The Evolution of Claire (Jurassic World)

by Tess Sharpe

  And I didn’t see anyone. I guess I might have left the fridge open a bit and not realized it. And maybe I bumped the box with my foot when I stepped over it and didn’t notice?

  But then what about the clanging noise? I didn’t make that up.

  “Claire?” Beverly’s frowning at me, her strong brows knit together.

  “I’m sorry; what did you say?” I ask, trying to figure out what to do.

  “I asked if you’ve finished with your inventory count,” Beverly says.

  “No, I have those last boxes right there.” I point to the stack next to the stool.

  “Okay, I’ll take care of them,” Beverly says. “You should get back to the hotel. Go to the kitchens and get some dinner, since you missed it. Your new rotation in the labs will start day after tomorrow, and I want you in tip-top shape for Dr. Wu.”

  When I don’t move, she shoots me a puzzled look. I’m torn. I don’t want to get in trouble, but I also don’t know if I’m making a big deal out of nothing.

  “Beverly, have you found it—” Jessica comes barging through the break room door, into the supply room and Beverly turns, shooting her a look that could only be described as quelling. Jessica’s eyes go wide as a porcelain doll’s when she sees me. “Oh,” she says, coming to a halt.

  Something is not right. I can feel it, but I can’t do anything about it. The two women are having a silent conversation with their eyes, and I want to be out of here.

  “I didn’t realize you were still around, Claire,” Jessica says, trying to smooth out the awkward moment with a smile. “We’re just here to lock up.”

  I’m pretty sure that’s a lie. When she let us in this morning, Sarah, Bertie’s second-in-command, mentioned that only she and Bertie have the key cards to this supply cage. But maybe she just meant on her team? Maybe all the senior staffers have access cards?

  “I was just going,” I say, grabbing my tablet and charger and shoving them and my notebook into my bag. “Sorry I took so long.”

  “It’s fine, Claire,” Beverly says with a tight smile. “Just get back to the hotel. We’ll finish up here and make certain everything’s secure.”

  “Okay,” I say, but I worry that I sound skeptical or suspicious. And as I walk out of the supply rooms and the building into the parking lot, I’m wincing internally, knowing they’re watching me.

  I’m feeling even more worried after I jump into the jeep and start it. I can’t stop myself from staring at the building in the rearview as I drive away, wondering why Beverly and Jessica are really there.

  My headlights cut through the darkness ahead, the beams glancing off the trees and winding cliffs. Shadows stretch ahead of me, and I try hard to shake the creepy feeling I’ve had ever since I heard that scuffling sound.

  Something darts in front of my jeep on the road—something big.

  It’s pure instinct, the shriek that comes out of my mouth. My feet slam on the brakes, and it’s like I lift out of my entire body as the jeep spins across the asphalt.

  For a sickening moment, I think I’m going to hit something—whatever jumped out in front of me, a tree, a piece of electrified fence. But the jeep slows halfway into the third spin across the road, the momentum dying as it comes to a shuddering halt.

  My stomach flips, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from throwing up. I straighten, my ribs aching from where they slammed against the seat belt. I unbuckle it, and I want so badly to get out, but I don’t dare leave the shelter of the vehicle. Not in the middle of the jungle, in the dark—talk about horror movie material!

  What was that? I peer out the back window—the final spin left the jeep facing in the opposite direction from where I was heading—but nothing’s there.

  This time, I’m sure I’m not imagining anything.

  It was big. Not like dinosaur big—at least, I don’t think so. But still big. Shadowy. And fast.

  A primate, maybe? Gorillas, baboons, orangutans, and chimps aren’t native to these islands, though. And this isn’t some tiny tree monkey.

  I lick my lips, trying to breathe in deep but feeling like I can’t get enough air. My head’s pounding and my fingers, still clenching the steering wheel, are white. I loosen my grip and crack my knuckles nervously.

  I need to get going. If whatever almost caused me to crash comes back, I’m a sitting duck. I quickly turn the jeep around and drive out of there, squinting at suddenly scary shapes in the dark, my heart hammering in my sore chest all the way back to the hotel.

  When I get there, I don’t go straight up to my room. Instead, I walk over to the kitchens. The workers there give me a sandwich and salad and chips, and I eat at one of the empty prep tables, keeping out of the staff’s way. I’m not ready to go up to my room and deal with Tanya. She’s great, but she likes to talk. A lot.

  After the crazy thump in the jungle, I need some peace and quiet—or rather, the background hum of the kitchen. My heart’s still beating too fast.

  I pull the notebook I found under my bed out of my bag, where I’ve been keeping it. I’ve been sneaking bits and pieces of it whenever I can. Whoever Iz was, they were meticulous. Reading their notes is like taking a master class in Brachiosauruses. I’ve impressed Bertie once already with stuff I pulled from Iz’s notebook, and I want to learn everything I can from it. And about it…but how?

  I munch on my turkey and Swiss while I read Iz’s journal entry from three weeks into their stay on the island.

  2/1

  Yesterday I noticed a slight swelling on Olive’s neck. When I reported it, Savannah dismissed me, because ever since she found out I go to Yale, she’s got it in her head I’m resting on my Ivy League laurels. Ha—I wish. I got into Yale by the skin of my teeth, and if it weren’t for that scholarship, I would never have made it there…or here.

  So today, when I measured the swelling and saw that it was bigger, I went to Tim, her assistant. I didn’t know what else to do—she wasn’t going to listen to me. Luckily, Tim did. I showed him the measurements of Olive’s neck from last week and today, and he immediately ordered an ultrasound.

  It’s not good. They’re not sure, but it looks like a tumor. If we’re lucky, it’s just an abscess, but either way, they have to operate.

  That’s a first: dinosaur surgery. The vets are freaking out, trying to prep, running theory after theory by each other; the entire staff is humming about it, and Savannah is pissed. She tried to corner me to “discuss my behavior,” but Mr. Masrani showed up before she could really light into me. I spent the rest of the day with Agnes, kind of hiding out.

  Olive’s surgery is tomorrow. I’m sitting outside her paddock right now, and she’s all sorts of sulky because she hasn’t been allowed to drink or eat anything for the past day.

  Poor thing. It’ll be better soon.

  I hope.

  Is that where Olive got the scar on her neck? I flip through a few more pages of scientific notes and drawings to find another entry, dated two days later.

  2/3

  Olive pulled through surgery! It was just an abscess, and all the infected tissue has been removed, but it was touch-and-go there for a while. The vets are developing the techniques as they’re doing them, so all surgeries are experimental.

  I was so relieved—I thought this was all behind us. But this morning, we discovered Agnes has a similar swelling on her neck. We caught it earlier this time, but now we’re worried it might be something more than an injury. Is it a virus? Environmental? A genetic anomaly? Maybe a version of dinosaur distemper? Side effects from the cloning process? Or just a couple of playful nips that went a little too deep?

  Everyone seems to have a theory, but no answers! If we don’t figure it out soon and the oral antibiotics don’t work, Agnes is going to need surgery too. What if she doesn’t pull through? What if the infection is something serious…a
nd recurring? We can’t just keep cutting them open!

  I’m worried. Is this infectious?

  And how do we stop it?

  “Yikes,” I mutter to myself. Even though I know Agnes and Olive are fine now, I can feel the anxiety and worry coming off these pages, which makes my own anxiety start to spike again. Rolling my shoulders back, I wince at how sore they are. I shove the notebook back into my bag and stand up. Ouch. I should get up to my room before curfew.

  I throw my garbage away and wash the plate I used, setting it back on the drying rack. “Thanks again,” I call, waving to the kitchen staff before I head out.

  My eyes are drooping by the time I get up to our floor, and I stumble down the hallway, dying for a shower and my soft bed. It’s dark when I open the door to our room, but I flip the lights on when I realize Tanya’s not here. She’s probably off hanging out with her brother or maybe Ronnie, and I’m too tired to wait up for her.

  I collapse on the bed, all thoughts of a shower fleeing my head as soon as it makes contact with the pillow. I drag the blanket over my shoulders and fall asleep.

  * * *

  “Hey, I was looking for you,” Justin says, jogging to catch up to me as I wait for the elevator to take me down to breakfast.

  “What’s up?” I ask, my voice sounding rough even to my own ears.

  I slept terribly last night, my dreams full of car crashes and dinosaurs waking up midsurgery, confused and in pain. When I woke up and saw Tanya, who had gotten in sometime in the night, she took one look at me and offered to make me a cup of tea from her special blend before we went downstairs. So I know I look exhausted.

  “I’m taking a Gyrosphere out in the valley for terrain mapping today,” he says. “Art was supposed to partner with me, but Tim offered him a chance to observe some medical procedure on one of the Ankylosauruses, so he ditched me. Beverly said I could ask anyone, so what do you think?”

  “Okay,” I say, feeling a little apprehensive, considering I almost got into a car crash last night. But surely the Gyrospheres are different. They aren’t really like driving. They’re like…rolling. They practically drive themselves.

  “I promise to have your back if Pearl finds us and decides to play whack-a-Gyrosphere,” Justin says, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

  “You’d better!” I say as the elevator dings and we step in.

  “How did your inventory day go yesterday?” he asks as we ride down and get off into the lobby. We head toward the conference room–turned–intern dining hall, our footsteps muffled by the dark red carpet emblazoned with the Jurassic World insignia every ten feet or so.

  “It was fine until Wyatt knocked over all the boxes of tranquilizer darts I was counting. I had to start over,” I complain. “I’m pretty sure he did it on purpose.”

  Justin makes a disgusted noise. “That guy,” he says.

  “Tell me about it,” I sigh as we line up to get our breakfast. For a second, I consider telling him about wondering if someone had broken into the supply room, but I decide not to. It would just make me sound paranoid.

  We sit down with the rest of our friends and get caught up in a debate between Amanda and Art about gene splicing. By the time our group breaks apart for our daily assignments, yesterday’s stress has almost faded.

  It’s just Justin and me going down to the valley today, so we have a jeep to ourselves. The twins and Ronnie are headed to the command center, and Amanda’s managed to get an invitation to the Ankylosaurus medical thing too, so she and Art set off together.

  Justin’s tablet beeps several times as I drive us to the valley, and I glance down to see a bunch of email alerts on his screen.

  “My mom,” he explains with a grimace. “I haven’t emailed her as much as I promised.”

  “Oh God,” I groan. “I got some postcards from my sister last week and I still haven’t written back. And I was supposed to call my mom last night and I didn’t.”

  “We’re both bad children, then.” We share a rueful smile.

  “I’m trying to be careful about what I say,” I explain as I take a right off the main road, and the jungle starts to fade into the flatter, savannah area of the park. “I may have kind of misled her about exactly what I’d be doing as an intern here.”

  “ ‘May have kind of,’ ” he echoes skeptically.

  “Okay, I totally lied. I told my family there’s no way we’ll have any contact with the dinosaurs and I’ll probably just be getting coffee for the lab techs the whole time and barely see any dinosaurs. And then only from far away.”

  He laughs. “Claire!”

  “I know, I know,” I say as the road turns from asphalt to gravel. The crunch of rubber against rock fills the air. “But my mom’s head would’ve exploded if she knew I’d actually be up close and personal with dinosaurs.”

  “That’s all my mom’s emails are about,” he says, shaking his head. It makes me laugh, but it also makes me a little envious that they have the kind of relationship where they can talk about stuff.

  “You two are close,” I say, and it’s not really a question. I can tell by the way he talks about her.

  “For a long time, we were all the other really had,” he says, and it’s such an honest, open admission. “We didn’t have a lot when I was little, but she made sure things were good and fun, and that I was always learning. Like, I look back sometimes, and I just…well, we were really poor.” His voice thickens a bit. “There were times before her company took off when we would’ve been homeless if it weren’t for my grandma. So going through that…I think it changes you. I don’t ever want to be one of those guys who takes things for granted. Whatever I had growing up was because of her hard work. And she’s the kind of person who pays it forward.”

  “Like with the Ivy Rose House,” I say, remembering that on each Ivy Rose product, there’s a little note that says ten percent of proceeds go to the women’s shelter his mother established in Portland.

  “Yep,” Justin says.

  “Was that…” I pause, not knowing if I’m allowed to ask this. “Did she deal with something like that?” I ask.

  There’s a long silence. His mouth’s tight, and I worry that I’ve crossed a line.

  “Yeah,” he says finally, a faraway look in his eyes. He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t press. But I have even more admiration for this woman I’ve never met. Who created an entire makeup empire for herself, who raised a really excellent son who makes my heart twist, and who put her riches toward helping other women.

  We pull up to the makeshift parking lot in front of the valley’s main gate, and I see that Oscar and some of the security team are already there. Several Gyrospheres are set near the gate, and when Justin and I get out of the jeep, the security team waves us over.

  “I thought you were bringing Art” is the first thing Oscar says, and I cringe. He’s still mad at me for taking the branch out of Lovelace’s wound instead of waiting for the vets and trainers. It makes me feel small for a second, but then I remember the way Lovelace bellowed in pain, and my resolve hardens.

  If I were faced with the same choice, I’d do it again, even knowing it’s made the head of security think I’m an out-of-control ringleader.

  “Tim asked Art to observe some medical thing today,” Justin says. “So I brought Claire instead.”

  Oscar’s lips press together. “Are you going to follow the rules this time?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “And not perform any heroics, even if there’s an animal hurt?”

  I hesitate. Just a little too long, because he’s raising his eyebrows like he cannot believe me.

  “We’ll call if there are any problems or hurt animals,” Justin says hurriedly.

  “Hmm,” Oscar says, but he steps back and gestures at one of the Gyrospheres.

  “How
do they work?” I ask as he presses a button on the side and the doors on the clear sphere pop open. There are blue seats inside, the only color other than the silver metal framework where the doors fit. It’s totally futuristic, something that wouldn’t look out of place in one of those sci-fi shows my parents grew up with. “Does the sphere spin around the seats?”

  “Yes, you’ll be steady and sailing along. The Gyrosphere moves around you, carrying you through the terrain. They’re self-guided, to an extent,” Oscar explains. “You can drive them—that’s where this”—he points to the joystick set between the seats—“comes in. It’s how you steer. There are safety guards in place—you can’t drive right into a dinosaur, for instance.”

  Justin frowns. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Panic. Surprise. Idiocy,” Oscar ticks off dispassionately. “When the Gyrospheres go off-track, a special alert will blare. But for our guests’ safety, we can’t just stop them remotely whenever they get off-track. Sitting ducks and all that. Which is where your assignment comes in. We’ve calibrated the various routes the Gyrospheres will typically take, but we need to take them on an off-road trip, basically. Then their sensors will get acquainted with all the terrain and learn to problem-solve around any similar new environments and obstacles they encounter.”

  “Like the gully Lovelace got trapped in,” I say.

  “Yes,” Oscar says. “A Gyrosphere falls into a gully like that, and the guests won’t be able to get out unless they leave the safety of the sphere. We don’t want that. So we put these gyros through every kind of test and terrain and situation imaginable so the sensors get smarter and the Gyrosphere gains enhanced functionality.”

  “So what happens if we get stuck?” I ask.