by Tess Sharpe
“The rest of the girls and I did it together,” I say. “Dr. Wu said we should team up, and it turned out to be a really good idea.”
“See, teamwork does improve things,” he says as he pops the Gyrosphere’s doors open and we climb inside, packing the specimens and equipment carefully behind the seats.
“If some company doesn’t hire you out of college to, like, boost worker morale, they’ll be missing out,” I say, and his eyes crinkle at the thought.
“That’d be a fun job, actually,” he says, his eyes fixed on the screen as we back the Gyrosphere through the vines and head toward the open valley. We have to flip the lights on in the thicket because the trees are blocking the rapidly fading sun. As we turn a corner, the lights illuminate the clearing—and Lovelace, who is enthusiastically rubbing her horns against a tree. Branches and leaves rain down on our Gyrosphere as we maneuver carefully around her, and she barely glances at us as she gets her itchies out.
“Wouldn’t it be cool if they just ditched their horns each season like deer shed their antlers?” Justin asks.
“But then people would start hanging them on the walls,” I protest.
“Not a fan of deer heads and antlers?” he asks, and I wrinkle my nose, shaking my head.
“Responsible hunting? Absolutely. My dad hunts. That’s how I learned how to shoot a rifle. But trophy hunting is awful. It’s not respectful to the animal or to nature or to life and death.”
“I agree,” he says. “You really know how to shoot a rifle?”
I nod. “I’ve never gone hunting with my dad, though. He’s asked me a few times, but I can’t do it. I’m a wimp.”
“You’re not a wimp, you just know your limits,” he says as the trees grow sparser and the landscape opens up to the valley. We roll through the hills, and when we reach the gate, I punch in the manual override code again, hop out, and then enter Bertie’s code at the gate. It swings open, and we return the Gyrosphere to its spot, get in the jeep, and drive off. On the road, we see a team of security guards heading toward the valley—the night shift, who are none the wiser about our little trip. I let out a relieved sigh as their taillights recede in the rearview.
“And we’re home free,” Justin declares when we pull up to the hotel and park. I grab my bag with the precious specimens—I need to get them into a fridge as soon as possible—and we head into the lobby and step into the elevator.
“So have you devised some plan to sneak into Dr. Wu’s labs for further algae testing?” Justin asks. “Because I think facing down a whole herd of Triceratops might be preferable to getting caught by him.”
“I’ve gotta think about it first,” I say.
His head tilts as the elevator continues to climb. “Why all the mystery, Claire?”
I bite my lip. He’s been so nice to help me, and I’ve been pretty cagey about my reasons for all this. I want to tell him—I do. But there’s some small part of me worrying that if I discover the park had some part in Izzie’s death, Justin will side with the business, not the person. It makes me hesitate, and I don’t even know if that’s fair to him, because he keeps showing me over and over that he’s worthy of my trust.
But this…this isn’t just about trust. This is life and death. This is a cover-up. This is possibly murder.
And it holds me back. Just enough.
“I promise, I have a good reason,” I say.
“I know you do,” he says. “You wouldn’t go to all this trouble if you didn’t.”
The certainty in his voice makes me look up. The smile in his eyes makes me move forward.
I’ve never initiated a first before. I’ve never wanted to, except maybe earlier at the falls. But here, in this elevator, I finally do.
So I take his hand, and our fingers entwine, our hands still a little pruney from our swim. I stand on my toes, and when my lips brush his, his other hand comes to rest on the small of my back, drawing me closer. It’s like all the thrilling things about discovering something—someone—wrapped in a simple touch, in his breath against my cheek, and his hand warm through my T-shirt.
When the elevator doors slide open, neither of us notices for a long time.
Now that I have the algae specimens—and know something weird is going on with the acidity of the plants—I feel impatient. Two lab days have passed, and I still haven’t figured out a way to get Dr. Wu’s help in evaluating the specimens further without tipping him off. And this morning, our third in the lab this week, Dr. Wu isn’t even here. One of his scientists takes us back to the incubator lab to do our work.
“I bet he’s preparing for the Raptor coming,” Tanya says excitedly as soon as the scientist leaves us alone. Wyatt, as he typically does, goes and sits in the corner with his tablet, leaving us to do all the monitoring work.
“At breakfast, Beverly said they’ll be showing movies tonight,” Tanya continues. “They’re trying to keep us distracted so we don’t go sneaking out to watch them delivering the Raptor.”
“How long do they get put in quarantine?” I ask. Even though I’ve seen how luxurious the quarantine paddock is, I don’t like the idea of any of the dinosaurs being kept away from their own habitat for long.
“A few weeks, Amanda said. But it’s not like they’re in a cage,” she adds quickly, like she knows what I’m thinking. “And the quarantine paddock is huge, like forty acres or something, so hopefully she won’t be cranky.”
“Can you imagine if she got cranky during transport?” I ask.
Tanya shudders. “She might tear a ship apart! Or jump into the water!”
“Can they swim?” I ask. Even as a kid, other than my desire to see and/or be a T. rex—because, well, come on, the San Diego footage blew everyone’s minds—I was always more focused on the herbivores than the carnivores, especially when it came to reading about them, so I’m not as well informed about Raptors as I should be. I’m kind of kicking myself now for not studying up enough before I came to the island.
Wyatt snorts from his spot at the lab table, like my question is so stupid. I shoot a glare at him.
“You know, I’m not sure,” she says. “They’ve got those little arms.” She makes a funny paddling movement with her hands as if she’s thinking through the logistics. “Maybe? We’ll have to ask Amanda or Art.”
The eggs are doing great—being able to watch them grow centimeter by centimeter over the last few weeks has been fascinating—and when Dr. Wu’s scientist shows up to escort us out after our monitoring hour is done, I hate to leave.
“Where are you assigned today, Claire?” Tanya asks. She’s been in the research greenhouses all week so far.
I pull up my schedule on my tablet. “Oh, I guess it’s my day off,” I say. I didn’t realize. I’ve been too wrapped up in gathering the algae and then trying to figure out how to test it. “I might go and see if Bertie needs any help.”
“Why don’t you drop me off at the greenhouses, then?” Tanya asks. “I can get a ride back with whoever’s working with me today.”
“Sounds good.”
After I drop Tanya off, I go back to our room. I take a long shower, thinking through my options when it comes to the algae and Izzie, but I’m still at a loss. I need more information, and the only person I know who has it is Wyatt. He’s been avoiding me ever since I beat him at his own game, so where does that leave me?
My tablet starts buzzing as soon as I finish getting dressed, and I see that it’s my sister video-calling. I set the tablet on its stand on the desk and sit down before accepting the call.
“Well, at least I know you haven’t been eaten by a dinosaur!” Karen says when the video loads and we’re seeing each other on our screens. “Your postcards have been great, but you’ve been sending all my calls to voice mail!”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve loved your postcards and all the pictures you s
ent of Sally and Earhart. Things have just been so busy,” I say. It’s good to see Karen, her pretty face smiling at me. There’s a pile of books behind her, and a stack of quilts that are obviously Mom’s handiwork. Uh-oh. Has Mom been stress-quilting?
“How are Mom and Dad?” I ask nervously. I’ve been dodging their calls too.
“You know, I think they’re good,” Karen says. “I got them this apple-picking package upstate where they stayed in this farmhouse-turned-B-and-B and they had a lot of fun. I think they’re really reconnecting.”
A happy glow lights inside me. “That’s great,” I say.
Karen beams at me. “Now tell me about you! What’s going on? How are the dinosaurs? How’s the cutie with the glasses you mentioned last time?”
I turn scarlet, and Karen’s smile widens. “Oh, I see how it is,” she teases.
“I’m actually having kind of a problem,” I say.
Karen frowns. “He’s not pressuring you, is he?”
“What? God! No!” I say. “Justin’s, like, the most respectful guy ever. It’s not about anything like that.” I bite my lip, trying to think of a way to put it into words. I can’t tell Karen I think I stumbled on a possible murder because she’d freak and get on the next plane to Costa Rica to come get me. “I have something. This big idea. Justin’s been helping me with it, but to move forward, I have to tell him the whole story.”
Karen tilts her head. “Why don’t you want to?”
“It’s not that I don’t trust him,” I say. “I do. It’s just…there might be consequences. To my idea.”
“You’re being really vague,” Karen says, raising an eyebrow. “Are you being this vague with him?”
“Yes,” I admit.
“And he’s been helping you this whole time—total faith in you?”
“Yes,” I repeat.
Karen sighs. “Oh, Claire-bear. Sweetie, I love you. You’re a wonderful girl. But you’ve always had a way easier time letting animals in than people. Even the people who deserve it.”
She’s right. Sometimes I feel like I have armored skin like an Ankylosaurus.
“You build walls,” Karen says. “And it’s really hard for you to knock them completely down. But when you do, aren’t you better off?”
I don’t say anything.
“Do you think you’d be better off if you tell him the whole story?” Karen asks. “If you let him in on it?”
“Probably,” I say, and Karen rolls her eyes at my indecision in typical big-sister fashion.
“Maybe make a pros and cons list?” she suggests, and I know she kind of means it as a joke, but it’s not the worst idea. “At least think about it. If he’s as nice and respectful as you say, then you don’t want to miss out on a guy like that. It’s okay to let someone who cares about you in sometimes.”
I know, intellectually, that she’s right. But it’s scary.
“I’m gonna be late for lunch if I don’t head out,” I say.
“Do you have your bear spray?” Karen asks.
I blink, not even remembering for a second. Bear spray? And then it hits me: the bear spray she insisted I get when we went shopping for my trip. It’s stashed in my top drawer with my socks.
“Yeah,” I say, and she shoots me a look that’s pure mom, so I get up and grab it out of the dresser, holding it up to the screen and dropping it into one of the side pockets of my cargo shorts. “Satisfied?” I ask.
“Very,” Karen says. “I love you. Be safe.” She blows a kiss at the screen, and I wave, ending the call.
And then, true to my nature, I go and make a pros and cons list.
* * *
After dinner, as everyone heads to the conference room where they’re showing the movie, I pull Justin aside. “Can we talk?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says.
We go back up to my room. Tanya’s already off with Ronnie and the rest of the girls at the movie, so I pull Izzie’s notebook out from under my pillow.
“Finally going to let me in on the mystery, huh?” he asks, sitting down on the bed across from me.
“Yes, but you’ve gotta promise you’ll listen with an open mind,” I say.
“Deal,” he says easily, but I wonder how easy it will actually be. The story seems kind of far-fetched, even now that I have some evidence.
“Remember how in our first week, Wyatt was running his mouth about phantom interns and one getting left behind?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Yeah.”
“So…there was truth to that story,” I say.
“Really,” he says, and he sounds skeptical.
“I found this notebook.” I push Izzie’s journal across the bedspread. “It was tucked in the box springs under the bed. It’s dated from the beginning of this year, and it details months of time spent on the island when the herbivores from Isla Sorna first arrived.”
He flips open the notebook, his puzzled expression deepening as he leafs through it.
“How do you know it’s the journal of the intern who supposedly got left behind in the storm, though?” he asks, finally looking up.
“Wyatt has a list of the first group of interns—he found it in his dad’s office. I got him to give it to me.”
“Got him to?” Justin echoes.
“He admitted to me he snuck into his dad’s office and took photos of the documents—and I recorded him. So he decided it was in his best interests to give me the list. That’s how I found out Izzie’s last name and was able to search for her online.”
“What did you find?”
“Her obituary,” I say, and his eyes widen beneath his glasses.
“Seriously?”
“It says that she died at her parents’ house in Boston on March fourth. But here”—I flip through the pages of the notebook and point to the March 4 entry in the Brachiosauruses’ feeding schedule—“the notebook tells us she was still on the island on the fourth. That’s the day before the storm hit, according to the weather data I pulled up. And then there’s the threat.”
“What threat?”
“I found this pressed between the pages,” I say, showing him the yellow scrap of paper that says Watch your back on it.
“That’s not reassuring,” he says. “Okay. So what’s your theory? She got left behind because of human error and the company covered it up?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I do know she didn’t die on March fourth in Boston.”
“Wow.” He stares at the floor for a second, absorbing it. “What does this have to do with the algae?” he asks.
“When Izzie was an intern, Olive and Agnes started getting these throat infections. Olive’s got so bad she needed surgery to remove the abscess. I asked Dr. Wu about the infections, because the dinosaurs—all of them—are on antibiotics. Apparently the throat infections cropped up across the species, and they couldn’t figure out what was causing it, so they’ve been dosing all the dinosaurs as a precautionary measure—some even in utero.”
“The algae’s causing the infections,” Justin says.
“Izzie was in the process of testing the plants in the Gyrosphere Valley for acidity. She believed that something the herbivores were eating was causing the infections. She narrowed it down to the algae.”
“Which is weirdly, highly acidic,” Justin muses.
“Could it, like, burn their throats?” I ask. “And maybe that’s what caused the infections?”
“It’s possible,” Justin says. “You’d have to get it tested. But the reaction we saw at the waterfall is not typically how algae reacts to a simple baking soda test. There’s obviously something going on with the plant. You should really ask Tanya. But…you don’t want to tell her about this.” He taps the notebook.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admit. “If Izzie did die on the island…if t
he company covered it up…”
“That’s unacceptable,” Justin finishes for me. “It’s not right on any level.”
“But what if I’m jumping to conclusions?” I ask. “Maybe there was an accident or something, and her parents wanted to keep it private and I’m just spinning stuff. The things I know for sure are that she didn’t die in Boston when her obituary says she did, and that the first batch of interns on Isla Nublar won’t talk about being interns. It’s like that period never happened. I feel like I don’t have enough information, and Wyatt…” I trail off. “He knows more than he was letting on during our first conversation,” I say. “I should’ve pressed him, but I was excited about actually getting Izzie’s full name, and I played my hand too fast.”
Justin glances down at the notebook again, thinking. “So then I guess we need more information,” he says.
Now I’m doing the eyebrow raising. “What do you suggest?”
“How do you feel about breaking and entering?”
The hotel hall is empty—all the interns are watching the movie and all the adults are probably dealing with whatever they have to do when a new dinosaur comes to the island. My heart’s beating fast—not only at the thought of a Raptor on the island, but because Justin is currently kneeling on the ground in front of Wyatt and Eric’s room with a bobby pin and one of my copper hair sticks, picking the lock.
“And you said I was the rule breaker,” I whisper, and he grins as he uses the hair stick as a tension wrench and the bobby pin to push up the lock’s pins. “Where did you learn how to do this?” I ask.
“Online,” he says. “My mom has this incredibly annoying automatic lock on our back door. I kept locking myself out. Then I learned how to do…this.” He twists the knob, I hear a click, and the door unlocks.
“I’m still a little surprised they don’t have key-card scanners,” Justin says.
“Maybe they wanted to do dinosaur-engraved keys,” I suggest as we slip into Wyatt and Eric’s room.