ISLA SORNA: Sarah Harding's Story

An Unexpected Meeting

Raindrops leak from the jungle canopy overhead, first a steady drizzle, then a sudden downpour. The fat raindrops splash onto my forehead, marking rivers down my face and into my eyes. I drag my clammy palms over my face and focus on the muddy trail ahead.

A squawk echoes in the distance—bird or dinosaur, I'm not sure—but it's enough to make me pick up my pace, hoping the large leaves brushing against my torn clothes won't cling to my scent and lead any carnivorous dinosaur my way.

A steep hill stands in my way. Across that hill is the lookout. I'll be safe there for the night. Wet, perhaps, but safe. And it'll take half the time to climb the hill than to keep to the trail wrapping around it. Jamming my boot into the mud, I adjust my lucky pack on my shoulders and grab onto a sturdy plant to hoist myself up. The raindrops somehow become heavier, splattering onto my face, and I wipe it off before jamming my other boot into the hill—when I hear it. The rustling of plants behind me. The sound of rapid footsteps. The soft purring roar that could belong to none other than the velociraptor.

My fingers tighten around the thick fronds. My heart beats to the rhythm of the drops pitter-pattering onto my forehead. My foot threatens to slip from its muddy post in the hill, but I sink it in deeper while I slowly turn to face my predator.

Her golden eyes lock with mine. She stares at me for a heartbeat, then her head twitches to the side, and I swear I can see her smiling. She snorts, a loud call to her comrades that she found me.

Food.

Dinner for three.

I refuse to be someone's buffet.

I whip my head around and grab the next plant. These aren't T-Rexes. Their hunting skills aren't based on movement, but on smell. The heady scent of fear. My only option is to run or be eaten.

I pull myself up with the plant and grab for another. My foothold isn't as strong and I slip onto my stomach. My chin scrapes against the mud. The loud calls of the velociraptors sound behind me, sending chills reverberating down my spine. It's enough for me to regain my foothold and reach for a rock jutting out of the hill.

How I survived this long on Isla Sorna is beyond me. It's been a week—a week alone on this island, studying the behaviors of the dinosaurs and taking photographs for the research team led by—hopefully—Ian Malcolm. My boyfriend. Though I told Hammond there was no way he was coming on this island, Hammond convinced me if I came ahead of the crew, that would ensure Malcolm would follow close behind.

I just hope he's right.

During my time here I've seen the T-Rex from afar—both of them—and I've encountered a few feisty compys. But I've made a point to stay clear of the raptor nests. Studies have shown raptors can pick up your scent from a mile away. I knew examining the triceratops nests was a risk. But they were so active today. I couldn't resist taking a few pictures.

Something grabs my boot. I've barely made it a few yards up the hill, and I can almost feel the razor-sharp teeth of the raptor sinking through the thick leather of my boot and into my ankle. I wince and try to kick free, but then I feel her claws sinking into my leg. There's no escape: I have to fight. Gripping the plant tightly in one fist, I turn my body so I can face the raptor head-on. With my other trembling hand I reach into the back of my belt and grab for my gun. I haven't had to use it yet, and if I'm smart, I won't have to waste a bullet on this motherfucker.

I pull my gun out and jam it into the side of the raptor's head. This dazes her enough for me to slip from her jaws and scramble further up the hill. I'm almost to the top. Perfect. I can finally gain distance between us.

I reach for the next plant—fronds hanging over the ledge—when a large clawed foot stamps down on the plant. I jerk my hand back, blink the raindrops out of my eyes as my gaze slowly travels up the wet, bumpy skin of the raptor.

"Clever girl."

Her eyes glint in the moonlight. Sadistic satisfaction.

Below, the other raptor is gaining on me. Just one more second and her jaws will clamp around my foot again—and I won't escape this time. There's not enough time to pull out my gun, shoot one raptor and then the other. Instead, just as the raptor on the hill lowers it's head to bite mine off, I grab my pack from around my shoulder and fling it so the arm band lassoes around her neck.

Then I yank—HARD.

As limber as raptors are, this unexpected move throws her off balance. She falls forward, and I'm quick to rip the band from around her neck as she tumbles past me, colliding into the raptor below as they rolls down the steep hill. Grabbing the fronds, I yank myself to the top of the hill, throw my lucky pack over my shoulder, and race toward the lookout.

The raptor's frantic calls echo behind me. The place where the raptor clawed my leg begins stinging, but blind panic forces me through the pouring rain toward safety. Thunder rolls overhead, and a burst of wind brushes over the treetops, making me flinch and run faster—just in case there's a larger sharp-tooth behind those trees.

Finally, I arrive at the lookouts. I run onto the metal platform, slam my palm on the button, and whirl around to find not two, but three raptors racing toward me just as the elevator slowly rises to the lookout post. They slam into the gate just as I rise out of reach.

I don't exhale until I'm at the top. Tear sting my eyes, and I finally release the the cry that's been burning the back of my throat since I saw the first raptor.

Though there's a metal roof overhead, there's nothing keep out the rain. The wind is stronger up here without the trees blocking its path. I'm already soaked and this storm shows no signs of letting up. I might be drenched tonight, but at least I'm safe.

I strip off my green jacket and wrap it over my head like an umbrella. My name threaded onto the jacket gleams in the moonlight: Sarah Harding, Animal Behaviorist. I wear that title proudly. I've earned it—both through my studies and through my experience of studying wildlife in the African savanna. I didn't realize how safe throwing rocks at lions would seem compared to running from velociraptors.

Below the raptors congregate, communicating in their own language, like a secret code. I study them. They're unlike any animals I've encountered, even in all my time in Africa. These creatures aren't just making sounds or silently communicating with their eyes. They're talking to each other. One makes a barking sound, then the other purrs in satisfaction, and simultaneously, all three raptors look right at me. I swear I can see them grinning before they turn and leap back into the thick leaves of the forest.

And the realization strikes me. While I thought I'd won this battle by climbing into the lookout where they can't reach me, I was so wrong.

Because the raptors know where I am now.

And they will be waiting for me in the morning.