SEVEN

"It won’t be long, now," Alan promised.

The forest was growing less dense. Trees were spaced farther apart, and patches of green grass replaced the moss and lichen of the more heavily shaded areas. Dappled sunlight filtered through the canopy. Occasionally, Ellie saw the three-toed imprints in the soft earth which marked the passage of one of the island’s genetically engineered creatures. Ten years ago, on the barren plains of the Montana badlands, Alan would have immediately dropped to his hands and knees to eagerly examine ancient dinosaur tracks left in the fossil record. Now he strode over the fresh prints with hardly a glance.

Finally, they emerged from the forest on the crest of a shallow rise, and the first buildings in the compound came into view, dominated by a two story structure constructed of masonry block that had been painted green, apparently a lame attempt to blend the structure in with the surrounding wilderness. High above, on the roof, was an observation deck. The other buildings were smaller, resembling the utility sheds and bunkers she had seen on Isla Nublar.

Leaving the shelter of the forested area, they passed through a large grassy area with scattered trees and shrubs that resembled the city parks found in any metropolitan in the United States. The tire ruts they had been following drifted into the grass and continued to the back of the first building, then proceeded onward until they disappeared from view over a gentle rise of earth.

"The two-story building is the dormitory where I’ve been living," Alan explained. "The smallest building holds the generator that powers it. The other is simply a storage shed."

"The workers all lived here?" she asked.

"Apparently. I would assume they had some time off to go back to the mainland, but they obviously spent most of their off hours here. You can see the dome of the research facility through the trees." Following his outstretched arm that pointed toward the warehouse in which the research had been conducted, Ellie could see the white circular dome glistening in the sunlight through the trees.

“Why didn’t they build the runway closer to the facility?” Ellie wondered aloud.

“Terrain. There are a lot of small hills and valleys, so shallow you’d hardly notice them, but the runway had to be perfectly flat.”

“Okay, so why didn’t they build the research facility closer to the runway, then?”

He flashed a quick smile, amused. “That thought crossed my mind as well, and I have no answer for it. Of course, if we had vehicles, the distance wouldn’t seem so great.”

They were approaching the dormitory from the side, and Ellie noticed that all the windows, both upstairs and down, were covered with jail-like bars, obviously intended to keep the animals from gaining access to the living quarters. She thought it more closely resembled a prison than a home, and wondered if the people who had lived here had felt as she did.

As if able to read her mind from the expression on her face, Alan said in agreement, "I know. The bars are a cheerful reminder of what this place really is."

Turning the corner of the structure, they arrived at the front door. Like the windows, it was guarded by a sturdy outer door constructed of iron bars instead of a mesh screen. The solid door inside had been left open, obviously to allow the fresh air to cool the interior of the building.

Alan removed a key from his pocket and inserted it into a lock that secured the barred door, then he swung it open and stood back for her to enter first.

"I keep it locked when I’m not here. Raptors, as you know, can open doors, and I wouldn’t want to come home and find one inside waiting for me."

"Nor would I," she agreed as she stepped through the door.

He followed her inside with the hand truck, guiding it carefully over the threshold, and closed the bars behind them, locking them from the inside. He left the solid metal storm door open. "The kitchen is this way," he said, leading the way through the entry hall toward the rear of the building.

Ellie followed, looking curiously at the structure’s interior as she trudged behind him with the ice chest.

The entry hall was floored with linoleum, and was devoid of furniture save a combination coat rack/ hat rack/ umbrella rack made of tarnished brass. Alan tossed his hat on it as he walked past. His raincoat and a black umbrella already occupied spaces on the fixture, reminding her that she had failed to bring her own rain gear.

Large rooms opened up on either side of the entry hall, one containing sofas, love seats, and chairs, in addition to a large bookcase holding volumes of literature. An open book was flipped over on the coffee table to hold its place, indicating that Alan had been reading in his leisure time. The opposite room also had a sofa and chairs, a CD player with speakers, and a radio. Obviously, these had been gathering rooms for the off-duty workers.

"There is a recreation room upstairs with the bedrooms," Alan told her as they passed the staircase.  "They actually have some pretty nice exercise equipment."

“Obviously, you’ve taken some advantage of that,” she observed, acknowledging his physical fitness.

He glanced at her, as if surprised that the result was noticeable. “Yes.”

Beyond the staircase was a large dining hall, which reminded Ellie of a school cafeteria, except that the tables were circular instead of rectangular. Each table was large enough to comfortably seat six people. Adjoining that was the spacious kitchen, which contained two stoves, two microwave ovens, a huge refrigerator, and a full size upright freezer. Two long stainless steel tables provided plenty of preparation space, and beneath them was plenty of storage room for utensils. A large dishwasher was tucked away beneath the counter near a trio of stainless steel sinks. Plenty of cabinet space and a large pantry provided storage room for canned and boxed goods.

Alan halted the hand truck near one of the work tables in the center of the kitchen, and began lifting the boxes off it and placing them on the stainless steel surface. Her suitcases were placed on the floor beside it. Emptied of its cargo, the hand truck was moved against the far wall and left there for future use.

Ellie opened the refrigerator door, and was confronted with microscopic slides, racks full of test tubes, and biological samples wrapped in plastic wrap. She closed the refrigerator door, reluctant to disturb Alan’s work, and opened the freezer door. The freezer was filled with more biological samples, all labeled and enclosed in plastic wrap. Even without looking at the labels, she could easily identify many of the items that were visible through the clear wrapping: feces, skin samples, chunks of flesh, and various internal organs.

She felt her stomach tighten as she closed the door again. Idly, she wondered how he had acquired them. "Maybe you should put away the refrigerated items," she suggested. There had been a time when she would have been perfectly comfortable moving aside those items to make necessary room, but now she was acutely aware that those were his experiments, and they had nothing to do with her. She felt very much an outsider.

He smiled sheepishly from the pantry. "Sorry. I don’t use the refrigerator as much for myself as I do for my work." Moving away from the food cabinets, he set down a box of breakfast cereal on the counter top as he passed it.

They exchanged places, and he noticed with surprise that she kept her eyes averted as they passed each other, an uncharacteristic attempt to avoid eye contact. She retreated quickly to the pantry, and busied herself with the task of stocking the shelves with boxed and canned goods.

Puzzling over her unusual behavior, he moved the experimental objects to a lower shelf, providing space on the upper shelves for the groceries, then began removing the perishables from the ice chest and placing them in the refrigerator and freezer.

"I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of purchasing some chicken parts and a few cuts of beef," she said as she worked.

Alan shrugged. "Not at all. It’ll be a nice change, actually.”

When the ice chest was empty, he opened the remainder of the boxes and began helping her stock the pantry shelves with the canned goods. For a long time, neither of them spoke, both acutely aware of the uneasy tension existed between them that had never been present before.

When Alan completed his task, he turned back to observe Ellie, and found that she was leaning over the countertop, kneading her forehead with her fingers. It was obvious that she was nursing a severe headache.

"Ellie, are you all right?" He approached her, as if to offer assistance.

"I’m fine," she insisted.

Alan was not convinced. "Ellie, I’m going to ask one more time: Are you pregnant?"

She raised her head, defiantly, and her eyes flashed with annoyance. "For the last time, no, I am not pregnant, so stop asking me that!"

He grasped her arms in a firm grip and turned her around to face him, surprised by the lack of resistance he felt from her. She was a tall woman, almost as tall as his own six foot frame, but she felt almost limp beneath his hands. "Then do you want to tell me what’s wrong? I want to know the real reason why you’re here."

She raised her hand to rub her temple with the fingertips, again and turned her face away. "The only thing I want to do is take some aspirin and lie down for awhile. It’s been a long trip, and my head is splitting."

He released her, frustrated with his inability to communicate with her. Once an agreeable friend, she had become a brick wall, refusing to budge, rejecting his offers of help, and declining to share with him any information about why she was there.

He withdrew a bottle of aspirin from the first aid kit that was mounted on the wall, and passed it to her.

Her hands trembled slightly as she snapped the lid off the aspirin bottle and shook two of the white tablets into her palm. While she swallowed them with a gulp from her plastic bottle of water, Alan returned the pain reliever to its place in the kit.

Then, he lifted her suitcases, one in each hand, leaving her the smaller cosmetic case. "Come on,” he said, shortly. “We’ll find you a place to sleep."

Without a word, she picked up the remaining piece of luggage, and fell in step behind him as he led the way upstairs to the second story by way of a plain, unadorned staircase. The steps were rough to prevent slipping, and the banister was a gray steel rail. From the second floor, the stairs continued upward, terminating at a trap door in the ceiling, which attracted Ellie’s attention. That would probably be the exit to the observation deck.

Like the rooms downstairs, the second floor facilities contained the barest essentials necessary for human comfort. InGen had spent untold millions on genetic research, but obviously considered it excessive to squander money on cosmetic frivolities when it came to employee living quarters.

Alan turned into an open doorway near the stairs. The other doors in the corridor were closed.

Ellie paused in the doorway to observe the bedroom area. It was a large community facility with gray cubicles to provide individual privacy. Curtains, draped across the cubicle doors, were pulled back, revealing the contents. Each cubicle was as large as a small bedroom, and each contained a twin bed, a dresser, an upright wardrobe, and a small bedside table with a tiny lamp. Some cubicles had windows, but like the windows downstairs, they were all barred to prevent access by the more agile of the predators that ran wild. Most of them still contained the personal belongings of the researchers who had lived there.

"Wow," she said, sarcastically. "They went all out for their employees’ comfort, didn’t they?"

"Obviously, they weren’t expected to spend much time resting," Alan agreed. "That, plus the fact that the cubicles were probably easier and cheaper to erect than solid walls. There is another one just like it across the hall for the female employees,” he added, indicating the closed door of the other room. “I didn’t clean it up, so you’ll have to sleep in here. Which cubical do you want?"

She shrugged. "Which one is yours?"

He indicated the second cubicle on the right.

"You didn’t take the first one? It has a window."

"The second one has a bookcase in place of the window. I needed the shelf space for my ledgers."

A hint of a sad smile played at the corners of her mouth. "You still work in bed?" she asked.

"Sometimes."

"I don’t understand why men always feel they had to take their work to bed with them. That’s what offices are for."

"Sometimes it doesn’t get completed at the office," he said, defending the practice.

"And sometimes a woman likes to have a little attention from the man she cares about."

A slight frown creased his brow, wondering again if Ellie and Mark were having marital trouble. He set down the suitcases, but lingered at the door of the cubicle.

"Ellie, look, if you and Mark are having problems, this is not the way to solve them."

"Mark’s dead."

The unexpected news and her words, emotionless and matter-of-fact, caught him off guard.  "The children?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Them, too."

"How?"

"Drunk driver."

His expression softened. "Oh, Ellie, I’m so sorry," he said, moving toward her as if to embrace her.

She shied away, raising one hand as if to fend him off. "Don’t," she warned, knocking his hand aside.

He stopped, his arms dropping to his side.

"I’m tired of everyone saying they’re sorry, like it‘s somehow their fault. For three months, people have been telling me how sorry they are, but it doesn’t make me feel any different! I can’t laugh; I can’t cry. I can’t feel anything except numb. I want to do something, Alan. I want to work."

"Ellie, I can understand that, I really can, but ---"

"No, you can’t!" she snapped. "Unless you’ve been through this, you can’t understand it."

"My wife died a long time ago," he reminded her. "I have been through this. I know the emptiness you’re feeling right now."

She stared at him in surprised remembrance. He had been married many years ago, but his wife had passed away several years before he had met Ellie. She lowered her gaze, and some of the resentful fire went out of her eyes. "I’m sorry. I had forgotten."

"My problem was, I kept it bottled up inside, like I suspect you’re doing right now."

"I don’t want your advice, Alan. I just want to work. I want to forget."

"No, you don’t. You don’t ever want to forget. You want the pain to go away, and it will, in time. But right now, you have to face it, or it will torment you. Believe me, Ellie. I know."

"I don’t want to talk about this," she told him, her eyes harsh as she stared into his face, leaving no doubt in his mind that she would not discuss the incident with him. She gestured toward the first cubicle. "This one is fine."

"All right, then. I’ll get some fresh linen."

After he had left the room, Ellie entered the cubical which was to be her personal living space for the next six weeks. A pair of dusty jeans lay on the floor beside the bed, and she stooped to pick them up, cringing when the effort caused an increase in the throbbing of her headache. She tossed them onto the bed of the cubical directly opposite. The owner was not likely to return to collect the denim trousers, and she had no use for them. Next, she stripped the old linen from the bed and tossed it into the hallway to be discarded. Gripping the mattress by its hand holds, she turned it over to the clean side.

Alan returned moments later with clean sheets, a light blanket, and a clean pillow. "You probably won’t need the blanket, but since you’re not feeling well, you might decide you want it."

She nodded her appreciation. "Just set them down on the bed, and I’ll take care of them.

As he placed the linens on the bed, she opened her suitcase and withdrew her personal items. "Where is the bathroom?"

"The bathroom is down the hall. You’ll have to use the men’s room. I didn’t bother cleaning up the women’s room. There is no running water, but I keep a water barrel filled near the showers. Fill the pot and pour it in the tank, and the toilet will flush normally."

"Okay."

Taking her hairbrush, shampoo, toothbrush, and toothpaste, she carried them to the bathroom facility and pushed open the heavy swinging door.

It was a replica of every community bathroom she had ever seen at any college or school, the only difference being that this one contained a bank of urinals against the far wall, a stark reminder that it was the men’s room. Four stalls enclosed the toilets, and across the spacious tiled floor were four wash basins, each with a large mirror over it. Two shower stalls stood side by side on her left, and a large barrel of water stood between them. Hanging from a hook inserted in the partition that separated them was a large cook pot with a handle, an adequate method of transporting water to the toilets and for rinsing off in the shower.

Alan’s shaving kit and other personal items had been placed on the Formica countertop beside one of the basins, so she selected one farther down the row and designated it as hers by placing her things on it.

While she was in the bathroom, Alan emptied the dresser drawers and the wardrobe of the men’s clothing that filled them, and placed them in the other cubical with the jeans that Ellie had discarded earlier.

With her things in place, Ellie returned to the bedroom and watched as he continued to transfer the old clothes out of her cubical, grateful that it was a task she would not have to face. When he completed the chore, she yanked the privacy curtain closed, made the bed and lay down to rest for awhile. As an afterthought, she reached up to remove the clamp that had held her hair off her neck, and felt the tresses tumble loose on the pillow. Draping her arm across her pounding forehead, she sighed heavily and tried to relax the tense muscles in the back of her head and neck that were the likely culprits of her headache.

Leaving her to rest in private, Alan collected the discarded linens and went back downstairs. The linens were placed outside the back door to be used later for other things. Next, he picked up the box containing his new office supplies, and carried them into a small room at the end of the corridor. The room was well lit by a large window, barred, like all the other windows in the building.

The room contained several desks, chairs, bookshelves, and filing cabinets. Obviously, it had been used as an office for the researchers and geneticists who wanted to continue their work even after leaving the facility for the evenings.

Upon his arrival, Alan had cleaned the dust from all the desks, then selected the largest one for his personal use. Incidental papers and notes pertaining to the island and its ancient inhabitants had been carefully scrutinized, and either filed for further examination or discarded as trash items. Electric typewriters and calculators, rendered unsuitable for use by time, neglect, and the dust, had been relocated to a desk in the corner, stacked one upon the other to preserve space for his research items. In their places were microscopes, slides, his personal calculator, and other objects necessary for keeping his records.

Placing the box on the desk, he withdrew a pad of paper and a new pen, and sat down at his desk.

Like other paleos, Alan preferred to be in the field working on a new dig site, but paper work was the necessary bane of every new discovery, and that included the project on which he was currently working. Every phase of his research was carefully documented and categorized. It was a tedious but necessary aspect of scientific discovery, one to which he was meticulously dedicated, but like all humans, he was periodically plagued by a wandering mind or writer’s block. Today was one such day.

Soon, he found himself staring absently at a blank page in his notebook, his pen poised over the blue ruled paper, contemplating the startling revelation that Ellie’s husband and children were dead. Her words had been shockingly blunt.

He had wanted to comfort her, wanted to embrace her, but her resistance and an unspoken warning for him to tread carefully around the subject was not a surprise. He easily recognized the symptoms from his own experience with the death of a loved one. She was traumatized by her loss. It was no great surprise, either, that she was so depressed, so fragile. Her entire family had been cruelly and abruptly taken from her. She had lost everything she held dear, and he understood that.

Her tremendous weight loss, however, was troubling, and made her more susceptible to potential illness, and he worried that should she become ill, it would be difficult to obtain help for her. And that opened up another question: In her fragile physical condition, why had she come to that remote island, knowing that she was far from civilization? Was it, as she claimed, to assist him in his research, or did she come to him with the fundamental belief that he could somehow help her through her turmoil?

That thought made him uncomfortable. They had been very close at one time, sharing similar interests, beliefs, hopes, and joys, but the distance that comes with separation had made them virtual strangers. Her priorities had changed from scientific to domestic, while his had remained the same. How could he possibly help her through this tragedy? And how could he possibly conduct his research when her needs were so great and her physical condition so precarious? How could he possibly concentrate when she was so near?

That is your biggest problem, Grant, said a voice inside his head. You still have feelings for her, as she does for you! And the two of you are alone on this island together! How are you going to handle it? How are you going to resist the temptation?

At this point, he gave up completely in his attempts to place words on paper. Tossing the pen down on the blank page, he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

Seeing her for the first time on the landing strip had reignited feelings and emotions he thought he had set aside a long time ago. Their relationship had been a good one, or so he had thought. They had shared a common interest in the ancient world. She had always been an asset to his research, and working in the dust and heat of the desert had not bothered her -- in fact, she seemed to thrive on it. But things had eventually changed. The work became less important to her. She had spoken almost relentlessly on the subject of children. Finally, she had left him to pursue a new life, and he had thrown himself even deeper into the research that had ultimately come between them. She had left him, he reminded himself again, to have the family he had been unwilling to give her.

Frustrated, he rose from the chair and wandered out of the office space. Uncertain precisely where he wanted to go or what he wanted to do, he paused briefly in the corridor before turning toward the foyer. From where he stood, he could see the front door he had left open to allow the warm breeze to circulate through the building and the green of the forest beyond. Restlessly, he moved toward it to gaze through the iron bars, grasping them as if they were bars on a jail cell. Only they were not there to keep him inside; instead, they were there to keep something else out. Resting his forehead against the bars, he gazed out across the lawn. The primeval jungle stood silently before him, deceptive in its peaceful appearance. He was all too familiar with the predators that lived there.

His heavy sigh sounded loud in the stillness of the room. During the months he had lived on that remote island, he had never really felt lonely. He had his research to keep him busy. So, why did his heart now ache with such lonely emptiness?

 

EIGHT

When Ellie awakened, she was still in the same position she had been in when she had lain down earlier, but when she opened her eyes, she briefly experienced the disconcerting sensation of finding herself in an unfamiliar place. The remembrance came back to her with a jolt, and she experienced a brief moment of apprehension, which was quickly set aside. She was here for a purpose, and she would do her best to help Alan.

Tossing back the sheet, she sat up and yawned, feeling surprising refreshed after her nap. The headache that had plagued her since leaving the airplane was gone, and a twinge of hunger suggested that it was nearing mealtime. Glancing down at her feet, she saw that she was barefoot. Alan must have come in while she was sleeping and removed her shoes. Without bothering to put them on, she got up and padded down the corridor toward the restroom, and pushed the door open. She was momentarily startled to find it occupied.

Alan, dressed only in a pair of jeans, was rinsing his face in the wash basin, which he had filled with water from the barrel. She watched him for several moments, intrigued by his lean, tanned body. Wilderness life and the exercise equipment he had told her about were obviously agreeing with him. He was in better shape than she had ever seen him, neither too slender nor too muscular.

When he became aware of her presence, he turned his head toward her and smiled a greeting. "I was starting to worry about you." Rising up from the sink, he reached for the towel that was draped around his neck, and used it to dry his face.

Puzzled, she asked, "Why? I just took a little nap."

"Nap? Ellie, you’ve been asleep for sixteen hours."

She blinked with surprise. "Sixteen?" For many weeks after the accident, she had faithfully taken the tranquilizers the doctor had prescribed to assist her in sleeping. She had finally discontinued them because they made her feel heavy-headed and drugged afterward. The trade-off was the resulting difficulty in obtaining a complete night of sleep. "Wow. I guess I must have been more tired than I realized."

"That’s why I let you sleep, but I’ll tell you, it was starting to concern me." He finished drying his face, then observed her approvingly. "I must say, you look better."

"I feel better," she agreed, trying to force her eyes not to stray to his bare chest, but they were not obeying. Finally, she forced them to look past him, at the row of sinks. Moving to the basin she had designated as hers, she dragged her hairbrush through her long flaxen hair, ignoring the gaunt face the looked back at her from the mirror.

Alan watched, admiring the long blonde tresses that fell softly over her shoulders and partway down her back.

"You let your hair grow out," he commented.

She turned her head to look at him, and smiled; at last, a trace of the Ellie he had known before. "So did you."

He raised his hand self-consciously to finger the long strands, and made a face of disgust. "I sorta hoped you wouldn’t notice."

"Alan, how could I not notice? You’ve never let your hair grow that long." She lifted her shoulders in a quick shrug. "It doesn’t look that bad, really."

He shrugged, tucking an errant lock behind his ear. "If only that was true."

"If it bothers you, I could cut it for you."

He looked up, as if startled by the offer. "I remember what happened the last time you tried to cut my hair! Thanks anyway, but I believe I’ll pass."

Again, a brief glimpse of the old Ellie flickered across her face. "It wasn’t that bad!" she protested with mock indignation.

"It wasn’t?" he asked. "It looked like you had tried to carve the alphabet into it! Not to mention the fact that you nearly cut my ear off!" He rubbed his ear, as if soothing a painful remembrance.

”I did not!” For a moment, he thought she might laugh. Briefly, the corners of her eyes crinkled, then smoothed as the moment slipped away, melting into the disturbing look of depression he had seen since her arrival.

Quickly, she busied herself with the hairbrush again.

Alan watched for several moments with a concerned frown that Ellie tried to ignore.

"Listen, Ellie, if you ever want to talk," he offered.

"There’s nothing to talk about," she told him with a smile that was clearly forced.

"I just thought it might help to talk about it."

This time, her hands stopped working, and she rested them on the edge of the basin as her eyes studied the white porcelain. "Listen, Alan. I know you want to help, but there’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do that will bring my family back. I just have to deal with it the best way I can, and right now, I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?"

He raised his hands as if in surrender. "Okay. But I’m here, Ellie, if you ever do want to talk."

With the offer made, he left the room.

Turning her face toward the door, she gazed at it as it slowed eased shut, then whispered, "Thank you."
                                                           ~~~

Shocked by the revelation that she had enjoyed a sixteen-hour sleep, something she had not done since she was a teenager, Ellie returned to her cubical to change into clean clothes. That explained why she had felt so refreshed upon rising from what she had believed was a short nap.

As she considered the fast pace of the past few days, it was no wonder she had been so tired. She had endured a very long and very tiring trip with very little rest, and her body was still trying to catch up to the changes in time and climate. It was enough to exhaust anyone.

After changing into a clean pair of faded blue jeans and a sleeveless blouse, she started down the stairs. A shaft of light from above illuminated the staircase, and she looked up to find that the trap door she had noticed last night was open, presumably for ventilation.

The tantalizing aroma of frying bacon drifted up the stairs to greet her, and her stomach rumbled eagerly in response, reminding her that she had missed supper the evening before.

She was not surprised that Alan had already started breakfast. He had spent much of his adult life alone, and it had been necessary to fend for himself. He either had to cook his own meals, or eat restaurant food all the time. Out here, however, there were no restaurants.

Completing her trek down the long staircase, she turned toward the kitchen, following the delicous smells, then paused when she reached the kitchen door to observe Alan as he lifted the strips of bacon from the frying pan, then replaced them with another portion. She smiled as he flinched and grimaced when the fatty meat crackled and popped in the grease. He put the lid on the skillet and turned toward the refrigerator, then stopped when he saw her.

He had put on a tan shirt, open at the neck and with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows in typical Alan Grant fashion. A pair of work shoes which her mother had always referred to as “waffle stompers” completed the ensemble.

She entered the kitchen, pretending that she had not been watching him. "That smells good," she said. "I could smell it all the way upstairs."

"Nothing smells quite as good as bacon," he agreed, proceeding to the refrigerator. "I keep hearing about the evils of bacon, but old habits are hard to break. I always have Miguel bring me one package with my supplies." He opened the refrigerator door and withdrew a carton of eggs. "I’ve been trying to be more health-conscious as I get older, but every so often, I treat myself to a good high cholesterol fried breakfast."

"Here, let me finish with that," she said, reaching for the eggs.

He relinquished the carton to her, and she set it down on the countertop, and lifted the lid. Returning to the stove, he stirred the potatoes that were frying in another skillet. They sizzled and popped with a mouthwatering aroma.

"How many eggs do you want?" she asked.

"Two."

She broke open four eggs and dropped their contents directly into the skillet with the bacon. "We’ll both eat unhealthy this morning," she said. "Where is your trash?"

He reached under the counter and withdrew a plastic container with an airtight lid. "Put the shells in here," he said, lifting the lid to reveal a repulsive combination of vegetable scraps, eggshells, and coffee grounds.

She knew what it was from her father’s interest in gardening. "You’re composting?" she asked, tossing the eggshells into it.

He replaced the lid, and returned the container to its place under the counter. "Yes. I have a garden out back. The heat and humidity here are excellent conditions for composing."

Surprise flickered across her face. This man never ceased to amaze her. "A garden? I didn’t know you were interested in gardening."

He shrugged. "I’ve always been interested in it, but never had the time for it. Summers were always spent out on dig sites. Here, I have perfect climate plus plenty of time to do it."

"What do you grow?"

"Tomatoes, beans, squash, cucumbers, eggplant, peppers, watermelons. I even put in some corn. It’s producing quite well."

He sounded so proud of himself that she had to smile. "You cook all these vegetables?"

His smile was amused. "What? You thought my diet consisted only of sandwiches and heat ‘n serve?"

"Well, yeah, if you must know, that’s exactly what I thought. I thought you would be too busy to cook."

The smile faltered slightly at the vague reference to his workaholic attitude. "Surprise."

"I am surprised, but I think it’s great. Gardening is a good hobby. My dad loves it."

"The previous occupants had already cultivated and fenced a section of the land to keep out the herbivores, so all I had to do was clear the previous growth from it, and start planting."

When the meal was ready, she lifted two large helpings of eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes onto two plates.

He picked up one of the plates and a cup of steaming coffee. "Let’s eat up on the roof," he suggested. "The view is magnificent."

She quickly poured a cup of coffee and followed him up the stairs. At the second floor, he proceeded up to the open trap door in the ceiling. He stepped onto the roof, and Ellie followed, curiously.

The roof was made of concrete, sloping slightly toward the edges for drainage. A two-inch high rim encircling the door opening and the lip around the trap door itself prevented rainwater from washing back into the stairwell. Around the edges of the roof, a single metal guardrail protected the occupants from an accidental fall. A wooden awning was erected over the center of the roof to provide shade and prevent rain from falling into the stairwell. Several round metal tables were bolted to the roof. Obviously, InGen’s geneticists had spent leisure time there, eating or relaxing. A couple of barrels stood in the open.

“For collecting rainwater,” Alan said in answer to her questioning glance as she peered into one of the barrels. “It rains a lot here, and it’s easier to carry buckets of water down to the bathroom than it is to carry them up the stairs.”

Turning away from the barrel, Ellie paused briefly to gaze at the geographic beauty of the island. As Alan had stated, the view was magnificent.

While Ellie took in the view provided by the height, Alan selected a table near the edge, and placed his plate and coffee cup on it, then pulled out a chair for himself and another for Ellie. She quickly joined him, and they sat down to breakfast.

"This is so beautiful," she said. "Do you eat up here often?"

"Almost always." He paused briefly, thinking how much he had missed having someone to talk to; how much he had missed her. "I guess I’ve learned to stop and recognize the things nature has to offer. I never did that before. Sunsets are particularly spectacular from here."

"I’m anxious to see it. Maybe we can watch it together, tonight."

He gazed at her for a long moment, thinking about that: A beautiful, romantic sunset, alone on the deck with Ellie . . . Oh, Lord! he thought. This could be a problem!

They ate in silence for several moments, listening to the haunting call of an unidentified dinosaur in the distance that resounded through the valley. She waited until the cry had faded, then asked, "So, tell me about your research. What have you been doing for the last seven months?”

“Basically, locating and documenting all the species on the island, observing their behavior patterns, their diets, and interaction, and snooping through the stuff InGen let behind. When I’m not in the field, I go through the offices and file cabinets in the research center, going over their written accounts of what they were doing. Unfortunately, there isn’t much in the way of documentation. They must have either destroyed or taken the most important ones when they evacuated. Makes me wonder what they were up to.”

“Have you made any interesting discoveries since you’ve been here?”

“One interesting thing I’ve discovered is that every generation comes a little closer to the original species. The skin and flesh samples I’ve been studying indicate that the amphibian DNA used to create the first generation is gradually being taken over and replaced by the animal’s original cell structure. Their physical appearances have even begun minor but very significant changes. Nature is cleansing itself of the foreign DNA."

"Remarkable. So, they’re thriving, then?"

He gestured behind her, toward a large clearing that lay before the distant forest. "See for yourself."

Ellie turned in the direction indicated, and saw the long, snakelike neck of a Brachiosaur rising above the treetops. It was chewing contentedly on the leaves and twigs. For a long time, Ellie could only stare in awe-struck silence as the animal moved slowly through the clearing, browsing on the treetops.

"I had forgotten how magnificent they are," she breathed, overwhelmed by the sight of the ancient giant.

He smiled. "Those were my words when I first came back here. I had spent years criticizing everything that went on here, yet when I arrived, I experienced that same thrill that I had when we first came here with Hammond nine years ago. I guess there was a part of me that respected the miracle that made them possible, even if I disagreed with the way they carried it out. The only thing wrong with all this is that it was man-made.”

“Have you studied any of the individual species? When you came to visit last summer, you said you were studying raptors.”

“Actually, I’ve been taking a closer look at the Spinosaurus, at least in the few written records that were left behind by the researchers. I’ve only seen it three times since I’ve been here, and I make it a conscious effort to avoid it. It tends to stay close to the coast.”

“Why is that?”

“I suspect it wants to migrate, but that’s just a theory. It’s the most ill-tempered animal I’ve ever seen. It was an infant when the island was deserted, so there isn’t much written about it, but apparently it demonstrated unnaturally aggressive tendencies, even then. Most of the animals imprinted on the feeders as soon as they were born, assuming they were the parents, but not the Spino. Right out of the shell, it saw every living thing it encountered as a food source. It immediately started biting the researching; took one man’s finger off. Some records I’ve found speculate that it is possibly a result of the genetic altering that was going on.”

“Genetic altering?”

He nodded. “I’ve found some vague references indicating that they were attempting to counter the high mortality rate by creating a sturdier, more disease resistant animal. Something went wrong and they radically affected the Spino’s behavior. It is so large that as an adult, humans should be insignificant as a food source. However, when I was here with the Kirby expedition, it seemed to seek us out, attacking us over and over. I still marvel at the fact that any of us survived the experience."

Reaching across the table, she impulsively placed her hand over his. "You have an instinct for survival."

He looked down at her hand, then turned his hand over and closed his fingers around hers briefly, then released it and drew his hand away, as if uncomfortable with the intimacy of the gesture. "Why don’t we go on a minor expedition of our own? I’d like to show you some of the species."

Ellie was immediately caught up in Alan’s enthusiasm, and was eager to explore the island and observe the animals he was studying. The old familiarity they had once shared was starting to return, and she knew he was becoming comfortable with her presence. In response to his question, she nodded. "Sure."

Breakfast completed, they gathered their plates and coffee cups and started back down the stairs. As Ellie followed the charismatic and sometimes enigmatic paleontologist down the narrow staircase, her gaze fell upon her plate. She had not eaten everything, but she had done much better than usual. Unaccustomed to large, heavy meals, her stomach had filled up quickly, but at least she had felt hungry prior to the meal. That was significant progress that would have pleased her parents.

She realized, with a jolt of conscience, that she had been up over an hour, and this was the first time she had thought about the loss of her family. Being with Alan, listening to him describe his work on the island, was like a feel-good tonic that had been long denied. Deliberately, she pushed those twinges of guilt into the back of her mind. She would not allow her depression to spoil the day.

Alan led the way back to the kitchen, deep in his own thoughts. To his astonishment, he had enjoyed his conversation with her, and sharing the discoveries he had made. She had always been an attentive listener, willing to hear anything he had to say. With a feeling of self-reproach, he realized that he had not always been so willing to listen to her needs or to her thoughts and feelings. That would change, he vowed. Six months alone on the island had showed him the value of friendship, and reminded him that, in spite of his denials, he was a lonely man who was too obsessed with his work. He valued her friendship as no other. She was, in a very real sense, the best friend he had ever had.

When they reached the kitchen, he deposited his plate and fork in the sink, and took one last sip from his coffee mug before placing it in the sink as well.

"Unfortunately, the dishwasher doesn’t work, so we have to wash them by hand,” he told her as he watched her place her own dishes in the sink. "Since there’s no running water, I fill up the sink with water from the rain barrels outside the back door. It’s the easiest way to get water for washing. When unstopped, the water flows out. I don’t know where it goes, but I presume the people who constructed this place had it all figured out."

"I suppose," she responded with a smile that seemed less than genuine.

He sensed instantly that she was fighting her depression again, reminding him that her emotional condition was fragile. He knew she would benefit from opening herself up to him and talking about it, but he did not question her. She would open up when she was ready.

"Tell you what," he said, cheerfully. "We’ll go up the ridge and see if there are any animals in the valley. I always take one of the video cameras with me. It’s a great place to record their interaction.”

Surprise flickered in her eyes. “You have a video recorder?”

“I have two of them,” he replied. “Just in case something goes wrong with one, I have the other as a spare. I’m learning to get along better with electronics,” he added, understanding her unspoken reference to his discomfort with anything mechanical. “We‘ll do the dishes when we get back."

"Whatever you want," she replied. Glancing down at her bare feet, she said, “I guess I’d better get some shoes on.”

While Ellie trotted back up the stairs for her shoes, Alan fetched his backpack, already containing plastic bags and small sterile bottles for collecting samples. He had no doubt that the dinosaurs would appeal to the scientist in her, and would undoubtedly lift her spirits. The shock prod was slipped into the loop on his belt.

After one final errand in the kitchen, he was waiting for her in the foyer when she came back down wearing her work shoes. Ellie waited silently as he hefted the backpack, and settled it into position in the middle of his back. The fedora was removed from the rack and placed on his head.

"Ready?"

She nodded.

He opened the door, and she followed him outside. As always, he carefully locked the cage-like bars behind him.

"I’ll give you the extra key in case you need to go outside for any reason, but I want you to promise that you’ll stay close."

"I’m not a child, Alan," she reminded him.

"I know, but I’ll worry if you place yourself in danger. I know how you like to explore. I remember that time you decided to explore one evening on the dig site in Montana, and got yourself lost. Out here, getting lost could be fatal."

Her eyes lifted to his face again at the indication that he still cared. "I know this place is dangerous, Alan," she told him, then sighed, feeling ashamed at her own resentment. He was only trying to help. "I’ll stay close," she promised.

First, he led the way to the enclosure that contained his garden, and Ellie curiously observed the vegetable plants in varying stages of growth, so that as one group of plants were completing their cycle of production, another group was just beginning to produce. All the mature plants were large and green, and heavily laden with fruit. Her eyes fell upon the tantalizingly huge green watermelons that lay nestled among the sprawling vines. "Do you plan on eating all those watermelons yourself?" she asked, her voice almost teasing.

He smiled. "I’m afraid I didn’t realize how many melons one plant would produce, so I planted the whole package. I’ve been offering some of them to the plant eaters. They seem to like them. They’re ripe, so anytime you want one, feel free to come out and get it."

"I’m impressed."

He lifted his shoulders in a modest shrug. "Well, I suppose when I get home, I’ll have plenty of time for gardening, since digging up fossils seems to have gone out of style."

"It’ll be a challenge," she warned. "The growing season in Montana is short, and you won’t have this wonderful climate."

"Yeah, you’re right." He took off the fedora and scratched his head, as if puzzling over a suitable answer, then replaced the hat with a sigh. "Well, maybe I’ll move farther south. There is certainly nothing holding me there, any longer."

"When you get home, you’ll be expected to go on the talk show circuit."

That caught his startled attention. "What?"

"Alan, you’re the first man who’s ever been granted permission by the Costa Rican government to come to this island to study the animals. You’ve been here for nearly seven months. That alone is going to generate a lot of attention."

"I didn’t do this for the attention."

If anyone else had said that, Ellie would have found the words suspect, but she knew Alan well enough to know that he was entirely truthful in his assumption that he could complete his studies without generating much notice. "Well, whether you want it or not, you’re going to get it. People will have questions, and you will be expected to answer them. And they’re going to expect to see video of them. You’re taping them for your own studies, but everyone in the world is going to want to see them. What better medium to do that than television? I’d be willing to be that CNN will be calling you the moment your plane lands."

"Damn," he sighed, wearily. "You’re right. There’s going to be a media frenzy. I never even considered that. I expected to go home and quietly write a book about my experiences here. Maybe give a few lectures . . ."

"Just when you think you have everything planned out, fate rears its head and bites you in the butt."

He knew her words were a metaphor that included the loss of her family. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to deal with it when the time comes."

She wanted to respond that she would be there with him to assist him, but she kept quiet, not knowing if he even wanted her help. Instead, she said, "You’ll do fine. You always do."

Together, they walked away from the compound, walking side by side. Years earlier, he would have held her hand or placed an arm around her, but of course he did not do that now. She was a widow, still belonging to the memory of another man, and to intrude upon that space would be inappropriate. The conversation ended by mutual consent, for the sound of their voices would alert their presence to any predators in the area.