The Lost World

by Michael Crichton

Then the tail banged against the front of the Explorer, with a loud metallic clang.

  And the tyrannosaur stopped.

  They heard a low, uncertain growl from the jungle. The tail swung back and forth in the air again, more tentatively. Soon enough, the tail brushed lightly against the radiator a second time.

  Now they saw the foliage to the left rustling and bending, and the tail was gone.

  Because the tyrannosaur, Thorne realized, was coming back.

  Re-emerging from the jungle, it moved toward the car, until it was standing directly in front of them. It growled again, a deep rumbling sound, and turned its head slightly from side to side to look at this strange new object. Then it bent over, and Thorne could see that the tyrannosaur had something in its mouth; he saw the legs of a creature dangling on both sides of the jaws. Flies buzzed in a thick cloud around the tyrannosaur’s head.

  Eddie moaned. “Oh, fuck.”

  “Quiet,” Thorne whispered.

  The tyrannosaurus snorted, and looked at the car. It bent lower, and sniffed repeatedly, moving its head slightly to the left and right with each inhalation. Thorne realized it was smelling the radiator. It moved laterally, and sniffed the tires. Then it lifted its huge head slowly, until its eyes rose above the surface of the hood. It stared at them through the windshield. Its eyes blinked. The gaze was cold and reptilian.

  Thorne had the distinct impression that the tyrannosaur was looking at them: its eyes shifted from one person to the next. With its blunt nose, it pushed at the side of the car, rocking it slightly, as if testing its weight, measuring it as an opponent. Thorne gripped the steering wheel tightly and held his breath.

  And then, abruptly, the tyrannosaur stepped away, and walked to the front of the car. It turned its back on them, lifting its big tail high. The tyrannosaur backed up toward them. They heard the tail scraping across the roof of the car. The rear haunches came closer . . .

  And then the tyrannosaur sat down on the hood, tilting the vehicle, pushing the bumper into the ground with its enormous weight. At first, it did not move, but simply sat there. Then, after a moment, it began to wriggle its hips back and forth in a quick motion, making the metal squeak.

  “What the hell?” Eddie said.

  The tyrannosaur stood again, the car sprang back up, and Thorne saw thick white paste smeared across the hood. The tyrannosaur immediately moved away, heading down the game trail, disappearing into the jungle.

  Behind them, they saw it emerge into the open again, stalk across the open compound. It lumbered behind the convenience store, passed between two of the cottages, and then disappeared from sight again.

  Thorne glanced at Eddie, who jerked his head toward Malcolm. Malcolm had not turned to watch the departing tyrannosaur. He was still staring forward, his body tense. “Ian?” Thorne said. He touched him on the shoulder.

  Malcolm said, “Is he gone?”

  “Yes. He’s gone.”

  Ian Malcolm’s body relaxed, his shoulders dropping. He exhaled slowly. His head sagged to his chest. He took a deep breath, and raised his head again. “You’ve got to admit,” he said. “You don’t see that every day.”

  “Are you okay?” Thorne said.

  “Yeah, sure. I’m fine.” He put his hand on his chest, feeling his heart. “Of course I’m fine. After all, that was just a small one.”

  “Small?” Eddie said. “You call that thing small—”

  “Yes, for a tyrannosaur. Females are quite a bit larger. There’s sexual dimorphism in tyrannosaurs—the females are bigger than the males. And it’s generally thought they did most of the hunting. But we may find that out for ourselves.”

  “Wait a minute,” Eddie said. “What makes you so sure he was a male?”

  Malcolm pointed to the hood of the car, where the white paste now gave off a pungent odor. “He scent-marked territory.”

  “So? Maybe females can also mark—”

  “Very likely they can,” Malcolm said. “But anal scent glands are found only among males. And you saw how he did it.”

  Eddie stared unhappily at the hood. “I hope we can get that stuff off,” he said. “I brought some solvents, but I wasn’t expecting, you know . . . dino musk.”

  The radio clicked. “Dr. Thorne,” Arby said. “Dr. Thorne? Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, Arby. Thanks to you,” he said.

  “Then why are you waiting? Dr. Thorne? Didn’t you see Dr. Levine?”

  “Not yet, no.” Thorne reached for his sensor unit, but it had fallen to the floor. He bent over, and picked it up. Levine’s coordinates had changed. “He’s moving. . . .”

  “I know he’s moving. Dr. Thorne?”

  “Yes, Arby,” Thorne said. And then he said, “Wait a minute. How do you know he’s moving?”

  “Because I can see him,” Arby said. “He’s riding a bicycle.”

  Kelly came into the front of the trailer, yawning and pushing her hair back from her face. “Who’re you talking to, Arb?” She stared at the monitor and said, “Hey, pretty neat.”

  “I got onto the Site B network,” he said.

  “What network?”

  “It’s a radio LAN, Kel. For some reason it’s still up.”

  “Is that right? But how did—”

  “Kids,” Thorne said, over the radio. “If you don’t mind. We’re looking for Levine.”

  Arby picked up the handset. “He’s riding a bicycle down a path in the jungle. It’s pretty steep and narrow. I think he’s following the same path as the tyrannosaur.”

  Kelly said, “As the what?”

  * * *

  Thorne put the car in gear, driving away from the power station, toward the worker compound. He went past the gas station, and then between the cottages. He followed the same path the tyrannosaur had taken. The game trail was fairly wide, easy to follow.

  “We shouldn’t have those kids here,” Malcolm said, gloomily. “It’s not safe.”

  “Not much we can do about it now,” Thorne said. He clicked the radio. “Arby, do you see Levine now?”

  The car bounced through what had once been a flower bed, and around the back of the Manager’s Residence. It was a large two-storey building built in a tropical colonial style, with hardwood balconies all around the upper floor. Like the other houses, it was overgrown.

  The radio clicked. “Yes, Dr. Thorne. I see him.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s following the tyrannosaur. On his bicycle.”

  “Following the tyrannosaur.” Malcolm sighed. “I should never have gotten involved with him.”

  “We all agree on that,” Thorne said. He accelerated, driving past a section of broken stone wall which seemed to mark the outer perimeter of the compound. The car plunged on into jungle, following the game trail.

  Over the radio, Arby said, “Do you see him yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  The trail became progressively narrower, twisting as it ran down the hillside. They came around a curve, and suddenly saw a fallen tree blocking the path. The tree had been denuded in the center, its branches stripped and broken—presumably because large animals had repeatedly stepped over it.

  Thorne braked to a stop in front of the tree. He got out, and walked around to the back of the Explorer.

  “Doc,” Eddie said. “Let me do it.”

  “No,” Thorne said. “If anything happens, you’re the only one who can repair the equipment. You’re more important, especially now that we have the kids.”

  Standing behind the car, Thorne lifted the motorcycle off the carrier hooks. He swung it down, checked the battery charge, and rolled it to the front of the car. He said to Malcolm, “Give me that rifle,” and slung the rifle around his shoulder.

  Thorne took a headset from the dashboard, and put it over his head. He clipped the battery pack to his belt, placed the microphone alongside his cheek. “You two go back to the trailer,” Thorne said. “Take care of the kids.”

  “But Doc . . .” Eddi
e began.

  “Just do it,” Thorne said, and lifted the motorcycle over the fallen tree. He set it down on the other side, and climbed over himself. Then he saw the same pungent, pale secretions on the trunk; it had smeared on his hands. He glanced back at Malcolm, questioningly.

  “Marking territory,” Malcolm said.

  “Great,” Thorne said. “Just great.” He wiped his hands on his trousers.

  Then he got on the motorcycle, and drove off.

  Foliage slapped at Thorne’s shoulders and legs as he drove down the game trail, following the tyrannosaur. The animal was somewhere up ahead, but he couldn’t see it. He was driving fast.

  The radio headset crackled. Arby said, “Dr. Thorne? I can see you now.”

  “Okay,” Thorne said.

  It crackled again. “But I can’t see Dr. Levine any more,” Arby said. He sounded worried.

  The electric motorcycle made hardly any noise, particularly going downhill. Up ahead, the game trail divided in two. Thorne stopped, leaned over the bike, looking at the muddy path. He saw the footprints of the tyrannosaur, going off to the left. And he saw the thin line of the bicycle tires. Also going off to the left.

  He took the left fork, but now he drove more slowly.

  Ten yards ahead, Thorne passed the partially eaten leg of a creature, which lay at the side of the path. The leg was old; it was crawling with white maggots and flies. In the morning heat, the sharp smell was nauseating. He continued, but soon saw the skull of a large animal, some of the flesh and green skin still adhering to the bone. It, too, was covered with flies.

  Speaking into the microphone, he said, “I’m passing some partial carcasses. . . .”

  The radio crackled. Now he heard Malcolm say, “I was afraid of that.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “There may be a nest,” Malcolm said. “Did you notice the carcass that the tyrannosaur had in his jaws? It was scavenged, but he hadn’t eaten it. There’s a good chance he was taking the food home, to a nest.”

  “A tyrannosaur nest . . .” Thorne said.

  “I’d be cautious,” Malcolm said.

  Thorne slipped the bike into neutral, and rolled the rest of the way down the hill. When the ground leveled out, he climbed off the motorcycle. He could feel the earth vibrate beneath his feet, and from the bushes ahead, he heard a deep rumbling sound, like the purr of a large jungle cat. Thorne looked around. He didn’t see any sign of Levine’s bicycle.

  Thorne unshouldered the rifle, and gripped it in sweating hands. He heard the purring growl again, rising and falling. There was something odd about the sound. It took Thorne a moment to realize what it was.

  It came from more than one source: more than one big animal, purring beyond the foliage directly ahead.

  Thorne bent over, picked up a handful of grass, and released it in the air. The grass blew back toward his legs: he was downwind. He slipped forward through the foliage.

  The ferns around him were huge and dense, but up ahead he could see sunlight shining through, from a clearing beyond. The sound of purring was very loud now. There was another sound as well—an odd, squeaking sound. It was high-pitched, and at first sounded almost mechanical, like a squeaking wheel.

  Thorne hesitated. Then, very slowly, he lowered a frond. And he stared.

  Nest

  In the midmorning light, two enormous tyrannosaurs—each twenty feet high—loomed above him. Their reddish skin had a leathery appearance. Their huge heads were fierce-looking, with heavy jaws and large sharp teeth. But somehow here the animals conveyed no sense of menace to Thorne. They moved slowly, almost gently, bending repeatedly over a large circular rampart of dried mud, nearly four feet high. The two adults held bits of red flesh in their jaws as they ducked their heads below the mud wall. This movement was greeted by a frantic high-pitched squeaking sound, which stopped almost immediately. Then, when the adults lifted their heads again, the flesh was gone.

  There was no question: this was the nest. And Malcolm had been right: one tyrannosaur was noticeably larger than the other.

  In a few moments, the squeaking resumed. It sounded to Thorne like baby birds. The adults continued to duck their heads, feeding the unseen babies. A bit of torn flesh landed on the top of the mud mound. As he watched, Thorne saw an infant tyrannosaur rise into view above the rampart, and start to scramble over the side. The infant was about the size of a turkey, with a large head and very large eyes. Its body was covered with a fluffy red down, which gave it a scraggly appearance. A ring of pale-white down circled its neck. The infant squeaked repeatedly and it crawled awkwardly toward the meat, using its weak forearms. But when it finally reached the carrion, it jabbed, biting the flesh decisively with tiny, sharp teeth.

  It was busily eating the food when it screeched in alarm and started to slide down the outer wall of dried mud. Immediately, the mother tyrannosaur dropped her head and intercepted the baby’s fall, then gently nudged the animal back inside the nest. Thorne was impressed by the delicacy of her movements, the attentive way she cared for her young. The father, meanwhile, continued to tear small pieces of meat. Both animals kept up a continuous purring growl, as if to reassure the infants.

  As Thorne watched, he shifted his position. His foot stepped on a branch: there was a sharp crack.

  Immediately, both adults jerked their heads up.

  Thorne froze; he held his breath.

  The tyrannosaurs scanned the area around the nest, looking intently in every direction. Their bodies were tense, their heads alert. Their eyes flicked back and forth, accompanied by little head jerks. After a moment, they seemed to relax again. They bobbed their heads up and down, and rubbed their snouts against each other. It seemed to be some kind of ritual movement, almost a dance. Only then did they resume feeding the infants.

  When they had calmed down, Thorne slipped away, moving quietly back to the motorcycle. Arby whispered over the headset, “Dr. Thorne. I can’t see you.”

  Thorne didn’t answer. He tapped the microphone with his finger, to signal that he had heard.

  Arby whispered, “I think I know where Dr. Levine is. He’s off to your left.”

  Thorne tapped the mike again, and turned.

  To his left, among ferns, he saw a rusted bicycle. It said “Prop. InGen Corp.” It was leaning against a tree.

  * * *

  Not bad, Arby thought, sitting in the trailer and watching the remote videos as he clicked on them. He now had the monitor divided into quarters; it was a good compromise between lots of views, and images large enough to see.

  One of the views looked down from above on the two tyrannosaurs in the secluded clearing. It was midmorning; the sun shone brightly on the muddy, trampled grass of the clearing. In the center he saw a round steep-walled nest of mud. Inside the nest were four mottled white eggs, about the size of footballs. There were also some broken egg fragments, and two baby tyrannosaurs, looking exactly like featherless, squeaking birds. They sat in the nest with their heads turned up like baby birds, mouths gaping wide, waiting to be fed.

  Kelly watched the screen and said, “Look how cute they are.” And then she added, “We should be out there.”

  Arby didn’t answer her. He was not at all sure he wanted to be any closer. The adults were being very cool about it, but Arby found the idea of these dinosaurs very unnerving in some deep way that he couldn’t analyze. Arby had always found it reassuring to organize, to create order in his life—even arranging the images neatly on the computer monitor was calming to him. But this island was a place where everything was unknown and unexpected. Where you didn’t know what would happen. He found that troubling.

  On the other hand, Kelly was excited. She kept making comments about the tyrannosaurs, how big they were, the size of their teeth. She seemed entirely enthusiastic, without any fear at all.

  Arby felt annoyed with her.

  “Anyway,” she said, “what makes you think you know where Dr. Levine is?”

  Arby poi
nted to the image of the nest, on the monitor. “Watch.”

  “I see it.”

  “No. Watch, Kel.”

  As they stared at the screen, the image moved slightly. It panned to the left, then centered again. “See that?” Arby said.

  “So what? Maybe the wind is blowing the camera or something.”

  Arby shook his head. “No, Kel. He’s up in the tree. Levine’s moving the camera.”

  “Oh.” A pause. She watched again. “You might be right.”

  Arby grinned. That was about all he could expect to get from Kelly. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “But what’s Dr. Levine doing in the tree?”

  “Maybe he’s adjusting the camera.”

  They listened to Thorne’s breathing over the radio.

  Kelly stared at the four video images, each showing a different view of the island. She sighed. “I can’t wait to get out there,” she said.

  “Yeah, me too,” Arby said. But he didn’t mean it. He glanced out the window of the trailer and saw the Explorer coming back, with Eddie and Malcolm. Secretly, he was glad to see them return.

  Thorne stood at the base of the tree, looking up. He couldn’t see Levine through the leaves, but he knew he must be somewhere up above, because he was making what seemed to Thorne like a lot of noise. Thorne glanced nervously back at the clearing, screened by intervening foliage. He could still hear the purring; it remained steady, uninterrupted.

  Thorne waited. What the hell was Levine doing up in a tree, anyway? He heard rustling in the branches above, and then silence. A grunt. Then more rustling.

  And then Levine said aloud, “Oh, shit!” Then a loud crashing sound, the crack of branches, and a howl of pain. And then Levine crashed down on the ground in front of Thorne, landing hard on his back. He rolled over, clutching his shoulder.

  “Damn!” he said.

  Levine wore muddy khakis that were torn in several places. Behind a three-day growth of beard, his face was haggard and spattered with mud. He looked up as Thorne moved toward him, and grinned.

  “You’re the last person I expected to see, Doc,” Levine said. “But your timing is flawless.”