The Lost World

by Michael Crichton

  Thorne extended his hand, and Levine started to reach for it, when, from the clearing behind them, the tyrannosaurs gave a deafening roar.

  “Oh, no!” Kelly said. On the monitor, the tyrannosaurs were agitated, moving swiftly in circles, raising their heads and bellowing.

  “Dr. Thorne! What’s happening?” Arby said.

  They heard Levine’s voice, tinny and scratchy on the radio, but they couldn’t make out the words. Eddie and Malcolm came into the trailer. Malcolm took one look at the monitor and said, “Tell them to get out of there right now!”

  On the monitor, the two tyrannosaurs had turned their backs to each other, so they were facing outward in a posture of defense. The babies were protected in the center. The adults swung their heavy tails back and forth over the nest, above the babies’ heads. But the tension was palpable.

  And then one of the adults bellowed, and charged out of the clearing.

  “Dr. Thorne! Dr. Levine! Get out of there!”

  Thorne swung his leg over the bike and gripped the rubber handles. Levine jumped on behind, clutched him around the waist. Thorne heard a chilling roar, and looked back to see one of the tyrannosaurs crash through the foliage and charge them. The animal was running at full speed—head low, jaws open, in an unmistakable posture of attack.

  Thorne twisted the throttle. The electric motor whirred, the back wheel spun in the mud, not moving.

  “Go!” Levine shouted. “Go!”

  The tyrannosaur rushed toward them, roaring. Thorne could feel the ground shake. The roar was so loud it hurt his ears. The tyrannosaur was nearly on them, the big head lunging forward, jaws wide open—

  Thorne kicked back with his heels, pushing the bike forward. Suddenly the rear wheel caught, throwing up a plume of mud, and the bike roared up the muddy track. He accelerated fast. The motorcycle fished and swerved treacherously on the trail.

  Behind him Levine was shouting something, but Thorne didn’t listen. His heart was pounding. The bike jumped across a rut in the path and they almost lost their balance, then regained it, accelerating again. Thorne did not dare look back. He could smell the odor of rotten flesh, could hear the rasping breath of the giant animal in pursuit. . . .

  “Doc! Take it easy!” Levine shouted.

  Thorne ignored him. The bike roared up the hill. The foliage slapped at them; mud spit up on their faces and chests. He was pulled over into a rut, then brought the bike back to the center of the trail. He heard another roar, and imagined it was a bit fainter, but—

  “Doc!” Levine shouted, leaning close to his ear. “What’re you trying to do, kill us? Doc! We’re alone!”

  Thorne came to a flat part of the path, and risked a glance back over his shoulder. Levine was right. They were alone. He saw no sign of the pursuing tyrannosaur, though he still heard it roaring, somewhere in the distance.

  He slowed the bike.

  “Take it easy,” Levine said, shaking his head. His face was ashen, frightened. “You’re a terrible driver, do you know that? You ought to take some lessons. You almost got us killed there.”

  “He was attacking us,” Thorne said angrily. He was familiar with Levine’s critical manner, but right now—

  “That’s absurd,” Levine said. “He wasn’t attacking at all.”

  “It sure as hell looked like it,” Thorne said.

  “No, no, no,” Levine said. “He wasn’t attacking us. The rex was defending his nest. There’s a big difference.”

  “I didn’t see any difference,” Thorne said. He pulled the bike to a stop, and glared at Levine.

  “In point of fact,” Levine said, “if the rex had decided to chase you, we’d be dead right now. But he stopped almost immediately.”

  “He did?” Thorne said.

  “There’s no question about it,” Levine said, in his pedantic manner. “The rex only intended to scare us off, and defend his territory. He’d never leave the nest unguarded, unless we took something, or disrupted the nest. I’m sure he’s back there with his mate right now, hovering over the eggs, not going anywhere.”

  “Then I guess we’re lucky he’s a good parent,” Thorne said, gunning the motor.

  “Of course he’s a good parent,” Levine continued. “Any fool could tell that. Didn’t you see how thin he was? He’s been neglecting his own nourishment to feed his offspring. Probably been doing it for weeks. A Tyrannosaurus rex is a complex animal, with complex hunting behavior. And he has complex childrearing behavior as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if adult tyrannosaurs have an extended parenting role that lasts for months. He may teach his offspring to hunt, for example. Start by bringing in small wounded animals, and letting the youngsters finish them off. That kind of thing. It’ll be interesting to find out exactly what he does. Why are we waiting here?”

  Through Thorne’s earpiece, the radio crackled. Malcolm said, “It would never occur to him to thank you for saving his life.”

  Thorne grunted. “Evidently not,” he said.

  Levine said, “Who are you talking to? Is it Malcolm? Is he here?”

  “Yes,” Thorne said.

  “He’s agreeing with me, isn’t he,” Levine said.

  “Not exactly,” Thorne said, shaking his head.

  “Look, Doc,” Levine said, “I’m sorry if you got upset. But there was no reason for it. The truth is, we were never in danger—except from your bad driving.”

  “Fine. That’s fine.” Thorne’s heart was still pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath, swung the bike to the left, and headed down a wider path, back toward their camp.

  Sitting behind him, Levine said, “I’m very glad to see you, Doc. I really am.”

  Thorne didn’t answer. He followed the path downward, through foliage. They descended to the valley, picking up speed. Soon they saw the trailers in the clearing below. Levine said, “Good. You brought everything. And the equipment’s working? Everything in good condition?”

  “It all seems to be fine.”

  “Perfect,” Levine said. “Then this is just perfect.”

  “Maybe not,” Thorne said.

  Through the back window of the trailer, Kelly and Arby were waving cheerfully through the glass.

  “You’re kidding,” Levine said.

  FOURTH CONFIGURATION

  “Approaching the chaotic edge, elements show internal conflict. An unstable and potentially lethal region.”

  IAN MALCOLM

  Levine

  They came running across the clearing, shouting, “Dr. Levine! Dr. Levine! You’re safe!” They hugged Levine, who smiled despite himself. He turned to Thorne.

  “Doc,” Levine said. “This was very unwise.”

  “Why don’t you explain that to them?” Thorne said. “They’re your students.”

  Kelly said, “Don’t be mad, Dr. Levine.”

  “It was our decision,” Arby explained to Levine. “We came on our own.”

  “On your own?” Levine said.

  “We thought you’d need help,” Arby said. “And you did.” He turned to Thorne.

  Thorne nodded. “Yes. They’ve helped us.”

  “And we promise, we won’t get in the way,” Kelly said. “You go ahead and do whatever you have to do, and we will just—”

  “The kids were worried about you,” Malcolm said, coming up to Levine. “Because they thought you were in trouble.”

  “Anyway, what’s the big rush?” Eddie said. “I mean, you build all these vehicles, and then you leave without them—”

  “I had no choice,” Levine said. “The government has an outbreak of some new encephalitis on its hands. They’ve decided it’s related to the occasional dinosaur carcass that washes up there. Of course, the whole idea is idiotic, but that won’t stop them from destroying every animal on this island the minute they find out about it. I had to get here first. Time is short.”

  “So you came here alone,” Malcolm said.

  “Nonsense, Ian. Stop pouting. I was going to call you, as soon as
I verified this was the island. And I didn’t come here alone. I had a guide named Diego, a local man who swore he had been on this island as a kid, years before. And he seemed entirely knowledgeable. He led me up the cliff without any problem. And everything was going just fine, until we were attacked at the stream, and Diego—”

  “Attacked?” Malcolm said. “By what?”

  “I didn’t really see what it was,” Levine said. “It happened extremely fast. The animal knocked me down, and tore the backpack, and I don’t really know what happened after that. Possibly the shape of my pack confused it, because I got up and started running again, and it didn’t chase me.”

  Malcolm was staring at him. “You were damn lucky, Richard.”

  “Yes, well, I ran for a long time. When I looked back, I was alone in the jungle. And lost. I didn’t know what to do, so I climbed a tree. That seemed like a good idea—and then, around nightfall, the velociraptors showed up.”

  “Velociraptors?” Arby said.

  “Small carnivores,” Levine said. “Basic theropod body shape, long snout, binocular vision. Roughly two meters tall, weighing perhaps ninety kilos. Very fast, intelligent, nasty little dinosaurs, and they travel in packs. And last night there were eight of them, jumping all around my tree, trying to get to me. All night long, jumping and snarling, jumping and snarling . . . I didn’t get any sleep at all.”

  “Aw, that’s a shame,” Eddie said.

  “Look,” Levine said crossly. “It’s not my problem if—”

  Thorne said, “You spent the night in the tree?”

  “Yes, and in the morning the raptors had gone. So I came down and started looking around. I found the lab, or whatever it is. Clearly, they abandoned it in a hurry, leaving some animals behind. I went through the building, and discovered that there is still power—some systems are still going, all these years later. And, most important, there is a network of security cameras. That’s a very lucky break. So I decided to check on those cameras, and I was hard at work when you people barged in—”

  “Wait a minute,” Eddie said. “We came here to rescue you.”

  “I don’t know why,” Levine said. “I certainly never asked you to.”

  Thorne said, “It sounded like you did, over the phone.”

  “That is a misunderstanding,” Levine said. “I was momentarily upset, because I couldn’t work the phone. You’ve made that phone too complicated, Doc. That’s the problem. So: shall we get started?”

  Levine paused. He looked at the angry faces all around him. Malcolm turned to Thorne. “A great scientist,” he said, “and a great human being.”

  “Look,” Levine said, “I don’t know what your problem is. The expedition was going to come to this island sooner or later. In this instance, sooner is better. Everything has turned out quite well, and, frankly, I don’t see any reason to discuss it further. This is not the time for petty bickering. We have important things to do—and I think we should get started. Because this island is an extraordinary opportunity, and it isn’t going to last forever. “

  Dodgson

  Lewis Dodgson sat hunched in a dark corner of the Chesperito Cantina in Puerto Cortés, nursing a beer. Beside him, George Baselton, the Regis Professor of Biology at Stanford, was enthusiastically devouring a plate of huevos rancheros. The egg yolks ran yellow across green salsa. It made Dodgson sick just to look at it. He turned away, but he could still hear Baselton licking his lips, noisily.

  There was no one else in the bar, except for some chickens clucking around the floor. Every so often, a young boy would come to the door, throw a handful of rocks at the chickens, and run away again, giggling. A scratchy stereo played an old Elvis Presley tape through corroded speakers above the bar. Dodgson hummed “Falling in Love With You,” and tried to control his temper. He had been sitting in this dump for damn near an hour.

  Baselton finished his eggs, and pushed the plate away. He brought out the small notebook he carried everywhere with him. “Now Lew,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about how to handle this.”

  “Handle what?” Dodgson said irritably. “There’s nothing to handle, unless we can get to that island.” While he spoke, he tapped a small photograph of Richard Levine on the edge of the bar table. Turned it over. Looked at the image upside down. Then right side up.

  He sighed. He looked at his watch.

  “Lew,” Baselton said patiently, “getting to the island is not the important part. The important part is how we present our discovery to the world.”

  Dodgson paused. “Our discovery,” he repeated. “I like that, George. That’s very good. Our discovery.”

  “Well, that’s the truth, isn’t it?” Baselton said, with a bland smile. “InGen is bankrupt, its technology lost to mankind. A tragic, tragic loss, as I have said many times on television. But under the circumstances, anyone who finds it again has made a discovery. I don’t know what else you would call it. As Henri Poincaré put it—”

  “Okay,” Dodgson said. “So we make a discovery. And then what? Hold a press conference?”

  “Absolutely not,” Baselton said, looking horrified. “A press conference would appear extremely crass. It would open us up to all sorts of criticism. No, no. A discovery of this magnitude must be treated with decorum. It must be reported, Lew.”

  “Reported?”

  “In the literature: Nature, I imagine. Yes.”

  Dodgson squinted. “You want to announce this in an academic publication?”

  “What better way to make it legitimate?” Baselton said. “It’s entirely proper to present our findings to our scholarly peers. Of course it will start a debate—but what will that debate consist of? An academic squabble, professors sniping at professors, which will fill the science pages of the newspapers for three days, until it is pushed aside by the latest news on breast implants. And in those three days, we will have staked our claim.”

  “You’ll write it?”

  “Yes,” Baselton said. “And later, I think, an article in American Scholar, or perhaps Natural History. A human-interest piece, what this discovery means for the future, what it tells us about the past, all that. . . .”

  Dodgson nodded. He could see that Baselton was correct, and he was reminded once again how much he needed him, and how wise he had been to add him to the team. Dodgson never thought about public reaction. And Baselton thought about nothing else.

  “Well, that’s fine,” Dodgson said. “But none of it matters, unless we get to that island.” He glanced at his watch again.

  He heard a door open behind him, and Dodgson’s assistant Howard King came in, pulling a heavyset Costa Rican man, with a mustache. The man had a weathered face and a sullen expression.

  Dodgson turned on his stool. “Is this the guy?”

  “Yes, Lew.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Gandoca.”

  “Señor Gandoca.” Dodgson held up the photo of Levine. “You know this man?”

  Gandoca hardly glanced at the photo. He nodded. “Sí. Señor Levine.”

  “That’s right. Señor fucking Levine. When was he here?”

  “A few days ago. He left with Dieguito, my cousin. They are not back yet.”

  “And where did they go?” Dodgson asked.

  “Isla Sorna.”

  “Good.” Dodgson drained his beer, pushed the bottle away. “You have a boat?” He turned to King. “Does he have a boat?”

  King said, “He’s a fisherman. He has a boat.”

  Gandoca nodded. “A fishing boat. Sí.”

  “Good. I want to go to Isla Sorna, too.”

  “Sí, señor, but today the weather—”

  “I don’t care about the weather,” Dodgson said. “The weather will get better. I want to go now.”

  “Perhaps later—”

  “Now.”

  Gandoca spread his hands. “I am very sorry, señor—”

  Dodgson said, “Show him the money, Howard.”

  King opened a bri
efcase. It was filled with five thousand colon notes. Gandoca looked, picked up one of the bills, inspected it. He put it back carefully, shifted on his feet a little.

  Dodgson said, “I want to go now.”

  “Sí, señor,” Gandoca said. “We leave when you are ready.”

  “That’s more like it,” Dodgson said. “How long to get to the island?”

  “Perhaps two hours, señor.”

  “Fine,” Dodgson said. “That’ll be fine.”

  The High Hide

  “Here we go!”

  There was a click as Levine connected the flexible cable to the Explorer’s power winch, and flicked it on. The cable turned slowly in the sunlight.

  They had all moved down onto the broad grassy plain at the base of the cliff. The midday sun was high overhead, glaring off the rocky rim of the island. Below, the valley shimmered in midday heat.

  There was a herd of hypsilophodons a short distance away; the green gazelle-like animals raised their heads occasionally above the grass to look toward them, every time they heard the clink of metal, as Eddie and the kids laid out the aluminum strut assembly which had been the subject of so much speculation back in California. That assembly now looked like a jumble of thin struts—an oversized version of pickup sticks—lying in the grass of the plain.

  “Now we will see,” Levine said, rubbing his hands together.

  As the motor turned, the aluminum struts began to move, and slowly lifted into the air. The emerging structure appeared spidery and delicate, but Thorne knew that the cross-bracing would give it surprising strength. Struts unfolding, the structure rose ten feet, then fifteen feet, and finally it stopped. The little house at the top was now just beneath the lowest branches of the nearby trees, which almost concealed it from view. But the scaffolding itself gleamed bright and shiny in the sun.

  “Is that it?” Arby said.

  “That’s it, yes.” Thorne walked around the four sides, slipping in the locking pins, to hold it upright.