Jurassic World, left behind

Ron again and again

Ron was in his own little version of heaven. He knew where the restaurants kept their wine bottles, and had raided many a fridge for food as well. After shutting down the park, Ron decided it was time for his first vacation in ten years. He had loaded up his truck with all the supplies and then driven back to his bungalow and sat on his front porch overlooking the lagoon where his boat was docked.

He spent the next two days like this: drinking, eating, and napping. Nothing much happened, he was just enjoying being in a vegetative state and gorging himself on unhealthy foods. There were several points, however, when he was wakened from napping by sounds.

The first time it had happened was on his first blissful nap of his mini vacation. He was jolted from his sleep by what his mind at first categorized as a gunshot. When he was fully awake however, he dismissed the idea entirely. The storm had blown wickedly, but Ron slept through it like a log.

But on the morning of the third day, something unexpected woke Ron from a hungover sleep. At first his brain couldn't categorize the noise because of the beating that his brain cells had taken from the night before. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the gears to start turning. By the time he sorted through the sounds of wind and slight rain and figured out what the noise was, it had already moved overhead and was well on its way over the island.

A helicopter.

Ron jumped to his feet, swaying slightly as his body tried to compensate for the severe dehydration and lack of grey cells. He rushed to grab his boots and ran outside and down the steps of the bungalow porch and looked up and over his house just in time to see the tail of a black helicopter barely visible against the cloudy sky vanish over the swaying palm trees. Ron didn't like what he saw on the tail of the machine.

"Eehn jen." He mumbled through the fog of alcohol to himself. Owen had told him of the company's involvement in the incident that led to the closing of Jurassic world.

"When I get mah hands on those-" Rom was cut off from mentioning the hell he would rain down on the company minions when he tripped on a bottle and fell backward onto his bottom. At the same time a branch slapped viciously against the side of his bungalow, adding to Ron's already throbbing headache.

Mumbling profanities as he righted himself, Ron decided to spy on what those no good scientists were up too. He wandered back into his bungalow and rummaged through his cabinets for something to cure his hangover. Unfortunately for Ron, there really is no sure fire cure for a hangover, but through his many years on this earth he had come up with his own concoction that he claimed worked for him every time: pickle juice.

His buddies in college had marveled at Ron's ability to recover quickly from a heavy night of drinking in time for classes the next day, and Ron had credited the pickle juice he drank. There might be some truth to the beverage having some rejuvenative powers, but Ron's recovery time slowly increased over the years until even he questioned its abilities. Nevertheless, it was his go-to fix.

Pickle juice now on its way to being digested, Ron sat while he gathered his slowly returning wits about him, the wind and rain continuing to pelt his poor house. What was Ingen doing here? Surely they abandoned the island along with the other people? The wind added its voice to Ron's internal discussion, but had nothing helpful to say.

Who knows? Scientists were crazy like that, going and making a new dinosaur, they would be crazy enough to do anything. Ron thought to himself as he slowly moved around the bungalow and gathered equipment he would need for his mission. He stopped as he grabbed his machete from the wall. It had been a joke present from his niece and nephew that lived in California, and they had laughingly said,