In an alternate universe, 5 years after the events of the film Jurassic Park, the now famous paleontologist Alan Grant and his wife, paleobotanist Ellie Sattler, are convinced by a couple of billionaires to carry out a rescue mission on Isla Sorna...
(The image below is merely illustrative. Art by Patrik Cauan Ferreira)
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Author's Notes: Finally, we are in the penultimate chapter of my fanfic! In this chapter, Alan went to look for gasoline in a warehouse in the island's port. However, little does he know that in that place there is a 2.1 meter tall predator waiting for the right moment to attack him. Yes, I'm talking about the Carnotaurus, the same dinosaur from Michael Crichton's The Lost World. And before you ask me, it's the same dinosaur that devoured one of the mercenaries in the third chapter of the fic. To write this chapter, I was inspired by the chapter in which the Carnotaurus appears in Michael Crichton's book. In addition, there is a scene that is a tribute to one of the endings of the game Dino Crisis. Anyway, have a good read ^w^
Everything was silent. It was a full moon night. The air was still. After walking for a few minutes, Alan finally reached the port warehouse. Next to the warehouse, there were many containers that formed a kind of maze. On the warehouse, there was a metal sign. Alan walked closer and saw the metal sign with red letters that looked black in the moonlight.
DANGER: NO SMOKING. FLAMMABLE.
It was a small space, maybe 3X3. Upon entering the warehouse, Alan noticed that the place was damp and the moonlight illuminated the interior through the broken parts of the roof. Alan turned on the switch to turn on the lights, then he took a few steps and examined the gas pumps. The handle of one of them was rusty and full of cobwebs. He removed the hose and pressed the lever. Nothing happened. He pressed the hose. Nothing. He hit the glass that showed the number of liters and the glass fell into his hand.
A spider ran between the metal numbers. They had no gas. They had to find gas, or they would never fill the boat. Alan thought for a moment, looking at the pumps. They were simple, the kind you'd find in remote places. And that made sense, because this was an island, after all. Yes, it was an island. Which meant everything came in by plane or boat. Probably mostly by boat. Small boats that brought supplies. Which meant...
Alan examined the base of the pump. Just as he'd thought. There was no gas tank under the ground. He saw a thick, black PVC pipe that angled down from the ground and ran to the side of the store. The paleontologist followed the pipe, moving cautiously in the moonlight. He stopped for a moment to listen, then continued. He reached the side of the warehouse and found what he'd expected, three twenty-gallon metal drums lined up against the wall, connected by a series of black hoses.
That made sense, too. All the gasoline on the island had to come in drums. He tapped the drums with his fist. They were empty. He lifted one, expecting to hear the liquid sloshing around inside. They wouldn't need more than five liters... Nothing. But surely, he thought, there had to be more than three drums. He did a quick calculation. A warehouse that size would have half a dozen vehicles, maybe more. Even if they had a long range, they would use at least a hundred liters a week. To be on the safe side, InGen would have to store at least two months' supply, maybe six months.
