.”
Claire laughed. She liked Mills.
“Please follow me into the library,” Mills said, gesturing.
The library rose two stories to a curved glass roof. Tall wooden bookshelves were stuffed with books. The walls on the far side of the room were actually floor-to-ceiling glass cases that held elaborate dioramas of dinosaurs fighting, feeding, and caring for their young. Dinosaur skeletons were mounted on display, including a massive Triceratops horridus skull in the middle of the room.
“This house is where it all began, you know,” Mills said. “Jurassic Park, all of it. They built a custom lab in the sub-basement. Extracted the first DNA from amber right beneath our feet. Well, that’s the past. But this is the future.”
Mills gestured toward an elaborate model of a mountainous jungle by the sea. Plastic dinosaurs were walking down a ramp from a ship, two by two. Other dinosaurs stomped across the rolling green hills.
“We have a piece of land,” Mills explained. “A sanctuary. Protected by natural barriers and fully self-sustaining. Our environmentalists say the climate will support all the species currently on Isla Nublar.”
Claire could hardly believe it. “A sanctuary! You’re going to save them!”
“No, Ms. Dearing,” said a voice, “we are going to save them.”
She turned to see Sir Benjamin Lockwood, a man in his eighties, entering the library in a wheelchair. Claire could sense, from his slumped posture in the chair, that he was not in good health. He rolled right up to the model of the dinosaur sanctuary. “This was John Hammond’s dream, you know. Letting them live in peace. No fences, no cages, no tourists. As Mother Earth intended.”
“Thank you,” Claire said, gesturing toward the model. “It’s wonderful.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” Lockwood said firmly.
Up on the second level of the library, she spotted a young girl peeking down. Claire smiled at her, but the girl ducked away.
A nurse appeared in an open door and gently called, “Sir Lockwood.”
Lockwood nodded, saying, “Time for my medicine. Excuse me. We will save them, Claire. We have to. Thank you for coming. Eli will fill you in on the
details.” He rolled out of the room.
“Does he have children?” Claire asked Mills, thinking of the girl she’d seen up on the second level.
“A grandchild, Maisie,” Mills answered. “His daughter and her husband died in a car accident. Come, we’ll talk in my office.”
Mills’s office was full of communications equipment and filing cabinets. Claire and Eli studied a detailed map of Isla Nublar. The volcano was clearly marked on the north end of the island.
“So,” she asked, “what do you need from me?”
“There was a tracking system in place at Jurassic World,” Mills explained. “Radio frequency identification chips in each dinosaur.”
Claire nodded. “Yes, I remember.” She didn’t much like being reminded of the events during her last disastrous days at Jurassic World. Like the Indominus Rex clawing out its identification chip and then going on a rampage.
“So if we could access that tracking system,” Mills continued, “our ability to locate and capture the animals would increase tenfold. We could—”
“Save lives,” Claire said, her thoughts returning to the present.
“Exactly,” Mills said, smiling. “We need your handprint to access the bunker where the tracking system was headquartered.”
“And to activate the tracking system,” Claire said, holding up her palm. “My handprint is yours.”
Mills looked her in the eye. “But what I really need is you. No one knows the park as well as you do. We need that expertise.”
“How many species are you trying to extract?”
Mills flipped through images of dinosaurs on his computer. “Eleven for sure. More if we can. Time’s against us, I’m afraid.” He paused on a Velociraptor. From Claire’s reaction, Mills could tell she recognized the individual dinosaur. “That one in particular poses a real challenge for us.”